by Peter Bunzl
“Are you ready?” Angelique asked Lily.
Lily nodded. Then Angelique picked her up and flapped her wings, and soon they were rising, soaring up the side of the Eiffel Tower. Lily felt herself slipping, but Angelique grasped her tighter, her grip sure and confident.
Lily glimpsed Notre-Dame with its crazy ribs and spiked spire, and the Seine curving like an eel past the Louvre, and the manicured Jardin des Tuileries, where the paths were laid out in patterns as complicated as a board game.
Angelique flapped her wings and whooshed them higher, and the view of the tower’s metal girders ran together in the sky like some kind of aerial railway junction as they sped towards its very tip.
A crowd of people waiting on the platform watched with open mouths as they circled around, sweeping in over the clustered zeppelins and balloons. They touched down lightly in the centre of the platform just as the lift doors opened with a ping and the other circus children stepped out, along with Robert, Malkin, Papa, Anna and Tolly, who were ready to board the airship Ladybird for England.
Since their return from Paris a week earlier, the autumn nights were turning inky and the days had a scent of wet fallen leaves about them.
Lily sat in the old armchair in the tower room of Brackenbridge Manor with her feet up on the steamer trunk, staring out the east window.
Half-bare trees filled the landscape. Their branches were a patchwork of sparse yellow and russet foliage, like the last fading thoughts of a summer long gone. She put a hand to her chest and could feel the wealth of life running through her with every tick of the Cogheart. The weight of it, and the truths it had led her to tell, made her wonder where things would go from here.
She picked up her new notebook and ran her fingers across the ammonite on its front cover before turning to the first fresh page, which crackled in protest.
She took the cap off her fountain pen, and in the middle of the page printed three letters:
For Lily Rose Hartman.
At the top of the next creamy slice of blank paper, in her own strong round handwriting, she wrote the date.
After that, she had no idea what to write. She glanced out of the window, and thought about Papa, Robert and Malkin, Tolly and Anna, then all her friends in the circus, and everything that had come to pass since she was last here.
Life had changed from the moment they got back. The article Anna had written for The Daily Cog and the others that had appeared in the French papers about her had blown things up in a massive way. Since then, every other newspaper in Britain had taken up her story. Journalists had come daily and rung on the doorbell at all hours, wanting to speak to her about the Cogheart and Papa and Mama and the other hybrids. She was so famous now, people looked at her differently in the street.
At least at home things were quiet. In the rose garden she could see Captain Springer with his rake, collecting up the leaves, and Papa walking across the gravel path to speak with him.
She watched them for a moment, thinking of nothing much, letting her worries fade away, and then a cough echoed behind her.
Lily turned from the window to see Robert and Malkin coming up the stairs.
“What’re you doing up here?” Robert asked.
“Thinking,” Lily replied. “D’you want to know why? Because I’ve no idea what to write in my new notebook.”
“What exactly is the problem?” Malkin said, settling down at her feet like a furry rug.
“Well,” Lily said, “I’m not sure if I want to write about the past…or the strange things that have been happening since our return. I’m not even sure I want to write about the future.”
“Then don’t write about any of that,” Robert said. “Write what your dreams are. What you wish for.”
He sat down on the edge of the chair beside her, and Lily suddenly saw how different he was to the boy she’d first known. He was taller, braver, more hopeful. And he was beginning to hold himself like a man.
“What do you wish for?” she said.
He thought about it for a moment. No one had ever asked him that before.
“When I was little,” he told her at last, “I wished I could be anything other than who I was. Anything other than the clockmaker’s apprentice Da wanted me to be. I used to fantasize about running away, signing up as a cabin boy with air-pirates, or joining a circus.”
Lily smiled at that one.
“It’s true,” he said. “Back then I’d a notion I wanted adventure. But now I’ve had a few, I’ve realized something about them…”
“What’s that?” Lily asked.
“They can be overrated.”
She laughed. “I quite like them,” she said. “Even when they go badly, somehow I always feel that there’s time to save things and turn them around.”
“I suppose so,” he sighed. “But at home, you’ve the people you love around you. Or at least,” he said, thinking of his da, “you have a piece of their memory in the places and things that remind you of them.” Robert touched the repaired Moonlocket around his neck. “But out on an adventure you don’t have those things, and there are days when you feel so alone.”
“You’re right,” Lily said. “Sometimes I feel the past is too heavy. That the wounds never fully disappear – they may fade over time and heal, but the evidence of them is still there, like old scars.”
“That’s how you know you’re strong,” Robert said. “Those scars are the healing; the reminder that you survived and that you’re powerful.”
He glanced at Lily. She seemed – almost in the last week – to have grown into someone quite altered from the girl he’d first known, with her bluff and bravado – that old bravery on the outside that had covered the fear beneath of a little girl lost. This new Lily was not like that. She seemed clear and open, truly confident.
“Your scars, Lily, are the map of your past and the key to the future. A future where you can fly high. And you were born to do that, I know it! To be spectacular and unique. To be who you’re meant to be.” He put his arm around her. “Remember, you’re not alone. You never were. And no matter what happens, as long as I’m around, as long as we’re friends, then you never will be.”
“Is that a promise?”
“I think it might be.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Cross my heart and hope to live!”
He took her hand, and squeezed it, until he could feel the tick of her heart, soft as a chronometer, her pulse reverberating with his own.
“Go on then,” he said. “Write something.”
Robert was right, Lily realized, she should write about her dreams and aspirations, what she wished for in the future. But to begin with, she would say a little about who she was.
She took up her pen and began.
The words, which had seemed small when she’d thought them, looked bigger on the page, and the truth they contained seemed so large it filled her heart with unparalleled joy:
A glossary of words which may be uncommon to the reader
Automaton: a self-operating mechanical device.
Flattie: a “landlubber” in the circus world – someone who isn’t used to the ways of the Skycircus. Like a fish out of water, or a rhinoceros on a tightrope.
Funambulist: another name for a tightrope-walker. The word comes from the Latin term for rope – “funis” and to walk – “ambulare”, and is absolutely delightful to say out loud.
Hybrid: someone who is part-mech, part-human.
Lovelace, Ada: the woman who inspired Grace Hartman’s ideas, Ada Lovelace was a nineteenth-century mathematician and writer. She was one of the first, if not the first, person to consider the idea of “computer programming”, and worked with engineer and philosopher Charles Babbage on his ideas for an “Analytical Engine”: the first computer. There have been multiple attempts to discredit or write out Ada’s part in the history of computers, however Ada is now beginning to garner the credit she deserves.
Mechanimal: a mec
hanical animal, such as Malkin.
Perpetual motion machine: a machine which will run for ever, without the need for an external source of energy.
Roustabouts: also known as “rousties”, are the people who put up and take down the circus. In Slimwood’s circus, they’re a slightly unsavoury bunch, but come round to a nicer way of thinking by the end…
Shelley, Mary: the author who inspired Dr Droz’s parents to name her “Shelley Mary Droz”, was an astonishing woman who learned to read from her own mother’s gravestone. She wrote Frankenstein, which was initially published anonymously in 1818, before Mary took credit in 1823, though many at the time did not believe that a woman could have written the book.
Spoonerist: a spoonerist is someone who gets their words in a muddle, like Auggie. The muddle comes when the corresponding letters between two words are switched. For example: cookies and milk might become mookies and cilk, or jelly beans might become belly jeans.
X-ray: an X-ray is a type of electro-magnetic wave, which was first discovered in 1895. The waves travel through many materials, including skin and body tissue, but are absorbed by others, such as dense bones. This difference in how they pass through materials means X-rays can be used to produce images of the inside of your body.
Zeppelin: a type of airship. It has an oval-shaped “balloon”, beneath which is a rigid metal framework filled with bags of gas to keep the ship afloat. The passenger and crew area – or gondola – is usually situated under the main balloon, and can be quite roomy. (Unless you’re hitching a ride in Ladybird, in which case it’s a little bit cosy.)
We’ve reached the end of our spectacle, ladies and gents, so please give a warm round of applause to thank the following fine folk who’ve assisted me in its creation…
Show-stopping editors Rebecca Hill and Becky Walker, slicing clauses, sentences and paragraphs at their own risk, blindfolded and without the aid of a safety net! Enchanting agent Jo Williamson – a comic sensation and charmer of publishers – offering invaluable advice and ever-present good humour.
Virtuoso artists Katharine Millichope and Becca Stadtlander whose breathtaking artwork always astounds. Sensational Sarah Cronin for her dazzling type design. The sparkling parade of Usborne staff and freelancers who’ve helped edit, market and sell this book. A galaxy of stars that includes: Sarah Stewart, Stephanie King, Stevie Hopwood, Anna Howorth, Hannah Reardon Steward, Jacob Dow, Katarina Jovanovic, Liz Scott and Nina Douglas – to name but a few.
The remarkable reviewers, readers and bloggers who’ve championed this series. Chiefly Jo Clarke, Scott Evans, Ashley Booth and Matt Edwards for your ongoing cheerleading and support. The fine school library service staff who’ve featured Cogheart and Moonlocket in their awards and reading schemes and helped get the books into so many schools. School librarians and book-consuming teachers, you’re angels of your schools and your contagious enthusiasm for children’s fiction and reading is invaluable to the children you teach. Each and every smiling face I’ve met at events across the country; it’s a joy to talk about stories with you and your enthusiasm buoys my writing.
Crit group buddies, Lorraine Gregory, Meira Drazin, Miriam Craig, Tania Tay and Gail Doggett for being excellent dinner companions, garrulous gossips and occcasional emergency phone contacts. My sister Hannah for reading the first draft and offering feedback.
The National Centre for Circus Arts whose circus skills taster course gave me the vaguest idea of what it might be like to fly on a trapeze, climb the silks, or wire-walk for real. It was an exhilarating experience, but not an exercise regimen I’ll be pursuing!
Everyone who visited circuses with me while I was researching this book. Matt and Kate who came to Gifford’s. My goddaughters Paula and Georgia who graciously accompanied us to Zippo’s. Plus Michael who came to Circus Fantasia and all the others, and has endured the daily circus of me writing this book with good grace and no knife throwing! Here’s to another night in the Big Top with each and every one of you, even if this time it’s only in print.
Peter grew up in South London in a rambling Victorian house with three cats, two dogs, one sister, an antique-dealer dad and an artist mum. He is a BAFTA-winning animator, as well as a writer and film-maker. Like Lily and Robert, he loves adventures and reading penny dreadfuls, but wishes dearly that he had a mechanical fox called Malkin. Skycircus is his third novel.
First published in the UK in 2018 by Usborne Publishing Ltd., Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England. www.usborne.com
Text © Peter Bunzl, 2018
Photo of Peter Bunzl © Thomas Butler
Cover and inside illustrations, including map by Becca Stadtlander © Usborne Publishing, 2018
Clockwork Key © Thinkstock / jgroup; Border © Shutterstock / Lena Pan; Stripes © Tippawankongto; Grunge/halftone © Shutterstock / MPFphotography; Crumpled paper texture © Thinkstock / muangsatun; Circus lettering and decoration © Thinkstock / Shiffarigum; Clockface © Shutterstock / Vasilius; coffee ring stains © Thinkstock / Kumer; Wood Texture © Thinkstock / NatchaS; Plaque © Thinkstock / Andrey_Kuzmin; Newspaper © Thinkstock / kraphix; Old paper texture © Thinkstock / StudioM1
The right of Peter Bunzl to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
The name Usborne and the devices are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or used in any way except as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or loaned or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
EPUB:9781474958554 KINDLE: 9781474936514
Batch: 04698/02
