Circus of Thieves on the Rampage (10 page)

‘Maybe I can turn you into a good little thief after all,’ said Armitage, reaching forwards and, in a moment of rare affection, pinching Billy’s cheek between finger and thumb.
(I’m using the word ‘affection’ very loosely here, to include actions which are annoying, humiliating and physically painful.)

Billy looked down at his very small, very empty cup.
If only!
he kept on thinking.
If only my father
would appear now and save me from this multiple-moustached monster. I
don’t want to be a thief! I don’t want to be a Shank! I want to be an Espadrille
!

Billy was having a low point.

As the crowds around him hurrying towards the circus swelled, thousands of people all out for the night of their lives, Billy felt more alone than ever. A hubbub of excitement echoed around the
vast concourse of the arena as more and more people arrived, while Billy felt nothing but sorrow, loneliness and gloom.

What chance did his father stand of finding him here? Even if Ernesto did find his way to the Oh, Wow! Centre, how on earth would he locate Billy in among all these people? What hope was there
that anyone would ever find him and help him?

There is one good thing about low points. If a low point really is a low point, from there, the only way is up.

Speaking of which, just as Billy was feeling more alone than ever, a girl was arriving in the very same building, accompanied by her granny. Billy had no idea she was there. Not yet. He also had
no idea that she was looking for him. And of course, more significantly, he had no idea that this granny was also his granny. Nor that the girl was his sister.

‘S
LUGGASLUGGACHAPFFFFUTPFFFF
ffutpfffffffffffffffutpfffffffffffffffffffffffffffff ffffffffftkch,’ said the enormous
lorry, lurching to a sudden and unexpected stop.

A long, worried silence filled the cabin.

‘What was that?’ said Hank.

‘I don’t know,’ said Frank. ‘We’ve stopped.’

‘Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘You hadn’t noticed?’

‘Of course I’d noticed! I was being sarcastic.’

‘Well, maybe you should stop being sarcastic.’

‘Maybe
you
should stop being sarcastic.’

‘I wasn’t being sarcastic.’

‘Yes you were.’

‘No I wasn’t.’

‘What’s going on?’ said Maurice.

‘Maurice is right,’ said Irrrrrena, jolting awake from a doze.

‘Why have we stopped?’ said Fingers.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hank.

‘I don’t know, either,’ said Frank.

‘It’s the engine,’ said Jesse.

‘OBVIOUSLY IT’S THE ENGINE,’ said Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrena and Fingers.

‘It’s got no petrol left,’ said Jesse.

‘What???!’ said Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrena and Fingers.

‘Look at the petrol gauge,’ said Jesse. ‘It’s empty. I’ve been worrying about it all day.’

‘Why didn’t you say something!?’ snapped Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrena and Fingers.

‘Nobody asked me,’ said Jesse.

‘YOU IDIOT!’ yelled Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrena and Fingers.

‘I’m not an idiot. I’m just shy. And if
I’m
the idiot, how come I’m the only one who noticed we were running out of petrol?’

‘You’re an idiot, because you didn’t
say
we were running out of petrol,’ said Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrrrrena and Fingers.

‘Well maybe I didn’t say anything because every time I speak, you all shout at me.’

‘YOU’RE AN IDIOT!’ shouted Hank and Frank and Maurice and Irrrrrena and Fingers.

‘Right! That’s it! I’m going to sulk in the back!’

Jesse climbed out of the cabin and went for his sulk.

The others stared at the petrol gauge. The petrol gauge stared back, with an empty expression on its face.

There was another long silence.

‘Why didn’t you put any petrol in?’ yelled Frank, eventually.

‘Why didn’t
you
put any petrol in?’ yelled Hank.

‘STOOOOOOOP IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!’ yelled Irrrrrena. ‘I’ve had enough of your bickering. Enough! I can’t take it any more. I’m going to go in the back and sulk
with Jesse.’

‘She’s right,’ said Maurice. ‘Me, too.’

‘And me,’ said Fingers.

‘And me,’ said Frank.

‘Fine!’ said Hank, calling after them. ‘I’ll stay here and sulk on my own. In the front. Where it’s more comfortable. So there. I’m going to have the comfiest
sulk ever. Think about that!’

And this is where the rampage after the rampage ended, with a circus of sulkers stuck in the slow lane of the B764, just a mile and a half short of the middle of nowhere.

‘OOH, I’M SO COMFY!’ shouted Hank. ‘I’M LYING DOWN NOW.’

Frank’s muffled but angry voice rose up from the back of the enormous lorry. ‘
JUST BE QUIET!
’

‘I THINK I’LL PUT THE RADIO ON,’ replied Hank. ‘OOH, MUSIC! HOW LOVELY!’

W
HEN HANNAH WALKED INTO THE OH,
Wow! Centre auditorium, she said the only thing you can say when you walk
into the Oh, Wow! Centre auditorium. She said, ‘Oh, Wow!’

The Oh, Wow! Centre auditorium
³¹
is enormous. So enormous that, having entered at the back, it was still a long walk to Hannah’s seat, which was
at the very front, in the very middle, with lots of legroom and even a cushion specially shaped for posh bottoms. This was the best seat in the house.

But Hannah soon forgot how good her seat was, because once the show started she forgot everything about everything. She was, quite simply, mesmerised.

Billy, only a minute or two after Hannah, also walked into the Oh, Wow! auditorium, and he, too, said the only thing you can say when you walk into the Oh, Wow!, except that for
him it was a very short walk from the entrance to his seat at the back, which had no legroom and no cushion and as much view of the stage as a birdwatcher might get of a migrating goose. This was
the worst seat in the house.

But Billy soon forgot how bad his seat was, because once the show started he forgot everything about everything. He was, quite simply, mesmerised.

First up was Cissy Noodles and her swimming poodles, though to call them swimming poodles is to seriously underplay their talents, because they also dived, leapt, danced, barked
amusing arrangements of popular songs, played underwater snooker and rode a motorised surfboard in an arrangement that is usually called a human pyramid, but in this case was a poodle pyramid.

After that came the Aquabats of Arabia, seven of them, all of whom seemed to have only a loose acquaintance with the laws of gravity. They flew through the air, darted through the water, and
flung each other from one element to the other in a series of manoeuvres that made them seem weightless and amphibian and impossibly strong and perfectly balanced and essentially like a troupe of
exquisitely choreographed man-bird-fishes. They did this dressed in costumes so tight-fitting that it didn’t seem like they were wearing any costume at all, except for the fact that sometimes
it looked like skin, sometimes like glistening scales, sometimes like feathers.

When they left the stage, to the sound of uproarious, roof-lifting applause, more than half the audience turned to the person next to them and asked, ‘Did that just happen? Were they
human?’

Next up was Bunny Weasel and her synchronised otters. If you’ve never seen a synchronised otter show, the important thing to understand here is that it’s pretty much what it sounds
like. Otters. Synchronised. But you have to see this to know how incredibly cute it is. Because even otters out of synch are cute. In synch, the whole thing just goes off the top of the cuteness
chart.
³²
The otters’ tea party with which Bunny finished her act usually resulted in several audience-member faintings. Tonight was no exception,
and ambulance crews were on hand at all the exits with cute-attack revival kits (i.e. buckets of cold water).

After that was Ruggles Pynchon, who did such an extraordinary disappearing act that the collective gasp was so loud, it made a passing meteorologist send out a hurricane warning.

I won’t go through the whole show, because that will just make you jealous that you missed it, but I must describe to you the final act, which was, of course, Queenie Bombazine
herself.

Normal trapeze artists swing from a trapeze. Queenie didn’t seem to do this. The trapeze was there – it was part of the act – but she hardly needed it. She appeared to fly
through the air all of her own accord, backwards and forwards, twisting and flipping and somersaulting and swirling without ever seeming to need the trapeze to catch or propel her. And, of course,
there was also the diving and swimming, the way she moved through water like a dolphin, never using her arms, needing only ripples of movement through her torso and legs to zoom her wherever she
wanted to go. Everything she did looked at the same time utterly impossible and totally effortless.