“Here we are, then,” the man said, hanging the lantern from a hook at the cart’s far end. “Let’s get you settled. It’s milkin’ first thing. I need you hale and hearty, an’—”
Bastjan drew his bound legs up and tried to kick at the man’s face, but he simply took an angry step to one side, batting away the boy’s flailing feet with one huge hand. He climbed aboard the cart, grabbing hold of the front of Bastjan’s leotard.
“There’s two reasons I’m not bringin’ you to the barn for a thrashin’, an’ the first is that tomorrow’s your first day,” the man growled. “The second is I admire a lad with a bit of backbone. But not too much backbone, sonny. Too much backbone gets you the back of my hand.” The farmer peered at him, his eyes narrowed. “I’ll ’ave to keep my eye on you, an’ no mistake.”
A wave of exhaustion washed over Bastjan, and his mother’s face bloomed in his memory. He closed his eyes, desperate to keep hold of it, and to dig even deeper, to remember the fragmentary descriptions his mother had given him of his father, but they slipped out of his grip. Bastjan tried as hard as he could, but his father’s face gradually became Crake’s face, the only real father he’d ever known, and his pain grew overwhelming. Here, miles from home, all he had left of his family were these memories and the smeared remnants of face paint on his filthy, ripped costume – the ringmaster had taken everything else away. “Mum,” he whispered. “Dad.” Hot tears broke through and his thoughts shattered into pieces.
“You ain’t got no dad now,” the farmer muttered, smacking Bastjan on the side of the head as he leaned around behind the boy to cut his wrists free. “Sooner the better you remember that.”
Alice sat in Ana and Carmen’s wagon, wrapped head to toe in a blanket. Wares was huddled on her lap too, but even with his extra warmth she was frozen to the bone. It wasn’t because she was cold – Ana and Carmen had their stove lit and kept handing her things to drink, hot chocolate, honey in warm milk, a spicy-smelling tea – but because she’d never felt so deeply hopeless before.
I gave him the box, she kept telling herself. I gave Quinn the box and I broke my promise to Bastjan.
Ana sat cross-legged on the end of her bunk, a guitar in her hands. Her hair fell over the instrument in a shining dark wave as she plucked a mournful melody from it. Carmen, at the washstand, hummed along. Finally, Ana stopped playing, throwing the guitar on the bed, and Carmen rose from her stool to comfort her.
“Someone has to know where Bastjan is,” Alice said, and the sisters looked at her.
“Crake and the others, they have sent search parties out into the park, into the city, everywhere. We have to wait, to see if they find any trace,” Ana said.
Alice threw off the blanket and a drowsy, half asleep Wares sat up. “No,” she said. “We can’t just sit here, like … like … mannequins, waiting for something to happen. Someone in this camp must know where Bastjan is.”
Alice pushed herself up off the floor. Wares dropped from her lap, landing with a skitter on all four paws. He bounded towards the wagon door as Alice reached out to unlatch it.
“Wait!” Ana said. “Pequeña, you cannot go alone.” She and Carmen slipped on shoes and shawls.
Alice opened the door and thumped her way down the steps. The remnants of Crake and Bastjan’s wagon sat, blackened and skeletal, a few feet away; the smoke from the fire still rose into the air and Alice choked on it.
She turned to the sisters. “We need to search the camp. See who’s missing. Besides Bastjan, I mean, and the ringmaster. And I’m going to pay a visit to Nanette.”
Ana and Carmen conferred in Iberian and then they looked at Alice. “In that case, wait one more moment,” Ana said, before vanishing into her wagon again. When she re-emerged, Alice caught a glimpse of a tiny glass bottle with a stopper in its neck before Ana slid it into her pocket.
“Now,” said Ana, “we are ready.”
“I will go and ask among the roustabouts, see if any of them have been missed since the end of the performance,” Carmen said. “Ana will go with you, Alice.”
They split up without another word. Soon Ana, Alice and Wares drew near to Nanette’s wagon, where she’d been brought to recover after the show. Lily sat on the steps. She was feverishly knitting, a thick shawl tight around her shoulders and a lamp by her side, burning low.
“She’s sleepin’,” Lily said.
“We would like to see her anyway,” Ana said. “We will not stay long.”
Lily’s knitting needles went clickety-clack, clickety-clack, and she made no reply. After a moment Alice realized the woman was weeping. “Known her since we were girls,” Lily was saying, her eyes never leaving her knitting. “Known her since she were plain old Nancy Harrington – none of this Nanette van Hemel stuff. Never knew she could do anythin’ like this.” She looked up at Ana, her eyes shining with tears. “She could’ve killed that boy.”
Ana nodded. “Yes,” she said.
Lily wiped her eyes and shuffled to one side. “Go on, then. But don’t upset ’er. She was in a lot of pain. I gave her somethin’ for it, so she mightn’t be all there yet.”
“Thank you, Lily,” Ana said, dropping one hand to the older woman’s shoulder as she passed her by.
Alice followed Ana into the wagon, Wares lolloping up the steps at her heels. The aerialist lay on her bunk. Her eyes seemed sunken and her face pale; her hair was undone where Bastjan had pulled at it and there were scratches along one cheek. Ana and Alice got to their knees and watched her sleep for a moment, while Wares stood on his back legs and placed his front paws on the bedspread, gazing at Nanette with his head cocked to one side.
“Bastjan told me the ringmaster threatened to sell him,” Alice said, still watching Nanette’s sleeping face. “Do you think he actually would?”
Ana took a deep breath. “If it got him what he wanted, I think Cyrus Quinn would do anything,” she said. “So yes.”
Alice turned to her. “But who would buy a child?”
Ana shrugged, one-shouldered. “Anyone who needs someone who can work. Someone they do not need to pay.” Her dark eyes settled on the girl. “Plenty of people would give money for a young, strong boy to pick their crops or feed their animals or fix their machinery, in return for a place to sleep and some food. Quinn, like all ringmasters, knows many farmers and factory men who send him workers when he needs them, and often he returns the favour.”
Something popped in Alice’s memory. “A farm,” she whispered. “I saw a cart with the name of a farm on it, only a few days ago. It was in St Wycombe, but we’re not far away from there. Perhaps they’re still supplying the circus?”
“Try to remember it, amor. And let us talk to Nanette while you think.” Ana reached into her pocket and pulled out the small bottle. “Hold your breath,” she said, and pulled out its stopper. Ana waved it beneath Nanette’s nose once, twice and then a third time – and finally, with a spluttering cough, the injured woman woke up. Instantly, her face was pulled into a grimace of pain.
“We will not keep you long, Nanette,” Ana said as she re-stoppered the bottle of smelling salts and slipped them back into her pocket.
“Get out,” Nanette said, closing her eyes tight. “Lily!” she called, before her words were lost in a fit of coughing. She grabbed at her side and her hip, groaning.
“I don’t want to make things worse for you,” Alice said. “But we need to know where Bastjan is.”
Lily appeared at the door. “Tell ’em, Nance. Do that one kindness for the lad.”
Nanette’s eyes stayed closed and she shook her head slightly. Alice watched her hands tense and clench on top of her blanket, and on instinct she slid her own fingers through Nanette’s. The woman gripped them hard. “Please,” Alice said. “We know Quinn sold him. Was it to a farmer? Is it close by?”
“Has Cyrus gone?” Nanette asked, opening her eyes and looking for Lily.
“He has, love,” Lily said, from the doorway.
“Did he
leave my money?” Nanette asked. Lily looked at the floor and didn’t answer, and Nanette closed her eyes again. “I’ve been such a fool,” she whispered.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Alice begged. “Why did you do it?”
Nanette’s eyes opened again and tears ran down her cheeks. “I had no choice,” she whispered. “It was do what Cyrus wanted or my grandkids were goin’ to starve.” Her lips trembled. “But he don’t care about my grandkids, I know that now. An’ I’ve gone an’ hurt that boy, for nothin’.”
“The farm,” Alice prompted. “They were supplying the circus with hay for the animals, weren’t they? Is that where he sent Bastjan?”
“He said he was goin’ to sell the boy, get what he could for him. Far as I know, the whole thing was arranged days ago. But it was the box he really wanted. He said we’d know all about it when he got back – he’d show us what a real ringmaster looked like.”
“Back? From where?” Ana asked.
“I don’t know,” Nanette said miserably. “He’s leaving from the airship station in London. That’s all I know. He were boasting about something or other, the size of the ship he’s bought or something like that. And said he had to have the box before he left.”
“Bracklebrick Farm,” Alice said, the memory coming back to her in a rush. Her eyes opened wide. “That’s it. That’s the name I saw on the cart!”
Nanette looked up at her, her eyes clouded with pain. “That’s it, love,” she said. “The boy’ll be there.”
Alice turned to Ana. “It can’t be far, can it?”
“I hope not,” she said, getting to her feet. Alice followed suit, clicking her tongue for Wares’s attention. They turned to leave and from behind them came Nanette’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes drifting closed into sleep once more. “Please. Tell Bastjan I’m sorry.”
Alice turned to her and gave one short nod, and then they were gone.
Alice and Ana, with Wares in tow, hurried across the campground in search of Carmen. They found her by the animal enclosures, talking to a young handler.
“Left me ’ere, they ’ave,” the young man was complaining. “I’ve never taken care of all the animals before, not on me own!”
“And you don’t know where they’ve gone?” Carmen asked, with barely controlled impatience.
“Naw, but Hubert said they’d be back within the week, an’ I was to be ready for somethin’ none of us has ever handled before. He din’t tell me anythin’ more than that.”
“We need horses,” Ana told the man. “One each for my sister and me.”
“And directions to Bracklebrick Farm,” Alice put in.
“Where?” he said.
“The farm where the feed comes from,” Alice said. “For the animals.”
The handler frowned, reaching into his top pocket for a sheet of paper. “Bracklebrick Farm it says, right enough,” he muttered, showing it to Ana and Carmen. Alice stretched on tiptoe to see. The paper was a receipt for straw and fodder, but there was no address.
Alice folded her arms tightly around herself and Ana slid her arm across her shoulders. “Never mind,” the woman whispered. “It’s a good start.”
The man put the receipt back into his pocket. “The horses,” Carmen reminded him, and he nodded before vanishing between the wagons.
“What about one for me?” Alice asked.
“Can you ride?” Carmen asked, her eyes questioning. She didn’t wait for Alice’s answer before continuing. “I did not think so. You can share a horse with me. All right?”
Alice nodded, feeling a bit foolish, and Ana gave her a warm grin.
“Now. We must get ready,” Carmen said, striding towards their wagon.
Alice, who had nothing to pack but Wares, helped Ana and Carmen with their saddlebags. Blankets and spare clothes, hairbrushes, medicine and water skins were all deftly rolled up and stored, taking up barely any room at all.
The young handler was as good as his word. When they returned to the animal enclosures, they found two horses tethered to a stake, their breaths misting around their heads. Ana and Carmen settled the saddlebags and checked the horses’ tack; everything seemed to their satisfaction.
Just as Ana was about to heave herself into her saddle, the sound of approaching hoofbeats was heard – lots of hoofbeats. Ana slid back to the ground and the trio turned to see what was happening.
Into the camp rode a cluster of people, with Crake at their head and Jericho riding right behind. As they made for the sisters, Alice peeked out from behind a horse. Wares, at her feet, was a bundle of jangling nerves, yipping furiously. She picked him up, in case one of the horses trampled him.
“Get fresh horses,” Carmen called to Crake. “We know where he is.”
Crake threw himself out of his saddle before his horse had come to a stop, landing with ease. He caught the animal’s reins and drew it to a halt, shushing and calming it with a gentle voice.
“Alice should tell you,” Carmen said, standing back to shove her towards Crake. “If it had not been for her, we would never have worked it out.”
Crake crouched in front of Alice and held out his hand. Alice ran to hug him and the man held her tightly. “Bracklebrick Farm,” Alice said. “That’s where the ringmaster’s sent him.”
“We’ll find it,” the strongman rumbled. “Good work, girleen.”
“But that’s not all,” Alice said, standing back to look Crake in the face. “The ringmaster – he’s got the box, Crake. And Nanette said he was going somewhere. He’s got an airship, ready to fly.”
Crake frowned at her. “An airship?”
“Think about it!” Alice said. “He’s got the box. He’s not keeping it to hand over to Bauer. He’s going somewhere with it.” She realized something else. “And the animal handler – just now, he said he was told to get ready for something big. Something big is coming back with the ringmaster – an animal the likes of which they’ve never handled before. Quinn is taking the box with him and I think I know where.”
Crake frowned in genuine confusion. “Why would he? When the box is worth money to him here?”
“It must be worth more than money to him somewhere else,” Alice said quietly. “Somewhere like Melita.”
Crake’s eyes widened. “Glory,” he muttered.
“We have to stop him, Crake,” said Alice.
“I can’t make halves of meself, girl. I can only go to one place and that’s to Bastjan.”
Ana stepped forwards. “Carmen and I, we’re ready to ride,” she said. “We will go to London. The airship station is on the Isle of Dogs. We shall stop Quinn’s ship, Mr Crake. Or delay it as long as we can.” As she spoke, Carmen put her foot into a stirrup and hauled herself on to her horse. She gazed at the strongman, eye to eye.
Crake nodded at each sister in turn. “I’m goin’ to get my boy,” he said. He turned to look at Alice. “An’ I hope I won’t be goin’ on my own.”
Alice took Crake’s hand and the strongman gave her a quick, sad smile.
“We will be waiting for you in London,” Carmen said. “Adios – y buena suerte.”
She nodded at Ana, who mounted her own horse and urged it into motion all in one swift movement. Then the sisters vanished into the night.
The clunk of the lock on Bastjan’s prison being pulled open woke him. He jerked upright, blinking hard in the dusty air as he pushed himself into the corner of the tiny space. He looked up, but it wasn’t the farmer who stood there; it was his wife. She carried a plate in one hand, covered with a cloth, and in the other a tankard of water. Beneath one arm was a bundle of cloth.
“So,” she greeted him. “You’re the latest one.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Bastjan said. “When am I goin’ home?”
The woman sighed. “This is Bracklebrick Farm, lad, and I’m Mrs Mythen. My husband is the farmer. You’re here to work for us now, bought an’ paid for, an’ there’ll be no goin’ home. This is home, from
now on.”
Bastjan stared at her. “No, it ain’t,” he said.
The woman sighed, resigned. “Here’s the only breakfast you’re goin’ to get, an’ somethin’ to wear. Goodness knows it’s got to be warmer than that affair you’ve got on.” She placed the plate on the floor and tossed the bundle towards him. It landed at Bastjan’s feet, coming half undone. It was a shirt, Bastjan saw, wrapped around thick work trousers and a pair of old boots.
“Whose are these?” he asked.
“Yours, now,” Mrs Mythen replied. “But I can’t say whose they were, in the beginnin’. Those clothes have done several of you lads, over the years.”
Bastjan looked up at her. “How many lads?” he asked, but Mrs Mythen didn’t reply. Instead, she put the tankard of water beside the plate of food and stood with her arms folded.
“If you’re eatin’, then eat. An’ if you want to milk cows and dig the land dressed like a sugarplum fairy, by all means have at it. But I’ll bet you’ll be beggin’ me for those clothes by the end of the day.”
Bastjan pulled the trousers free. They were patched, worn thin in places, and much too big. The boots were the same, but there was a pair of thick socks tucked into them, which made them as comfortable as they could be.
Mrs Mythen turned her back long enough to let him dress, and as he uncovered the plate of food, she bent to scoop up the scraps of leotard. “Might be able to make somethin’ with these,” she said, tucking them into a pocket. “They’ll fancy up my workbox, an’ no mistake.” She tried to smile at the boy, but all Bastjan could do was chew the hard crust of bread she’d given him. Mrs Mythen’s smile faltered and she leaned against the wall while Bastjan ate.
He took the chance to look around. The wall was stone, up to the height of Mrs Mythen. Above that, iron bars stuck out and up, fixed to a ceiling above, and the door was wooden and thick, heavy-looking, with a panel cut into it. The panel was blocked with more iron bars. There wasn’t enough space at the top or the bottom of the door to wriggle out – not even Wares would have made it. And the bars were too close together to let Bastjan stick much more than his arm through.
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