Fizzlebert Stump and the Girl Who Lifted Quite Heavy Things

by A. F. Harrold

  He clambered over the rows of chairs between them and the ring as quickly as he could. Alice was vaulting them beside him.

  In the ring the lion was going mad. It had finally spat Cedric out in a big pool of spittle and snot and was roaring with peppered misery, flashing its gums at anyone who went near, rearing up, sneezing and rattling its claws threateningly.

  Cedric was rolling around, a pair of rubber false teeth wrapped round his neck, moaning and crying.

  Mr Gomez and the two Xs were sneezing and cowering behind their judges’ table as the lion paced nearby.

  Fizz grabbed Winch-Hardly’s lion tamer’s chair and approached Coconut from behind.

  ‘Here kitty, kitty, kitty,’ he said, holding the chair before him. ‘Come to Fizzlebert. Leave the nice people alone.’

  The lion ignored him, roared at the judges and swiped their table with a huge clawed paw. It left four long deep scratches in the wood.

  ‘Kitty, kitty, kitty,’ he shouted, to absolutely no reaction.

  So, with his heart pounding in his ears, Fizz edged nearer, leant down and stamped on the lion’s tail. (Don’t try this at home.)

  He had to get its attention, get it away from the judges.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said as Coconut spun, roaring, and slashed at him with shining claws. ‘Hello! Over here, puss!’

  Fizz held the lion tamer’s chair out in front of him, in between him and the lion, and backed up a few steps.

  He needed to get the lion to follow him.

  Back a few more steps.

  Coconut, growled, lunged, roared and took a few steps in his direction.

  That was it.

  ‘Alice,’ he shouted over his shoulder, not sure where she was. ‘Get them out of here.’ He nodded towards the judges.

  (Alice ran round the ringside while the lion was distracted and heaved each of the judges up into the seats, out of the ring and out of the lion’s reach. While Fizz kept Coconut distracted she ran and tossed Winch-Hardly over her shoulder and pulled Cedric to his feet. She cleared the ring of bystanders. She did her job.)

  ‘Here kitty, kitty, kitty,’ Fizz repeated, backing up further. He wasn’t sure what else to do. His training as a lion tamer hadn’t extended this far. Captain Fox-Dingle had done this bit. All Fizz had ever done was stick his head in the lion’s mouth and hold his breath. And besides, Charles had been a lovely old thing, not like Coconut, who was embarrassed, angry and (did I mention?) sneezing.

  Fizz felt an itch in his nose.

  He had to keep the chair between him and the lion. He had to keep it raised. Every time the lion struck out with his paw the chair had to be there to block the blow. That was simple enough, but . . .

  Fizz’s nose was definitely itching.

  The pepper!

  He’d forgotten the pepper. It was still drifting about in the air.

  And now it was up his nose.

  He could feel the twitching itching feeling. That itch that can’t be scratched because it’s inside your head. It was coming, it was coming . . .

  He held the chair out in front of him.

  And then he sneezed.

  It’s a well-known fact that when you sneeze you always shut your eyes. (Some people say if you don’t your eyeballs will fly out, but I don’t know if that’s true, and neither do scientists because no one’s ever got ethical clearance to do the experiment. Do not try this at home, either.)

  When you shut your eyes a lion will always attack. (Not every time you shut your eyes, of course, only when there’s a lion stalking you already. I don’t want to make anyone afraid to blink.)

  And Coconut did (attack, that is). She lunged, past the chair, which dipped as Fizz sneezed, and caught him a blow across his shoulder that tore the epaulettes off his old Ringmaster’s coat and sent him, sneezing and tumbling to the ground.

  Fizz lay in the sawdust and thought, Oops.

  Even a lion with no teeth, if it’s angry enough, can be a dangerous thing to lie down in front of.

  He tried to get to his feet, but his head was spinning and his arm was numb. He wobbled.

  He slowly climbed to his knees.

  Where was this lion?

  (The tent was spinning too.)

  And then he heard voices.

  ‘Fizz! Fizz!’ It was Wystan’s voice. Wystan, his friend.

  And a sharp, ‘Good girl.’ That was Fox-Dingle. Oh! Wystan had found the Captain.

  He was the finest lion tamer Fizz knew. He’d be able to deal with Coconut, no worries.

  Wystan helped Fizz to his feet and Fizz stood there for a moment brushing himself down.

  ‘Look at that,’ Wystan said, turning Fizz to face the other way.

  There was Alice. Alice Crudge, Flower Arranger Extraordinaire, holding, above her head, on its back with its claws flailing harmlessly in the air, Coconut the lioness.

  ‘No worries, Fizz,’ she said. ‘No need to thank me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fizz, needlessly.

  After she’d put the lion down and Captain Fox-Dingle had taken charge and walked Coconut back to her cage, where the revived Major Winch-Hardly took over, Alice and Fizz and Wystan were stood outside the Big Big Top.

  Fizz’s wounds weren’t wounds at all. He’d have a bruise on his shoulder, and his right-hand epaulette had gone flying to who knew where, but that was as bad as it got.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That was close.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Wystan grumblingly. ‘I sort of wish we hadn’t done that.’

  ‘Done what?’ said Cedric, lurching over to them.

  He still had the rubber teeth round his neck and he was covered in lion slobber. His leather jacket was shredded and he was limping a little (probably for show). He wasn’t really hurt either, but his ego, his dignity and his sense of humour had all taken pummellings.

  ‘Done what?’ repeated Fizz, trying to think of a good answer.

  ‘Rescued you,’ said Alice.

  That was the good answer Fizz would have said had he had more time to think. She was smart as well as strong and all the rest of it. Fizz blushed.

  ‘I don’t know how you did it,’ Cedric sneered, ‘but I’ll get you back. You’ve not heard the last of Cedric Greene.’

  And with that the obnoxious boy, dripping with slime and snot, hobbled away.

  ‘Well,’ said Fizz, to the other two, ‘I reckon that’s over now. That’s the last we’ll see of him. At least we know he’s not going to be picked for the big show.’

  ‘And neither am I,’ said Alice.

  ‘Nor me,’ added Wystan.

  ‘Looks like it’s gonna have to be you, then, Fizz,’ Alice went on, putting a hand on his shoulder as she spoke. ‘You and your dad. I can’t wait to see it.’

  As if mentioning him made him appear, Mr Stump came running up. ‘Fizz! Fizz, there you are. I heard there was an accident. Are you guys okay?’

  He swept Fizz up in his arms.

  ‘It was nothing, Dad,’ Fizz said, wriggling out of his dad’s extremely embarrassing (and strong) embrace.

  ‘They’re saying you saved the day, Fizz. You rescued people –’

  As if there weren’t already enough people in this scene, and as if Wystan didn’t already feel bad enough about not having any parents (who knew who he was), Mr Crudge came running over too.

  ‘Alice,’ he shouted as he got near. ‘I hear you’ve been showing yourself up again. Embarrassing the family by juggling cats or something. What have I told you about silliness? All the time we put in –’

  ‘Dad,’ said Fizz, quite rudely, but kindly, interrupting Alice’s dad. ‘This is Mr Crudge, and this is my friend Alice.’

  Mr Stump’s moustache perked up with delight when he heard the name. His eyes grew huge and glittered like glitter.

  ‘Oh, Mr Crudge,’ he said, grabbing the other man’s hand and pumping it vigorously, ‘I was such a fan of your father . . .’

  And while Mr Stump distracted Mr Crudge with his ebulli
ent praise and relentless admiration, the three kids slipped away unnoticed.

  ‘You know what,’ Fizz said to Alice with a shy, sly grin. ‘I’ve just thought up another plan. A good one.’

  hat afternoon there were four acts being seen by Mr Gomez in the Big Big Top.

  He had a box of tissues on his table just in case.

  First up were three sets of plate spinners.

  Mr Crudge was first and he spun three plates all at the same time, but seemed distracted, uneven, and lacked the true finesse the real top-notch plate spinners have.

  Next Abigail Air came out and not only spun three plates at once, but also incorporated some juggling into the act. She smiled and shimmered and told jokes while keeping her crockery rotating at high speed, but there were some mutters about whether juggling belonged in a plate-spinning act. Nevertheless, she finished with a confident dismount (all three plates in one hand) and a generous bow to the judges’ table.

  Then Percy Late came out and spun his plate beautifully, elegantly, uniquely.

  After the plate spinning it was time for the final act on the timetable. The Strongman.

  (Mr Stump wasn’t the only Strongman in the six circuses, but Arthur Tonne (of The All-Inclusive Hypoallergenic Circus Of Small Surprises) had come down with a nasty rash the week before and was still in recovery, and Tiny Jake (of Franklin, Franklin, Franklin & Daughter) had tripped on a potato and twisted his neck. (I should point out that there was nothing suspicious about either of these occurrences. Just because there has been sabotage elsewhere in the book I don’t want you to be thinking there’s any here. Being a Strongman is a risky job, you’re putting your body under enormous strain (if you’re doing it right) and sometimes things snap. Everyone understood that.)

  As it stood, Mr Stump (and Fizz) were the only Strongmen competing for a place in the Circus of Circuses show, but that still didn’t mean that they’d automatically go through. It depended which acts Gomez and his fellow ‘judges’ thought (by which we mean, ‘Gomez decided’) were the best acts overall. It could be that Saturday’s show had six clown acts, for example, or it might be it had none. No one could ever know in advance (the running order wasn’t announced until Saturday morning).

  I should probably have explained all that earlier on. Sorry.)

  Anyway, Mr Stump and Young Mr Stump (Stump & Son) were the last act to be seen.

  They walked out into the ring to a ripple of applause (there were more people there than usual (round about forty-six), since everyone was now at a loose end until the announcement the following morning).

  Fizz was wearing his Ringmaster’s coat and a top hat he’d borrowed from Dr Surprise (it was his spare spare hat). His father was carrying a safe under his arm. Fizz was carrying a cake under his.

  They went through all their tricks out there in the ring. Playing catch with big rocks, juggling dumbbells, attempting to eat Madame Plume de Matant’s cake. They lifted audience members in the air, two at a time (and twirled them). They balanced the safe on Mr Stump’s head and Fizz stood on top of it and opened the door with a sledgehammer. Inside were gold bars (actually lead bars painted gold), which they took out and piled on top of Mr Stump’s outstretched arms. His muscles bulged and wriggled until he bounced the bars into the air and Fizz caught them one by one in a pyramid-shaped stack.

  Eventually Mr Stump hauled a car into the ring on the end of a rope which he pulled with his teeth. (It was his wife’s clown car, but still, a car is a car.) And, kneeling down, and with help from Fizz, he hefted it up on to his back. From there he stood up (with Fizz balanced on the car’s roof) and lifted it above his head.

  It was brilliant. It was spectacular. It wasn’t over yet.

  Fizz reached down inside the car and pulled out –

  But hang on!

  Something silvery came flying through the air and slapped Fizz right across the face.

  Something that smelt fishy.

  Another silvery something slapped down on to the roof of the car.

  There was a distant honking, barking noise from somewhere outside that almost everyone who heard it over the music recognised. (I would be personally disappointed if you didn’t recognise it after all we’ve been through together.)

  Fizz, on top of the car, looked down and kicked aside the sprat or mackerel or whatever it was (definitely a fish of some sort). It fell to the ground beside Mr Stump’s foot with a wet thud.

  Mr Stump looked down.

  ‘Fizz,’ he called. ‘I think you’ve dropped a fish.’

  And then bursting through the Big Big Top’s flapway came a shape that we’ve all seen before, doing exactly the same thing it did in Chapter Four. It was Fish and he was after the fish that had mysteriously appeared in the ring.

  A charming red-headed boy stood up in the front row of the audience and jumped into the ring.

  ‘Cedric,’ he shouted. ‘It’s the same thing! You’ve done the same thing again! This is rubbish! Have you no imagination? Cedric, where are you?’

  As this mysterious boy was shouting out, looking for Cedric Greene, Fish was hurtling across the ring exactly like a fish-seeking sea lion. (I was going to say ‘like a fish-seeking missile’, but it wasn’t quite the right simile since, as far as I know, no such missile has ever been built.)

  He skidded in the sawdust and slid across the ground, mouth first and mouth open, ready and eager to gobble the slick silvery sardine that lay by Mr Stump’s feet. The momentum of his movement sent him straight through Mr Stump’s legs, knocking them aside and sending him tumbling to his knees.

  The car wobbled and the figure of Fizz on top wobbled too.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted down from above.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Mr Stump shouted up from below. ‘I’ve got a good grip. Don’t panic. Just climb down.’

  But as the car rocked the other fish slipped off the roof and thudded to the sawdust.

  Fish whipped round at the salty noise and his flipper brushed Mr Stump very lightly, but in just such a place as to be momentarily ticklish.

  An involuntary flinch from Mr Stump sent the car tumbling.

  A worried horn hooted somewhere off in the audience.

  Fizz fell from the car’s roof, top hat tumbling, long reddish blonde hair flapping out in the breeze.

  He landed on the judges’ table flat on his back and, looking up, saw the car coming straight at him. Without thinking, in a move of lightning instinct, he held out his hands and lifted his feet just as the car thudded down on top of him, the table and the judges.

  His arms buckled and the car continued its downwards plunge.

  Mr Gomez fell backwards in his seat and landed safely out of harm’s way with a crash on the floor. But Mr and Mrs X weren’t so smart and the falling clown car, slowed but not stopped by Fizz’s quick reflexes, ever so gently tapped them both on the very tops of their heads.

  ‘Ow,’ they said together.

  Fizz rearranged his grip on the stalled car, flexed his arms, used his legs as levers, and tipped it up and off him. It thudded to the ground in front of the judges’ table and all the doors fell off.

  ‘Thank you, young lady,’ said Mr X, rubbing his head. ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

  ang on a minute . . .

  Mr X has had a bump on the head and suddenly he can’t tell girls from boys?

  No. It’s not that straightforward. If you recall at the end of Chapter Nine Fizz said he had another plan. Let me let you in on the plan.

  Fizz’s coat fitted Alice Crudge perfectly. They were the same height, more or less the same build. If she tucked her hair up into a hat then from a distance (and, remember, most of the audience is at a distance in the circus, (hence the ‘mice’)) then no one would be able to tell the difference. Fizz’s dad, though sorry to not be doing the act with Fizz, was (on the other hand) stupidly excited to be doing the act with a real live Crudge: the super-strong granddaughter of his biggest hero, Avuncular Crudge. And Alice, for
her part, was equally over the moon to be performing with her all-time hero, Mr Stump.

  If it was possible, Fizz had realised, to make two people so happy so easily, simply by giving something up, then there was really no choice. It had made him surprisingly happy to do it too. It was funny, he’d spent the whole week worrying that he didn’t have an act of his own, the past few days fretting about Cedric’s threats and bets, but when the time came none of that seemed important, not compared to the look on their faces and the warm glow in his heart (which is all slightly sickly to tell you, but true).

  Fizz and Alice didn’t explain to Mr Stump quite how mad it would make her dad to know that she’d been doing an actual real live Strongman show, but what harm could that do?

  As it happens, when he found out about the act (putting his plates away back stage, he heard the commotion in the ring and came out in time to see her hat fall off and her hair fall out (of her hat, not her head)), he came storming over and was about to tell her off, when Mr Stump patted him on the back and told him how amazing Alice was. Mr Crudge tried to get a word in edgeways, but Mr Stump sat him down and went on about her brilliance, her skill, her strength until Crudge sighed deeply, shook his hands in the air and said, ‘Okay! Okay, Stump, I give in.’

  (It turned out, Mr Stump later told Fizz, that the famous Crudge strength had skipped a generation. Mr Crudge had no more muscle than a normal man. That lack in him was what made him overly protective of Alice. Mr Stump explained it away by saying ‘psychology’, which is a big word that just means, ‘the mysterious human mind, who can explain it?’).

  Fizz was sorry though that he couldn’t do anything for Wystan. It had been so easy to make Alice and his dad happy, but Wystan had missed out on everything. Even the revenge they’d undertaken had left a sour taste in their mouths. He wished he could have waved a magic wand and given Wystan his parents back, but magic wands are the sort of things you only find in books.

  He had been worrying about this during the show, but once Cedric had started throwing fish he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. That Cedric, he thought, I’ll show him.