“Not kill. Execute.” He spoke as if it made perfect sense. “He should have faced a firing squad many years ago.”
“Excuse me,” said Graham politely, “but I don’t understand why you’re telling us all this. Your plan was working. We believed Yuri was guilty. You didn’t need to confess to us.”
The Dashing Blade stepped forward and held the tip of his knife a millimetre from Graham’s throat. “I have met people like you before. Persistent, troublesome, nosy. So nosy! You are like terriers. British bulldogs. I have been watching you. I knew you would not rest until you had found out the truth. You give me no choice but to kill you.”
“How are you going to do it?” I asked. My voice came out as a pathetic little whine.
He ran his second knife across my cheek. “Regrettably I cannot use this on you. A knife wound would – how you say? – give the game away.” He sheathed both knives and balled his hands into fists. “I will knock you both senseless now. After the show tonight, the big top comes down. Accidents happen. You will be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When you are found, people will think you were crushed by a falling pole. Two foolish, nosy children who should not have been out on their own.”
Before I could move or react, the Dashing Blade spun on his heel and struck Graham hard on the side of the head. Luckily Graham had seen it coming and ducked, so it was no more than a glancing blow. He was dazed and shocked, but still standing.
“Run!” I shrieked, grabbing his arm. We sprinted for the exit. When we reached the curtain to the backstage bit, I let go of Graham and yanked it aside, pulling it off its rings, and sped through. A few more steps and we’d be safe!
Then I heard Graham yelp. Dizzied by the knock to the head, he couldn’t keep up. The Dashing Blade had caught him from behind. His arm was around Graham’s neck. Graham’s face had turned a hideous shade of red. All thoughts of faking our accidental deaths seemed to have vanished. The Dashing Blade was so enraged that he was throttling my friend.
I grabbed a big wooden cane off the table next to me and launched myself at Graham’s attacker, whacking the cane repeatedly into the backs of his legs with all my might. It couldn’t have hurt much but it distracted him enough to make him relax his hold on Graham’s throat. Graham jerked both elbows backwards, punching the air from the Dashing Blade’s lungs. Twisting out of his grip, Graham wrenched himself free.
Side by side we faced our assailant. I was armed with the walking-stick; Graham had grabbed a hula hoop. The Dashing Blade pulled both knives from their sheaths and lunged at us. I jabbed my stick into his stomach, and instinctively he dropped one of the knives and grabbed the end of the cane. It came away in his hand and I was left holding a bunch of flowers. One of Whizzbang’s magic tricks: worse than useless as a weapon.
Graham fared better with the hula hoop. As I’d jabbed at the Dashing Blade’s belly, Graham had hooked the ring over his head. He was now pulling, swinging from side to side trying to unbalance our attacker while dodging the flashing knife. It nicked Graham’s arm and there was a sudden spurt of scarlet. He screamed and let go. The hula hoop clattered to the floor. I hurled each and every prop on that table at the Dashing Blade: juggling balls, Indian clubs, roller-skates. He dodged each and every one of them. And then we had nothing left in our armoury.
Our enemy coolly picked up the knife he’d dropped.
“It is over,” he said. “Do not attempt to escape again. I can throw these faster than you can run. And contrary to appearances my aim is excellent.”
I could see that nothing – no amount of pleading or begging – would save us. His eyes were as dark and merciless as a shark’s. Had he looked like that when he’d shot his neighbours in Stolijna?
I hung my head and waited for the fatal blow to come.
There was a single shot. A muffled cry of surprise. The thump of a body falling to the floor.
Graham! I ground my fists into my eyes to shut out the horror of my best friend being killed.
But then a pinprick of hope lit the back of my brain. The Dashing Blade hadn’t had a gun – had he? So who had fired that shot?
Hardly daring to open my eyes, I prised the lids apart.
The Dashing Blade was lying at our feet and I could see in a second that he was never going to throw a knife again. Across the ring, his brother stood holding a smoking gun. To my amazement, Mum was standing behind him. Yuri told her in a cracked whisper, “No more mothers will weep for their children. There will be no more dead at my brother’s hand. I cannot allow it.”
Then his strength deserted him. Yuri sank to the sawdust floor, tears streaming down his face.
There’s not much to add, really. When my mum had got home and discovered I was missing, she’d guessed right away that I’d be at the circus. She’d come looking for me and banged on the window of the first caravan she’d found. It was Yuri’s. He’d put two and two together and come to our rescue before Mum even had time to call the police.
Our parents weren’t very happy to discover that we’d been faking our illness. Tragically, the manufactured-vomit trick would never work again. On the other hand, it felt pretty good to be alive.
Yuri told the police everything about his brother – whose real name turned out to be Drago Mehic. He’d been wanted by the international court for war crimes for years, so the authorities were furious that Yuri had helped conceal his identity for so long. Yuri was prosecuted for perverting the course of justice as well as committing murder, but seeing as he’d killed his brother to save our lives, he didn’t get a heavy sentence. When we saw him at the trial he looked younger; less troubled. It was as if the knowledge of what his brother had done had been a terrible burden and he was relieved to finally have it all out in the open. When he was led off to prison he looked strangely free.
The circus packed up and moved on right after Inspector Humphries had finished interviewing everybody. Nobody apart from Yuri had known anything about the Dashing Blade’s past – not even Ruby – so they were all allowed to go.
When the circus came back to town a year later, Graham and I read the feature in the local paper with interest. Ruby had become Whizzbang’s glamorous assistant – which you have to hope improved his act, although that might have been impossible. Things had changed for Carlotta, too: she’d taken up with one of Alonzo’s younger brothers and they were doing a new routine together involving hula hoops and acrobatics.
As for Irena… Before they’d packed up, I’d managed to ask her if she was really Russian – and, after checking that no one else could hear, she’d confessed that she was actually from Dagenham. Her real name was Trisha. I don’t know what happened between Brady Sparkles and her over the whole contract thing, but his threats had obviously been empty ones. She and Alonzo left his circus and became really famous as star performers with Cirque de la Lune – they were always in the newspapers. They toured the globe. Singapore, London, New York, Paris. When Graham’s dad had to go to some big conference in the French capital, he offered to take us to see them perform, but we decided to give it a miss. I mean, after all, a circus is just a load of people showing off in spangly leotards. Isn’t it?
certain
death
Tanya Landman is the author of many books for children, including Waking Merlin and Merlin’s Apprentice, The World’s Bellybutton and The Kraken Snores, and three stories featuring the characters Flotsam and Jetsam. Of Certain Death, the sixth title in her popular murder mystery series, Tanya says, “When I took my children to the circus I was fascinated by the performers. I thought the touring life must be great if you got on well with the others – but supposing you hated one of them? Would being on the road day in, day out make you feel … murderous?”
Tanya is also the author of two novels for teenagers: Apache, which was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal and the Booktrust Teenage Fiction Prize, and The Goldsmith’s Daughter, which was nominated for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize. Since 1992, Tanya has also been par
t of Storybox Theatre. She lives with her family in Devon.
You can find out more about Tanya Landman
and her books by visiting her website at
www.tanyalandman.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated, as they may result in injury.
First published 2010 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
© 2010 Tanya Landman
The right of Tanya Landman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-3791-4 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
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