Fizzlebert Stump and the Bearded Boy

by A. F. Harrold

  Do you remember on the very first page I said it began with false teeth, or rather without false teeth? Well, it turns out I was right. Now the story has really begun. Finally. Or rather it will begin in the next chapter.

  Chapter Eight

  In which a panicked look is spotted (or maybe it isn’t) and in which plans are hatched

  The next morning the Ringmaster called a meeting. Everyone gathered together in the Big Top. Well, everyone who could.

  Mr Stump’s back was no better, so he stayed on the floor in the caravan. Dr Surprise refused to leave Flopples on her own. (Fizz had popped in to take him some breakfast. The rabbit was less green today, but still off her food.) And several clowns were stuck together outside their caravans and couldn’t come either. (They’d been practising custard throwing and one of them had thrown a bucket of glue someone had left lying around.) The circus’s stilt-walkers stood at the front of the crowd, their stilts having vanished in the night.

  ‘My friends,’ the Ringmaster began, ‘this is a big day for us. Saturday. We’ve two shows to get through, the matinee this afternoon and then the big show tonight. Tomorrow we pack up and move on, so let’s make today special. As you know, we’re also expecting the Inspectors today. They could be watching either show, or both. Since we’ve got a few new faces in the circus since the last inspection I’d best tell you what to look out for. Circus Inspectors look like normal people, on the whole, only they almost always carry clipboards. They love their clipboards. I heard of one Inspector who used to take his in the bath with him, but he also inspected aquariums, so maybe that . . .’ The Ringmaster trailed off absentmindedly, before beginning again. ‘Ahem, so just make sure you’re nice to everyone you meet today, just in case they’ve got a clipboard hidden away somewhere.’

  He looked as his notes and added, ‘Of course, a few accidents have happened, so I’m having to do a bit of juggling.’ (There was a little ripple of applause when he said that. It had been years since the Ringmaster had juggled in the show. In fact it was back before he became Ringmaster, when he’d been just plain Jimmy Woosh the Juggling Bush. People were excited to think they might get to see the Ringmaster stick some twigs in his hat and get juggling again. But it wasn’t to be.) ‘No, no, no,’ he went on, hushing the applause. ‘I mean rearranging. I’m going to have to move some acts around. I’ve written it down here, so come and see me afterwards to get the details, but I’ll just say, after two spectacular shows, I’ve decided to move the Barboozuls to the end of the second act. They’re an ideal strong finale.’

  At this news everyone turned to give a round of applause to the bearded threesome who were stood at the back. Lord and Lady Barboozul hadn’t been listening. They’d been whispering to each other and the sudden noise made them jump.

  They smiled (their beards rose at the edges, where the corners of the mouth go up) and Lady Barboozul waved delicately at all her fans. Thank you, she seemed to be saying.

  But Fizz, who had been watching them ever since they’d all come in thought he saw something else.

  He reckoned she’d looked panicked when everyone had turned round. Panic is something that shows in the eyes. If you have good self-control you can stop your hands shaking, you can control your frowning, you can seem utterly calm even if you’re babbling inside, but the thing that twitches first when panic hits is the eyes and no one can control that, not immediately. It takes a second or two to get them under control, to blink away the shock, and Fizz was sure he’d seen her twitch. Not even a beard could hide those eyes.

  Could it be that under that smooth voice, that calm and polite voice, she was actually wicked and controlling and set on destroying the circus?

  Fizz shook his head. The bearded family were the circus’s best hope (perhaps even their only hope) for impressing the Inspectors. They were sure to get the circus a Good Mark. How could they be behind the accidents? Was it just to make themselves look even better in front of the Inspectors? That didn’t seem likely to Fizz for two reasons: firstly, they had an act that stood out even among the circus’s other great acts, and secondly, and more importantly still, a circus was a team, it was a family. In a circus people cared for one another, not about making themselves brilliant, but about making the whole show brilliant. A circus was full of nice people, and everyone seemed to think the Barboozuls fitted in.

  His mum had said nice things about them when they sent his dad a ‘get well soon’ card the evening before. The Ringmaster obviously thought they were real circus folk, or he wouldn’t have hired them in the first place, or moved them to the headline slot.

  Even Dr Surprise had said how nice Lady Barboozul had been when she’d come to visit him. Why, she’d sat down and stroked poor Flopples. That wasn’t the sort of thing a villain does, Fizz reflected. I mean, what villain’s ever sat down and stroked a pet?

  But as he thought that another thought popped up alongside and waved at him.

  Had she poisoned Flopples?

  Had she poisoned Flopples?!

  Fizz gasped as he thought the thought. It shocked him, just the thought of thinking it. She wouldn’t! She couldn’t! But Dr Surprise had said Flopples had coughed up a fur-ball. And who is better placed to give a rabbit a fur-ball than a friendly bearded lady?

  The Ringmaster had started talking again, and Fizz was the only one still watching the Barboozuls.

  He saw Lady Barboozul whisper something to her husband and she nodded in the direction of Percy Late, of Percy Late and his Spinning Plate fame. Her husband nodded and smiled and then slipped out the back of the tent.

  Wystan was stood in front of his guardians and seemed to be falling asleep as the Ringmaster droned on. Did Wystan know? Was he protecting her? Was he just pretending to be his friend? He’d asked all those questions about Fizz’s dad, shortly before his dad was tickled. Was Wystan in on it all?

  The Ringmaster finished his speech by saying, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you all know what we’ve got to do today. Eat well, practise well, and perform well. This is the one that really counts. This is our future. So remember, let’s be careful out there.’

  As they all shuffled out of the tent Fizz’s head fizzed like a sherbet hand grenade. He couldn’t just tell someone. He knew what grownups were like. They wouldn’t believe him. He needed to find evidence, and if he couldn’t find proof, then he needed to at least find a pair of rubber false teeth so that he and Charles could do their act tonight.

  Since it was Saturday he didn’t have any classes, which meant he had four hours before the afternoon show began. That had to be long enough to do something, surely. But what?

  If you had a thermometer and were able to hold it close to Fizz’s head, you might note a small increase in temperature as his brain began thinking extra hard.

  Half an hour later he was feeling both better and worse about things. He was walking between caravans looking for Percy Late (with or without his Spinning Plate) and while he walked his brain was still steaming, trying to piece together the jigsaw of clues he’d found. He’d visited the glued-down clowns and had been to see Dr Surprise again, where after a disgusting investigation he was more certain than ever that something was definitely going on. It wasn’t just bad luck.

  ‘Fizz! Hey, over here!’

  Wystan was calling him.

  Fizz pretended he didn’t hear.

  He really didn’t want to talk to Wystan. He didn’t want to find out that his newest friend was involved. And if he wasn’t involved, then that was almost even worse, he didn’t want to have to tell Wystan that his parents were causing all the chaos.

  In a way Fizz was angry at Wystan for being an awkward lump in his path. He didn’t mean to be angry, didn’t want to be angry, but he couldn’t help it. The secret knowledge he had was tearing him in two and the easiest way to not be tugged apart was to simply walk away and try to forget about Wystan for the time being.

  ‘Fizz!’ called the bearded boy, puffing slightly as he came running over. ‘Wait
up!’

  Fizz only stopped walking when he felt the hand grab his shoulder.

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped at the bearded boy.

  ‘Um. I just wondered if you wanted to . . . you know.’ Wystan held up the football he’d been carrying under his arm. ‘We’ve got a couple of hours, haven’t we, before lunch?’

  ‘Oh, have we?’ Fizz said sarcastically.

  Wystan pulled his sleeve up so they could both see his watch. ‘Yeah, look,’ he said.

  ‘Well, no. I don’t think so,’ said Fizz.

  ‘Oh, okay,’ said Wystan, a little sadly. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am,’ Fizz said angrily. ‘I’m trying to work out why you want to ruin my circus.’

  He hadn’t meant to say it. Well, not quite like that. Part of the plan he’d almost come up with was to search for clues and evidence quietly and subtly, before accusing Lady Barboozul in front of the Ringmaster and whatever remained of their fellow circus performers.

  ‘What do you mean “ruin the circus”?’ Wystan asked.

  ‘Ever since you got here,’ Fizz said, standing with his hand on his hip, ‘everything’s gone wrong. You come round for tea and then Mum’s nose goes missing. Dr Surprise’s rabbit coughs up a fur-ball, right after your mum’s been to visit him.’

  ‘She’s not my mum.’

  ‘Well, whatever she is, she’s bad news. I’ve looked at the clowns. The ones who glued themselves to the ground this morning. And do you know what I found stuck in the glue? A long black hair.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘It was long and bluey-black. It was hers, wasn’t it? Or maybe . . . maybe it was yours? Why are you all trying to ruin our circus?’

  Fizz blurted this out almost without thinking. It was true though, what he’d said about the clowns. He’d found that one long black hair stuck in the glue. And Dr Surprise and Fizz had looked through his rubbish bin and found Flopples’ fur-ball. (This was not the most pleasant of jobs.) Pulling on an end each, they had unwound it and found that it was just as long and just as black as the other one.

  Now he was on his way to see Percy Late, who lived on the other side of Captain Fox-Dingle’s cages. The Barboozuls had been looking at him in the meeting and Fizz had a feeling he was to be their next victim.

  But Wystan looked so shocked, so surprised, so upset, by Fizz’s accusation, that Fizz’s heart began to melt a bit.

  ‘I thought we were friends, Fizz?’ Wystan dropped the football and stepped right up close, so his beard fluffed in Fizz’s face. ‘Friends don’t accuse each other of things. Friends don’t make up stories like that. Why would we want to break your circus? I mean, look at it. It’s a rubbish circus. It’s the worse circus we’ve ever worked. It’s a pushover. Your clowns aren’t funny. Your lion’s got false teeth. Your plate spinner only spins one plate. And your flipping sea lion doesn’t even work. If we did want to break your circus, we wouldn’t have to try very hard, would we?’

  With that Wystan pushed Fizz out of his way and ran off into the maze of caravans, leaving Fizz stood on his own. His ears were bubbling and his legs wobbled underneath him. He gritted his fists and wished he had something to throw. Not something heavy, just a bit of mud or a snowball or something. Just something he could chuck in the direction Wystan had run to show that he was angry. Grrr!

  He felt like shouting, ‘If our circus is so rubbish, how come we won a Silver Rosette for “Generous Amounts of Excitement” at the British Board of Circuses All-Circus Circus Show last year?’ (which was true, if a bit long for a snappy retort) but he didn’t. Maybe if there’d been anyone there to hear he might have, but they would’ve needed to have heard the rest of the conversation in order for his comment to make sense, and grownups are rubbish at listening. They never seem to hear the words, just the noises the words make. All they would have noticed was two boys having a row, and they would’ve patted them both on the heads, ruffled their hair and said something stupid like, ‘Oh come on lads, shake hands and make up, eh? It can’t be all that bad, eh?’ That was the sort of things adults said. Idiots.

  Fizz suddenly remembered that he had to find Percy Late before his practice session began. He ran off through the caravans towards where the great plate spinner was parked.

  Being on time had never been Percy Late’s big talent (plate spinning wasn’t Percy Late’s big talent either, but let’s not be mean). Fizz was hoping he’d be late today (Late, that is, not Fizz), but Late wasn’t late, he was on time for once, which meant, as fast as Fizz ran, he got to Late too late to save Late from his fate. If only Late had been late today, Fizz thought, he would’ve been on time.

  He skidded to a stop to find Percy Late surrounded by Lord Barboozul and a pair of clowns. (They were the last two clowns in the circus who still had their good health and full use of costume, nose and custard: Bongo Bongoton, the mime who taught Fizz English, and Unnecessary Sid, who nobody noticed very much. Normally Sid just stood at the back in the clown routines holding a spare bucket of whitewash, looking at his feet (which took quite a while since, like the feet of most clowns, they were enormous).)

  Percy Late was sitting on the floor in the middle of a circle of broken crockery.

  Lord Barboozul bent down beside Percy and held out his hand.

  ‘So sorry, old chap,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t see you there. I hope you’re not hurt. No bones broken?’

  ‘No bones, only bone china,’ said Unnecessary Sid from over his shoulder.

  Fizz tugged Bongo Bongoton’s sleeve and asked the silent clown what had happened.

  Bongo made a spinning motion in the air with one finger, leant back and looked up at where an imaginary plate was twirling majestically above him. Then he held one hand in front of his chin, with the fingers dangling down and fidgeting like seaweed in the swell of the sea, and pretended to walk along. He made the motion of opening a big newspaper and kept walking on the spot while pretending to read it, and then finally he brought his hands together in a banging clap and fell over, folding his arms over his head to protect him from falling imaginary crockery.

  ‘Thanks,’ Fizz said, ‘that was all I needed to know.’

  Percy Late was up on his feet now, dusting down his jacket.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your plate, Mr Late,’ whispered Lord Barboozul.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Percy answered, ‘I’ve got dozens of them in there.’ He threw his thumb over his shoulder to indicate his caravan. ‘I’m always breaking them.’

  Fizz watched Lord Barboozul’s face very carefully as this information was given, and he was sure he saw a tiny twitch of the cheek. Or he thought he was sure. But then he wasn’t sure, because the bearded man smiled and slapped Percy Late on the back, saying, ‘Well, that’s jolly good luck for you, isn’t it? Jolly good luck indeed. I’ll make a note to remind me to tell my wife. She’ll be delighted to know that. She’s a big fan of yours.’

  ‘Really?’ said Percy, cheering up. ‘Lady Barboozul likes my act? You mean your Lady Barboozul? With the . . . ? Wow!’

  And then the stupid man blushed.

  ‘Keep up the good work, and the plates,’ Lord Barboozul said, and he patted Percy on the back again and trotted off, whistling into his beard.

  Well, Fizz clearly wasn’t going to get any evidence here, so he wandered back to Dr Surprise’s caravan to talk over what he had found with the mind reader.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Dr Surprise said when Fizz told him his theory. ‘She’s such a nice woman.’

  ‘No,’ said Fizz. ‘She’s so not! She stole my mum’s nose, and tickled my dad so his back went. And how do you explain the fur ball?’

  ‘Well, it was probably an accident,’ Dr Surprise said. ‘Flopples probably swallowed it by mistake. She’ll nibble anything she can find. See, that’s your mystery solved.’

  Fizz folded his arms. ‘I don’t believe that, and neither do you,’ he said.

  ‘But, think about it Fizz. Su
pposing you’re right, tell me, why is she doing this? Why upset poor Flopples? Why steal Gloria’s nose?’

  By now Flopples had regained some of her own colour (the vet had given her some large pointy orange pills) and had nibbled the corner of a piece of lettuce fudge. She was going to be alright, but she wasn’t up to performing yet. Dr Surprise was still out of the show.

  ‘I don’t know, Dr Surprise, but I will find out. That’s why I came to see you. I thought you’d help. You’re the mind-reader. If we get close to her, can you read her mind and find out? Could you see what she’s thinking?’

  ‘Oh Fizz, would that I could, but it doesn’t work like that.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not a very good mind reader, not when it comes to actually looking inside. I’m just a showman. I do tricks. What you need to do is to get her to talk. That’s the easiest way of seeing inside someone’s mind. You just ask them.’

  ‘But she’ll never say,’ said Fizz. ‘She’s not stupid, is she?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I mean you’ve seen their act. That’s not the act of a stupid person, Fizz. You’ll need the brain of a Sherlock Holmes to catch her out. Not that I think she’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘Dr Surprise,’ Fizz said after a moment. ‘You know you said you couldn’t see inside her head? Well, that’s given me an idea. If we can’t get in her head, I think there’s somewhere else I can get in.’

  Fizz looked around, as if to make sure they weren’t overheard and leant in closer to tell Dr Surprise the idea that had just appeared in his brain.

  I won’t tell you what it is, because that wouldn’t be good storytelling. Knowing me, I’ll probably explain it all in the next chapter anyway. But right now, I’m going to have a cup of tea and a biscuit. The kind with chocolate on the top (biscuit, not tea, that is). Or if I can’t find one of those, then maybe a pink wafer, or possibly a ginger nut, but almost certainly not a cat biscuit, unless I make a terrible mistake in my use of the biscuit barrel. But I’ve got quite a lot of biscuit barrel experience under my belt and very, very rarely make such mistakes, so don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. (Unless the next chapter begins with a ‘Meow’, in which case, please send for the vet.)