The Real

by Masha du Toit

  Now that the circus lights were only a memory, it was hard to shake the feeling that whoever was down there had nothing to do with the circus.

  “Hey!”

  Ndlela nearly squeaked with surprise as Isabeau appeared at his elbow.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Couldn’t find my shoes in the dark. All okay now.”

  She was off down the stairs before he could voice his doubts. He followed her along the low wall next to the river. It was a dark, moonless night but he still felt exposed. Ahead, the soft noises of Isabeau’s progress came to a stop.

  “Sugar!” she said, vehemently but softly.

  Even now, in this tense moment, the quaint expression made him grin. It was those books she read. The children in them used the silliest curse-words.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s this— No, Robby. Go home!” Isabeau sounded thoroughly irritated.

  “Oh no.” Ndlela moved to where Isabeau hid, behind a low, scraggly bush. Robby was dancing in place, panting, his tail a happy blur.

  “Go home, Robby!” He pointed emphatically back the way they’d come. Robby planted his bony bum in the sand and grinned proudly, tail now rustling the undergrowth.

  “No, not ‘sit’,” said Ndlela. “Go home— Oh, it’s no good. We’ll have to take him back.”

  “He’ll just come after us again,” said Isabeau. “And if we try and tie him up he’ll howl and wake Noor.”

  Robby jumped up and started snuffling around in the bushes.

  “He’ll just have to come with us,” said Isabeau. “You’ll have to be quiet, Robby, you hear me?”

  Ndlela wanted to argue but Isabeau was already off, with the happy Robby close on her heels.

  This is not a good idea. But Ndlela could think of no way to back out of the plan now.

  By the time they got down to the edge of the dunes, Ndlela was feeling a bit more confident. Robby was quiet and it was exhilarating to be out on the beach at night. A cool breeze blew up from the sea and the damp sand squeaked under his feet. They made their way along the dune edge, moving as Jayden had taught them. Slowly, with long pauses, always waiting for a reaction before attempting the next stage.

  “See anything?” Ndlela asked.

  They were near to the circus buildings now, close enough to be seen if anyone was on lookout. This was very different from the previous times they’d been here. There were no lights twinkling up on the poles, no booming blare of circus music, no roar of laughter and applause from the crowd. Just the dark silhouettes of the buildings against the silvery glow of the sea.

  “It’s so dark.” Isabeau pushed up against his side. “Maybe they’ve already gone. Maybe…”

  Ndlela looked at her in surprise. She sounded so tentative. Was she chickening out?

  “Can’t back down now.” His earlier doubts had vanished. Isabeau’s sudden uncertainty just made him want to press on even more. “Come. Nobody’s watching. The pipe’s just over there, see?”

  The fence around the circus was rusted and not much of a barrier, but the only way to approach without being seen was along a large, rusted storm drain that protruded from the dunes and ran all the way to the buildings. They found the entrance without difficulty, but then they discovered another hitch. Each of them had thought that the other had brought the torch.

  By now, Isabeau had overcome her temporary attack of nerves. “It doesn’t matter,” she said breezily. “There are enough holes all along, the pipe’s so rusted. And anyway, a light would give us away.”

  “Okay.” Ndlela eyed the entrance to the pipe, then took a breath. “Okay. I’ll go first.” He had a feeling that Isabeau wasn’t nearly as nervous of that dark mouth, but he was the oldest. It was only right that he should go first.

  Why are we doing this again? He couldn’t remember. It wasn’t as if they were sneaking in to watch a circus show without having to pay.

  Maybe Isabeau thought that the circus would materialise, just because they went to look for it.

  The pipe was wide enough that he could walk nearly upright, keeping one hand against the upper curve. It stank of decaying kelp and it was so dark that he found himself wondering if he’d closed his eyes. Behind him came Isabeau, breathing through her mouth, keeping so close to him that she stepped on his heels whenever he slowed down.

  At last they reached the end of the pipe up against the side of the building.

  Where’s Robby? Then Ndlela felt the warm, compact body of the dog press up against his leg.

  “Okay, Isabeau,” he whispered. “I’m going to climb up first. Come slowly once I’m up. It’s all rusty and jagged here. Skin your knuckles.”

  He guessed, rather than saw, Isabeau’s nod.

  Getting out of the pipe was a bit of a squeeze. He must have grown more than he’d realised. At last he was through.

  Isabeau followed with Robby close behind. For a moment both of them paused, listening. No sound from the building above them. No going back now.

  All they could hear was the rush of the sea on the far side of the building. The brief glimpse they’d had of the circus lights seemed like a dream now. Ndlela found himself doubting that the building was occupied at all.

  There’s nobody here. He was half relieved, half irritated.

  They balanced along a ledge, quite exposed, until they reached a pile of sleepers that must once have been part of some kind of walkway. This provided a convenient way to climb up the side of the building.

  Once again Ndlela went first, hauling himself up the sloping wooden beams until he reached the place he was looking for, a gap in the wall covered by a rusted flap of fencing. He held the flap so that Isabeau and Robby could crawl through, then slipped through himself.

  They were under the building, inside a sort of crawl space. It was damp and slippery from the recent high tide and stank of rotting kelp. They’d have to rinse off before they went home otherwise Noor would guess where they’d been.

  Isabeau was suddenly at his side, breathing hotly into his ear. “Lions!” she whispered, too loudly, and plucked at his arm. Before he could react she’d scuttled sideways and to the right, where the crumbling concrete floor took a step up.

  He could see her up ahead of him, outlined against a faint yellow glow.

  That’s an electric light. Ndlela’s stomach lurched. He thought about calling Isabeau back but didn’t dare raise his voice. She had reached the edge of the crawlspace and was pressing her face against the bars of a long, low vent, her shape silhouetted against the light that shone through it from the far side.

  Ndlela joined her. The view from the vent was onto a courtyard, walled on one side by the building, the rest enclosed by walls. A dilapidated roof covered part of the courtyard, but most of it was open to the sky.

  When the circus was here, this was where they parked their trucks and trailers. It was empty now except for three big motorbikes.

  So there’s at least three people here. Maybe more. Ndlela pressed his face against the bars. As far as he could see the courtyard was unoccupied.

  Just below them was the row of cages where the circus kept its animals. Last year there had been two lions, a sight that had alternately fascinated and horrified both him and Isabeau. He remembered their alien eyes and the awful resignation with which the lions had lain there, watching through the bars.

  The cages were empty now. The stench was gone too. When the animals were there, you could smell their musky scent interwoven with the ammonia tang of dirty sawdust. Now all he could smell was the sea.

  “Nothing there,” he said to Isabeau, keeping his voice low, but she shook her head and pointed.

  Ndlela looked again. It was hard to see at this angle, but there did seem to be something in a nearby cage. A dog? It was about the right size, although it was hard to see in the shadows. Then the thing moved and he saw that it was under some kind of blanket. Or was that its fur?

  “What is it?” hissed Isabeau, and Ndlela shook his head. Then t
hey both jerked back as a clang sounded in the courtyard. Footsteps crunched in gravel. Ndlela flattened himself against the wall, and kept a firm hold of Isabeau. It would be just like her to poke her face out the vent again just to see what was going on.

  “You want to start that whining again?” It was a man’s voice. He said something else but they couldn’t catch the words.

  To Ndlela’s relief, Isabeau backed away from the vent. Perhaps the man’s voice had scared her. But instead of heading for the entrance, she went in the opposite direction, towards a square hole in the far side, this one covered by a metal grid.

  The light was cut off as she pushed her face up against the bars. Ndlela moved in next to her and looked out too. For a moment both of them stared out into the dark.

  “Oh,” said Isabeau.

  Ndlela understood the disappointment in her voice. Even though he’d known what they would see, he couldn’t help being surprised at how different it was from their previous visits. Then, floodlights had lit the wood-and-metal deck that stretched out over the water. People had crowded there, fabulous people in colourful costumes. There had been lines of torches all along the railing, real torches burning with orange flames. Flags of every colour in the rainbow. The music had been so loud it had jarred his teeth and vibrated in his guts, and the air had been hot with the scent of boerewors and candy apples.

  Now the deck was only dimly visible as a shadow between them and the slight glint of starlight from the sea. The only sound was the slosh and shush of the waves.

  The floor creaked just above them and a man spoke.

  “— so you’ll just shoot her?”

  Ndlela and Isabeau stared at one another, wide eyed. The voice was so close the speaker must be just exactly above their hiding place.

  “Sure,” said another voice, a woman, this time. “You think I won’t do it?”

  “I know you’d do it,” said the man. “I just like to know what to expect.”

  Something curved past them, a bright, orange spark that vanished as it fell. A cigarette butt.

  “And then what will happen to your friend?” The man’s voice was deep. “You gonna push the button? Or just leave her in that cage?” Ndlela held his breath. He sounds huge. Huge and mean.

  “We’ll see.” The woman spoke softly. Ndlela had to strain to hear her. “She might be useful yet. As something other than bait.”

  “It’s all turning into a fucking pain,” said the man. “We’re supposed to be out here to find that stuff. Not fucking looking after fucking prisoners.”

  The wood above them creaked again.

  “You just do your job, Mamba,” said the woman. “And I’ll do mine. The moment that bitch shows up, I’ll deal with her and it will be all over. You can forget all about it. No reason any of it should interfere with finding the stuff.”

  “That’s what you keep saying.”

  “Well, fuck it, Mamba.” The woman’s voice was taut with anger. Each time she swore she spat the word with a venom that made Ndlela wince. “The whole plan was to make this place seem deserted. You fucking agreed with that. Otherwise why will she come here? She’ll be expecting a trap, she’s not an idiot. Which means we should be lying the fuck low, that’s what you agreed to. Not switching on the fucking lights so all the world knows there’s somebody here, and tearing around on your fucking bikes.”

  Ndlela felt Isabeau’s hand wrap around his arm. It felt icy and she was trembling. His instinct was to stay frozen for as long as he could hear the voices but he knew that they had a better chance of getting away while at least some of the building’s occupants were on the seaward side. He started edging away and was relieved when Isabeau didn’t resist.

  They reached the gap above the pilings and climbed through, not speaking, helping one another as their clothing snagged on the grid that hung across the gap. They were halfway down the wooden pile when Isabeau, who was in front, looked up at him, her face pale in the starlight.

  “Robby,” she mouthed, and Ndlela felt his heart lurch.

  Where was that dratted dog? He tried to remember when he’d last seen him. He’d definitely gone with them under the building. He must still be there.

  Damn.

  Isabeau had already turned and was trying to push back past him again. Ndlela grabbed hold of her, torn between his absolute conviction that they should not go back into that dark, stinking space, and the impossibility of leaving Robby.

  Then, with a scrape and a clang, Robby’s face poked out through the grate. To Ndlela’s horror he gave a loud, gruff bark before he wiggled the rest of the way through.

  The response was immediate. Footsteps sounded above them, a voice calling, and another answering.

  “Go, go, go!” Ndlela pushed Isabeau back down the piling and the three of them half slid, half fell to the sand below.

  “Oh, we’ll never get into the pipe!” wailed Isabeau.

  Ndlela grabbed her arm and pulled. “Run. Over the sand. No time for the pipe.”

  It was a nightmare. The sand was dry enough to be soft and their feet sank deep as they struggled to run, although Robby skipped out ahead of them. Then came the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.

  “Robby!” gasped Isabeau and she ripped her hand free and ran out ahead of him.

  Another shot rang out. Ndlela felt the skin on his back contract in expectation of a bullet slamming into him. He could hardly believe it when he crashed into the line of shrubs at the foot of the first dune. Isabeau was still ahead of him.

  She’s still fine. She couldn’t run like that if they’d hit her.

  He tripped over something and went sprawling in the sand, falling so hard he was winded. He lay there, heart pounding, waiting for the sound of running footsteps from behind, for rough hands to grab hold of him. When he got his breath back he started pushing deeper into the shrubbery, keeping low. Then something hairy knocked him backwards and pinned him down, was licking his face and stepping so hard in his stomach that he grunted.

  “Robby— Off! Gerrof.” He pushed the dog back and rolled over onto his knees, only to be pushed back again by Isabeau, who put a knee in his ribs and hit his forehead with her chin as she threw her arms around him.

  “Did they get you? Did they get you?” she gasped.

  “Ow,” he said, pushing her away. “No. I’m fine. Be quiet!”

  “They shot at us!”

  “I know.” Ndlela blew out a breath. “Let’s go home.”

  Codebreaking

  Xun, the old gardag, licked the last of the chicken blood from her paws, then scraped a paw over her face to get rid of the clinging feathers. One of her sons was rooting through a nearby rubbish heap. She kept expecting the noise to attract attention but so far none of the nearby humans seemed to care.

  They had certainly cared about the chickens. Xun closed her eyes, wincing at the memory of angry, shouting faces. The three of them had nearly been cornered in an alleyway. She’d walked towards the crowd, expecting blows, kicks, the chain around her neck again but the men had backed away, staring.

  “Oh, my God. What is that thing. What a monster.”

  A stone had clanked on her armour and that had brought her sons up on either side, hackles raised, lips drawn to expose their long, white teeth. She’d done the only thing she could. Dodged between the legs that circled them, barrelled her way through, forcing her sons to choose between following or staying to fight.

  They’d followed.

  Then there had been a nightmare of bright lights and pursuing feet, of scrambling around corners, down alleyways and through backyards until at last they’d shaken their pursuers. They’d found a hiding place only when the sky was lightening towards dawn. A foot bridge over a channel filled with rubbish and with space for them to squeeze in under the shelter of the bridge.

  Xun settled her chin on her paws, wishing that she could move out to the ledge where the early morning sun made an inviting golden pool. But that would be too exposed.

  Her
eyes closed and she drifted into sleep where her dreams were confused, scenes from the recent chase mixed in with memories from long ago.

  Blue lights flashed. A radio crackled. If she moved out of the shadow, they’d have her. She was the prey, now, but she couldn’t flee while her pups were still missing. Where were they? She could hear them crying, could smell them but couldn’t reach them.

  She came awake and nosed frantically along her belly until she remembered where she was, and heard the sound that had pulled her out of her sleep. Something moved out in the channel below her. Something small.

  Xun moved warily, angling her head so that she could see past the cracked lenses that covered her eyes. There it was. A human child so filthy and ragged that it was impossible to tell, even from the smell, whether it was boy or girl.

  Her sons, too, were watching the child. They stared, focused. Hunting. Bodies taut, readying for the leap. The child crouched to pick something up, utterly unaware of its danger.

  Xun dragged herself out from under the bridge and with a clank and creak of armour, rose to her feet, mouth open, and barked a warning. The child stiffened, eyes staring. In a flurry of rags it scampered back the way it had come. The two younger dogs rose to their feet, but lay back when they saw that their prey was beyond their reach.

  Xun’s head drooped wearily and for a moment she longed for sleep. As long as they were near humans, she had to stay awake and on guard. When it was dark again she’d make her sons move on. Find somewhere without so many people around.

  Somewhere safe.

  ¤¤¤

  When Elke reached the office the next morning somebody was there ahead of her. A large man with a wad of slicked-back hair was just leaving. It was Yelland, the man who habitually beat his girlfriend, the one she’d been writing a report on only yesterday.

  Yelland? What’s that creep doing here? She watched him walk away down the corridor, then knocked and entered.

  “Morning,” she said to Herr-eid Argent, who was, as always, busy with paperwork at the desk. The shade was there too, face calm, eyes downcast.