The Boy Who Cried Fish (5 page)

‘No, I still can’t see anything,’ Fizz said, turning away.

And then he saw something.

BRAND NEW, the poster behind him announced, SEA-LIFE SPECTACULAR, DEATH-DEFYING STUNTS THREE TIMES DAILY – 11AM, 1PM, 3PM.

Whenever the words ‘death-defying’ appear, the ears of a circus performer perk up, and Fizz’s ears did just that (which was weird, since he’d read the sign with his eyes). Death-defying stunts had to be better than deathly-dull fish and non-existent octopuses.

He looked at his watch.

It was almost eleven now, so he dragged Wystan and the Doctor from in front of the empty tank.

They pushed through a set of swing doors and found themselves outside, in front of an enormous pool. Water lapped with a calm gurgle across the tiled poolside and the sudden gust of fresh air smelt briskly sea-y. Gulls circled noisily overhead and the high stands of seats were filled with as many as several people.

On the opposite side of the pool was a concrete stage, backed by a wall with a curtained doorway in it. The wall ran from the side of the main Aquarium building, but only for a few metres. Beyond that the stage area dwindled away into the pool, which lapped against a low wall, beyond which was the sea. Or at least the sight of the sea: they were probably higher up than high tide could reach them here, but Fizz could see a sailing boat out in the distance and bobbing white specks which were more gulls. It was quite a view.

Our circus trio shuffled along the front row of the seating, apologised their way past a woman who was sat with a notebook and pen on her lap (‘Press,’ Dr Surprise said to himself, meaning she was from a newspaper, not that anyone should touch anything), and sat down right in the middle.

There was a drum roll, and then tinny recorded music echoed round the watery arena as a man appeared through a curtain at the side of the pool. This was drama! This was exciting! This was showbiz!

On his head was a nineteenth-century sea captain’s hat, on his body was a long heavy navy blue coat with brass buttons, on his top lip was no moustache at all and in his hand he held a silvery fish.

No!

Fizz looked again, just as Wystan began nudging him. He
didn’t
hold a silvery fish in his hand. He had a silvery fish
stuck
,
impaled
,
pierced
if you will, on the end of a curving metal hook, exactly where his hand would have been, had it not been replaced with a hook. And a fish.

‘Told you so,’ muttered Wystan, and Fizz had to admit that he had.

Chapter Four

In which some flying fish fly and in which a sea lion is seen

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ the nautical gentleman began, his voice amplified and echoing round as the music died away to a background murmur. ‘I am Admiral Spratt-Haddock and this is my world famous
’Quarium Spectacular
. Today you will see things you never dreamt of, things unparalleled in their excitement, unrivalled in their oddity, unequalled in their sheer fishiness. Just wait! Witness daring displays of synchronised squirting squid! Fantastic flapping free-flying flying fish! And more, much more. And after all that, there’s . . . oh, but wait, what’s this?’

The music perked up, a jaunty little funny tune, as, from behind the curtain, a sleek low brown shape ran, leapt in the air, snatched the fish from Admiral Spratt-Haddock’s hook where it had been dangling by his side, and dove headfirst into the water. It all happened so fast Fizz didn’t know what it had been until Dr Surprise whispered, ‘I
think
that was an otter.’

‘Oh, Philip!’ the hook-handed host said, his bright voice echoing round the arena as he laughed. ‘That wasn’t
your
fish, that was
my
lunch.’ He turned around and hooked another fish out of the metal bucket that sat beside the back wall. ‘Now, where have you got to?’

The Admiral leant out and peered into the water, trying to see where the otter had gone. He didn’t notice Philip slide out of the pool. The otter tiptoed behind him, keeping his eyes on the Admiral’s back, before slowly lifting a fish from the bucket with its teeth. It looked sideways at the other fish hanging on the hook, then looked at where Fizz was sat, and he could have sworn the otter winked at him. Then, in a flash Philip snatched the Admiral’s dangling hooked fish and did a somersault backwards into the water. Once safely out in the middle of the pool the otter clambered up onto a large log that was floating smack in the middle of the pool and began to eat his prize.

‘Philip!’

Fizz laughed at this, and heard his laughter echoing round the empty arena. His performer’s heart wished that there had been a crowd there to appreciate the comedy of the act. He looked around, and saw that Wystan was frowning at him.

‘That’s
him
,’ the bearded boy hissed, pointing at the figure on the stage, ‘how can you laugh?’ Fizz realised that the unlikely funny otteriness of the show had momentarily outweighed his suspicion of this ‘Admiral’.

But just because he’d been sneaking round the circus, that didn’t mean he was a bad guy, did it? After all, there might’ve been a perfectly innocent explanation, Fizz thought, especially now it turned out he was in show business too. Maybe he was looking for Captain Fox-Dingle to discuss animal training things. Maybe Fish really had just wandered off.

All the same, he had to admit, this Admiral did
look
suspicious.

The show moved on. A shoal of flying fish soared above the water, flying in intricate patterns over the otter who still lay calmly on his log, floating in the middle of the pool. Their wing-fins glittered like rainbows in the midday sunlight, rustling like the pages of riffling library books. They looked like dragonflies, he thought, but damp fishy ones. The display was as beautiful as Philip’s act had been funny.

‘At this point,’ the Admiral said, rubbing his ear with that glinting hook, ‘normally you’d be witness to the astonishing music of Craddock the Choral Cod, but, just last night he was . . . he was . . . stolen. This morning, land-lubbers, I opened the ’Quarium doors, and his tank was empty. Craddock’s gone, and his beautiful song gone with him.’

The Admiral looked angry and upset. Of course, Fizz knew what it was like to lose someone. He and Wystan were both missing Fish. At that thought he smiled slightly. The Admiral was missing fish too. The only difference was a capital letter.

Admiral Spratt-Haddock stood silent, staring out at the ranks of seats, most of which were empty. Fizz wondered if he was going to say something else, or whether the show was over already.

But it wasn’t. A shoal of synchronised goldfish swam under the water in the shapes of popular celebrities; a school of eels did simple sums (not terribly well, but still, they were eels); and a squadron of squid squirted water at different-sized tin cans lined up along the lip of the pool.

Finally Admiral Spratt-Haddock hushed the imaginary noise down (Fizz could imagine the noise a real crowd would have been making quietening), the music diminished to a murmur and he looked around.

‘Now me lovely landlubbers,’ he said, as if he were imparting a secret, ‘we reach the finale, the grand spectacle. This morning you will see here at the ’Quarium, a
brand new
act. Would you please put your hands together and hold your breaths for the astonishing, the amazing, the absolutely unique Pescado, the Sea Lion of Dreams!’

There was a drum roll and then . . .

. . . nothing happened.

Fizz wondered if this was yet another act that had gone missing.

Admiral Spratt-Haddock said his cue again, ‘The absolutely unique Pes—’

A head poked through the curtain and honked.

Fizz recognised those whiskers. He recognised that nose. He recognised that honk.

The head looked around, big black eyes mournful and cute like a limping puppy abandoned on the steps of an orphanage on Christmas Eve.

‘Oh,
there
you are, you rascal,’ said the Admiral, waving a fish on the end of his hook.

The sea lion waddled out from the curtain, nose up, eyes wide, following the scent of the dangling pilchard. He wore a spangly sequined waistcoat and honked excitedly.

‘Fish!’ Fizz shouted.

He stood up in his seat. Wystan was standing beside him.

‘Fish?’ Dr Surprise said.

‘Look at the waistcoat!’ Fizz said.

‘Look at the whiskers!’ Wystan added.

On the little poolside stage the sea lion had gobbled the fish and rolled over, gulped down another fish and done a handstand, and now, following the scent of yet more fish, had gone and got its head stuck in the bucket.

‘Oh dear,’ said the Admiral, in such a tone of voice as to make an audience aware that this was still part of the act.

With the bucket on his head the sea lion was clattering about by the side of the stage. He banged into the wall and then stepped to the left. His flipper flapped on the first step of a flight of concrete stairs which led up and up to a platform thirty feet above the pool.

‘Pescado,’ the Admiral said like a bad actor, half-winking at the audience, ‘not that way. Don’t go up there.’

But the sea lion was determined and, flipper by flipper, he pulled himself up the steps, galvanised bucket rattling, echoing metallic honks punctuating the climb.

There was nothing the boys could do. Fizz wanted to run out and pull Fish’s tail, take the bucket off, save him from those stairs, but a large plastic screen blocked the pool from his reach (it had stopped them all from getting wet when the squids had amusingly misfired their squirts). Dr Surprise quietly suggested they sit down.

‘But it’s Fish!’ Fizz said to him.

‘Nonsense,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Do sit down, boys.’

As they argued, the sea lion reached the top platform and, in a movement so simple as to prove it had all been an act, tossed the bucket into the air, balanced it on his nose, flapped his flippers in a damp clap and honked a triumphant honk that echoed for seconds round and about.

Then in a swift startling move he flicked the bucket into the air, wriggled off the platform and plunged like a beautiful spinning brick nose-first into the water. So deft was the dive that hardly a ripple arose, hardly a splash sploshed, but a startled flurry of flying fish fanned out in a circle, leaping up into the air from the middle of the pool, fleeing like pigeons from a snapping dog.

It was a spectacular dive and only after everything had settled down did Fizz realise he’d been holding his breath.

With a splash the bucket landed in the water, upside down but floating. From underneath the sea lion nudged the bucket round, and rose up in the water balancing it on his nose, honking again. Only then did Fizz notice Philip the otter in the bucket, looking round in the air as if in surprise.

As he watched open-mouthed at this finale, the showman in him overriding his suspicions, he heard a beeping.

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

It sounded like an electric alarm clock at the beginning of another long day.

As the audience looked around to see where the odd sound had come from Fizz noticed Admiral Spratt-Haddock drop his head into his hands, and then a roar of water splashed up out of the centre of the pool.

The log that Philip the otter had been so calmly lying on throughout the show had reared up, split apart, and lunged at the sea lion with his balanced bucket.