Circus of Thieves on the Rampage (7 page)

‘Up to?’ said Armitage, in his most innocent voice (which was in fact not very innocent at all). ‘I simply think it’s time to teach the boy some rudiments of rampage
technique. That’s all. Just a spot of harmless practice.’

‘I don’t trust you,’ said Fingers.

‘
I
don’t trust you,’ said Maurice.

‘
I
don’t trust you,’ said Hank (or maybe it was Frank).

‘
I
don’t trust you,’ said Frank (or maybe it was Hank).

‘
I
don’t trust anyone,’ said Irrrrrena, Maurice’s assistant, peeping
²⁶
out of the front door of her caravan.

‘Who doesn’t trust who?’ said Jesse, emerging from underneath the enormous lorry, smeared in oil. Jesse was the only person, apart from Armitage, who was allowed to touch the
enormous lorry. Armitage would have done the repairs himself, except that he didn’t know how, and couldn’t bear the idea of getting his clothes dirty. Jesse was also the world’s
most reluctant human cannonball.

‘Of course you don’t trust me,’ said Armitage. ‘Only a fool would trust me. I’m a professional cheat and a sneak and a liar and a thief. What kind of a fool would
trust
me
?’

‘I would,’ said Jesse.

‘Thank you, Jesse. Excellent. Now keep up the good work, everyone. I’m just taking Billy on a short and entirely harmless rampage practice, and we’ll be back before you know
it. Bye!’

And off they went.

‘So this is it?’ said Billy, after a mile or so. ‘This is a rampage?’

‘Mmm,’ replied Armitage, whose entire attention was focused on his satnav. ‘We’re going to go down the B2893 for 2.1 miles, then down the A234 for 7.6 miles,
²⁷
onto the A18 for 32.4 miles, then we’ll turn onto the M1½ for 97 miles before turning onto the A16 for 7.1 miles, then the B8293 for 2.1 miles, and the
B764 and the B983, then onto local roads which will lead us to our destination.’

‘That’s a rampage, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘A real rampage or a practice rampage?’

‘A real one, of course! I just had to say something to put those idiots off the scent.’

‘I thought rampages were supposed to be . . . I don’t know . . . a bit wilder than this.’

‘No,’ said Armitage. ‘At least, not yet!
HahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAhahahaha!
’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Get what?’

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘Oh, for goodness sake Billy. You have to learn the difference between a laugh and a cackle. You’re never going to get very far in the criminal underworld if you can’t even
cackle. Listen. Copy me.
HahahahahaHAHAHAHAhahahaha!
’

‘Hahahhahahhahahaha!’

‘No,
HahahahahaHAHAHAHAhahahaha!
’

‘HahahahahHAHAhahahaha!’

‘Better. Try again.
Hahahahahahahahaha HAHAHAHAHAhahahahahahaha!
’

‘HahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahaha!’

‘Nearly.
HahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAhahahhahahahahaha!
’

‘
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
’

‘Too much,’ said Armitage, sternly. ‘Much too much. We can have another practice tomorrow.’

‘In forty metres, turn right,’ said the satnav, which was attached to the handlebars of Armitage’s scooter.

Did I not mention the scooter? How silly of me.

Even though it wounded Armitage to the core to be parted for even a day from his beloved lorry, he had decided that for this particular rampage a less enormous mode of transport would be needed.
To carry out his dastardly plan, it was important that he and Billy didn’t draw attention to themselves, so enormousness was out. As a result, Armitage was on a scooter and Billy was riding
Narcissus.

Only as they were turning onto the M1½, with a busload of children staring and pointing at them, did it occur to Armitage that these modes of transport weren’t exactly helping them
blend into the background, either.

‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to do something about that camel. He’s too circussy. People are noticing us.’

Narcissus, who even for a camel was quick to take offence, gargled up a tennis-ball-sized dollop of camel goo and sent it with his usual perfect aim onto the screen of Armitage’s
satnav.

‘MY SATNAV!’ yelled Armitage. ‘He’s gooed my satnav!’

‘Sorry,’ said Billy, trying not to laugh.

‘I never liked that animal! Not one bit!’

‘I think it’s mutual,’ said Billy.

‘In twebblebbnety mebbles, tebble lebble,’ said the satnav.

‘He’s ruined it! That beast has bust my best batnav. I mean, satnav.’

Billy felt a jerky tremble rise up into his legs from Narcissus’s hump. This, he knew, was a camel cackle. Silent, but unmistakable. Billy squeezed back with his knees, sharing the
joke.

On and on they went, rampaging very slowly in the direction of the middle of nowhere, with the satnav gargling out gooey and garbled directions. Armitage gave up on trying to get rid of
Narcissus. If life had taught him one thing, it was this: don’t mess with that camel. If life had taught him one other thing, it was this: if you
are
going to mess with that camel,
make sure you’re wearing an ankle-length, goo-proof plastic poncho and a motorbike helmet with the visor down. And Armitage did not have either of those items in his suitcase.

Apart from the occasional cackle practice, Billy and Armitage travelled in silence, both of them lost in thought. Armitage was dreaming of the delicious revenge he was about to wreak on Queenie
Bombazine. That woman needed someone to teach her a lesson – drag her back to earth – show her that she wasn’t half as special as she thought she was – and Armitage was the
man for the job. This, he knew, was going to be His Finest Hour.

Billy, meanwhile, was going over and over in his head the words of the letter hidden in his back pocket. His father was out of jail! He was coming to find him! Billy, finally, was going to be
rescued from Armitage and saved from a life of crime. Better than that – better by a thousand times – he was going to see his father again. Armitage needed someone to teach him a
lesson, drag him back to earth to show him that he wasn’t half as special as he thought he was – and Billy’s dad, the great Ernesto Espadrille, was the man for the job.

If Ernesto found his way to the Oh, Wow! Centre on time, Armitage – for sure – would finally meet his dooooooooooooooom!

Meanwhile, back at the campsite of Shank’s Impossible Circus, a meeting was taking place. Hank was banging a hammer on a table.

‘I call this meeting to order!’ yelled Hank.

‘Why should we listen to you?’ yelled Frank.

‘Because I’ve got the hammer.’

‘It’s not your hammer, it’s my hammer.’

‘Mine.’

‘Mine.’

‘Get off!’

‘You get off!’

‘I had it first.’

‘
I
had it first. I had it this morning.’

‘LISSSSSSSSTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!’ boomed Maurice, who was inordinately proud of his booming skills. As a young man, he came second in the annual Loire Valley Amateur Booming
Contest, and to this day he was convinced that the winner had cheated. ‘Armitage ‘as gone on ze rrrrampage wizout us. ‘E’s up to somesing. ‘E’s got some snicky
plin and ‘e’s trying to cut us out of ze prrrofits.’

‘He’s right,’ said Irrrrrena, which is what Maurice had told her to say.

‘A snicky plin?’ said Fingers O’Boyle.

‘Yes! Ezzatly!’

‘Do you mean a sneaky plan?’ asked Fingers.

‘Yes! A snicky plin!’

‘We can’t let him do that,’ said Fingers. ‘We have to go after him.’

‘We can take ze enorrrmous lorry,’ said Maurice.

‘He’s right,’ said Irrrrrena.

‘I’ll drive!’ said Hank, who had always wanted to have a go on the enormous lorry.

‘No, I’ll drive!’ said Frank, who had also always wanted to have a go on the enormous lorry.

‘I will!’

‘No, I will!’

‘No, I will!’

‘No, I will!’

‘No, I will!’

‘No, I will!’

‘You’ll do what?’ said Jesse. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We’re going to rampage after their rampage!’ said Fingers. ‘Now let’s get moving before it’s too late!’