by Jon Mayhew
‘What’s happening?’ Arabella whimpered, but Josie could only stare as the head of the tiger-skin rug reared up behind Corvis and sank its inch-long fangs into his calf. He screamed in agony and threw Arabella away from him as he reached down to beat at the tiger’s head.
Alfie opened his eyes and grinned weakly at Josie. ‘Bit better than an army of flies,’ he panted. The tiger had gone back to being nothing more than a rug, but its jaws were still locked on Corvis’s lower leg. He screamed in agony and writhed on the floor. Blood smeared the tiles as he tried to prise the mouth open.
‘Get it off me! Mag! Jay! Where are you?’ he screamed, but the Aunts didn’t respond. Josie remembered something Corvis had said about them being prone to animal urges. Perhaps they were too engrossed in the disgusting feast.
‘Come on, quick!’ Josie said, pulling Arabella to her feet. Almost tripping over Alfie, she turned and ran towards the open front door. But Josie paused just before they stepped outside. She grabbed Alfie’s shoulder. ‘Here,’ she said, pulling black bonnets and cloaks from the pegs by the door. ‘Put these on.’
‘Yer what?’ Alfie screwed his face up at the bonnets.
Josie glanced back. Corvis tried to stand but his leg gave way beneath him. It would have been comical if she wasn’t so scared.
‘Just do it,’ she told Alfie. ‘From above we may look like the Aunts going on an afternoon stroll. It may be enough to fool the crows.’ The bonnets smelt rank and Josie could see lice eggs and strands of coarse black hair caught in the fabric. ‘Hurry, we can’t waste any time. The Aunts will realise something’s wrong soon.’
‘That’s if they ’aven’t already!’ Alfie said, pulling the cloak on with a shudder.
Josie grimaced, too, trying not to think of the Aunts gorging themselves on offal. She helped Arabella tie her bonnet. The girl looked dazed. She was massaging her arm and weeping.
Josie stepped outside and hurried down the path, half running, half walking. She had to prop Arabella up as Alfie stumbled behind, the three of them trying desperately not to look too suspicious. They could hear Corvis yelling in the hall. The cloak felt heavy and the bonnet scratched Josie’s head. Every scrunch of their feet on the gravel shouted out their escape. Josie could hear her breath, ragged and panting in time with Arabella’s and Alfie’s.
A huge, bearded black raven swooped in front of them and bounced on the scrubby lawn. It cocked its head and eyed them. They kept walking. She could hear the bird’s powerful wings launch it into the air. Another crow cawed, rattling Josie’s nerves. She could feel Arabella shiver with every sound as scores of black birds around them shifted and croaked uncertainly. They seemed confused but at least they stayed up on their perches on the roof and sills of Rookery Heights.
On they marched, past the wall, along the road. Josie could see the rust-red sail of Jacob’s barge poking above the scrubby bushes, hazy in the distance across the marsh.
‘Nearly there, look,’ Josie whispered, rubbing Arabella’s shoulders. ‘We’ll be safe once we get on the barge.’
‘I’ll be glad to get this stupid bonnet off,’ Alfie hissed.
Arabella let out a small groan and pointed at the sail. It was moving! ‘Sammy must’ve taken longer than we thought bringin’ the sack,’ she said. ‘Mr Carr said he could only wait for twenty minutes or so. He’s leaving.’
She broke away from Josie and began to run down the lane, stumbling on the rutted ground.
‘C’mon, Josie, we can’t ’ang about!’ Alfie yelled, throwing the cloak and bonnet to the ground and charging after Arabella. Josie didn’t move. She watched the sail glide away from them. A broad expanse of marsh – tussocks of grass interspersed with reed-filled gulleys – stood between them and the channel the boat sailed along. The most direct route to it was across the mire.
‘We’ll never catch it on the road,’ she called after them. ‘Cut across here.’
Arabella ran on, out of earshot, but Alfie skidded to a halt, looking back and forth, trying to decide whether to follow her or to join Josie.
‘But the marsh is dangerous,’ Alfie said, then stopped, his mouth hanging open as he stared back at the house. Rookery Heights had erupted in a cloud of black. Hundreds of crows and rooks swirled and darted in and out of each other.
‘It’s going to become even more dangerous here,’ Josie gasped, watching the cackling thundercloud. ‘We’ve got to get on that barge.’
She turned for the marshes and ran. She could hear Alfie following. He came alongside her and she threw off the bonnet and cloak, leaving them to lie in the long, coarse grass. Behind them, the boiling, seething swarm of birds circled and swooped, getting bigger by the second as the red sail across the marshes became smaller.
.
.
Now the day being done and the night coming on,
Those two little babies sat under a stone.
They sobbed and they sighed, they sat there and cried,
Those two little babies, they lay down and died.
Pretty babes in the wood, pretty babes in the wood,
O, don’t you remember those babes in the wood?
‘Babes in the Wood’, traditional folk song
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lost in the Mist
The sound of cackling and angry cawing grew louder as Josie and Alfie struggled through the marsh grass. Josie’s legs burned with the effort of bounding through the clinging stalks that snagged and tugged at her skirts. She cursed the impractical clothing and hitched the hems up to her knees.
‘Alfie, can you see the barge?’ she panted. The ground undulated, making her stumble and stagger. One minute, hard tussocks met the soles of her boots; the next, soft yielding mud and thick reeds. Alfie had overtaken her, but even he struggled to move fast.
‘Think so,’ he gasped back. ‘But it’s gettin’ hard to see.’
He was right. A thin grey mist began to rise from the ground, blurring the horizon and making anything distant indistinct. Josie glanced back at the thickening cloud of angry birds swirling towards them: a thousand tiny specks that conglomerated into a vengeful monster. But some of the specks weren’t so tiny. The Aunts were in among the angry swarm, screaming their bloodlust.
‘What about Arabella?’ she yelled.
‘I don’t think they’re interested in her, Josie – hurry!’ Alfie yelled. ‘They’ll be on us in a flash!’
Josie leapt from one grassy hillock to another. Her lungs felt like they would burst with the effort as she caught up with Alfie. Each step squelched and water seeped into their boots, between their toes. Running became even more difficult. The rotten smell of marsh water filled their nostrils as they plunged on, trying to ignore the insistent cackling screeches that echoed close behind them. The barge had vanished from sight, forgotten in the scramble to survive and shrouded by the thickening mist.
Josie lost her footing and collapsed on to the wet earth. The grass seemed to open up and she gasped at the cold of the marsh as it engulfed her. Brackish, soily water filled her mouth, nose and ears, deadening the screams of the crows for an instant. She pulled her head up and found herself waist deep in a gully, coughing and spluttering. Alfie grabbed her under the armpits and began to drag her out of the pit.
‘No time for a bath,’ he panted. ‘Quick, come on . . .’
They struggled on but Josie had lost all sense of where they were heading. Cold numbed her and the water still stung her eyes. She gripped on to Alfie’s coat-tails, tripping and sliding blindly as he pulled her along. Mud smeared her legs as she slipped again, dragging Alfie with her. The noise of the crows deafened them as a few birds swooped. Josie lashed out with the back of her hand, swatting the first attacker aside. Even blinded by ditchwater she couldn’t miss.
A sudden chill bit into her. She rubbed her eyes and found the mist had solidified into a thick, freezing fog. Alfie was picking himself up, only a foot or so away, but he was no more than a shadow to Josie. H
e panted and his breath billowed into the freezing mist. Somewhere to their left, the raucous crows faded into the distance.
‘Hope we’ve lost them,’ Alfie said, his teeth chattering.
‘We could lose each other in this pea-souper,’ Josie said, shivering and hugging herself. Her wet clothes were no protection from the cold; they clung to her, numbing her to the bone. ‘What should we do? Wait?’
‘I don’t think we should,’ Alfie murmured, jerking his chin at something behind Josie.
She turned to see a dark figure, shadowy, some distance away, but moving towards them slowly. Josie could just see the outline of a long beak, the spiky head feathers. Frantic, she scanned right and left for a hiding place. The ground lay flat and featureless but for the murky pool of water she’d just slipped in. She grabbed Alfie and pulled him back to the pool, gasping as the cold water engulfed her again. She heard Alfie yelp as she took a deep breath. The massive crow-Aunt loomed nearer in the gloom. Josie pointed at the water, then ducked her head under, hoping that Alfie had the guts to do the same.
The freezing water hurt, making her ache in her very bones, between her eyes, in every joint, in every muscle. Her crushed lungs screamed for air and she could hear her heart drumming. Alfie gripped her shoulder, holding them both down, his cheeks puffed out and eyes screwed shut. His skin looked brown in the marshy water. Josie prayed he could stay under as long as she could. She glanced up, trying to see through the murk. A stark outline poked up into the sky from the edge of the pool. Aunt Mag wobbled and wavered as the water rippled. The urge to draw breath became an unbearable pressure in Josie’s chest and throat. She wanted to push herself skyward and suck in the sweet air above. The cold drilled into her teeth and jaws. Blackness began to seep into the fringes of her vision.
She glanced up again. The figure had gone. Josie couldn’t wait any longer. With a gasp that nearly filled her lungs with water, she broke the surface and clawed her way up the slimy sides of the pool. Alfie burst up, throwing himself on to the bank, where he lay half out of the pool, gasping hoarsely for breath. Josie couldn’t think, but could only breathe, drawing in lungful after lungful of air. The sound of the crows grew more distant and muffled.
‘Come on,’ she said through chattering teeth. She dragged Alfie right out, falling backwards in the process.
‘You’re about as frozen as me,’ he said, his voice stammering as he grinned down at her and offered a hand.
They staggered through the marsh, unable to tell whether it was day or night, or in which direction they were heading in the silent world of cloud. Everything lay still; only their chattering breath and the scrunch of their feet on the frozen grass disturbed the silence.
Josie stopped. ‘How long have we been walking?’ she said, hugging herself and shaking violently.
‘D-dunno,’ Alfie said. ‘But I’ve g-got to rest soon.’
Josie didn’t reply. In the distance, the strange light pulsed, faint and weak, but piercing the fog and beckoning them.
‘Head that way,’ she said, pointing at it, unable to tell if Alfie shivered from the cold or fear.
They stumbled on, propping each other up when they tripped. Nothing was said as they saved their energy, trying to stay conscious as the bitter cold stung their skin and threatened to overwhelm them.
The beckoning glow became all that they saw. Shadows flitted and skimmed past Josie, but still it called to her.
Slowly the mist thinned to reveal a flicker of flame. Square outlines of caravans wavered in the dancing firelight. The fog broke and Josie could make out figures huddled round a huge campfire, casting long, twisted shadows on to the grey canvas wall of a huge circus tent that loomed over them.
Josie increased her pace, pulling Alfie along. She felt almost delirious with cold but the warmth of the fire drew her. The small huddle of men, women and children stared at them as they entered the circle of heat.
One man peeled away from the group. He stood tall and looked impossibly thin, bringing images of stilt men to Josie’s addled mind. His battered top hat emphasised the way he towered above everyone there. He wore a long frock coat and striped trousers. A ringmaster, Josie thought feverishly. The glow from the fire drew dark lines on his gaunt, skeletal face, emphasising his cheekbones and deep-set eyes. A spectacular waxed moustache sprang across either side of his face, like the hands of a clock.
‘Come, children,’ the ringmaster said, his voice thick with a heavy accent. ‘You look tired and hungry from your journey. Sit and eat.’
Josie exchanged exhausted glances with Alfie as they slumped down on to the sea-bleached tree trunks that doubled as seats around the fire. Nobody spoke, but she didn’t mind. Warmth bled back into her body, making steam rise from her clothes. She closed her eyes and sighed, revelling in the heat. Someone pushed a bowl into her hands, and soon she was gulping down lumps of meaty stew and gravy-soaked bread, oblivious of her audience. Alfie wolfed down his own food, pausing to nod and mime his thanks with a sloppy crust. The ringmaster nodded back, smiling gently.
When the bowl lay clean and its heat had ebbed into Josie’s hands, she looked back up at the party seated round the fire. It was a rough mix of shawled women, shaggy-haired children with grubby faces, hawk-featured men with golden earrings and missing teeth. But they all looked grey; the colour seemed washed out of their skin and their ragged, worn clothes. Josie could see that their eyes held deep sorrow, despite their smiles.
The ringmaster gestured to the shadows. ‘You need sleep. I will escort you to your caravan,’ he announced.
‘We have a caravan?’ Josie said, staggering to her feet.
‘There is always room at Lorenzo’s Circus,’ the skinny man said, his eyes deep and sad. ‘Always room for the lost.’
.
.
Nine children you have borne.
Three were buried under your bed’s head,
And three under your brewing lead.
Another three on the playing green;
Count, Maid, and there be nine.
‘The Maid and the Palmer’, traditional folk song
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Homecoming
Josie held her breath when she heard the name. She felt Alfie’s hand grip hers. All she could hear was the crackle of the fire and her own heartbeat.
‘Lorenzo’s Incredible Circus,’ Josie whispered. In her mind’s eye she saw the poster in Scrabsnitch’s shop: the ringmaster with arms extended, the lion clawing at the air and their mother, Madame Lilly.
‘Forgive me.’ The ringmaster bowed deeply. ‘I forget my manners. I am Lorenzo, master of this circus and your host . . .’
‘Then you’d know our mother, Madame Lilly,’ Josie said. Suddenly she felt so alive, full of curiosity and excitement. Lorenzo’s expression remained long and drawn. Josie looked around the circle; grim faces stared back at her.
‘You are Lilly’s children?’ He sighed and shook his head.
‘Yes.’ Josie beamed. ‘What was she like? Was she as beautiful as we’ve been told? How –’
Lorenzo held up a long, slender hand. ‘Child, save your questions for the morning. Let us find you a bed. You must sleep. Believe me, there will be more than enough time to talk about . . . the old days.’ Lorenzo turned his back on her and started walking.
Josie shivered, fatigue seeping back once more, and glanced at Alfie, who was keeping close behind her. Away from the fire, he looked pinched with cold, and pale. They followed Lorenzo, dragging their tired bodies through the cold night. Coarse marsh grass hissed and whispered in the gentle breeze. Alfie groaned and stumbled against her.
‘Are you all right?’ Josie whispered, feeling his weight on her shoulder.
‘I dunno,’ Alfie replied. ‘I feel exhausted.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Josie sighed. ‘We’ll get some sleep soon.’
The caravans extended in a semicircle around the big tent, square shadows disappearing into the mist and
dark. Lorenzo stopped at the first van and gestured.
‘You can rest here,’ he said. ‘And then maybe tomorrow you can meet everyone.’
Josie stood in the big tent, hurling knives. Blade after blade hit its mark in a breathtaking display. The audience cheered and applauded; she thought her heart would burst with pride. Lorenzo raised a hand towards her.
‘Artemis the Huntress!’ he cried.
Madame Lilly stood at the entrance to the ring, clapping her bejewelled hands, her dark features full of joy.
I’m home. Josie grinned, bowing again and again. I’m home . . .
With a gasp, she sat bolt upright up in bed. The covers lay cast to one side. The cold of the caravan had woken her. Her breath clouded the air as she dragged the blankets back over her, desperate to cling to the pleasure of the dream. Wide awake now, she scanned the tiny caravan.
Alfie slept in the bed opposite her, so close she could have reached out and touched him. Blankets were piled on top of him, his breath puffing out from beneath them. Pots and pans hung along the wall above him and the window of a small pot-bellied stove glowed red in the corner. Josie had no recollection of getting into bed. The last thing she remembered was dragging off her wet clothes.
Muffled voices from outside drew her to the tiny frosted window that let a little moonlight into the caravan. The tall, thin figure of Lorenzo stood talking to someone Josie could not make out in the darkness.
‘Will they perform?’ said a gruff voice from the shadows.
‘They have no choice,’ Lorenzo said, his voice sad.
‘They always have a choice,’ replied the voice.
The two figures moved away, the rest of their conversation lost as they disappeared into the night.
Her heart leapt. There was to be a performance! The happiness of her dream still fizzed faintly within her – that warm feeling, the roar of the crowd. That would be good, wouldn’t it? So why had Lorenzo sounded so despondent? Maybe he was always like that. Josie thought of Cardamom’s dark moods, his forlorn loneliness offstage. And what was all that about Josie choosing not to perform? As if. She smiled to herself and sat back in bed. Performing was in her blood.