Circus of Marvels
Page 26
“So this is him and here he is,” said the Ringmaster gruffly, while doffing his top hat.
Benissimo looked as strong and able as the day Ned had met him. It made no sense, not if his brother were really dead. Unless they had somehow broken the curse.
Seeing the inquisitive look in Ned’s eyes, the Ringmaster shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t have all the answers, pup, but I do know this. Curses can be broken. A princess doomed to sleep forever can be woken by a handsome prince. You and Lucy reversed whatever evil lay in that mountain. I should have died when my blade struck my brother, but I didn’t. Whatever it was that joined us is gone. Whether it’s you or the mountain I have to thank for it, I’ll never know.”
“You’re welcome,” smiled Ned.
“Veil-bound and right secure!” roared one of the Tortellinis behind them.
“Wind’s about to change, Ned. We need to get a move on, there’s a level twenty-two in Athens that we’ve been asked to take a look at. An ordinary incursion – a cyclops, if the intel’s right. The troupe could do with a more regular mission; all this saving the world stuff’s been most unsettling.”
“Can’t say I’ll miss you,” grinned Ned.
“And there’s no doubt my circus will fly higher without you along to mess things up,” quipped back Benissimo.
“Goat face.”
“I thought I was a rat?” laughed the Ringmaster. Then he did the most extraordinary thing – he gave Ned a hug.
“You, Ned, are a surprisingly exceptional young man.”
Once Ned and his parents were safely aboard, the airship lifted off dreamily, through swirling clouds of fog. And with a roar of the engines and a final trumpet from Alice, the Circus of Marvels – the greatest show on earth – was gone.
Someone had once told him, that your home is where your heart beats the loudest. Ned’s heart had never beaten more loudly or more proudly, even as he waved them goodbye.
THE END …
(or is it?)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Circus of Marvels would have never happened without the encouragement, sage advice, and above all unbelievable patience of Paul Moreton. Paul is a Prince among agents and a King among men. I will never truly understand why he puts up with me but will always remain grateful.
A gigantic and heartfelt thank you to Ruth Alltimes and her team at HarperCollins, for knowing my story far better than I, for never having anything but unbounded enthusiasm and for not letting me get away with anything. Above all, I’d like to thank them for making it fun, whilst always making it better.
J FISHER
The next
Coming soon!
Read on for a sneak preview …
United States Bullion Depository, Fort Knox, Kentucky. Three thirty-two AM.
Heavy boots pound the tarmac, as officers bark their orders and sniffer dogs whine, blinded by the rows of steaming halogen floodlights. More and more arrive by the second. A never-ending procession of armoured cars and trucks loaded with soldiers. More men, with more eyes to see. Above them, a dozen gunships and their ground-shaking propellers scan for signs. But there is nothing, only the appalling certainty that this is not a drill.
Beyond their fences and walls and barricades, a president is being woken and powerful men in charge of a nation’s numbers, its digits and its dollar bills, are meeting and shouting and blaming.
Underneath the chaos and the panic of the search, Shwartz and Greer sit in a bare cement room. Private Marvin L Shwartz, is in considerable trouble.
The Bullion Depository at Fort Knox was protected by both the United States mint police and the army, along with their tanks, attack helicopters and artillery. A force totalling well over thirty thousand men. The actual gold, all four-and-a-half-thousand metric tons, lay behind a one-of-a-kind, twenty-one inch, drill-, laser- and blast-proof door, designed by the Mosler safe company. It was monitored by twenty-four hour orbital satellite and ground-sweeping radar. Automated machine guns covered every possible entry point, and it was rumoured that the entire surrounding grasslands were carpeted with land-mines.
It was, to all intents and purposes, completely impregnable. That was of course until this morning on Private Shwartz’s watch.
Greer’s earpiece blinked: there was news from outside.
“They’re here! Already? Are you serious?”
It was at this point that Private Shwartz started to perspire.
The door behind Greer slid open quietly and two men dressed in light grey suits entered the room. One of the men had dark red-blond hair and introduced himself as Mr Fox. His greying accomplice, a Mr Badger, was built like a house and stood by the door without uttering a word. The Staff Sergeant was excused, leaving Shwartz with the two woodland animals that were Fox and Badger.
“Marvin, I represent the BBB. I hope you don’t mind me using your first name Marvin, I find it helps enormously in these situations,” said Mr Fox.
“No Sir,” Shwartz paused. “Sir the BBB, I’m sorry, is that a part of Homeland Security? Am I going to prison?”
“No and maybe. Bagshot Bingley and Burke is not connected to the US or any other government body. We are insurance underwriters and the United States gold reserve is one of our contracts. As I’m sure you can appreciate, a claim of this magnitude presents logistical problems, even for an outfit with as much reach as ours. When something of this value goes missing, it is my job to get it back and rest assured Marvin, I will get it ALL back.”
“All sir? But we only had half here, the rest is …”
“I’m afraid the other half was taken earlier this week. Now please, Marvin, if you wouldn’t mind, let’s start with the issue of ‘access’. You were the last guard Marvin, between the intruder and the vault. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“No Sir. Like I told Staff Sergeant Greer, one minute I’m walkin’ my route, and I hear these footsteps. The next thang I know, I am on my back, and the vault doors are wide open.”
“Marvin, there are over fourteen retinal eye scanners, over twelve hundred security cameras and countless laser trip wires in this building. If your statement is true, then the intruders managed to waltz through the entire compound undetected. Which is almost as unlikely as the removal of thousands of tons of gold … in less than an hour. Do you have any idea who could have done that?”
“No, no I don’t Mr Fox.”
“Is there anything you DO know Marvin?”
“There is … one thang, kinda weird. Just after I heard the footsteps there was this music playin’, with no notes.”
Fox leant in a little closer and smiled.
“Music with no notes. That sounds … familiar.”
Before he had even raised his hand, Badger produced a phone from his briefcase, only it wasn’t a brand that Private Shwartz had ever seen and there were no keys or touchpad to dial any numbers.
“Owl? Yes it’s Fox. I’m afraid there’s been a development. It’s happened again …”
About the Author
JUSTIN FISHER has been a designer, illustrator and animator for both film and television. He has designed title sequences for several Hollywood films, branded music TV channels and has worked extensively in advertising. But after many years of helping to tell other people’s stories, he is now following a lifelong passion and writing his own. Justin lives with his wife and three young children in London. He has never worked in a circus but he can juggle. Sort of.
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