Fizz could make out some of what he said. ‘Actually dear, if you listen to the audience, I think the sea lion’s not half bad. He has potential. Maybe we should – ’
But she was having none of it.
‘This is the worst circus we’ve ever been involved with,’ she snapped.
‘You mean,’ said Wystan, standing up beside Fizz, ‘the worst circus you’ve tried to ruin.’
‘How dare you, you little toad!’ she blustered. ‘You turncoat! We make our judgements and weed out the weak. We eliminate the useless. We make circuses better! We do it for their own good!’
She spoke with such a loud voice, that everyone was looking at her. Even Fish. (He’d dropped the false teeth.) What Fish was now thinking was: she had the last bit of fish, maybe she knows where the next bit is.
And he followed her pointing finger.
And there, at the end of where it pointed, was Wystan, the bearded boy.
Fish lunged, sniffed and lifted Wystan up.
‘Argh! What are you doing, you silly sea lion?’ he yelped. ‘I get sea sick. Stop spinning me!’
Fish was balancing the boy on his nose and twirling him round.
Once again he had the audience in the palm of his flipper. They ‘oohed’ and then they ‘aahed’ and then they laughed and clapped as Wystan was spun round ever faster.
‘Fish,’ the Ringmaster said. ‘Put . . . put . . . put the boy down.’
Fish ignored him.
Lord Barboozul had pulled a clipboard from his beard and was making notes as he watched. Lady Barboozul was scowling and rubbing her bald, but slightly sticky, chin, and poking her husband with her free hand. It seemed she didn’t approve of his writing.
‘Oi mate,’ one of the riggers tried. ‘Drop the kid, would’ya?’
Fish ignored him too. He was having too much fun being the centre of attention.
‘Fish,’ said Fizz, fumbling in his coat pocket, ‘I’ve got something here . . .’
And he pulled out the empty tin of tuna. The one he’d used to attract Fish in the first place. He’d wrapped it up in a plastic bag and had meant to drop it in the bin, but when the sea lion had broken down the door, everything had got a bit tense and urgent and he’d forgot all about it.
Now he took it out of the bag and waved it in Fish’s face.
With a flick of his head, the sea lion tossed the bearded boy over his shoulder and made a snapping lunge for the tin can.
That wasn’t exactly what Fizz had hoped for. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. And Wystan had helped him get Fish free.
He watched as Wystan flew through the air.
So did everyone else.
The entire audience watched him, following the arc of his flight with their heads.
Even the de-bearded Lady Barboozul had her eyes in the air.
So engrossed was she in the parabola Wystan’s flight followed that she forgot to move out of the way until he’d already landed on her.
She was knocked backwards, slipped on a clown’s red nose, and fell straight into Lord Barboozul.
(Laughter. Applause.)
Or rather, I should say, not actually into Lord Barboozul at all. Instead, the correct words are: ‘into Lord Barboozul’s beard’.
She slipped and tumbled inside, vanishing, her feet wiggling in last of all and sliding down out of sight as if she were falling a great way in there.
A last shout was heard: ‘I’ll get you, you rotten flea-bitten worm of a . . .’ and then there was silence.
Almost silence. Fish burped a waft of haddock-breath as he licked the very last bit of tuna out of the corner of Fizz’s tin and with a flick of his tongue threw it in the air, bounced it on his nose, flipped it to his tail and whacked it out of the way.
Fizz and the entire audience watched the spinning tin glinting in the spotlight and then falling down, down, down toward the ring, where it hit Eric Burnes, the fire-eater, right on the very top of his head.
Now we all know that fire-eaters are dangerous people to just leave lying around and when he went ‘Ow,’ (which is what anyone would say when hit by a flying tin, no matter how tough they were) he let out a small puff of red flame, the very end of which happened to catch the tip of Lord Barboozul’s beard.
Before anyone knew what was happening there was a ripping sound as he tore the beard off his face (it was stuck on with theatrical gum, which is strong stuff) and a whooshing sound as the whole beard vanished in a frazzling gust of fire. Wooof! And it was gone. (Hair burns very fast. Do not try to test this at home. Just trust me on it.)
‘Ah,’ he said quietly, looking at the pile of ashes where the beard containing his wife had been.
The audience went wild with their applause, assuming it to be a brilliant trick of some sort.
The Ringmaster had enough sense to signal to the band to play the closing music and to the stunned crew that they should lift the tent-flaps and let the crowd out.
Well, it only remains for me to tie up the loose ends and explain everything that’s happened. Easy enough. I’ll do it in the last chapter. (I probably should’ve done it in the first chapter, which would’ve made this a much shorter book, but I forgot. Sorry.)
Chapter Fourteen
In which we reach the end
Once the audience had been emptied out of the Big Top a circus meeting was called.
Fizz’s mum got her nose back.
Captain Fox-Dingle brought Charles in and they refitted his rubber teeth.
The stilt-walkers climbed back up and high-fived one another. (They’d spent a whole day low-fiving and hadn’t liked it one bit.)
While Fizz explained to everyone what he’d overheard (to a chorus of gasps and ‘Well I never’s), Lord Barboozul stood quietly by.
‘Why did you do it?’ asked the Ringmaster.
Lord Barboozul folded his arms and kept his mouth shut, but Wystan wasn’t so unwilling to explain.
‘Ringmaster, they’re your dreaded Circus Inspectors. That’s why they did it all.’
The Circus Inspectors? They were the Circus Inspectors? This news got a bigger gasp from the assembled circus crowd than even Fizz’s story had.
‘But why the sabotage then?’ Fizz asked. ‘Why all the stealing and breaking?’
‘That’s their way,’ Wystan explained. ‘I’ve listened to Lady Barboozul often enough. She always said, “It’s no good coming on a sunny day when everyone’s happy. You must see a circus put on a show in the most unpromising of conditions. It’s a trial by fire.”’ At the word ‘fire’ everyone looked at Eric Burnes who kept his mouth shut, just puffing a little smoke out of one nostril. ‘They smash the circus up to see if it still works, to see if you can make it work. If you can survive. I’ve seen it before, dozens of times.’
‘But why didn’t you say anything?’ asked Fizz. ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’
‘How could I? What I told you about my mum and dad, about them dying in a hot air balloon, that was true, Fizz. You’ve got to believe me. The Barboozuls really did take me in. So I had to do what they said. Otherwise, where would I go? What choice did I have? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I did it, but . . .’
The Ringmaster turned to Lord Barboozul and said, ‘Is this true? Are you really the – ’
Lord Barboozul tapped at his clipboard and interrupted. ‘Ringmaster, you know how it is. A Circus Inspector is an anonymous figure. No one knows who they are. So, if I were one I couldn’t tell you, could I? I certainly wouldn’t admit it. And by telling you anything at all this little wretch has broken every code in the Circus Inspector’s rulebook. I expect. I wouldn’t know, though, because obviously I’m not a Circus Inspector. Am I?’
‘Yes you are,’ Wystan said. ‘He is.’
‘I believe you,’ said Fizz. ‘Just look at him, of course he’s the Inspector. He’s got a clipboard.’
Lord Barboozul turned on Wystan unpleasantly and said, ‘Well, what are you going to do now, you little freak? You’ll never
get to be an Inspector. Once I let them know what you’ve done, you’ll be shunned for the secrets you’ve spilt. I expect. I mean, if I knew who to tell. Which I don’t, because I’m not one. Anyway, I certainly don’t want you hanging round on my coat-tails anymore. I always said you were more trouble than you were worth. The money we had to spend on shampoo. She’s the one who knew your mother and – ’
‘I don’t know what I’ll do,’ Wystan said loudly. ‘I guess I’ll . . .’
‘He’s staying with us,’ Mrs Stump said.
‘What?’ said Fizz.
‘What?’ said Wystan.
‘I mean what I say. He can stay here with us in the circus.’
Fizz looked at his mum. She didn’t have her clown face on, so he knew she was being serious.
‘Bah,’ said Lord Barboozul. ‘Who’d want a little freak like that hanging round?’
‘He’s not a freak,’ said Fizz. ‘He’s just a kid.’
‘With a beard, Stump,’ mocked the ex-bearded Lord.
‘Don’t be silly, I saw the fake beards. We all did,’ answered Fizz. ‘You locked me in a trunk with them, remember?’
‘Actually,’ said Wystan quietly, ‘this one’s real.’
Fizz turned and said, ‘It’s just stuck on with gum, I saw them,’ and gave Wystan’s beard a tug.
‘Ow! Fizz, stop it.’
‘Yes, Fizz, leave the poor chap alone,’ said his mum.
‘It’s real?’ said Fizz.
‘Yeah. I think that’s why Lady Barboozul took me in. I’ve always been hairy, and it gave her the idea of the act. She said it reminded her of the real circuses in the old days. But he never liked it.’ Wystan gestured over at Lord Barboozul who’d been standing behind him, but when everyone looked they saw an empty space, more or less the same size as the Lord-cum-Inspector, but which didn’t have him in it.
He’d vanished.
‘Looks like you’ll have to stay with us then,’ the Ringmaster said, and Fizz put his arm round Wystan’s shoulder saying, ‘Yeah, I think so too.’
Wystan smiled, and then laughed, and his beard ruffled happily in the air.
No one left knew how the magic beards worked, or where their magic pockets went. (Wystan’s own beard was just a normal beard, a little wriggly sometimes, but made of normal hair.) Where Lady Barboozul had gone when she fell in, no one, not even Dr Surprise, could work out.
The following morning Flopples was much better. She and the Doctor performed together Sunday evening. She was brilliant.
Mr Stump was up and around by the middle of the following week, though only tearing telephone directories in quarters.
Mrs Stump’s new nose arrived on the Friday and from then on she had two red noses and was called by some of the other clowns ‘Two Nose Stump’, which was a bit annoying, but then clowns are quite annoying already, so it wasn’t a problem.
Wystan had rather enjoyed being picked up, balanced and flipped about by Fish, he said, and if he could wear his crash helmet then it would probably be safe enough to do every night. And Fish, it seemed, had discovered a newfound sense of show business. He didn’t object to balancing things in the ring, so long as there were fish involved at some point. And so, a whole new act was born.
Fizz carried on being the boy with a lion, which carried on wowing the crowds.
At first he’d been jealous of Wystan, but once, when Fizz had a cold and was unable to go on, the new boy star put his head in Charles’s mouth. The old lion got upset by the sight of the beard, and then it tickled his nose and then he sneezed, and when he sneezed his teeth fell out. It had been quite funny, but a lion act isn’t meant to be funny.
Both Captain Fox-Dingle and Charles were much happier when Fizz was back the next evening.
‘Boy. No beard. Better job,’ the Captain declared.
On the other hand, when Charles felt under the weather, Fizz would put on one of the Barboozuls’ spare fake beards and then there would be two bearded boys in the circus, juggling, tumbling, balancing and doing daring deeds of derring-do with the sea lion. That was a good show.
And one Monday morning the Ringmaster received a large brown envelope in the post. It was stamped with the seal of the British Board of Circuses. He opened it with trembling fingers and pulled out the piece of paper from inside.
It read: ‘Circus report mark: C+.’
Well, it was a pass. It wasn’t brilliant, but they’d passed.
Whatever else you could say about Lord Barboozul (unpleasant, cheating, child-hating liar, for example) at least he did his job professionally, the Ringmaster said, and didn’t let his personal feelings get in the way.
There was an additional note at the bottom: ‘Sea lion act: Promising.’
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP
This electronic edition published in March 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © A.F. Harrold 2013
Illustrations copyright © Sarah Horne
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e-ISBN 978-1-4088-3522-7
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Fizzlebert Stump and the Bearded Boy Page 10