Show Stealer

by Hayley Barker

  HOSHIKO

  We step into the pool of light from the candles surrounding Kadir and he leans forward.

  I slowly unravel the scarf from my neck and pull the blanket roll from under my top. Beside me, Greta’s taking off her scarf too and Jack’s removed his hat.

  When I lift my eyes up to meet Kadir’s, recognition dawns immediately on his face.

  “Well, well, well, I do declare, it’s the runaway tightrope walker! The outlaw and her band of merry men, or at least part of them.”

  “I wondered if you might be willing to help them.” Rosie’s tone is deferential. “They’re good people.” She looks at Jack and smiles. “Very good people.”

  “Hmm.” He sounds suspicious. “Where’s the Pure boy?”

  I feel my eyes welling up. I wish I could answer him. I wish I knew where Ben was. I wish he was here now with me, or I was there with him, wherever there is. I’d rather be in chains, living together, dying together if we have to, than here, without him, in this weird slumlord’s headquarters playing these stupid games.

  Jack takes a step forward.

  “He got captured,” he says. “And we got away. We’re hoping we can hide out in the slums for a while until the police stop looking for us.”

  “Stop looking? Yeah right! They ain’t never going to stop looking for you, not while they still run the show, anyway.”

  “There’s nothing special about us now,” Jack says. “They’ve caught Benedict Baines. He was the golden prize. He’s the one they wanted – we were just collateral. They aren’t going to waste time and money looking for us for much longer.”

  “You’re wrong, I’m afraid,” Kadir says. “You’ve made them look stupid. While you’re still on the run, they look weak. They won’t stop looking until they find you and string you up.” He nods his head towards me. “She’s the devil in human form if you believe what all the posters are saying, what the police have been saying when they’ve come looking. And they have come looking. And they will come looking again. Anyone concealing information about you puts themselves at risk. Why should people around here bother gambling with their lives to protect you?”

  None of us says anything. I knew I wouldn’t like this stupid man, with his big ego and his big throne.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just hand you over right now? There’s reward money in it, I believe, substantial reward money.”

  “Like I said,” Jack answers coolly. “I doubt they’ll offer anything for us, not now they’ve caught Benedict Baines.”

  I’ve had enough of this game. I’m not playing. If he wants to turn us in, so be it. Suddenly, I don’t feel shy any more.

  “Look,” I say. “If you want to help us, that’s great, thank you very much, much appreciated. If you don’t, that’s fine too. We haven’t begged anyone yet, and we aren’t going to beg anyone now.”

  He leans back and laughs, the diamond in his tooth twinkling.

  “I heard you were fiery,” he says. “Fiery is good. We’ll need fire in the times ahead.” He crosses his hands together under his chin and regards us thoughtfully for a moment or two.

  Bojo pushes his way up out of Greta’s jumper, his little wizened monkey head surfacing at her neck and peering around curiously.

  “Oh my!” A smile forms at the edges of Kadir’s mouth and his eyes dance with amusement.

  “Little girl, your monkey is adorable! Do you think he’d let me stroke him?”

  “Maybe,” Greta answers, doubtfully. “He’s a bit nervous around new people usually.”

  She gently lifts Bojo from her jumper and steps a little closer. Kadir steps off his throne and lowers himself down on to the edge of the platform, leaning forward and petting the little monkey softly with his jewelled hand.

  Bojo reaches his paws up, playing with the rings on Kadir’s fingers, turning them around and chattering away excitedly; he’s always had a thing about sparkly objects. He looks up at Kadir, cocks his little head to one side enquiringly, and then springs right up from Greta’s arms into his lap, his delicate little paws reaching up to his face. His tiny monkey fingers gently probe Kadir’s lips; I think he’s trying to get to the diamond in his mouth.

  Greta gasps. “He must really like you!” she says. “He never goes to anyone like that!”

  I scoff, quietly. “Maybe he reminds him of Silvio,” I mutter to myself. “All that glitters isn’t gold, Bojo.”

  “I must say, the feeling is mutual!” Kadir says, stroking Bojo, reverently. “I always wanted a pet of my own.” He catches Greta’s stricken look. “Oh, don’t worry; I wouldn’t take him away from you! But I do like him. I like him very much.”

  He looks down at the four of us.

  “I’ll help you,” he says. “I’ll give you somewhere to live. I’ll make sure you don’t starve and I’ll make sure no one talks … but I will want something in return.”

  I knew it. This guy isn’t going to do anything for nothing.

  “What is it?” Jack asks warily. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Kadir muses. “There are things happening, big things, happening soon. Change is coming. The balance of power is shifting.” He caresses his beard. “How can you help me?” he says thoughtfully, and it’s as if he’s asking the question to himself, not us. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll help you now, but you owe me. Agreed? I scratch your back, you scratch mine, if and when the time comes. What do you say?”

  I look at Jack and Greta. Greta is staring up at Kadir, fascinated. She’s just as smitten with this creep as Bojo is; she thinks he’s a king from a fairy tale. I can’t blame her, I suppose – I know how romantic she is and it’s exactly the look he’s going for; he only needs that hat on his head to be a crown to complete the image.

  Jack looks back at me.

  “What do we say?” I murmur under my breath, my lips not moving.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he answers, in the same way. He steps forward.

  “Thank you,” he says. “For your offer. We would be grateful for your support, and we will do our best to repay you, if we can, should the opportunity ever arise.”

  I don’t like this conversation. I don’t know what we’re agreeing to. I don’t know what he wants. Jack’s right though; we don’t have any other option.

  Kadir stands up and hands Bojo carefully back to Greta. “Thank you,” he says. “I’d like to see him again, if I may. Perhaps I could get him a treat. What does he like to eat?”

  Greta smiles happily. “He likes bananas best. He hasn’t had any for a long time, though.”

  “Bananas? So what they say about monkeys is true. OK, how about I get him some bananas? Do you think he’d like that?”

  “Oh, he’d love it!”

  “And you? What would you like? What food can I get for you? You name it, I’ll get it.”

  She gasps and looks at me excitedly, and then back at him, gazing up at him in wonder.

  “Anything?” she says.

  He nods his assent.

  I know exactly what she’s going to say.

  “Can you get chocolate cake?” she asks. “I’ve never had chocolate cake!”

  “Chocolate cake? Why, of course! Chocolate cake it is. And you, policeman?” he asks Jack. “What can I get for you?”

  “Thank you, but you’re doing more than enough for us already,” Jack answers.

  “It would be a pleasure,” Kadir says. “Call it a goodwill gesture.”

  “Thanks,” Jack answers again, “but we’re fine for now.”

  Kadir’s benevolent smile drops a little and his eyes harden.

  “If that’s how you feel. And you?” he says to me. “There must be something you’d like. More chocolate cake, perhaps? Anything else? Anything else at all.”

  I’ve only had cake once; a Pure passed me some in the Cirque and I stuffed it into my mouth before anyone saw. I’ve never forgotten it. My mouth waters and the gnawing pain that’s always ther
e in my stomach intensifies at the thought of sweet sponge cake filling my mouth.

  If what he’s saying is true though – if he can get hold of anything – how’s he doing it? He’s not some genie in a lamp, or the fairy king Greta seems to think he is. What’s he got that gives him so much power?

  I don’t want to owe him anything else. I don’t want him to think he can buy us.

  “No, thanks,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  His eyes are like pinpricks. He doesn’t like us refusing him. He wants to play God.

  Suddenly, I think of something. It’s not food, but it’s the thing I want more than anything else. The thing that’s gnawing away at me even more than hunger.

  “There is one thing,” I say. “Can you get hold of information as well as food?”

  He raises his eyebrows curiously. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

  “Can you find out where Ben is?” I ask. “Can you find out what’s happened to Benedict Baines?”

  “Benedict Baines?” Kadir’s tone is curious. “The rich boy? He really gave himself up for you guys?”

  I nod. “And now we don’t know where he is. Please, if you could just find out if he’s OK.”

  He leans down and looks carefully at me.

  “You’ve really fallen for a Pure kid, then? It’s not just a romantic myth? You really …” He raises his both hands up, making inverted commas. “… love him?” His tone is sneering.

  “Can you find out where he is or not?” I say.

  He leans forward further, like he’s scrutinizing me.

  “You don’t like asking for help, do you, Black Cat? You hate coming here cap in hand to me. I’ve got you figured out already. You’re proud and stubborn and you like to stay in control. Hmm.” He sits back and strokes his little goatee. “That boy must really mean a lot to you. That’s interesting. I’ll remember that. Yes, I’ll do some digging. I’ll find out where your boyfriend is. Please bear in mind though, we are friends now, you and I, and friends expect loyalty.”

  It feels like he’s threatening me. I don’t like it, but I need to find out where Ben is.

  “Anything to say?” he asks me.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, looking at the ground.

  Kadir throws his head back and roars with laughter.

  “Ooh, that scowl! That hurt you, didn’t it! You know what? I like you, Hoshiko.” He smiles at Greta. “And I especially like you and your monkey. We will be good friends, I can already tell.”

  There’s a movement at the door and one of Kadir’s heavies moves in and stands deferentially at the edge of the room. It’s the same guy who answered the door.

  “Sven!” Kadir smiles warmly. “Have you met our famous guests?”

  The man gives a sullen nod, looking distinctly unimpressed.

  “It’s time,” he says. “You asked me to tell you.”

  “Thank you, good man.” Kadir springs down from the stage like a ninja, the chains around his neck clanging as he leaps. “Well, it’s been lovely meeting you all, but I’m afraid I have somewhere I need to be. Don’t worry, leave everything with me.”

  Then he claps his hand to his forehead.

  “Silly me, where are my manners! You should join me! Let me introduce you to my people!”

  “Where are you suggesting we go?” Jack has positioned himself in front of Greta and me and his hand is lingering at his side, right where his gun used to be. Habit, I guess.

  Kadir frowns at him. “I have done nothing to deserve such a hostile reaction. I have already told you, I will keep you safe, even you –” his lip curls into a sneer “– although that’s a big ask, ex-copper.” He grins again. “I give you my word, no harm will come to you. This will be the perfect opportunity to tell the masses that I have assured you of our protection. Plus, just as a little extra bonus –” he winks at me “– you, my dear, might even get to see your mother-in-law.”

  BEN

  The throb of the engines subsides and we stop spinning, our seats suspended halfway up the globe.

  A familiar voice fills the room: Silvio’s. It comes from all around me, reverberating like the engines did. The whole globe must be one big speaker.

  Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the ride of your life! Buckle up, sit back and enjoy your spin in the Globe of Death! I look at Silvio; the sadistic light in his eyes is as gleeful as it ever was. “It’s prerecorded,” he informs me, rather unnecessarily.

  Before you is an orb of the very strongest reinforced glass! Fireproof, shatterproof, waterproof! Do not fear, what happens inside will stay inside! Our rider must circumnavigate the sphere, attempting to avoid the obstacles in his way and maintaining a speed of fifty miles an hour or above at all times! Dropping below that will cause his bike to immediately blow up, turning the whole globe into a deadly inferno! Above the orb, you will see a speedometer, enabling you to track the rider’s speed.

  The control panel in front of each of your seats contains a single button. At a random point in the ride, you will each find your control panel light up. This gives you the opportunity to control what happens in the wheel. Press the green button to increase the speed at which it turns. Feeling dizzy and want to slow things down a bit? Simply press the red button for a calmer ride, momentarily at least. And finally, depressing the large blue button will add a mystery object to the globe, making things trickier for our rider. Ladies and gentlemen: you control the ride!

  The flashing of the strobe lights ceases, plunging us into darkness while the globe in the middle lights up, illuminating the people inside. The girl, all dressed up in a spangled circus leotard, must be the obstacle the rider has to avoid.

  The revving sounds begin again.

  Five, four, three, two, one! Let the fun commence! Silvio’s voice counts down.

  The motorcyclist revs his engine.

  The illuminated sphere in the middle of the room begins to spin and turn, while the larger circle surrounding it, the one I’m strapped into, revolves around it.

  The rider begins to drive around the spinning sphere. I don’t know how he isn’t falling. I think it’s something to do with the speed he’s going at; he’s already up to sixty miles per hour. The girl is scrambling desperately out of his way, like a hamster around a wheel.

  The smell of petrol and burning rubber fills the room.

  We spin and they spin. How long can this go on for before he hits her? Any second now, one or both of them are going to get crushed. I close my eyes.

  My arm is shaken roughly and, when I open my eyes, Silvio is leaning forward in his seat, shouting frantically above the engine.

  “Your panel. It’s lit up! It’s your turn!”

  I look down. The buttons are glowing. I frown at him. Does he really think I’m going to join in?

  “Quickly, Baines, you’ll miss your chance!” His face contorts angrily and he reaches over me and pushes the blue button.

  Trickles of water start to run down the middle globe. The bike slips and the girl grabs desperately at the smooth walls around them, now wet and slippery.

  I close my eyes again.

  I feel Silvio shaking me. Feel him slapping me, but I don’t open my eyes. I keep them screwed shut tight until the engine stops, until the wheel stops turning, until the world stops spinning. Only then do I slowly open one, then the other, and take in the sight in front of me.

  HOSHIKO

  I might see my mother-in-law: what does Kadir mean by that? He can’t mean Vivian Baines, can he? She can’t be here, in the slums.

  Kadir sweeps from the room and his men form a ring around us, their cold, hard faces blocking out the light above me as they usher us out of the building and through the streets.

  My heart pounds. All that talk of friendship was just a lie. He’s going to hand us over to her.

  I stop moving. “Where are you taking us?” I shout. “Where are we going?”

  One of the men clamps his hand over my mouth and propels me forward, roughly.

 
“You don’t get to ask questions,” he snarls.

  “Get your hands off her!” Jack demands. The men stop in their tracks, every single one of them turning and regarding Jack, their eyes burning with malice.

  “She won’t make a fuss again,” he says, quickly. “None of us will.”

  The man lets go of me. I wipe my mouth but I don’t make another sound and we move forward again, Jack’s arms clamped protectively around me and Greta.

  There’s a sound, distant at first, and then progressively louder as we move closer to its source. I know exactly what it is; I used to hear it every night, not so long ago. It’s the sound of people, lots of people. It’s the sound of a crowd.

  We round a corner and there they are: hundreds of people, clustered in the narrow paths of the slums, surrounding a stage, like one of the temporary ones we used to have at the Cirque.

  What are they all waiting for?

  Kadir has dropped back now, entrenched with us in the middle of the ring of his men. The track we move along is dense with people but they step aside for us as we go, carving a pathway for us right up to the stage.

  There’s a ladder at the bottom. Kadir rests his hands on it, turning to address us over his shoulder.

  “Follow me,” he instructs. “And don’t look so worried! This will be fun!”

  I don’t move, and neither do Jack or Greta. We stand there, trapped and surrounded by a wall of muscle as the king of the slums takes to the stage and addresses his people.

  BEN

  Even after the room has stopped spinning, it takes a while for my head to catch up. I look up, towards the globe, my heart racing.

  The rider is still on his bike; the girl is scrunched up on the floor. They’re both alive! The rider pulls off his helmet and bends down to the girl, helping her unsteadily to her feet. He’s a bit older than me, I reckon, tall, with sandy hair that’s tousled and damp with sweat where it’s been under the helmet. She looks a few years younger – just a child – with dark hair and eyebrows and wide, brown eyes.

  I glance at Sabatini. He’s frowning irritably. He pushes some buttons on his watch. The glass walls of the sphere drop down. Water gushes out, the smell of burning tyres grows even stronger and heady smoke catches in my throat.