Show Stealer

by Hayley Barker

  There was obviously a news freeze on it. We’d escaped from right under the police’s noses – it must have hurt. They wanted to catch us, yes, but they didn’t want anyone to focus on the carcass we’d left behind.

  There was nothing, for months: it was like the Cirque had never existed at all. And then the big announcement came – it was returning, bigger and better than ever before.

  I don’t know whether all the people I knew will be a part of it. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.

  It’s thinking of Ezekiel that hurts most of all. It’s he who haunts my dreams. I only knew him for a few days but he was already dependent on me, I know he was. He wasn’t much more than a baby and I just abandoned him there without a second glance. Emmanuel, Ezekiel, I left them all behind. My friends. My people. Left them to burn or, what’s worse, left them to stay there, and face whatever came next after the trouble we’d wreaked.

  “Was it as bad in there as everyone says?” Rosie asks. “It can’t have been. The rumours are exaggerated, aren’t they?”

  Memories creep and crawl from the pit of my stomach, clawing their way up to the surface, clutching and twisting at my insides, beating and pounding against my chest.

  I can’t do this. I know she wants answers, but I can’t. I can’t talk about that place, not to her, this woman whose son’s been taken. I can’t talk about it to anyone.

  I wish Ben was here.

  I stand up, sending the crate across the floor with a clatter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I push the door open and gulp in the air.

  “Hoshi! Come back inside! Anyone could see you!” Jack hisses urgently.

  “I’m sorry. I just need to breathe.”

  I feel a gentle arm around my waist.

  “You don’t need to be sorry, I do.” Rosie’s voice is mournful. “I was beyond insensitive. I won’t ask you about it again. I should have realized. Please forgive me. It’s hard to think of anything else when someone you love is in danger, when they might already be dead.”

  The poor thing’s in agony. I know how she feels. I know because my Ben is gone too, and I don’t know where he is either, and I don’t know how he is and it’s my fault. I left him all alone. I ran away as fast as I could and left him up there, with a gun pointing at his own head.

  Just another person I’ve left behind to deal with the mess I’ve made.

  I turn to face Rosie. Her cheeks are pink with shame and her head is hanging down low.

  “It’s OK,” I say. “Really it is. I know what it’s like when someone you love is suffering and you can’t help them.” I do too, God knows I do.

  I must stop this. I take another deep breath. “Like Jack says, they’re bound to keep everyone alive until the new place opens.”

  Her face turns even paler and she gives a little whimper.

  She raises her head and her eyes, alight with panic and fear, meet mine.

  “Haven’t you seen the posters?”

  Greta’s beside me now, tugging at Rosie’s sleeve. “What do the posters say?”

  There’s silence for a moment.

  “They say it’ll be unforgettable,” Rosie says, finally. “They say it’ll be dark. They say it’ll be deadly.”

  “When?” I ask, dread cold and hard in my stomach. “When’s it opening?”

  “This week.” Her voice is trembling. “Saturday night, two days from now.”

  BEN

  I stare up, open-mouthed, transfixed by this ghost addressing me in Silvio Sabatini’s voice.

  Finally, I turn to my mother. She’s smiling at me, smugly.

  “Surprised?” she says.

  “I don’t understand,” I gape.

  The spectre above laughs, a jubilant cackle.

  “I look the same as you now, Benedict, don’t I? I don’t look like a Dreg any more. I look like a Pure. I am pure now, aren’t I? You can’t deny it.” There’s a pleading tone to his voice, like he wants my confirmation.

  “Shut up!” barks my mother angrily. “Shut up, you silly idiot! You’re lucky I don’t have you hauled away for treason! Whatever you do to yourself, you’ll never remove the Dreg that’s within you, you vain little fool.” Her tone is disgusted as she stares at him in the same aghast way she always did. “The dirty, horrid, Dregness within you will always be there, right at the core of who you are!”

  The grin has frozen on Sabatini’s face. He struggles to compose himself for a moment, and then speaks.

  “Anyway, Benedict, has your mother told you about our little agreement?”

  She smirks. “I thought I would give you that pleasure, Ringmaster. Don’t say I never help those less fortunate than myself.”

  He claps his hands together and the cane he’s holding crashes to the wooden floor. “You have made a very wise decision. He’ll be begging you to take him back once he’s spent a day or two seeing what life is really like in the real world!”

  “What do you mean? What’s going on? Where am I going?”

  “I was hoping that having a chat with you would be enough to make you see the error of your ways,” my mother says, ruefully. “I thought your months on the run would have made you see reason.” She gives a funny little snort. “I even had visions of you apologizing! Ridiculous of me really – I should have known that little witch had cast too toxic a spell on you.”

  “Hoshi is not a witch!”

  “No. No, she’s not a witch. She’s a vile, verminous creature who’s sunk her claws into my son.”

  My whole body shakes with rage and anger. I stand up. “I’m not listening to this. I’m leaving!”

  I walk up the aisle and open the door, blinking in the sudden light. Stanley’s on the other side, his gaze fixed blankly over my head.

  “Excuse me,” I say. I try to push him aside, but he stands there, unmoving, a wall.

  I turn back. My mother is facing me now and Silvio Sabatini is directly above her, framed in the spotlight.

  “Benedict,” she says. “You aren’t going anywhere. You will remain in this circus until you have seen the error of your ways. It won’t be long before you’ll be begging to return to the bosom of our little home.”

  I stand in the doorway, staring at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is this: until further notice, this is your place of work.” She turns and calls up to Sabatini. “Remember what I said: backstage only. No performance work; it’s more than my marriage is worth. You may punish him if required, but no lasting injuries.”

  “Yes,” he simpers, “yes, of course, madam.” He’s actually rubbing his hands together in glee.

  “You can’t make me work here!” I tell them both. “You can’t make me do anything!”

  She laughs, loudly this time, long and hard and cold. “I think you’ll find they have their ways of persuading you,” she says. “Remember, as soon as you want to come home, just say the word and I’ll send a car. You can save yourself a lot of trauma and come now, if you like. One apology, that’s all it will take.”

  “Never,” I say. “I’ll never apologize to you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “We’ll see, Benedict, we’ll see. Oh, I almost forgot, before you begin your work experience I have something to show you.” She moves closer to me and takes her phone from her pocket. “Look at this a second, will you?”

  She holds the screen up and waves it around. I can’t see what it is she’s showing me, and whatever it is, I don’t want to know. I roll my eyes and turn away.

  She moves so close that I can smell her sickly perfume.

  “It’s the latest news,” she says. “About your girlfriend.”

  I grab her hand, pulling it towards me.

  There’s writing on the screen, a news report:

  The Cat and two of her accomplices evaded arrest yet again this morning, it reads. The three outlaws remain at large, and are believed to be armed and dangerous.

  They escaped! My heart soars.

/>   I turn to my mother and I laugh in her face.

  “We’ve made you look like fools! Again!”

  I feel her arm suddenly snaking around my waist and there’s a click. I move away, but it’s too late. She’s taken a photo.

  She looks at the screen. “Perfect,” she says. “A joyful family reunion, captured on camera. It’s amazing what you can do with these phones. Sounds and images can be manipulated in so many ways. Thanks, Benedict, you’ve given me exactly the material I needed. OK, now let’s get on with business. Ringmaster,” she calls up to Sabatini. “You may take your latest recruit!”

  He pulls a whistle out from his jacket, blowing hard on it.

  Three security guards come running in, looking from Sabatini to my mother expectantly.

  “Gentlemen, we have a new addition to our little circus family!” he says, gesturing to me grandly with both arms.

  “Take him to the sleeping quarters; show him his new home.”

  They grab hold of me. I kick and shout but it’s useless. As the door shuts behind us, the lights go out and the last thing I see are two darkened figures: my mother and the ghost of Silvio Sabatini, both watching me go.

  HOSHIKO

  I stare out into the dwindling light, looking towards the Cirque.

  In two days’ time, its lights will shine bright again. Hundreds of people queuing up eagerly, jostling for the best spot to watch the action, keeping their fingers crossed, praying for a death.

  Who will they be watching? Will it be my friends? Have they made it this far? Will it be poor Rosie’s son? What will they be doing in there?

  Is there a tightrope?

  My toes tingle. My back arches. My heart beats fast.

  My soul and my head hate the Cirque. Hate everything it was; hate everything it will be again, but my body, my fickle selfish body, craves it. Craves the sound of the crowd, cheering and yelling; craves the smells: the smoke and the sweat and the sawdust; craves the twang of the wire, vibrating beneath my feet.

  I’ve never told anyone this, not even Greta, not even Ben, but when I dream of the Cirque at night, it’s not always a nightmare. It’s not always about the death and the horror and the cold, cruel ringmaster.

  Sometimes I dream of the performances. Sometimes I dream that I’m dancing up there, way above the crowd. Soaring and flying, arcing above them all. Sometimes I don’t want the dreams to end.

  I shiver. This won’t do. It’s not right to feel like that when people are imprisoned there right now, frightened and vulnerable and desperate. It’s not right to feel like that when so many people – Anatol, Astrid and Luna, my lovely Amina – are dead.

  I step inside, shutting my betrayal out, on the other side of the flimsy door.

  The awful, desolate sound of Rosie’s sobs fill the room. I know I should say or do something but I don’t know what. Greta knows though; she lowers Bojo gently down to the floor and wraps her little arms right around Rosie.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosie says after a few minutes.

  “You do not need to apologize,” Jack says firmly. “You must be living in hell.”

  She nods. “Every day, every minute, every second,” she answers. “I’m petrified about Sean, that’s my oldest son, and worried sick about Felix too. He’s become so angry, so bitter.” She looks at Jack. “I’m surprised he let you in at all,” she says quietly. “What with you being an ex-Pure police officer. If there are two thing he hates more than anything, it’s the Pures and the police.” She strokes Greta’s hair. “Thanks for the hug. I can’t tell you how much I needed that. You’re a tonic, that’s what you are.”

  She’s stopped crying now, but you can tell it’s taking every part of her not to start crying again.

  “Listen to me, all I’ve done is go on about my own problems! I can’t even imagine what the three of you must have been through. Tell me,” she says, her voice a little calmer now. “How can we help? What can I get you or do for you that will help you? I’ve got to be honest, I think you’ve done well lasting this long. The authorities have been here already, you know – three times there’ve been door-to-door checks, looking for you.”

  My heart sinks. I knew they were looking for us, of course I did. But they’ve been to this one, random home three times already. This one tiny shack in this huge big city – talk about leaving no stone unturned. How long are we going to be able to stay hidden for this time?

  “They did find us,” Jack tells her. “This morning. It’s a long story. The other person we were with gave himself up for us. It was a huge sacrifice; he’s a very brave lad.”

  “Ahh,” she says. “Benedict Baines. He’s become something of a folk hero – you all have. I wondered where he was but I didn’t like to ask, in case … well, you know, in case all wasn’t well.”

  Benedict Baines: a brave lad, Jack said; a hero, she said. They were right; he’s both of those things.

  “Any information you can give us,” Jack says. “Insider information, about how things work around here, would be really helpful. I’m guessing not everyone’s as sympathetic as you. Who should we avoid? Where should we avoid? That kind of stuff, and who do we need onside if we want to survive?”

  She walks over to the little window and peers out. “Well,” she says. “I’d like to think that most people around here would help you out. It’s the Dreg way, isn’t it? We stick together through thick and thin.”

  I feel so relieved hearing her say that. That’s how it always was in the Cirque, but I thought it might be different out here on the streets.

  A frown creases her face. “A lot of people out there are hungry though. Hungry and desperate enough that there’s not much they wouldn’t do for bit of cash.” She winces apologetically. “And there’s a big price on your heads. We need to act quickly. If you’re going to last more than a few hours in here, we’re going to need to try and get you protection.”

  The door opens and the boy, Felix, comes in, carrying the bucket of water, steaming hot now. Rosie busies herself making tea. “Excuse me a second, sweetheart,” she says to Greta. “I just need to get something out from underneath you.” When Greta stands up, she lifts the lid of the little crate and takes out a pot of teabags, four chipped mugs and a little container of milk. She pours water into each of the mugs.

  “Felix,” she says as she stirs the cups. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone mention our guests?”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t speak to no one. Kept my head down.”

  She nods. “That’s good.”

  Felix tuts. He catches my eyes for a second and I narrow them at him and scowl. I know he’s been through a lot and Jack’s right: he did save us, but still, he is very rude. He glares back at me, and then at Greta, who’s noticed our silent exchange. She eyes him defiantly, and the tip of her tongue pokes out, just a couple of millimetres. I grin and turn my head away.

  Rosie hands us steaming hot cups of tea and we drink gratefully. I can’t even remember when we last had a hot drink.

  There’s silence for a few moments and then Rosie coughs. “Felix,” she says tentatively. “Listen, we’re going to have to let Kadir know they’re here, don’t you think? Better he finds out from us than from someone else.”

  Felix stares at her incredulously.

  “Are you kidding me? Why would you even think of getting involved with him? What the hell makes you think Kadir would help them anyway? What makes them so special? He’s just as likely to kill them himself as give them any shelter, and you and me too if the mood takes him!”

  “Felix! I’m sure that’s not true!” She looks at Jack and gives a nervous laugh. “Kadir’s sort of the unofficial leader around here,” she says. “You’ll need him onside if you’re to have any chance of staying concealed.”

  Jack nods, grimly.

  “The police might not know much about the slums, but we’ve all heard of Kadir,” he says. “And he’s either Robin Hood or Genghis Khan, depending on who you speak to.”

  Rosie laug
hs, nervously. “He can be a little unpredictable. I think it might be best if I speak to him first, see how the land lies, and maybe arrange for you to meet with him, if I can.”

  “You’d do that for us?” Jack says. “That’s more than we can ask.”

  “Yes!” Felix’s voice is angry. “Yes, it is more than you can ask! Kadir’s dangerous!”

  Rosie’s voice shakes as she answers.

  “Kadir is fair, Felix, whatever you think. What’s the alternative, anyway? You wouldn’t turn these lovely people away any more than I would, not really.”

  “Oh, do what you want! You will anyway! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.” He shakes his head and turns away. “I’m going out.”

  Rosie’s voice is suddenly panicked. “Where are you going?” She positions herself between Felix and the door. “Please, Felix, please don’t go off again. How can you talk to me about danger when you’re running around out there doing God knows what? Jack, you used to be in the police, maybe you can make him see sense. What would you say about the Brotherhood? What would you say if you met someone foolish enough to want to join them?”

  “My God!” Felix gives a cry of rage. “You idiot, Mum! Do you want to get me killed, is that it?”

  The Brotherhood. Curiosity prickles inside me, and a hint of recognition. There’s something about the phrase that’s familiar.

  “No! I want to stop you from doing anything stupid! I want to stop you getting yourself killed! I’ve already lost one son. I can’t lose another!”

  “Sean isn’t dead!” he shouts. “Not yet anyway. Not as far as we know.”

  “Hey,” Jack says. “Can we rewind a minute? Why are we talking about the Brotherhood?” He steps towards Felix. “Please tell me you aren’t getting involved with all that, son? It’s not the answer. It’s never the answer.”

  “What do you know? What’s it got to do with you?”

  “I know plenty!”

  I look at Greta. She hates shouting. It makes her feel frightened, it always has. Her hands are over her ears and her eyes are screwed tight shut.