by Jon Berkeley
And so the winter wore on. Lady Partridge’s new orphanage took shape steadily. In the mornings the children were schooled by Lady Partridge herself in what used to be the ballroom. Baltinglass of Araby would make the occasional surprise visit to give them a vigorously shouted geography lesson, filled with crocodiles and canyons and endless oceans of white sand, and afterward he would stomp off to have lunch with his nephew, Radovan, who had adopted Henry once all attempts to trace his family had failed.
In the afternoons the children played in the rambling gardens, and the sound of their laughter, like a genie which had finally been released from the gray bottle of Pinchbucket House, filled the grounds and the rooms of the mansion itself, which the Lardespeople had begun to refer to as “The Real Palace of Laughter.” By night the grand bedrooms of Partridge Manor, filled now with brand-new bunk beds and warmed with real log fires, whispered with the soft breathing and the night sighs of its new occupants, mingled with the purring of the cats who curled up at the childrens’ feet.
In the crisp winter nights Miles would often dream of his father, Barty Fumble, the barrel-chested man with the huge beard and the laugh that could rattle windows. He would see him on a lone horse in the mapless canyons of the South, or sunken-cheeked in an eastern opium den, with nothing for company but a burden of sorrow that none could help him carry. In these dreams Miles came to understand why his father had left him in the orphanage on that distant night. He had lost the wife he loved to a fate he was powerless to control, and the fear that someday this might happen to his son was more than his broken heart could bear. Miles would wake from these dreams with an empty feeling. He knew how it felt to face losing someone he loved, but he longed to tell his father what he had learned himself: that a hundred hours of friendship was worth more than a hundred years with a padlocked heart. Lying in his bed he promised himself that one day soon he would follow his father’s trail and bring him back, man or bones, to the only family he had left, even if that trail led to the gates of hell itself.
As he waited for sleep to return Miles would think over the adventures he and Little had shared. He pictured them riding on the tiger’s back, or crawling through tunnels in a giant clown’s head, almost as if it they had been people in a story. He would look at the sleeping face of Little, her skin still glowing faintly when moonlight touched her, and wonder if she dreamed still of soaring through the magnificent realm in the skies, the world that she had given up to save his life. He would think then of the promise that he had made to the tiger at the end of an orchard on a chilly autumn day, the promise that whatever the future might bring, he would do everything in his power to make her life on earth as magical as the one she had left behind.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, Mary Waugh,
for the peace and quiet of your yellow boat,
and Eunice McMullen
for your masterful hat trick.
The Julie Andrews Collection
encompasses books for young readers of all ages that nurture the imagination and celebrate a sense of wonder.
For more information about
The Julie Andrews Collection, visit
www.julieandrewscollection.com.
Words. Wisdom. Wonder.
Did you like this book? Julie Andrews would love to read your review of THE PALACE OF LAUGHTER, or any of the books in the Julie Andrews Collection. Write to her at:
JULIE ANDREWS
THE JULIE ANDREWS COLLECTION
HARPERCOLLINS CHILDREN’S BOOKS
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NEW YORK, NY 10019
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[email protected]
From time to time we will post reader reviews on the Julie Andrews Collection website. Please include permission to quote your review and include your name and location when you submit it.
Other books you might enjoy in the Julie Andrews Collection:
BLUE WOLF by Catherine Creedon
DRAGON: Hound of Honor by Julie Andrews Edwards
and Emma Walton Hamilton
DUMPY AND THE FIREFIGHTERS by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
DUMPY’S APPLE SHOP by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
DUMPY’S EXTRA-BUSY DAY by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
DUMPY’S HAPPY HOLIDAY by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
DUMPY’S VALENTINE by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
DUMPY TO THE RESCUE! by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
GRATEFUL: A Song of Giving Thanks by John Bucchino,
illustrated by Anna-Liisa Hakkarainen
THE GREAT AMERICAN MOUSICAL by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Tony Walton
THE LAST OF THE REALLY GREAT WHANGDOODLES
by Julie Andrews Edwards
THE LEGEND OF HOLLY CLAUS by Brittney Ryan
THE LITTLE GREY MEN by BB,
illustrated by Denys Watkins-Pitchford
LITTLE KISSES by Jolie Jones,
illustrated by Julie Downing
MANDY by Julie Andrews Edwards
SIMEON’S GIFT by Julie Andrews Edwards and
Emma Walton Hamilton,
illustrated by Gennady Spirin
EXTRAS
THE WEDNESDAY TALES ~ NO. 1
THE PALACE OF LAUGHTER
THE LARDE WEEKLY HERALD
featuring:
An Interview with Jon Berkeley
The History of the Circus
Puzzle Page
A Taste of The Tiger’s Egg
THE LARDE WEEKLY HERALD
Saturday February 30th.
Late edition.
EXCLUSIVE
CHILDREN’S AUTHOR STRETCHES POTATOES
What makes a writer tick? We sent our intrepid reporter, Lily Berkeley O’Reilly, to wind up author Jon Berkeley and find out. This is her interview.
What gave you the idea to write The Palace of Laughter?
The idea for this story started with the name Silverpoint, which popped into my head from somewhere as I was walking the dog one night. If I had known at the time that I would be asked this question several years later I might have paid more attention to where exactly it came from. I pictured a serious-looking boy with a pair of magnificent wings with silver tips, and from there the character of Little appeared as his companion, and Miles as Little’s friend. Once you have a few characters you can throw them in at the deep end, so to speak, and see what happens. It’s a bit like making obstacle courses for ants, but even more fun.
S.-Xaali O’Reilly
Why did you choose the circus as the setting for the bad guys?
When I thought about Silverpoint and Little, and what would happen to them if they fell to Earth, the circus seemed like the kind of place where they might find themselves. It’s a place where you are likely to find mysterious people and unusual creatures. Before I knew it, the Great Cortado had captured Little and Silverpoint, and who else was going to save them but Miles?
Why doesn’t Little go back with Silverpoint?
You might not want to read this answer if you haven’t already read the book!
Little had been warned by Silverpoint that she must never give her real name, or she would be bound to Earth forever. However, she found herself in a situation where singing her name was the only way to save Miles’s life, and that was what she chose to do.
Why did the Pinchbuckets work in an orphanage if they hated children?
It’s true—the Pinchbuckets disliked almost everything about children. The only things they liked about them were that children were small enough to be pushed around, and they could be made to work for n
o money. This still happens in many parts of the world, although hopefully some day it will become a thing of the past, like pantaloons and black-and-white TV.
How many books have you written?
I have written several stories for younger readers. So far only one of those has been published—a book named Chopsticks, about the friendship between a mouse and a dragon. The Palace of Laughter is my first full-length novel, but there are more to come!
Who is your favorite novelist?
That’s a very difficult question to answer. If I had to pick one it would probably be Graham Greene. There are not many writers who can create so much mood and description using so few words.
Have you always been a writer?
I’ve always enjoyed writing. Although I have made my living up to now as an illustrator, I once worked as a film reviewer for a listings magazine in Dublin, which meant that I saw a lot of movies at eleven in the morning. The cinemas were almost empty and the popcorn stands were never open, but the tickets were free and I was paid to write about the film afterward.
How many hours a day do you write?
As many as I can. I have to fit the writing in between my illustration deadlines. Some days I don’t get to write at all, but I try to keep them to a minimum.
Where did you live when you were growing up?
I was born in Dublin, Ireland, and lived there until I was twenty-one. I’m still growing up.
Where did you go to college?
I studied Fine Art in the National College of Art and Design in Dublin. I majored in printmaking and photography, but I also learned a great deal about stretching a bag of potatoes out for the whole week.
How many Wednesday Tales are you planning to write?
There will be three Wednesday Tales. I have some ideas swimming around in the back of my mind for stories I would like to write after that, if I get the opportunity.
* * *
I’ve always enjoyed writing. Although I have made my living up to now as an illustrator.
* * *
HISTORY OF THE CIRCUS
An extraordinary glimpse of circus history was gained this week by the discovery of The Shrunken Man of Kathmandu, a man who claims to have taken part in the first ever London circus performance, put on in 1768 by the father of the modern circus, Philip Astley. Could the mystery entertainer really be over two hundred years old, or is he stark raving bonkers? We sent our reporter, Humphrey Green, to find out.
I caught up with Neptune Dangerfield’s Three Ring Hoopla as they arrived in the town of Nape, where I hoped to interview the Shrunken Man of Kathmandu. I was directed to a small wagon with peeling paint and firmly closed shutters. It was so dark inside the wagon that I could only faintly see the silhouette of a tiny bearded man with a battered top hat. I began by asking him how long he had been a circus performer.
SHRUNKEN MAN: Longer than most, lad. I rode a piebald mare in Philip Astley’s horse show, wearing a smart tricorn hat and a blindfold.
HUMPHREY GREEN: Why were you blindfolded?
SM: I never could stand the light. I was dropped on my head many times as a baby. Slippery little rascal I was, and me poor mother was cursed with weak fingers.
HG: It must require great skill to ride blindfolded.
SM: Skill? I had none of it at the time. I never saw a horse before that day, and I spent more time under it than astride it.
HG: You never saw a horse before?
SM: I don’t get out much.
I could hear rather than see the little man shifting himself in the darkness. The smell inside the wagon was unusual, and it reminded me that the shortest interviews are often the best.
HG: Was that the earliest known circus?
SM: Certainly not! The ancient Romans were great lads for the circus altogether, and it’s said they borrowed the idea from the Greeks and the Egyptians before them. After the Romans fell to drinking and quarrelling with their neighbors, the circuses took to the road. It was the Gypsies who proved best at the traveling shows. From the fourteenth century onward they traveled every lane and highway in Europe with animal shows and horse shenanigans, but that was well before my time.
HG: Have you remained with the circus ever since that first performance?
SM: Who else would have me? I always had itchy feet, so I put many miles behind me over the years, and I worked with some of the greatest circuses in the world.
I was with Antonio Franconi in France, but I fell out with him over a steak and kidney pie and had to leave the country, so I stowed away on a ship for Montreal, and there I joined the Circus of Pepin and Breschard. We toured from Montreal to Havana, building circus theatres everywhere we went.
HG: Why did they build theatres? Didn’t they have circus tents in those days?
SM: Not until I came up with the idea. I joined the circus of Joshua Purdy Brown, and I nailed my thumb to many a plank building theatres for his show. My lodgings were a small tent far from the sensitive nostrils of the ringmaster, and I dreamed one night that the tent grew and grew until it could swallow five hundred people. I woke Mr. Purdy Brown at the crack of dawn and said “What you need is a monstrous tent!” That was in 1825, and they’ve been popular ever since, though Joshua Purdy Brown got all the credit for the idea.
HG: How did you get the name “the Shrunken Man of Kathmandu”?
SM: The famous P. T. Barnum gave me that title. He was the first to add a freakshow to his circus, and that innovation suited me fine. I could sit in my comfortable wagon and folks would pay half a dollar to see me by candlelight. It beat being trodden on by horses and sneezed on by camels, I can tell you. Eventually Barnum’s circus merged with James Anthony Bailey’s, and toured Europe as The Greatest Show on Earth. That was how I came to be back here, and I’ve been with one show or another ever since. Still got the itchy feet, you know.
The Shrunken Man stretched himself in the gloom, extending a hairy foot with thick yellow nails into the small strip of light that sliced in through the half-closed door.
SM: Speaking of which, maybe you could give the old foot a scratch there. I’m not as young as I used to be, and it’s a struggle to reach me own toes these days.
HG: Actually, I can hear someone calling me. My wife is ill at home. I left a pot on the stove. Thank you for your time, Mr. Kathmandu. I’ll see myself out.
PUZZLE PAGE
MILES’S BRAIN TEASER:
Q: If it takes a farmer a year and a half to raise 24 sheep on 4 acres, and a wolf can run at 20 miles per hour for 8 minutes on an empty stomach, how much does the farmer need to spend on fencing wire?
A: Nothing. He can sell the sheep and use the money to put in a vineyard. Wolves don’t eat grapes.
CAN YOU PUT THE NULL BACK IN HIS WAGON?
LADY PARTRIDGE’S JOKE OF THE WEEK:
Q: How many letters in TIGER?
A: Depends how many mail carriers he ate, my dear.
CHESS MASTER CLASS
with THE BOLSILLO BROTHERS:
WHITE: 1. Knight to c3.
BLACK: Pawn to d5.
WHITE: 2. Up to answer door.
BLACK: Bishop to f5.
WHITE: 3. Whose turn is it?
BLACK: Kettle to hob2.
WHITE: 4. Three aces.
BLACK: You can’t have three aces!
WHITE: 5. They used to be bishops.
BLACK: King to lose head.
WHITE: 6. A hotel on Boardwalk.
BLACK: Check mate.
WHITE: 7. Check your own mate. I have a full house.
BLACK: In that case I surrender.
THE WEDNESDAY TALES ~ NO. 2
THE TIGER’S EGG
CHAPTER ONE
A LOOSE CANNON
Along a hospital corridor marched a man on squeaking shoes, dressed in an outsized orderly’s uniform. He had a small round head and pale gray eyes, and he called himself the Great Cortado. Stuck to his upper lip, where his magnificent mustache had been only minutes before, was a tiny square of tis
sue paper with a spot of blood at the center. He was walking quickly toward the hospital entrance, away from the room where he had spent the past three months under lock and key. The room was locked again now, and the key was in his pocket. The uniform he wore belonged to the real hospital orderly, who lay unconscious on the floor of the locked room, his wrists and ankles tied with strips of torn bedsheet. The orderly had been hit over the head with a heavy steel tray, and would not be waking up anytime soon.
The Great Cortado squeaked through the reception area, past the desk where the night doorman sat reading his paper. The doorman looked up and frowned. “Knocking off early?” he said, glancing at his watch. “Shift doesn’t end till four.”
