Fingers shuffled into the ring, where he was greeted not by the usual cheers and smiles, but by a barrage of angry noise.
‘Thank you very much, there, to our new clown . . . Zongo, who was trying out some experimental material. So – sorry about that. But now, back to the show! I’m Fingers O’Boyle, and I’d like you to welcome onto the stage my troupe of thieving monkeys!’
At this point in the performance, the audience usually did what was asked, and welcomed on stage the thieving monkeys. This time, the greeting was different.
‘WE’VE HAD ENOUGH THIEVING ALREADY!’
‘WE WANT OUR MONEY BACK!’
‘THIS IS THE WORST CIRCUS I’VE EVER SEEN!’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. And here they are: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Cuddlecakes!’
The monkeys came on stage, took one look at the angry audience, and ran off again.
‘Monday! Tuesday! Come back!’ begged Fingers. ‘Cuddlecakes! Don’t leave! Please!’
‘GET OFF!’
‘RUBBISH!’
‘YOU’RE EVEN WORSE THAN THE LAST ACT!’
‘MY DAUGHTER’S BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS FOR MONTHS, NOW SHE’S IN TEARS! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF.’
‘WHAT A RIP-OFF!’
Fingers was a man blessed with great panache and confidence, but we all have our limits. Every drop of self-assurance drained out him, and the only thing he wanted now was to save himself further humiliation and get off that stage.
He ran out of the ring so fast that he bumped straight into Maurice, which of course bounced him right back into the ring, flat on his bum. This got a small laugh from the audience, but not the kind of laugh a performer wants.
He got back to his feet and scurried away.
‘I think the show’s over,’ Maurice said to Irrrrena, his face white with dread.
‘One last try,’ she said. ‘My mother taught me never to give up. And how to make lemon drizzle cake. That was about it. Now let’s go.’
Irrrrena pushed Maurice into the ring, then pranced out confidently, somersaulting, cartwheeling and back-flipping.
Maurice’s circus instincts kicked in, and his king-of-all-prances led him to centre stage, where he plucked a hand-springing Irrrrena from mid-air and held her standing upright in one raised palm. His muscles bulged and quivered, and the audience quietened down a little.
‘AT LEAST YOU CAN DO SOMETHING.’
‘YOU’RE GOOD, BUT WE STILL WANT OUR MONEY BACK!’
‘HOW DID HE GET SO SHINY?’
By the time the canary choir was on stage singing the ‘Marseillaise’, the audience had stopped heckling.
But they still wanted a refund.
The chapter so short it doesn’t deserve a title
AND WHERE WERE HANNAH AND BILLY all this time? Still hunting for Armitage?
Why am I asking you? If I don’t know, how are you supposed to know?
What’s happened? We need an author, here, who has some idea of what’s going on. Get a grip!
Right. Yes – Hannah and Billy were still on the hunt for their thieving nemesis, but not very effectively, since they had no idea where he was.
‘Where are we going?’ gasped Hannah, who was still out of breath from her tightrope act (and from almost falling to her doooom (and from her moment of mystical communion with her trapeze-artist birth mother (you’re not really allowed to do this with brackets but I don’t care (I like brackets (sometimes))))).
‘To stop Armitage.’
‘Stop him doing what?’
‘Stealing.’
‘Stealing what?’
‘Anything.’
‘But where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So why are we running?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Billy, without slowing down.
‘Shall we stop?’
‘Why?’
‘Because we don’t know where we’re going.’
‘Then we should keep running, because we’ll be able to rule out all the wrong places to look quicker than if we walk.’
‘WAIT!’ said Hannah, grabbing Billy’s arm. ‘Listen.’
Billy listened.
They heard a noise that sounded like a cross between a song and a circular saw cutting through metal, followed by the unmistakable sound of an audience booing.
‘What is that?’ said Billy.
‘I think it’s somebody doing some metalwork.’
‘I reminds me of a record Armitage used to play by a guy called Bung Crosby. I think it might be somebody trying to sing one of his songs. It sounds a bit like Armitage, but even worse.’
‘I’ve thought of a plan!’ said Hannah. ‘Even if we can’t find Armitage, we can stop him getting away.’
‘How?’
‘The enormous lorry! We can siphon off the petrol.’
‘That’s genius,’ said Billy.
‘Except that I don’t know how to do it.’
‘I do. It’s easy. Armitage taught me when I was about three. He always said that after walking and talking, siphoning petrol is one of life’s most important skills.’
‘Great! Let’s do it,’ said Hannah, turning and running in the direction of the enormous lorry.
Wanda, meanwhile, having come round from her last faint just in time to see Hannah descend safely to the ground, was finally enjoying the circus. Watching Ernesto, the man her sister had married, leap, bound, spring, float and fly around the stage, dressed in an admirably figure-hugging outfit, Wanda appreciated, for the first time, the appeal of this kind of entertainment. She also understood, at long last, why her sister had wanted to run away from a safe and healthy house to the risky and dangerous environment of the circus. Because this man was, quite simply, magnificent.
Wanda always thought her sister had been crazy to run away. Now she thought maybe she’d been crazy to stay at home. Wendy’s life may have been short, but she’d really lived. Wanda’s life had been long, but . . . well . . . predictable.
The strange mixture of enjoyment, regret, wonder, grief, fondness, jealousy, admiration, relief and yearning coursing through Wanda’s heart left her so confused that, by the end of Ernesto’s act, she couldn’t even tell if she was happy or sad. The truth is, she was both at once.
It can be useful to smell of rotten fish
WE HAVEN’T SEEN ARMITAGE FOR A while, have we? Can you guess what kind of mood he was in? Of course you can: stinky. And can you remember how he was smelling? Of course you can: stinky. And can you think of a word that rhymes with pinkie? Of course you c—
STOP THAT NONSENSE! THERE’S A STORY GOING ON HERE!
OK. Where were we?
Armitage had just exploded a booby-trapped safe and was covered in rotten squid ink, which, unbeknownst29 to him, had been sent especially for this purpose straight from Queenie Bombazine’s new aquarium. He was not a happy ringmaster. But suddenly – KERCHING! – a dastardly glint glinted glintily out from the two devious, criminal eyes which were the only un-inked parts of his dark, squiddy face.
Armitage had formulated a plan. This hideous smell crawling up his nostrils reminded him of something.
It reminded him of taramasalata.
Which reminded him of Narcissus.
Which gave him an idea.
Armitage stopped stomping (which is how he walked when he was in a sulk) and began to tiptoe (which is how he walked when he was burglarising). He tiptoed in the direction of a certain cage, containing a certain camel, who was at that moment wondering why he hadn’t been led on stage for the Circus Extreme finale. But when Narcissus’ nostrils began to pick up the exquisite scent of rotten squid ink, he immediately stopped thinking about the strangeness of his omission from the performance. Every one of his brain cells diverted to his favourite topic: seafood.
Narcissus was extremely surprised by what then came into view. Not a large platter of taramasalata. Not even a small platter of taramasalata or any other m
arine delicacy, but a man covered in squid juice. A man he recognised as his former owner. A man he did not like one little bit.
Until now.
Now Narcissus liked the look of Armitage very much indeed. In fact, he was immediately overwhelmed by the desire to lick him all over. He had never before wanted to lick any human as much as he now wanted to lick this man.
Armitage rapidly picked the lock on Narcissus’ cage. Narcissus then hurried out and began to lick. Oh, boy, was this squid ink gorgeous. Ripe, mature, fruity, with subtle woody notes of citrus and bergamot and a quite exquisite honk of off fish. Deeeeeelicious.
Armitage did not enjoy the experience quite so much. As a rule, he tried to avoid camel goo and now he was getting caked in the stuff, which is like smearing yourself in rancid lard. It was also the most ticklish experience of his entire life and Armitage, you won’t be surprised to hear, did not like being tickled.
But it was worth it. Because this was all part of his plan.
‘Come on, boy,’ said Armitage. ‘Follow me. Come on.’
Narcissus didn’t hear a word Armitage said, because his entire brain was flooded with the message, ‘SQUID! SQUID! SQUID! SQUID! SQUID! SQUID! SQUID!’
But that doesn’t mean he failed to follow, because wherever Armitage and his gourmet topping went, Narcissus was going, too.
Where was Armitage going?
To his enormous lorry, of course.
Why?
Kidnap!
Yes, this was Armitage’s new plan. He was going to lure Narcissus into his enormous lorry and kidnap him. Camelnap him. For a ransom.
Revenge! And theft! And money! Three of Armitage’s favourite things, all wrapped up in a parcel of heavenly deviousness!
Getting covered from head to toe in camel goo wasn’t exactly fun, but with three pros and only one con, this counted as a top-notch plan – a plan he felt sure couldn’t possibly fail.
When Armitage got to his enormous lorry, for a moment he thought he glimpsed something suspicious. Two children running away from somewhere near the fuel tank, holding something that looked like a length of rubber tubing. But since Narcissus was at that moment licking Armitage’s face, he couldn’t be quite sure, because mostly he just saw a rubbery, inky camel tongue.
During a momentary gap between laps, Armitage thought he saw another strange thing. He thought he glimpsed four men climbing into the cabin of his lorry, but that seemed unlikely. One of them looked as if he was wearing a ringmaster’s jacket and no trousers. He also looked strangely familiar. There was something he recognised about that long moustache and those hideous teeth.
But only a criminal mastermind would know how to pick the enormous locks on the enormous doors of his enormous lorry, and only a ringmaster would walk around in a ringmaster’s jacket, and since Armitage was right there, what were the chances that another ringmaster-cum-criminal-mastermind with a long moustache and hideous teeth would be at the same spot at the same time? Pretty much zero.
Armitage concluded that the goo fumes must be going to his head. He was clearly hallucinating.
Just as Armitage was coaxing Narcissus through the back doors of the lorry by offering him a particularly squiddy armpit, the vehicle jerked into motion.
Armitage fell out.
Narcissus fell out.
On top of Armitage.
You don’t need to have personal experience of a camel landing on top of you to be able to guess what this felt like.
Here is a clue: sore. Very sore. Certainly sore enough to dispel the idea that anything you are experiencing might be a hallucination.
Armitage looked up at Narcissus, howled in pain, and revised his theory that another ringmaster-cum-criminal-mastermind with a long moustache and hideous teeth couldn’t be at the same spot at the same time.
It was clear that he really had seen the person he thought he might have seen. And thinking back, he realised he recognised that long moustache and those hideous teeth and that pair of hairy knees. He knew who it was!
Armitage had no idea why this person was dressed as a trouserless ringmaster, but he knew for certain who he’d seen climbing into his lorry.
It was his brother!
Zachary!
His long-lost twin!
His sibling and deadly rival!
Zachary was BACK!
And he had stolen the enormous lorry!
Which he’d been trying to do for Armitage’s WHOLE LIFE!
And now he’d done it!
Not a tiny enormous lorry, but the enormous enormous lorry!
Lying there, squashed into Hockney Marshes by the full weight of a dromedary, smeared in a cocktail of camel goo and rancid squid ink, having just committed a failed burglary and a failed camelnap, after which his most hated enemy had stolen his most beloved vehicle, Armitage admitted to himself that his plan not gone to plan. Neither of his plans had gone to plan. Both of them, in fact, had been quite disastrous.
The only positive thought in Armitage’s head was that at least the day couldn’t get any worse.
‘Pffffffffffffffffffffp,’ said Narcissus, and not with his mouth, producing an odour that proved Armitage’s last idea very wrong indeed.
Armitage and Narcissus get into an unusual argument
NO SOONER HAD HANNAH AND BILLY done their siphoning than the enormous lorry roared off. Hannah stared in disbelief. Had Armitage got into the lorry without them noticing? And how had he driven away without any fuel?
‘I thought we siphoned off the petrol!’
‘There’s probably a little bit left in the engine,’ said Billy. ‘He won’t get far.’
‘Should we follow him?’
‘Maybe we should. Hang on. What’s that?’
Billy pointed to a camel-shaped lump that was now visible just behind where the enormous lorry had been parked.
The camel-shaped lump stood up. It was a camel. It was Narcissus.
A human-shaped lump lay groaning on the ground.
Narcissus began to lick the human-shaped lump.
The human-shaped lump stood up. It was Armitage.
‘GET OFF!’ yelled Armitage. ‘GET OFF ME, YOU HORRIBLE CAMEL. I’VE HAD ENOUGH. STOP LICKING ME.’
Narcissus carried on licking Armitage.
‘GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF!’
Armitage walked away. Narcissus followed, still licking.
Armitage broke into a run. Narcissus broke into a run. Still licking.
Armitage began to sprint in circles, shouting, ‘LEAVE ME ALONE! GO AWAY! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!’
Narcissus began to sprint in circles, still licking.
‘What’s going on?’ said Hannah.
‘I have no idea.’
‘If that’s Armitage, who was driving the enormous lorry?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Why is Narcissus chasing him?’
‘No idea.’
‘And licking him.’
‘No idea.’
‘Is that a sign of affection?’
‘No, it’s a sign of eating.’
‘We should call the police. This is the best chance they’ll ever get to catch Armitage. He’s just blown up a safe, he’s got no getaway lorry, and he’s distracted by a rampaging camel.’
‘You’re right. Let’s do it.’
‘I think he’s finally going to be caught,’ said Hannah. ‘This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.’
Zachary goes to plan B
AS THE ENORMOUS LORRY ROARED away, Zachary glimpsed something strange in the rear-view mirror. He saw his brother running round in circles, being chased by a camel who seemed to have mistaken him for a walking lollipop.
Zachary had hoped that Armitage would return to his caravan after the safe-cracking excursion, where he would be mobbed by angry audience members demanding their money back, and hopefully robbing him of all his robbings. This plan clearly hadn’t worked, since Armitage was at that moment nowhere near his caravan, and doing something very d
ifferent from being attacked by a disgruntled audience. Being attacked by a disgruntled camel was probably equally unpleasant, but this was a long way from Zachary’s original scheme.
Then an idea struck him – a plan B – a way to make sure Armitage didn’t get away with the contents of that safe.
He took out his phone and dialled the number of Ewan Hoozarmy, the retired boxer who worked for Zachary as an occasional bodyguard, enforcer and tough guy.
‘Ewan!’ he said. ‘I got a job for you. Put on a fake police uniform and head for Hockney Marshes. You’ll see two Big Tops. Near there is a bloke who looks exactly like me, but isn’t me. Arrest him, put him in the van and bring him to my HQ. Got it?’
‘OK. Will do, boss,’ said Ewan. ‘No! Wait!’
‘What is it?’
‘What does HQ stand for again? Wait! I know! Hooting Queens! No, Hazelnut Quisling! No, Hamburger Quango! No, Humpback Quilter!’
‘Headquarters.’
‘That’s one word. That should just be ‘H’.’
‘You’re getting side-tracked. Have you got the job clear? Can you do it?’
‘Yes, boss. Dress as a policeman. Arrest a man who looks like you. Take him to your hindquarters.’
‘Headquarters.’
‘Headquarters. Got it. I’ll be right there as soon as I’ve finished washing up these spoons.’30
‘Did you say spoons?’31
‘I did. I’m washing them up.’
‘Interesting. Now hurry. There’s no time to waste.’
Zachary hung up, pleased with his plan, but not entirely confident in the skills of Ewan Hoozarmy. He was a vague man at the best of times, and seemed to be in rather an unfocused frame of mind. Too many blows to the head can do that to you. Not that Ewan had ever been the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer.
But Zachary had given him the job now. He’d just have to hole up at HQ and hope for the best.
Circus of Thieves and the Comeback Caper Page 7
