Part 15 (1/2)

”My lady is much more beautiful!” he cried, waving to his dinner date, but adding ”No offense, signorina” to the Learned Pig's lady and blowing her a kiss. The Learned Pig didn't like that at all-he squealed and rushed at Julius's dad, trying to knock him over. Julius's dad didn't like that: that: He made Hans go and fetch Major Tib, who thought about the problem very picturesquely, holding his folded whip to his brow in deep thought, and finally suggested that they fight a duel to settle the matter. He gave the clown and the pig a pistol each (the pig took his in his mouth), then he blindfolded the clown, and Hans blindfolded the Learned Pig. Julius's dad complained that the pig was peeking. The pig squealed in indignation at the suggestion. Then they lined up, back to back, and Major Tib counted to ten for them to walk away from each other. Finally there were two shots, and both clown and pig fell down. The clown jumped up again, but the pig didn't. He made Hans go and fetch Major Tib, who thought about the problem very picturesquely, holding his folded whip to his brow in deep thought, and finally suggested that they fight a duel to settle the matter. He gave the clown and the pig a pistol each (the pig took his in his mouth), then he blindfolded the clown, and Hans blindfolded the Learned Pig. Julius's dad complained that the pig was peeking. The pig squealed in indignation at the suggestion. Then they lined up, back to back, and Major Tib counted to ten for them to walk away from each other. Finally there were two shots, and both clown and pig fell down. The clown jumped up again, but the pig didn't.

”Are you dead?” the clown asked the pig. The pig quietly opened his eyes and looked around, then got up very gently and stamped once, then lay down again with his eyes closed. ”You don't mean it, you don't mean it!” cried the clown. ”Say you don't mean it! Stamp again! Make it two for no!” Hans joined in the pleading, and so did Major Tib, but to no avail-the pig insisted he was dead.

”Well then, Signor Pennacorrente,” said Major Tib. ”That's murder! You'll go to court and be sent to jail forever and ever! Or longer!”

Julius's dad rolled over onto his knees and wrung his hands and wept; Hans was blowing his nose and weeping too, and stroking his poor ”dead” pig.

”You'd better run away,” said Major Tib, ”and take the body with you!” So they rolled the pig into a sack and the clown started dragging it across the ring-quite a heavy job, you can imagine.

Suddenly the end fell out of the sack-and there was the pig in a flowery bonnet, looking furious, bouncing with good health, and chasing after Julius's dad until he caught his s.h.i.+rttails between his teeth. The s.h.i.+rttails turned out to be about forty feet long, and each time the pig pulled more out, it was a different color. By now most of the audience, including Charlie, were laughing so hard, they couldn't breathe properly, and at least four people had fallen off their seats.

Major Tib had to give them a little while to calm down before introducing the next act. Charlie was completely seduced. For a moment, he was just a kid at the circus.

As the people gradually stopped laughing and caught their breath, the lights dimmed, and a long, pure, high note was heard, as if from a distant trumpet. Major Tib, in a calm and almost trance-like tone, called out like a voice from way above: ”There's magic in the air tonight-here-can you feel it? There's magic in the air!” The trumpet note was still playing-it sounded like a shaft of light-and then an actual shaft of light flew out and lit up one of the high-wire platforms up in the flies, and there was the trumpeter, dressed in white, but though the note could be heard, he wasn't playing. A second shaft of light appeared-and in its pool was caught the other platform, and there stood another trumpeter, identical to the first, playing the long and slow note. Then he took his trumpet from his lips, and the note continued-it was the first trumpeter, who now was playing. The note pa.s.sed between the two of them and it was impossible to tell which one was making the sound. . . . Golden p.r.i.c.ks of light appeared like stars on the great rounded ceiling of the big top, and the two platforms rolled back toward the edges of the ring, leaving a third standing empty and spotlit way up among the stars.

”MAGIC, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” cried Major Tib, and the lights flared up to reveal a huge green-bronze cannon in the ring below, with a bunch of men fussing urgently around it, a flash of fire, a cry, a cras.h.i.+ng explosion, a cloud of smoke shooting out, and flying through the air toward the platform, a streak of gold, a zooming bird, a figure- And then, landing on the platform, clutching the rope supports with a gasp and a flex of golden muscles, was a beautiful girl with sleek brown skin and sleek black curls pulled back tight from her intent, alert face. She was dressed in a sleek gold suit and was smiling broadly, looking for all the world as if being shot from a cannon and landing on a small platform a hundred feet up in the air was her idea of perfect fun.

Charlie barely recognized her.

”The one and only, the beautiful and magical, mystical, adorable-Miss Isabel Andart, known to her phalanxes of fascinated fans as the fabulous, the fearless PIROUETTE!” cried Major Tib. ”Ladies and gentlemen, this girl can fly! fly!”

The band broke into a fine habanera, trapezes fell from the roof, and Pirouette focused her mind, filled her lungs, bent her knees a little, flung her strong arms up to heaven, and leaped out into the abyss.

Well, she caught her first trapeze and twirled around on it for a while; then she stood on her hands, wedged her legs against the ropes, and brought the trapeze to a standstill. Another trapeze flew toward her out of the darkness-someone must have been up there controlling them-and she flipped over and caught it with her legs, so she was hanging upside down again by her knees and swinging gently, like a flower on a tree in a gentle breeze. How beautiful and hypnotic it was. The music slowed. She looked so comfortable and calm. Everybody sighed.

And then the habanera started up again, trapezes began to fly at her-some with people hanging from them by the knees-and she began to fly around the roof of the tent, from one trapeze to another, caught here by a catcher's hands, being flung there to another, catching herself with arms and hands or knees and feet. She flew through hoops, and through hoops covered with paper (how could she know where she was going to end up? She couldn't see!). Charlie could see the sweat on her face, and the tension, and the look of absolute joy as she swung away again and the hands released her to fly on to another trapeze below, where she built up more swing, until it was reaching the horizontal and higher, and she took another great leap, somersaulting in midair as she went, to yet another trapeze. She was fabulous. She could could fly! fly!

Then she and the catchers were swinging and leaping around the roof in a giant game of trapeze tag, and each time she caught one of the men-for she was by far the quickest-they tumbled and somersaulted down, down, down from the Kingdom of the Flying Trapeze to the solid ground below, like angels falling from heaven, or birds banned from the sky. Pirouette alone remained on high, swooping more slowly now, until she raised herself to stand on the big central trapeze, beautiful and exhausted, her curls escaping and sweat streaming down her face, looking as gloriously happy as anyone Charlie had ever seen in his life.

The trapeze rose up, and she disappeared into the shadows of the roof. Charlie gazed, dumbstruck. He couldn't say a word.

She seemed to have had the same effect on the next act. Three clowns came in, gazing upward in adoration, calling to her, waving and beckoning, jumping up to be with her, cras.h.i.+ng down again, b.u.mping into one another and finally all lying down on the floor in paroxysms of unrequited love.

Then a big green-and-gold cage-wagon full of snakes rolled in, and a belly dancer took a couple out and danced with them. The clowns got scared, and then she let out a huge snake, so the clowns ran away, in a very comical manner. The huge snake was dancing along the ground, rippling and sinewy, and then suddenly it started flexing and thras.h.i.+ng about-what was it doing? It was a powerful mover-and then Charlie realized what was happening. It was shedding its skin. The whole patterned slinky surface was s.h.i.+mmying and rippling down from the snake's body.

So what was underneath?

For a moment Charlie was scared.

Something pale was emerging.

”Arrghhh!” cried Charlie, before he could stop himself. And he wasn't the only one to yell, not at all.

The s.h.i.+very snakeskin fell away. The pale, naked snake body slithered on the ground for a moment, then with one last great thrash it reared its head and rose up to its-feet?

It was standing up.

On legs.

Waving to the crowd.

With its arm.

It was Bendy Ben, the India rubber boy.

The crowd cheered as only a crowd that had been genuinely frightened and was now genuinely relieved could cheer.

So then Bendy Ben did his bendy act, during which, among other things, he sat on his own head and fed himself with his feet, using a knife and fork. Julius had told Charlie that Bendy Ben had sold his skeleton to a clinic in the Empire Homelands for a hundred thousand pounds. Charlie had a.s.sumed that the clinic would get it after Bendy Ben died, but looking at him now Charlie wondered if he had had his skeleton surgically removed, and was held together inside with bits of elastic.

Charlie glanced across to where Mabel and Maccomo were sitting.

Oh dear, where were they?

He looked around. He couldn't see them.

His heart thudded.

No, stay calm. Search the crowd. Look carefully, scan across.

Scanning. Looking.

He found them. Maccomo was in his seat. He must have been bending down. Mabel was working her way back down the row of seats. She'd been to the restroom or something. That was okay. Charlie would have been more worried if it had been Maccomo who'd left.

But he could do without that kind of fright.

Meanwhile the Icarus Games had started, where Sigi Lucidi lay on his back and little Beppe Lucidi did acrobatics on his dad's feet, including a handspring, and then the Lucidi men lay on their backs in a circle, each with his hips propped up on a wedge-shaped thing called a trinka, and they juggled their children between them so that the kids flew from one set of feet to another, rolled up like little bundles as they flew. Then Hans came on with his kitten. It ran up a very tall pole and leaped off the top, with a parachute, floating sweetly back down to earth, meowing and twinkling its whiskers.

How sweet, Charlie was thinking, but then the air went out of his lungs and he gasped and froze.

Sitting with Maccomo and Mabel was a dark figure. Shaven-headed. Leather-coated.

Rafi.

Francis the cowboy rode in on a white horse, his monkey on his shoulder, guns blazing, and tried to kidnap Major Tib, shouting that he was Paul Pennacorrente's brother and he would have his revenge!

Charlie squatted like a frozen toad at the ringside. He couldn't move. He couldn't even think. He kept his face turned down, away from the circus lights, away from any chance of being recognized.

The trick riders were all riding in at once on their strong piebald horses, galloping after Francis and trying to catch him. The band was going crazy. But Charlie wasn't watching. He was hiding under his turban, desperately trying to gather his thoughts, desperate to look up again and check. Perhaps it's not Rafi. Perhaps it's some other young guy with a sleek shaved head and a black leather coat. And the same shape face, and the same cool look . . .

The ring lights dimmed for a moment as the rest of the trick riders disappeared and Francis took charge of their horses. Charlie risked looking up.

It was Rafi all right. Maccomo was talking to him and he was smiling, his eyes flickering around. Was he looking for something? Or someone?

The audience was cheering. The drumming of the hooves and the sweet salty smell of the horses came strong from the ring, and another smell, like pine-the smell of the sticky rosin that was rubbed on the horses' backs to keep the riders from slipping. Charlie felt sick. He stared down at the sawdust, breathed in the smell, and felt sick. Why was Rafi here? And if he had come for Charlie, why was he wasting time watching the circus? What was Rafi doing with Maccomo? How did they know each other? How long had he been there? Had he seen Charlie? Charlie had to a.s.sume he hadn't, because otherwise all h.e.l.l would have broken loose . . .

Down in the ring, two trick riders were standing on horseback, leaping, driving banks of fine horses, doing laps and calling out how clever they were. Charlie was frozen in position, the cheering of the audience ringing in his ears. He wanted desperately to sneak away, but he didn't want to draw any attention to himself, and he wanted to keep an eye on Rafi too.