The Daring Escape of the Misfit Menagerie

by Jacqueline Resnick

  Tilda cleared her throat nervously. “I think?” she squeaked.

  Wombat pawed angrily at the ground. “He winked at my girlfriend? Mine?”

  Smalls cringed. The use of incomplete sentences was never a good sign either. “He probably just had some dust in his eye,” Smalls assured him. He decided not to mention the sweet thing comment he’d overheard last night. “Right, Rigby?” He nudged Rigby to back him up.

  “Absolutely,” Rigby agreed. “He probably just . . .” He trailed off as a blue-winged butterfly flew past them. Brightening, he began to trot after it, his eyes glued to its wings. “It’s so graceful,” he breathed. He wiggled his shoulder blades, trying to imitate the butterfly. His long strands of fur flew from side to side, making him look like a mop cleaning the air. “Just look at how it glides . . .” Wiggling his shoulders even harder, Rigby crouched down low, trying to glide his way across the dusty ground. “I am a butterfly,” he chanted to himself.

  Lord Jest lifted his trunk, letting out a nasty honk. “They really are a ragtag lot, aren’t they?” he snorted.

  Juliet looked up from where she was helping May get settled in the corner. “Nothing for us to worry about,” she agreed.

  “Nothing to worry about at all,” Buck replied, sidling up to Tilda. “Hi there, beautiful,” he said, flashing her a hungry smile. “I like your fur.” Moving closer to Tilda, he ran his black and white tail down her back.

  “Pardon me!” Wombat exclaimed. He tried to butt in front of Buck, but Buck easily swatted him aside.

  “You can’t really be into that rat, can you?” Buck asked Tilda.

  “For your information,” Wombat seethed, “I am a rare and treasured hairy-nosed wombat. Descendant of the marsupials. Scientific name Lasiorhinus latifrons. I am not a rat. I am not even a commonplace regular-nosed Wombat! Je suis un spectaculaire hairy-nosed wombat!”

  Buck ignored him. He had just started tickling Tilda’s chin with the tip of his tail when Claude let out a sharp whistle. “Time for the Most Magnificent Traveling Circus’s Original Animal Act!” he announced as Bertie returned to the Big Top. Bertie dragged a whole mound of supplies in with him, one after another: a huge wooden wheel and a colorful stool and a stack of hula hoops and a bag filled with juggling balls, hanging from the handlebar of a unicycle.

  “Lloyds, get the animals set up,” Claude ordered. “Bertie, I want you to go back to the supply caravan and write up tickets for the show.” He paused, waiting for Bertie to deposit the last of the supplies in the ring. “And no rushing them! I want these to be the best tickets you’ve ever written up. Everything needs to be perfect for this show.” He stroked his long white beard. “Understood?”

  Smalls watched as Bertie looked down, refusing to meet his uncle’s eyes. Several beads of sweat clung to his temples and he was breathing hard from carrying the supplies in. “Yes, Uncle,” he said tersely.

  As Bertie left the tent, Lord Jest sauntered past Smalls. “Watch and learn, buddy bear,” he said, taking his place next to the colorful stool. “You’re about to see how the real animals do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Claude’s Little Friend Is Your Worst Enemy

  Right before Smalls’s eyes, the Lifers transformed. Lord Jest stood upside down on a stool, balancing on his two front hooves. Using his trunk, he tossed ten colorful hoops into the air—one after another. As they fell back down, he curled his trunk so that each one slid smoothly onto it. Soon he was balanced upside down on two legs, with ten hoops dangling from his trunk like necklaces.

  Nearby, Hamlet and Juliet mounted a huge wooden wheel, Hamlet inside and Juliet on top. They each galloped in place, Hamlet running in one direction and Juliet in the other, and slowly their strides began to roll the wheel around the ring, picking up speed as it went. Meanwhile, Buck juggled a dozen balls in the air using only his nose, and May circled him on a unicycle, pulling a never-ending chain of scarves out of a tiny black top hat.

  “Holy horseshoe,” Smalls murmured in awe. Back at Mumford’s, he’d loved playing for the kids. But this was something else entirely.

  “Faster, you lazy lions,” Claude said. “Unless you’re looking for a rendezvous with Wilson . . .” He waved his stick through the air and the lions ran even faster, their wheel spinning wildly around the ring. With a nod, Claude moved on to May, scrutinizing her hands as they slowly pedaled the unicycle forward. Unlike the other animals, who performed their tricks effortlessly, May was panting hard, her whitened face scrunched up in concentration as she pedaled with her hands and pulled scarves with her feet at the same time.

  “Faster,” Claude ordered her. May bent forward, her hunched back poking into the air. She picked up her speed, trembling with the effort. Her hands were shaking so badly that the tiny top hat slipped from her grip, sending a long chain of scarves flapping through the air. “What’s wrong with the monkey?” Claude asked. He chewed on his pointer fingernail, spitting it out as he turned to Lloyd and Loyd.

  “She’s lazy?” Lloyd suggested.

  “She’s old?” Loyd offered.

  Claude paced in a circle, stroking urgently at his beard. “I don’t care if she’s ancient! We have an important show coming up, and I need every animal to be perfect.” He stopped in front of May. “Faster,” he demanded.

  May grunted, pedaling harder, but her breath was growing raspy and her whiskers were starting to droop and she was trembling harder than ever. The more she trembled, the more the unicycle wobbled, until she could barely keep upright.

  “Faster!” Claude said again.

  “This,” May panted, “is as fast as this old monkey goes.”

  Claude cringed. “Stop that grunting and move. Or you’ll move right into this.” He waved Wilson at her.

  May drew in a strangled breath, trying desperately to pedal faster. But instead, one of her feet slid off and suddenly she was flailing through the air. She landed on the ground with a terrible thud, her tail crunching under the wheel of the unicycle.

  “You worthless monkey!” Claude shouted. Smalls watched in horror as Claude raised Wilson into the air, throwing it with all his might. It landed on the ground with a loud crash, narrowly missing May. “Come on, Lloyds,” he snapped. “It’s time for lunch. I’m ready for a break from this animal stench!” He stormed out of the Big Top with Lloyd and Loyd close on his heels.

  The instant the humans were gone, Juliet rushed over to May. “Are you all right?” she asked frantically. Crouching next to the monkey, she gave her a gentle nudge with her nose.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” May sighed. She had a soft, smooth voice that made Smalls think of the creek back at Mumford’s, the way it used to trickle over the rocks. “I just got a little nick on my tail.” With a soft groan, she took her tail in her hands and began nursing her wound.

  “Do you think Claude’s always like that?” Tilda whispered to Smalls.

  Smalls blinked, unable to answer. He reached for a four-leaf clover for reassurance but found only fur behind his ear. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t fall apart now! His friends needed him. Quickly, he ran through his happiest list in his head.

  My Favorite Spots to Eat Honey

  1. In a clump of wildflowers, bees buzzing all around me.

  2. Next to the creek, with the cool water lapping at my paws.

  3. On the very top branch of my oak tree, so high up that the sun feels like it belongs to me.

  There. That was better. Clearing his throat, he looked down at Tilda. “I’m sure not always,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure at all.

  Rigby let out a soft growl. “May was just lucky that awful stick missed her.”

  “Who gives a stick a name, anyway?” Wombat asked angrily. “It’s an inanimate object, not a friend!”

  In the back of the ring, Lord Jest let out a nasty laugh.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He lumbered over to them, his hooves clapping against the ground like thunder. “That stick is like Claude’s best friend. His only friend. Here, why dontcha take a look for yourself.”

  Lifting an old, leathery leg, Lord Jest displayed a thin pink scar running along its side. “This is from Wilson.” He ducked his head, revealing another scar, this one thicker and pinker. “And so is this.” Turning around, he revealed a third pink line on his back, long and slightly raised. “And, of course, this. And believe me, there’s been more.”

  “But that’s . . . abominable,” Wombat whispered.

  “No,” Lord Jest corrected. “That’s circus life. Around these parts, Claude’s little friend, Wilson, is your worst enemy.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Finale of the Millennium

  Claude returned from lunch with tomato sauce on his breath and a scowl on his face. Lloyd and Loyd were behind him, fighting over which of them had eaten more french fries. “But I had thirty-six and you only had thirty-five,” Lloyd argued.

  “Lloyd!” Claude barked. “Loyd!” The twins immediately fell silent. “I have news,” Claude announced.

  “Yes, Boss?” Lloyd pushed Loyd aside to get to Claude first.

  “Yes, Boss?” Loyd glared at Lloyd as he shoved him back.

  “I thought long and hard over lunch, and . . .” Claude held both hands up in the air, pausing dramatically.

  “And?” Loyd asked eagerly.

  “And?” Lloyd asked excitedly.

  “And,” Claude continued. “I have scripted a new finale for the circus!”

  “Oh.” Identical looks of disappointment flashed across the twins’ faces.

  “No promotion,” Lloyd whispered to Loyd.

  “No raise,” Loyd whispered to Lloyd.

  “It’s going to be spectacular,” Claude continued. “Just the thing we need to blow Ames—ahem, everyone away! And then,” Claude went on, “when everything goes as planned, you two will get a nice, fat bonus.”

  “Great!” Lloyd exclaimed.

  “Wonderful!” Loyd sang out.

  “Now,” Claude said, stroking his beard. “I sent Bertie to get Susan, who’s going to be my secret weapon in the Most Magnificent Traveling Circus’s new finale. So stop your bickering and make sure the animals are set up before she gets here.”

  “Of course, Boss,” Lloyd said readily.

  “Anything you need, Boss,” Loyd said eagerly.

  Claude smiled thinly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  * * *

  On the other end of the circus grounds, Bertie was pacing back and forth outside Susan’s caravan. “Hello, Susan,” he practiced. He wrinkled his nose. Too formal. “Pardon me, Susan,” he tried again. That made him sound like an old man. He threw his arms into the air in frustration.

  Why was he even thinking about this? Claude was always sending him off to fetch one performer or another. He never practiced his greetings for them. But ever since Claude had dragged him over to talk to Susan this morning, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. As he wrote out ticket after ticket in the supply caravan and choked down his bowl of dry oats at lunch, she kept sneaking her way back into his thoughts.

  He just wished he hadn’t sprinted away like such a coward when she caught him watching her on the rope last night. But this time was different. Claude had ordered him to talk to her. So what was he so worried about? He was just going to knock on the door and say—

  “Bertie?”

  Bertie whirled around to find Susan standing in the doorway of her caravan. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and there was a curious expression in her eyes.

  “Claude sent me!” he burst out. His voice sounded funny, like there was a frog in his throat, and he coughed, trying to clear it. “He’s created a new finale for the circus,” he hurried on. “And he wants you to be in it. I think it just requires some simple acrobatics, but you’re small enough that you can ride on the animals’ backs, and of course you know how to do all the tumbling.”

  He was rambling, which was ridiculous, because he never rambled. But he couldn’t seem to stop. “So do you want to do it? He wants you to come practice with us in the Big Top. I probably shouldn’t even have asked if you want to since Claude didn’t exactly ask. You know how he is when he gets an idea in his head . . .”

  “He drinks cocoa and watches everyone else work on it?” The instant the words were out, Susan gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “I—I didn’t mean that,” she swore through her fingers. “It came out wrong!” She stepped down from the caravan and suddenly she was only inches away from him. Up close, Bertie could see tiny flecks of green in her light brown eyes.

  “Too bad,” he said quietly. “Because that’s exactly what he does.” His heart skipped a beat. Had he really just said that? Out loud? He waited for the fear to slam into him, snatching his breath away and sending ice through his veins. But as Susan smiled tentatively at him, her green-brown eyes shining, he felt almost good. “Of course,” he continued, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear, “he’d probably chew on his fingernails too.”

  “And then spit them out,” Susan added solemnly.

  “While stroking his beard,” Bertie continued.

  Susan reached up to stroke an imaginary beard. “Susan,” she said, mimicking Claude’s nasal whine. “I would like you to jump off a tower today. Of course it doesn’t matter that the last person who did it died!”

  Bertie burst out laughing. The sound felt foreign coming out of his mouth, but nice, like soda bubbling out of a fountain. “You sound just like him!”

  Susan shrugged modestly. “I’ve been practicing. I can also do this.” She pretended to chew vigorously on a fingernail, then spit it loudly in the direction of the Big Top.

  “Uncanny,” Bertie said. Laughter filled his stomach. This must be what it’s like to have a friend, he thought.

  Susan twirled a strand of blond hair around her finger. “Well, I guess we should get going,” she said.

  “Don’t want to keep Claude Magnificence waiting,” Bertie agreed.

  “You know, I saw you last night,” Susan said as they started for the Big Top. “You were watching me practice.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bertie reached up nervously to adjust his baseball cap. “I wasn’t spying, I swear. I just love the ropes. I could watch them forever.”

  “Well, I couldn’t swing on them forever.” Carefully, Susan unwrapped a piece of gauze from around one of her hands, holding it out for Bertie to see. There was a swarm of blisters on her palm, some white and hardened, others peeling and bleeding.

  “Ow.” Bertie flinched at the sight of dried blood smeared across her palm. “You should probably stay off the rope for a few days so those can heal.”

  “Ha!” Susan let out a bitter laugh. “Try telling your uncle that.” Bertie fell silent. He had a feeling that would fall squarely in the no category. “I used to take ballet classes back home,” Susan continued, “and whenever the blisters on my toes got too bad, my mom would make me skip class for a few days. But Claude isn’t really the motherly type.”

  Bertie laughed. “You can say that again.”

  As they reached the Big Top, familiar sounds rose into the air around them: threats and grunts and growls and the telltale honk of an elephant. “Ready for a fingernail feast?” Susan whispered.

  “Even better than ice cream,” Bertie whispered back.

  “Susan!” Claude exclaimed as Susan and Bertie walked into the ring. He reached up to stroke his beard, studying her through narrowed eyes. “How fine of you to join us.”

  As if she had a choice, Bertie thought.

  “How would you like to be in the circus’s brand-new finale?” Claude went on.

&
nbsp; Susan forced a smile onto her face. “I’d love to, Master Magnificence,” she gushed. As if I have a choice, she thought. Her eyes flickered to the back of the ring, where the new animals were huddled together. Rigby was pressed up against the bear, his face hidden beneath a thick mop of fur. As if he could sense her watching him, he looked up suddenly, his fur flapping out of his eyes. For a second, they just stared at each other, and even from across the ring, she could hear it: his tail thumping once, twice, three times against the floor.

  “Wonderful,” Claude said smoothly, drawing her attention back to him. “As long as these worthless Misfits learn their tricks, we’ll have the finale of the millennium tomorrow.”

  “And of the century too!” Lloyd piped up.

  “Even the decade!” Loyd chimed in.

  In the back of the ring, Wombat growled under his breath. “And we’re the stupid ones? It’s absurd!”

  Smalls nodded absently, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy thinking about the word Claude had used.

  Tomorrow.

  Smalls’s fur stood on end. In just one day, they’d be performing in the circus.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  A Sun Bear with a Useless Tongue

  Walking to the front of the ring, Claude lifted his arms in the air as if he were conducting an orchestra. “Introducing the finale of the millennium,” he announced. Then he began to shout out commands.

  Instantly, the ring came alive with activity. Lord Jest kneeled on the ground, allowing Susan to mount his back. Then he climbed onto the stool, balancing on his front hooves as he used his trunk to toss up hoop after hoop. Each one flipped through the air before landing smoothly around Susan’s waist. Such accurate tossing wasn’t easy; it took precise calculations and complete concentration. But Lord Jest nailed it every time.

  In the center of the ring, Hamlet and Juliet climbed onto their wheel and began spinning it toward Lord Jest. Lowering his head, Lord Jest stretched out his trunk. When the lions reached him, Susan slid down it like a slide. She landed on Juliet’s back and rode sidesaddle as the lions rolled faster and faster. When they passed Buck, he began to gallop next to them, using his inky black nose to juggle twelve balls at once. Meanwhile, May leapt onto her unicycle, letting out a soft whimper as her wounded tail hit one of the spokes.