‘Hockney Marshes?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Putting something up?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘But that’s my manor! That’s my back door! Nobody puts nothing up on Hockney Marshes without asking ME first!’
‘Yes, boss. That’s why I thought I should tell you.’
‘Putting what up?’ said Vince. ‘What is it?’
‘Apparently it’s some kind of . . . tent.’
‘A tent?’ said Zachary. ‘Oh, right. Like, a hippy or something. I thought you meant something big.’
‘Two-man or three-man?’ said Chippy.
‘It is something big.’
‘Four-man?’ said Frankie. ‘Family-size?’
‘Bigger.’
‘How big?’ said Zachary, whose moustache was now twitching anxiously.
‘People are saying it looks like it might be a . . . a . . . Big Top.’
‘A BIG TOP?! A BIG TOP!! IN MY MANOR!!! HOW THE . . .? WHO THE . . .? WHAT THE . . .?’
If there was one thing Zachary hated – and there was way more than one, what with him being a Shank – but if there was one thing he hated even more than he hated all the other things that he hated, it was circuses. He loathed them. Could not stand them. Just the word ‘circus’ made him livid. The sight of a Big Top sent him apoplectic. The idea of one going up on his patch . . . that was too much.
There was no question of what he would do now. He wasn’t just going to take it down. He wasn’t just going to exact revenge. This meant war.
‘There’s one other thing,’ said Miss Ingperson, her voice wavering with anxiety.
‘What?’
‘It’s only a rumour.’
‘What?’
‘Some people are saying . . .’
‘What?’
‘That there’s . . .’
‘What?’
‘Two of them. Bye.’
With that, Miss Ingperson ran out of the room.
Frankie, Chippie and Vince followed, making some excuse about needing a shower.
Steam doesn’t really come out of people’s ears. That only happens in cartoons. But if it did, at this point Zachary would have been boiling like a kettle.
Zachary was often angry. In fact, he was usually angry. Even when he was asleep, he slept angrily, tossing and turning, grinding his teeth, and occasionally biting chunks out of the duvet. But even for him this was something special. As soon as he stopped twitching and fuming, he was going to head straight out to Hockney Marshes and teach these ignorant circussers a lesson about how things worked in his manor.
‘GRRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!’ yelled Zachary, which doesn’t mean anything, but he felt better for getting it off his chest.
‘GRRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!’ he repeated, grinding his half-eaten digestive to crumbs in his fist, which might have made him feel better still, if it weren’t for the fact that the waste of a half a biscuit made him even crosser.
As I’m sure you have already figured out, Zachary would soon be finding out that one of these Big Tops belonged to his brother.
Could it be that Zachary and Armitage have a long-cherished fondness for one another, and that Zachary’s anti-circus rage will be overwhelmed by his delight at seeing his beloved sibling? Or can we expect, perhaps, rather the opposite?
I wonder . . .
HONK HONK HOOT HOOT HUBBA HUBBA DING DONG!
HAVE YOU GOT YOUR SEATBELT ON?’ said Wanda.
‘Yes, Mum,’ replied Hannah.
‘Is it securely fastened?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Is the passenger airbag enabled?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Is your headrest correctly positioned to avoid whiplash in the event of a collision?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Then let’s go!’ she said, checking both mirrors and her blind spot before slipping the car into first gear, indicating and pulling out.
This, Hannah suspected, was not going to be as exciting a journey as the mountain tandem rampage with Granny when they’d cycled to the Oh, Wow! centre, but Wanda had asked to come so Hannah couldn’t exactly turn her down. Why she had asked, when it was obvious Wanda liked circuses as much as lamp-posts like dogs, was a mystery.
‘You’re probably wondering why I want to come,’ said Wanda, accelerating the car gradually to her favoured speed of ten per cent below the speed limit.
‘I was, actually. How did you know?’
‘Oh, I always know what you’re thinking,’ said Wanda.
‘You never know what I’m thinking.’
‘No, I don’t. You’re right. But this time it was your face. You had a kind of why-does-she-even-want-to-come? expression.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes – and I’ll tell you why. It’s because, as you get older, in order to maintain the maternal bond, it becomes increasingly important to feign an interest in your child’s hobbies.’
‘Feign an interest?’
‘Take an interest.’
‘You said “feign”,’ said Hannah.
‘No, I said “take”.’
‘You definitely said “feign”.’
‘I said take. I want to take more of an interest in your passion for tightrope-walking . . . even though I think it is literally the most foolish and ill-advised hobby any young girl could possibly adopt . . . and I’d like to support you in your efforts to learn more about it . . . while also perhaps teaching you that it would be a really good idea to just give the whole thing up for ever and never do it again and just burn that stupid rope and take up basket-weaving or something.’
‘That’s . . . very supportive,’ replied Hannah.
‘I know,’ said Wanda. ‘I got a book from the library called Pretending to be Nice is Your Only Option When Your Kid is Going off the Rails. It’s full of excellent advice.’
‘I’m not going off the rails!’
‘You’re not going off the rails because you were never on the rails. You’ve always been . . . wayward. Like your mother. Your other mother. But I think I’ve learned how to combat it with the power of niceness, so maybe everything’s going to be OK now.’
‘Wayward?’
‘Yes, dear. Unconventional.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘It’s appalling. But I think we can work round it.’
The rest of the journey passed in silence. It had definitely been more fun travelling with Granny.
Hannah didn’t mind, though. As long as they ended up at Hockney Marshes in good time for Billy and Ernesto’s show, it didn’t matter what Wanda said to her. The silence meant she could focus better on thinking through the plan she had devised for her coming audition. Over and over it she went, visualising every move, imprinting every gesture as deeply as she could into her mind, like a pianist playing a piece so many times that eventually it feels as if the piano is playing you.
As always happened when Wanda was in charge of the itinerary, they arrived roughly three hours early.13 Which was perfect timing for Hannah’s plan.
Before Wanda had even finished parking (which always took a while, on account of her insistence on being exactly parallel to the kerb and equidistant from adjacent vehicles), Hannah had leaped out of the car and run across Hockney Marshes in the direction of a certain camel.
Narcissus greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, which was a sensation akin to have having your face shoved into a stinking, frothy puddle of taramasalata, but Hannah knew how special it was to receive this kind of affection from a camel (and a notoriously aloof one, at that) so she accepted the kiss graciously. Then she wiped her face. There are limits.
Billy appeared moments later, wielding a sledgehammer. At the sight of his at-least-half-sister he dropped the hammer14 and ran into her arms.
‘Oh, it’s so good to see you again!’ they both said, at exactly the same time.
‘We just said the same thing,’ they both added, at
exactly the same time.
‘This is weird,’ they said, in unison.
‘We have to stop,’ said Hannah and Billy, precisely together.
‘You stop first,’ said Billy and Hannah.
‘No, you,’ said Hannah and Billy.
‘HANNAH!’ came another voice, mercifully breaking the weird spell of synchronised speaking. It was Ernesto, emerging at a run from the saggy half-put-up Big Top.
More hugs.
At this point, Wanda appeared.
‘Oh, it is SOOOOOOO lovely to meet you at last,’ said Ernesto, lifting Wanda off her feet in another powerful embrace.
‘Put me down,’ said Wanda, which wasn’t the greeting she’d had in mind for Ernesto, but she really didn’t like hugging strangers, even if they had married her sister.
Ernesto put her down.
‘I mean to say, it’s lovely to meet you, too,’ said Wanda. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. All of it . . . interesting.’
‘Great!’ said Ernesto, who was at this moment struggling to comprehend how this woman could be the twin sister of his charismatic, captivating, cool, classy and compelling wife, without apparently having a single thing in common with her. Apart from the ears. He definitely recognised the shape of those ears.15
‘What on earth is that?’ yelled Hannah, pointing not at Wanda’s ears, but at a vehicle that was driving at speed across the grass of Hockney Marshes. It was a lorry. An unmistakably enormous lorry that looked very familiar.
On the side, it said
The enormous lorry roared towards them, dazzling Hannah with the light of seventeen headlamps on full beam.
‘HONK HONK HOOT HOOT HUBBA HUBBA DING DONG!’ said the enormous lorry, which was in possession of a very flashy horn.
The lorry came to a halt right in front of them, its brakes letting out a long sigh like a deflating hovercraft. The driver door swung open, and out poked a long limb encased in a preposterously tight trouser leg. Then another one, in matching attire. Then another one.
No, I’ve miscounted. He still had only two legs. But Armitage Shank was just as hideous as ever, all the more so for the gruesome mirthless grin that was smeared across his features as he leaped down from his enormous lorry.
‘Well, hellooooooo,’ he said. ‘Fancy meeting you here! What a coincidence!’
‘Why are you here?’ said Ernesto. ‘What are you up to, Shank?’
‘Just plying my humble trade. Putting on a show.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. Goodness – is that droopy heap of canvas your Big Top? Or should I say Small Top? H a h a h a h a h a H A H A H A H A H A HAHAHAHAhahahaha!’
‘You’re putting on a show here?’ said Ernesto. ‘Now?’
‘I am,’ sneered Armitage. ‘Fancy that! Looks like we’re going head to head! Good luck! Or should I say, break a leg! HahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaha!’
‘Why is that funny?’ asked Billy.
‘That wasn’t a laugh. It was a cackle. Did I teach you nothing? All those years I wasted on you! The ingratitude! How sharper than a serpent’s tongue . . . etc. . . . something . . . ungrateful child.’
‘What?’
‘That’s Shakespeare, you know. He and I have a lot in common. I was always too good for you, Billy. I’m better off without you. And as for you! What are you doing here?’ he snarled, in the direction of Hannah. ‘It’s never a good sign when you turn up.’
‘I could say the same about you,’ retorted Hannah.
‘Well, I could say the same about you.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Neither does that,’ said Armitage.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Hannah, Billy, Ernesto and Wanda.
‘JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE! You may have stolen half my troupe, Ernesto so-called Espadrille, but there’s one thing you’ll never steal. My talent. And my ingenuity. Two things. And you’ll never have either of them. So there. WATCH AND LEARN! Because you’ve got a surprise coming. And even me telling you that you’ve got a surprise coming won’t make the surprise any less surprising when it comes – THAT’S HOW SURPRISING IT IS. HAHAHAHAHAHA!’
With that, Armitage climbed back into his enormous lorry and drove off, belching out a thick cloud of diesel fumes (the lorry, that is, not Armitage – who did have bad breath, but not that bad).
He had barely driven ten metres before he parked and began to unload his Big Top, which was significantly smarter, and newer, and bigger, than Ernesto’s.
Right behind the enormous lorry was a small (and very French) car, driven by Irrrrena, towing a caravan, on top of which a small, muscly (and very French) man was sitting, fully oiled, in a deck chair, waxing his moustache.
‘Who was that awful person?’ asked Wanda.
‘This is fishy,’ said Billy. ‘Very fishy.’
‘Why is he putting on a circus right next to your circus?’ she added.
‘Because he’s up to something,’ replied Hannah.
‘And why are his trousers so tight?’
‘Now that really is a mystery,’ said Ernesto.
Joy of joys, rapture of raptures
HANNAH, AS YOU WILL REMEMBER, had a plan. She didn’t just want to watch Ernesto’s Extreme Extravaganza; she wanted to be in it. For this to be even remotely possible, she had to show off her tightrope-walking skills as soon as possible. It would be no good performing twenty centimetres off the ground, either. She’d have to demonstrate the real thing.
But if she wanted to do any proper tightrope-walking, first she’d have to get rid of her mother.
She pondered for a while, then a naughty idea suddenly streaked naked across her brain, shouting, ‘WOO-HOO! I’M REALLY NAUGHTY! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES? CHASE ME, CHASE ME!’
Wild and cheeky thoughts often did this in Hannah’s brain, and she usually ignored them, but on this occasion she decided to go for it.
‘Mum,’ said Hannah, springing into action. ‘I want you to meet someone. He’s called Narcissus. He’s the most amazing camel you’ll ever meet.’
‘Is he clean?’
‘Clean enough.’
Hannah led Wanda to Narcissus’ cage, picking up a bucket of taramasalata from Billy’s caravan on the way.
‘Do we really have to go in? What if I’m allergic to camel hair?’
‘Just come and give him a stroke. He’s lovely.’
Narcissus gazed out at Wanda sceptically. He lifted one lip, showing off a row of pondweed-coloured teeth. A waft of semi-digested-taramasalata gas billowed out. This was not a greeting Wanda had experienced before.
‘Can’t I stroke him through the bars?’
‘Just come in. He’s lovely.’
Wanda gingerly stepped into the cage. She gingerly, at Hannah’s insistence, gave him a pat. With no less ginger than before, she gave him a small stroke. Still in the manner of a gnarled but flavoursome root vegetable, she opened the bucket of taramasalata and held it out. Narcissus eyed Wanda through his long and beautiful eyelashes, then extended his long and not very beautiful tongue towards the pink paste. He lapped and slurped, sometimes smacking his lips to keep his bristles taramasalata-free. All the while, he maintained eye contact with Wanda, which she found more than a little unnerving.
‘Do you like him?’ asked Hannah.
‘I think this is one of the most unpleasant experiences I’ve ever had,’ replied Wanda, which wasn’t the response Hannah was hoping for.
‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘Don’t move.’
This is when Hannah put into action her naughty-mind-streak idea, slipping out of the cage and locking the door behind her.
‘Hannah? Hannah! HANNAH! What are you doing?’
‘Just popping out for a second. Don’t let go of the bucket.’
‘Where are you going? Let me out!’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Just stay put.’
‘Of course I’ll stay put! You’ve locked me in! Let me out right now!’
‘Sorry, I
can’t. There’s something I have to do.’
‘What could you possibly have to do that’s more important than freeing your mother from imprisonment with a camel?’
‘An audition.’
‘You’re delirious. Let me out.’
‘I can’t. You’d interfere. You’d nag and tell me off and warn me to be careful every five seconds. You have to stay in there. Not for long. You’ll be fine. Narcissus is perfectly safe as long as you don’t annoy him and give him plenty of taramasalata.’
‘Are you saying you locked me in here on purpose?’
‘Sort of.’
‘This is completely unacceptable!’
‘I’ll be back soon. Have fun.’
‘Fun? This cage is neither safe nor healthy! NEITHER!’
Hannah immediately rigged up her tightrope from the top of Narcissus’ cage to the roof of a caravan, while Billy rushed around the site, grabbing Ernesto, Delia de la Doolah and Vonda van der Venda, Chancey Bris, Bellagio Spigot, Hank, Frank, Jesse, Halle Tosis, Mitzi Schnitzel and the Caapaak family (Empti, Mülti-Störi, Shortstaï, Longstaï and Payandisplaï). Soon, the whole troupe had assembled to see Hannah’s audition.
None of them knew it was an audition. They thought it was just some girl showing off a few amateurish skills, but Billy had physically dragged every one of them to a row of chairs he’d set up in front of the tightrope, so they had little choice but to watch. They weren’t expecting to enjoy themselves, and they certainly weren’t expecting to be impressed by this frankly rather ordinary-looking girl. This left them quite unprepared for Hannah’s display.
She tightrope-walked very nicely, of course, which came as no huge surprise, but when she began to cartwheel, somersault, back-flip, front-flip and side-flip, her audience sat up.
Wanda was not so impressed. She had only a restricted view from inside Narcissus’ cage, but she kept up a constant commentary on Hannah’s show along the lines of, ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing up there? Get down! Get down, right now! No! Not a back-flip! Please, not a back-flip! Where’s your safety harness? Those aren’t . . . surely you’re not going to juggle on the . . . the . . . NO! Don’t light them! What are you doing? That’s very unsafe! That is a naked flame! Three of them! You don’t have a permit for that! You’re going to burn your hands! Your hair could catch fire! Is that . . .? I hope you’re not going to . . . You take that blindfold off right now, young lady, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . . Put down those plates! At once! Are you listening to me? I happen to have considerable expertise in the field of health and safety, and if you think it’s advisable to spin plates while juggling fire, blindfolded on a high wire, you’ve got another thing coming, my girl! You just . . . STOP THAT AT ONCE!’
Circus of Thieves and the Comeback Caper Page 3
