Samantha Spinner and the Spectacular Specs

by Russell Ginns

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “Clown seasoning,” he answered.

  She had no time to ask what that meant as they zigzagged down the dirt road. When she spotted a gap between two mud-brick buildings, she stepped sideways and yanked her brother behind her into the space.

  They both leaned back against the wall, panting. The sound of quacking rose as the tall clown in the duck shoes marched past, followed by the pancake clowns, still huffing and wheezing. The sound of giant shoes slapping began to fade.

  “Sca-ree,” said Nipper.

  “Strange, too,” added Samantha, stepping away from the wall.

  She checked for the glasses in her purse and adjusted her umbrella.

  “When the coast is clear, let’s get back to that hydrant.”

  She peeked around the corner after the clowns. Far down the street, she saw the gold crown bobbing above the crowd.

  “Come on,” she said, stepping back into the crowded market and heading in the opposite direction.

  They retraced their path. Every few steps, Samantha looked back to make sure that Nipper was still following—and that clowns weren’t.

  “Sca-ree,” he said again.

  When they reached the parking lot near the hydrant, Samantha stopped. She pointed to a stone bench, ran over, and crouched behind it, motioning for Nipper to follow.

  “What’s going on now?” Nipper whispered as he slid next to her.

  She peeked around the corner of the bench and pointed into the park.

  A new clown was sitting on top of their fire hydrant. He wore a bushy rainbow wig and the same red nose as the clowns from the market. A strange device, the size of a suitcase, rested on the ground beside him. It looked like a metal vacuum cleaner.

  “How many clowns are there in this town?” Nipper asked.

  “I have no idea,” said Samantha. “This is really odd.”

  She started to count all the clowns they had seen; then she stopped and squinted at the one in the park.

  “What’s he juggling?” she asked.

  As he perched on the hydrant, the clown tossed small orange objects into the air.

  Nipper was an expert on all types of candy. He could tell a chocolate-covered raisin from a black jellybean at one hundred yards. He could name at least 783 varieties of candy without breaking a sweat. This included a dozen types of Halloween candy. The clown could only be juggling one thing.

  “Marshmallow circus peanuts,” he said confidently. “The saddest candy of all.”

  Samantha looked at her brother. Streaks of brown powder covered his face. A bright red spot, about the size of a quarter, poked through the powder on his cheek. She reached a thumb out to rub the spot.

  “Don’t touch,” he said, pulling back from her. “The big lady with the duck feet did it to me.”

  Samantha stared at his injury. Then she looked over to the juggling clown and his strange machine.

  She opened the umbrella, turned it over, and placed it gently on the grass.

  “It’s time to find another way out of here,” she said.

  “Hand lens, ready for action!” said Nipper loudly.

  “Shhh,” said Samantha. “That weirdo will hear you.”

  She peeked over the top of the bench. The peanut clown had stopped juggling. He sat up straight, looking around.

  “Hand lens,” Nipper repeated, whispering this time.

  Samantha watched the clown. He looked left and right a few more times. Then he shook his head and went back to juggling. Samantha crouched down again.

  Nipper passed her the magnifying glass and leaned in to watch as she examined the Super-Secret Plans. She stared at the picture of a hydrant near Seattle and began to trace the four lines from it.

  One line extended across the umbrella to what looked like mountain peaks. That definitely was not this place in Mali. Another line ended at a cluster of dots that looked like islands. Nope.

  The next line ended at a picture of a building. It looked like some of the mud-brick buildings around them. Samantha took an even closer look.

  The tiny image could definitely have been one of the buildings they’d passed in the market. An oval sat next to it, connected by a wavy line to the cluster of islands.

  Samantha looked up, past the clown, and out toward the river.

  “I have a theory,” she told her brother. “If we can find the right building, there’s a way to travel…here.”

  She moved her finger from the oval to the islands.

  “Then, from this place,” she continued, “we can catch a slidewalk home.”

  Nipper nodded in agreement. Then they both crouched low and snuck around the edge of the park, making sure the peanut clown couldn’t see them. When they reached the other side, they stood up and ran.

  Samantha looked back several times and didn’t see anyone following them. After a few blocks, she gestured to her brother and they slowed to a walk. They walked on paved streets in this part of town and, unlike the market, it wasn’t bustling with people. Occasionally, they saw a man or a woman wearing colorful fabrics—but they weren’t clowns. No one paid much attention to Samantha or Nipper.

  “Keep your eyes out for a little oval,” she said. “Or maybe a big one.”

  As she walked, Samantha examined each of the buildings lining the street. Most seemed like simple one- or two-story structures, like the ones in the market. A few blocks ahead, however, a giant mud-colored rectangle rose high above them.

  Three triangular towers, connected by shorter walls, made up the face of the structure. The walls took up the entire city block and had small square windows running along the top. Dark wooden posts jutted outward from the towers and the corners of the building. Samantha thought it looked like a combination sandcastle and giant wooden porcupine.

  In the months since Uncle Paul had gone missing, she and her brother had seen many huge towers, cathedrals, and skyscrapers made of glass, stone, and steel. This giant building looked like it was made out of mud. It also looked a lot like the illustration on the umbrella.

  Samantha squinted at the towers, trying to decide if they matched the ones on the umbrella. She started to reach for it on her shoulder when Nipper tugged the back of her shirt.

  “What now?” she asked, stopping and turning toward him. “We’ve almost reached that building. I don’t see a big oval, but it might be inside somewhere.”

  “Is that oval big enough for you?” Nipper replied. He pointed to their left.

  A large sign with the word STADE rose over a set of open metal gates. Beyond it, bleachers surrounded a huge, green, oval soccer field. Samantha had been so focused on the building ahead that she had missed it entirely.

  “Good eye,” she said. “It’s a stadium.”

  They passed through the gates and headed down a cement path to the edge of the field. She took out the purple sunglasses and stared all around.

  Nothing.

  She walked with Nipper toward the center of the field. They marched up and down, testing for hidden trap doors or secret panels. Twice she stopped and checked her umbrella for more clues.

  Nothing.

  Nipper got down and tugged at the grass.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m checking to see if it’s fake,” he answered. “Like the turf around the fire hydrant.”

  Nipper held out a fistful of grass. It was real. He shrugged and let it fall.

  “Maybe there’s a clue in the seats,” she said.

  Samantha took off the glasses, put them away, and pointed toward a section of bleachers.

  Crack!

  Something flew past her face. She felt it brush an eyelash as it barely missed her. She turned quickly.

  The pancake clowns stood in the center of the field. Between them, the
peanut clown from the park crouched over his strange machine.

  Crack! Crack!

  “It’s a marshmallow-circus-peanut gun!” Nipper shouted.

  “Let’s head over there,” Samantha said, pointing to the seats.

  As they ran, an orange peanut whizzed past Samantha’s head, missing her ear by an inch. She reached the metal staircase first. She pointed up the steps and waved for Nipper to follow. Then she stopped. Someone had appeared at the top of the stairs. Another clown!

  This one wore a bright blue dress and an apron. Four yellow pom-poms decorated the front of her dress. Two more pom-poms flopped on the tips of her giant shoes. She had a huge head of frizzy blue hair and the same red plastic nose as the other clowns. She grinned and held up a silver pan dripping with foamy gray goo. Samantha could see green shapes wriggling on top of the disgusting mess.

  “Who wants pie?” the clown croaked.

  Samantha and Nipper looked at each other.

  “Yuck,” he said quickly.

  “Move,” said Samantha, pointing left to the end of the bleachers.

  They turned and bolted along the row of metal seats.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  As they ran, orange circus peanuts zinged past, bouncing everywhere. One ricocheted off a railing and smacked Samantha on her right shoulder. It stung. She stopped and looked back. The pie clown bounded down the stadium stairs toward them. Her oversized shoes clanged on the metal steps and the pom-poms bobbed wildly with each stride.

  “There’s always room for pie-eee,” the clown sang, raising her foul pan high above her head.

  Samantha turned and raced to catch up with Nipper. As she ran along the seats, she saw the pancake clowns on her left, marching in from the field.

  Quack-quack!

  She and Nipper both stopped. Ahead, the duck-foot clown stood at the end of the row. She reached into her pockets.

  “We’re surrounded by idiots!” Nipper yelled.

  A sudden roar reverberated through the stadium. Everyone froze—kids and clowns.

  A bright red motorcycle raced across the field. It had a sidecar—a round pod with a seat and one wheel—attached to the right side. The bike sped past the pancake clowns and skidded to a stop along the bleachers beside Samantha and Nipper.

  The driver pulled off his helmet and flashed a big smile.

  “Come with me, guys,” he said.

  Samantha stared. She guessed the driver was fourteen years old. Maybe fifteen. He had curly hair, cut very short, and was wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and blue jeans. Still smiling, he gestured for her and Nipper to come forward.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  Samantha watched Nipper hop off the metal bench and try to climb on the back of the motorcycle, but the boy sniffed and made a face. He held up one hand and covered his nose with the other. Then he reached into the sidecar, picked up a helmet, and held it out while gesturing for Nipper to get inside.

  Swack! Swack!

  Two pancakes sailed over their heads and slapped against stadium seats. Nipper grabbed the helmet and hopped into the sidecar. The boy looked back at Samantha and nodded, then gestured toward a helmet hooked to the seat behind him. She picked up the helmet and put it on.

  Samantha had never ridden on a motorcycle before. She carefully climbed onto the seat, keeping both hands at her sides.

  “Hang on,” the boy said.

  He revved the engine and kicked it into gear. The bike lurched forward. Reflexively, Samantha grabbed onto him.

  “Order up!” screeched the pie clown, and hurled her pan at them.

  “Watch out!” shouted Samantha.

  The boy ducked as the gooey gray pie sailed over his head. He sat back up, leaned forward, and steered the bike straight at the clowns in the center of the field.

  Samantha took a deep breath and held on tight.

  The pancake clowns tossed their spatulas in the air, screamed, and dove out of the way. The sidecar smacked into the peanut clown, knocking him down. Samantha heard a loud crunch and looked over at Nipper.

  “Wahoo! We crushed the circus-peanut gun,” he called, his voice muffled by the helmet.

  “Three clowns down,” said the boy.

  Samantha tried to hold on a little less tightly as they zoomed out of the stadium.

  The boy steered left and they sped to the end of the block. He made another left and put three more blocks between them and the stadium before he rolled to a stop and cut the engine.

  Samantha let go and dropped her hands awkwardly to her sides.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He took off his helmet and flashed another big smile.

  “My name’s Seydou,” he said.

  “As in ‘Say, do you hate clowns as much as I do?’ ” asked Nipper, rubbing the bruise on his cheek.

  “No, some clowns are funny,” Seydou said. “But those guys were bad news.”

  Samantha hopped off the back of the motorcycle.

  “I’m Samantha Spinner, and this is my brother, Nipper,” she said. “Thanks for the lift.”

  She hung her helmet on the hook at the back of the motorcycle and brushed some dirt off her pants.

  “Of course, we were about to get the situation under control,” she added.

  Seydou raised his eyebrows.

  “What my sister means to say,” Nipper called from his seat, “is thanks for saving our butts!”

  “That’s all right,” said Seydou. “The clowns were following you. I figured it was my chance to knock a few of them down.”

  He leaned over and wiped a red-and-white smudge of clown makeup from the front of the sidecar.

  “What are you guys doing here anyway?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for our uncle—I mean, oval,” said Nipper. “There’s an oval, and it’s a secret, and—”

  “What my brother means to say,” Samantha interrupted, “is that we’re trying to get home and— Hey. How come you speak English so well?”

  “I’ve been to the U.S. a bunch of times,” Seydou answered. “I was in Spokane, Washington, last year.”

  He stepped off his motorcycle and pulled a flattened baseball cap from his back pocket. He unfolded it, put it on his head, and smiled. Samantha saw the words Pacific Pandemonium stitched across the front.

  “Wait,” said Samantha. “You’ve been to Washington State recently? Why were you—”

  “Holy cowabunga!” Nipper interrupted. “I rode the roller coaster at Pacific Pandemonium amusement park thirteen times, until I barfed.”

  Seydou laughed and rubbed his chin. “Now, tell me about this oval you’re looking for.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s near that big structure,” Samantha answered. “Is that the tallest building in the city?”

  She pointed to the structure in the distance with her umbrella. She was about to pop it open but changed her mind. Instead, she found a patch of dirt next to the street and began to sketch the building, using the umbrella’s metal tip.

  Seydou looked at her sketch and shook his head.

  “Right country, wrong building,” he said.

  He took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. Then he crouched beside Samantha’s drawing and waved for her to look closely.

  “That big structure is a mosque, where many people here go to worship. Some of the mosques in West Africa are more than five hundred years old,” he said. “Look at these towers.”

  He pointed to Samantha’s sketch in the dirt.

  “Rectangles, right?” he asked.

  Samantha nodded.

  He stood up and stretched an arm toward the large building in the distance.

  “What shape towers do you see?” he asked.

  “Triangles,” Nipper chimed in. “I was just telling Samantha that she sh
ould try to take a closer look at things.”

  “Fine,” said Samantha. “What building are we looking for?”

  “The Great Mosque of Djenné,” Seydou answered.

  “Djenné? Where’s that?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Seydou, smiling. “I’m happy to drive you there.”

  He popped a snap on each side of his baseball cap. He gripped the visor and pulled it out two feet, unrolling it like a window shade.

  Samantha gasped slightly. The visor held a map.

  “Cool hat-map,” said Nipper.

  Seydou held it out for them to see.

  “Here’s the Niger River, and this is the main highway,” Seydou said as he moved a finger along the fabric. “It takes about two hours to get from Mopti, here, to Djenné, there.”

  Samantha watched as he tugged on the visor and the map snapped back into his cap.

  “Ready to go?” Seydou asked.

  “Yes, please,” said Samantha, putting on her helmet and climbing back onto the motorcycle.

  Seydou stood looking at her.

  “And…thank you,” she added.

  “That’s i ni che in Bambara,” he said, and winked.

  Then he climbed onto the bike.

  The main highway was a two-lane dirt road.

  As Seydou drove them south to Djenné, Samantha watched the country of Mali roll by.

  They passed an airport and a few modern office buildings. Occasionally, they passed neighborhoods that reminded Samantha of Spokane, Washington. Most of the time, however, it was like looking through a window to another century.

  They drove by clusters of mud-brick buildings. Farmers rode donkey carts overflowing with piles of hay. At one point, they swerved to avoid a goat. Men and women walked along the road balancing baskets and boxes on their heads. A barefoot man urged a herd of cattle onward with a stick. Fishing villages hugged bends in rivers, and dusty red fields stretched far into the distance.