Skycircus

by Peter Bunzl

  “They did. And now they’re destined to bring you trouble too, ma petite.” She leaned in until the stench of her perfume was almost unbearable. “Let me explain something…and I’m only telling you this because you will never ever leave this place. Those papers contained valuable information about the Cogheart. They would’ve recompensed me for the hours I worked looking after you for pathetic pay.” Her voice hardened. “It’s a pity we couldn’t sell them, but we risked arrest. They were stamped with the Hartman Silverfish Corporation logo, you see, and your father had offered a reward for their safe return.”

  “By ‘we’, I take it you mean yourself and Mr Sunder?” Lily said. “Whatever happened to him?”

  “That useless fool!” Madame sneered. “He refused to cooperate with my schemes. Threatened to go to the gendarmeries – the police. But I had him disposed of. My friend Slimwood saw to it.”

  Robert couldn’t believe his ears. He glanced up at Slimwood, who gave a loud guffaw, revealing his mouthful of flashing gold teeth.

  “Sunder was an idiot!” Slimwood said. “We sure did a number on him, didn’t we, Hortense? It’s how we deal with anyone – inside or outside the circus – who doesn’t agree with us.” He ran a finger slowly across Robert’s neck. “Same way we’ll get rid of you, if you give us any trouble.”

  “At first I was going to use the papers for blackmail,” Madame continued, “but when your papa put the word out against me I couldn’t even ditch them on the black market.” She tutted, as if her thieving and the subsequent fallout had all been just a minor inconvenience. “Then Slimwood said he knew someone – an old friend – making illegal hybrids and we thought the papers might interest them.”

  “Who?” Lily asked.

  “A certain doctor who was only interested if I could provide you as part of the deal. And so I came up with the kidnap plan. A perfect crime as it means I get my revenge on you too.”

  “What doctor?” Lily demanded. “What do they want?”

  “All in good time, ma petite,” Madame said. “First, we visit Room Thirteen.”

  She hustled Lily and Malkin out of the loading bay, Lily twisting desperately to look back over her shoulder at Robert as she was dragged away.

  Robert moved to follow them, but Slimwood’s grip didn’t waver.

  “No, boy. You’re with me. And if I have anything to do with it, you’ll not be seeing your friends again for a while.”

  Robert clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms, trying to swallow down the knot of anxiety as he listened to Malkin, Lily and Madame’s footsteps echo away down the cargo ramp. Room Thirteen – where was that? What did it mean? And how, by all that ticked, was he going to get them out?

  Lily clutched her coat close around her as Madame pushed her and Malkin out of the gondola and marched them along its side through a short stretch of scrubby grass.

  Madame, Lily realized, had plans for her and Malkin, but Robert seemed surplus to requirement. She tried very hard not to worry about what might happen to him left alone in the cargo bay with Slimwood – there was no way she or Malkin could help him right now. All she could do was examine their surroundings – if they wanted to attempt an escape, she needed to recall every landmark.

  The men who’d chased them last night were busily erecting the site’s high, circular perimeter fence. The kiosk and spike-topped gates set into it were being locked tight. Lily was starting to think that the whole set-up was not just to keep gatecrashers and busybodies out, but also to keep the performers in.

  They arrived at another door-hatch on the port side of the grounded sky-ship. Madame opened it and shoved them inside, into a stairwell. Malkin bristled with anger, and growled through his teeth, but there was little he could do from within the muzzle. Lily put a calming hand on his head and looked about.

  What little light there was came from electric lamps that ran along the walls, pulsing in a vague rhythm that matched her stuttering heartbeat.

  “This way,” Madame said and they followed her up a set of steps.

  The end of Lily’s tiger-striped scarf dragged behind her. She thought about tying a loose thread from it to the bannister, like Ariadne, so she could find her way back.

  They reached the next landing and Madame forced them along a narrow, labyrinthine passage filled with numbered, closed cells.

  They came to a padlocked, barred gate that spanned the width of the passageway. Beyond it stood a single door. It looked heavier than the others and was studded with rivets. Two large bolts secured a hatch in its centre that was stencilled with the number:

  “Voilà, salle treize. Unlucky for some. Or in this case, you, Lily.” Madame took a ring of keys from a hook on her belt and flicked through them until she found one that fitted the padlock. She opened it and hustled Lily and Malkin through the gate, locking it behind her. “Now empty your pockets. I want everything, including the red notebook.”

  Lily made a show of searching through her coat and the pockets of her dress. She didn’t want to give Madame Mama’s notebook. If only there was something else she could hand over instead… Then she found Malkin’s birthday present.

  “This is all I have,” she said, grasping the deceased mouse in her fist and holding it out.

  “Donnez-le moi. Give it to me.”

  Madame opened her palm and Lily dropped the dead rodent into it.

  She expected at least a scream, but the woman merely tutted and threw the mouse away.

  “The rest, s’il vous plaît,” Madame commanded.

  “There’s nothing else,” Lily replied.

  “Liar, menteur!” Madame grasped her arm and pushed her coat aside, patting her down. When she felt the red notebook nestled against Lily’s back, she gave a victorious cry of delight. “Voilà! Here it is!”

  Madame tussled the book free, but Lily was having none of it. She shot out her hand and clasped it by the pages.

  “That’s mine,” she said through gritted teeth. “You may have stolen it from Papa, but you’re not stealing it from me.”

  “We shall see.”

  Madame pulled sharply at the spine and there was a horrible ripping sound. The clump of pages Lily was clutching tore from the binding and crumpled in her hand.

  “Now look,” Madame said. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good book.” She flicked through the remainder of it. “I imagine you’ve read some. How did you find it? I must tell you, I thought your mother’s writing rather dull – très ennuyeux! Perhaps the loss isn’t so great after all.”

  Lily’s eyes narrowed. She clutched the crushed papers in her fist and bit her tongue to stop her tears.

  She half-expected Madame might try and prise the torn section from her fingers, but the woman was obviously bored of the whole confrontation, for she snapped the book closed and waved Lily away with a flick of her wrist. “Keep those scraps. I shouldn’t imagine they contain anything of value. Consider it a consolation prize.

  “Alors…” She found the key to Room Thirteen and inserted it into the lock. Pushing the door open, she shoved Malkin and Lily inside, and then with a heavy CLUNK! the door slammed shut behind them.

  Afterwards there was just the click of the lock, the clang of the padlock on the gate, then Madame’s footsteps walking away.

  Lily sank to the floor, blind with rage, and laid the torn sheaf of papers across her lap, smoothing each leaf flat and trying to calm the ball of anger inside. It was only a book – it shouldn’t hurt so badly. But, at this moment, it felt like the largest pain there was – as if Madame had ripped Mama from her, pulled the pieces of the past apart and stood there sneering. Now Lily would never be able to finish reading Mama’s story.

  “She destroyed it, Malkin,” she gasped, tears blurring her vision.

  Malkin gave a soft wheezy yap in reply.

  Lily glanced down to see he was still wearing the muzzle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”

  She pulled him to her chest and released the buckle from the
back of his head. “How are you feeling anyway?”

  The fox licked the teardrops from her face with a dry tongue. “Oh, just tickety-boo! That was some welcome from your old friend.”

  “She’s no friend of mine.” Lily gave a loud, sorrowful sniff. “Malkin, we have to get out of here! You need to help me make a plan.”

  She brushed the tears from her face with shaking fingers and took in Room Thirteen.

  It was a windowless, four-berth cabin with thick metal walls. What little light there was came from a blinking electric bulb set into the ceiling. A small table stood at the centre of the room, a rickety-looking chair pushed underneath it. In the corner was an old tin bucket and a vanity screen, painted with stars, against which leaned a walking stick.

  “What is all this stuff?” Lily asked. She half-expected another sarcastic reply, but Malkin had gone quiet.

  “Don’t look now,” he whispered at last, “but I think we’re surrounded.”

  And, with a curdling sense of unease, Lily realized he was right.

  “Take off that coat and penguin suit!” Slimwood commanded, jamming Robert’s arm even higher up behind his back, until his nerves jangled with pain. “You look like you’re about to go on in a magic revue.”

  “What should I wear then?” Robert replied, grinding his jaw with a low whimper.

  Slimwood let go of his arm and tossed him the laundry sack he’d been carrying. “There’s clothes in there.”

  “You want me to change in front of all these folk?” Robert asked, for by now the cargo bay was swarming with people, flooding up and down the loading ramp like ants.

  “Yes.” Slimwood gave him a stinging swipe round the ear that knocked his cap off his head. “We’ve rules around here and the first is don’t talk back.” He folded his arms and turned away.

  Robert emptied the contents of the laundry bag onto the floor, and started to undress. His heart wrenched as he took off his da’s coat – it was the only thing he had of his, but he hadn’t lost it yet and whatever happened he would get it back. This he vowed.

  He folded the coat carefully and put it in the bag then he started to remove his shoes and socks. He could’ve sworn Slimwood had said that there were no rules in the circus, but that had been the jovial ringmaster in the show. This Slimwood was different – far more unpleasant. It seemed as if his charm was something he could turn on and off at will, like a water tap.

  As Robert unbuttoned his shirt cold air drifted in from outside the cargo bay, pinching at his skin, but his ears burned and he felt only hot with embarrassment. Beneath his vest, the Moonlocket glinted against his breastbone. He turned away to hide it from view, but it was too late – Slimwood had seen it.

  “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” he said grabbing it. “It looks rather valuable.” Robert felt a spike of anguish as Slimwood yanked the locket away from his neck. Careful! he wanted to shout, but the clasp on the chain had snapped.

  The locket came loose in Slimwood’s hand and the ringmaster examined it before putting it in his pocket. “The second rule is no jewellery. And the third rule is anything contraband you thought belonged to you, now belongs to me.”

  Robert felt sick. It was the only thing he had of his ma’s. A handful of men and women in linen shirts and thick woollen breeches spattered with mud bustled behind him, ignoring this injustice. Together they worked to remove the wheel-blocks from beneath the carnivores’ cage and wheel it out.

  Robert took off his trousers and stood there in his cotton vest and woollen drawers. More people arrived. They pulled heavy bags and boxes from the shelves and carried them down the ramp on their shoulders. None of them looked him in the eye.

  In the far corner of the horse stall, a boy and a girl were tending to the two stallions. Robert recognized them from the show as Silva Buttons the gymnast, and Dimitri, the youngest horseman of the apocalypse.

  Silva wore a red spotted neckerchief and Dimitri sported leather riding boots. He didn’t look apocalyptic today, more run-down and tired, which was how Robert felt too. Dimitri stroked the horses’ manes and whispered to them softly, while Silva brought them water in a bucket, all the while glancing sidelong at Robert. When she noticed Slimwood, she tried to look twice as busy as she already was.

  “Don’t dawdle, boy!” Slimwood snapped at Robert. “Get on with it!”

  Robert picked up the clothes from the bag. They looked the same brown and grey colours as everybody else’s and smelled of dirt and damp. When he climbed into the trousers, their coarse material itched against his skin.

  He buttoned up his rough shirt. He missed the cold feel of the Moonlocket against his skin. He folded the last of his clothes neatly and put them in the laundry bag.

  “And the cap,” Slimwood said. “You won’t be needing that again where you’re going. It’s a smart cap for a smart boy, and stupid’s more your style.” Slimwood laughed at his own joke, his gold teeth flashing once more.

  With a heavy heart, Robert did as he was told. His cap was like an extra limb to him.

  When he was done, Slimwood seized the bag from him and threw it into a basket in the corner, piled high with identical sacks. Then he took Robert by the elbow and steered him down the cargo ramp.

  Outside, the morning sun was warming the last of the dew from the grass of a scrubby clearing surrounded by a spiked fence. It didn’t look anything like Robert had imagined Paris.

  Some of the circus folk – the bigger, burlier men who’d chased them last night – were busy with sledgehammers, driving stakes into the ground in a big circle. Others – people from the show – were sorting through the bags and trunks, bringing out rolls of canvas. Slimwood watched their progress proprietorially. Anyone slow in their work got a lash from his whip.

  “You’ll help set the site today,” he told Robert, as they skirted a figure struggling to unwind a big ball of guy rope. “Mostly you’ll assist in putting up the Big Top. It needs to be erected by evening so we can start rehearsals for the new show tomorrow. Understand?”

  “I—” Robert said.

  “Good.” Slimwood dug his fingers into Robert’s elbow and Robert winced in pain. “Everyone here gets three chances.” He led Robert away from the busy crew, off round the front of the sky-ship, past the wooden angel figurehead. “For your back-chat earlier and your hiding of valuables, you’re down two strikes, but work hard, don’t ask questions or play games, and we’ll get along fine. Run, hide, stir up shady activity or incite trouble in my crew and I’ll have your guts for garters. And I don’t mean that metaphorically.”

  He pointed out a row of items hung from hooks on the gondola’s starboard side. “See those? What do you think they are?”

  Robert shook his head. He’d no idea. He stared at the things. There was an old battered clown hat with its pom-poms missing, a burned-looking spangled leotard, a set of stirrups, five juggling clubs on a rope, which jangled together in the wind, and what seemed to be a human thigh bone and a wrinkled elephant’s foot.

  Slimwood slapped this last item with a palm. “They’re mementos,” he explained. “Relics and trophies of troublemakers past. Circus acts who mysteriously disappeared.” He sniggered to himself. “I keep them to remind my crew who’s boss, and what happens to any blackguard who crosses me.”

  Robert felt sick. He stared fearfully up at the line of grim remains. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to end up like those poor souls. He had to find Lily and Malkin as soon as he could, and escape.

  “Remember,” Slimwood said, escorting him back round to the busy side of the gondola, “you’ve only one strike left. I’m a fair master, in the ring and out. Too fair, Madame says – but that’s my way. You know the rules, so if – and when – the crunch comes, you can’t say you weren’t warned.”

  He paused and let Robert digest that last bit of information. Robert imagined he’d made this vile speech a thousand times before.

  “The Lunk’ll be along in a minute to assign you your chores. I s
uggest you do as he says.” Then Slimwood stalked off to shout at someone who wasn’t banging stakes in to his liking.

  Robert remained in the shadow of the Skycircus gondola. He was hollow inside, and his skin felt as thin as eggshell, as if, any second now, it might crack open and an overwhelming feeling of fear would come flooding out.

  He wished he hadn’t lost his ma’s locket. At least he had the rest of his things. He shoved his hands in his pockets and realized with horror that his penknife and pencil and the lock picks were all missing. How could he be so stupid? He’d left them in his da’s jacket, in a laundry bag along with a dozen or more identical others, somewhere in the hold. How could he possibly find Lily and Malkin and get them out now?

  Lily’s legs shook beneath her as she stared into the dark recesses of Room Thirteen. “I can’t see anyone,” she whispered nervously.

  “They’re in here somewhere,” Malkin replied.

  She took a few steps forward, peering into each of the four berths in turn.

  Malkin was right. Though the first bunk was unoccupied save for some folded bedding, the other three were most definitely not!

  A set of worried eyes shone out from each of them, three figures staring from beneath their blankets – they must’ve hidden when they’d heard Madame bringing her and Malkin along the passage. What were they so frightened of that they had to conceal themselves in their beds?

  Lily and Malkin waited in silence, not knowing what to say, until finally a soft girlish voice from the top left-hand bunk spoke.

  “Who’s that girl in the tiger-striped scarf, Luca? She’s not one of us.”

  “No,” came the gruff answer from the bunk beneath. “She’s most certainly not. And neither is her scruffy orange dog.”

  Then Luca the Lobster Boy threw off his blanket and jumped to the floor, clacking his metal claws together.

  “Had a good look, have you?” he jeered, lurching towards her. “Come to stare at the freaks?”

  Malkin growled and stood before her, but Lily couldn’t tear her eyes from Luca’s great claws. She recalled what the ringmaster had said about them: “His gruesome appendages can cut through steel like paper. Don’t get too close or anger him, ladies and gents, for he can tear off your nose with a single snap!”