“This is no good! I knew it was wrong to give you too much rehearsal time! She was scrambling out of the way far too easily, even when the water came down! Where’s the fun in this act if you don’t even come close to crushing her under your wheels? It’s going to be a complete anticlimax! Where’s the risk? Where’s the thrill factor? Baines – got any bright ideas? Don’t be so shy! Dregs, we have our first guest! We can’t let him leave disappointed! Don’t you recognize him? Don’t you know who he is? We have Pure royalty here for a little holiday!”
I feel their eyes boring holes into me. They think I’m with Sabatini. They think I’m on his side.
“Your eyes do not deceive you!” he cries. “It really is him! It’s Benedict Baines! I kid you not, the Benedict Baines is here, with us, in our humble little circus! The same guy who tried to destroy us last year. Such a funny turn of events! He’s always loved getting in on a bit of circus action. He’s ever so keen to join us!”
“That’s not true!” I cry. “They forced me to come here! They’re keeping me prisoner!”
“Benedict, spare us the theatrics! You aren’t fooling anyone!” Silvio’s voice is sharp. “Right, back to business. Any bright ideas? How can we make this act more thrilling?”
He sighs heavily. “Do I have to think of everything around here? You, boy! What’s your name?”
The boy mumbles something incoherent.
“Speak up!” shouts Silvio. “What. Is. Your. Name?”
“Sean,” the boy says more clearly.
“Right. Well, Sean, take off your shirt!” The boy stares at him. “Come on! Take it off!”
The boy lowers his helmet and takes off the ragged shirt he’s wearing. His emaciated chest is covered in cuts and bruises.
Silvio releases his seat belt and pulls himself from his chair, tap-tapping across the room towards the boy. He snatches the shirt from him, holding it at arm’s length with a look of disgust on his face, and lifts it up between his fingertips, turning his head to the side delicately. He reaches up to the boy’s head and ties it around, rolling it up to make a blindfold.
“That should make it a bit more fun!” he says. “Right, let’s go again.”
“I can’t do it,” the boy says, his voice high and panicked. “I won’t be able to control it!”
“Erm, that’s kind of the idea.” Silvio’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Well, it will be interesting to find out anyway. Now, how else can we improve this act? Hmm. I’ve drawn a blank.”
He scratches his head theatrically, and then looks up at me.
“Oh yes, you made a suggestion earlier, didn’t you, dear Benedict? Said I should make it harder for them to concentrate.”
“No!” I cry out. “I didn’t! I never said that!”
“There’s no need for false modesty!” he chides, turning back to the girl and boy. “Benedict begged to be appointed as my creative assistant! He’s taking it extremely seriously. He wants a fully immersive introduction, he said. He wants to live amongst you in order to fully understand what motivates the lesser, animalistic races. Those were the words you used, weren’t they, Baines?”
“He’s lying!” I shout.
“Oh, Benedict! You shouldn’t be afraid to show creatures like this your true leanings! It hardly matters what they think! They’ll probably both be dead by the end of the season, dead by the end of the day for that matter! Right, back to the act. Benedict’s right: we need to put you under more pressure. Light a fire maybe, or have some kind of animal prowling around, wasn’t that what you said, Baines? Yes, that could be perfect! I’ll make arrangements for opening night. For now, the blindfold will have to do.”
He throws the controller towards me. “Switch on the wheel, won’t you, Benedict?” He reaches forward with the cane, pushing it into the boy Sean’s chest and holding it there. The boy looks forward steadily, but he’s biting down on his lip, and his chest is still where he’s holding his breath. When Silvio pulls his stick away, a little round red wound has joined all the others on Sean’s bruised and abused frame.
I look at the girl, her big eyes round with fear, her face pained and pale. I look at the blindfolded boy. I look at the guards, armed and silent.
I look at Silvio.
He raises the cane again, holds it towards the boy’s chest. “Come on, Baines!” he says. And pushes it into Sean again. This time, he doesn’t take it away. Little wisps of smoke curl out of it and there’s the horrible smell of burnt meat.
He raises his non-existent eyebrows at me. “Are you going to get on with it, or are you going to keep standing there, watching him fry?”
I reach down for the panel. There’s a big red ON button.
I click my seat belt off and lunge towards Sabatini, knocking the cane flying.
The guards spring forward and pull me backwards, wrenching my arms behind my back. One of them retrieves the cane and handles it to Silvio.
“Baines! You can’t keep playing the double agent like this! It’s not fooling anyone, not even these brain-dead Dregs! We all know you’re a Pure! We all know who your mummy is! We all know you get off on acts like this!”
I feel the girl’s eyes on me, accusing me, dissecting me.
“Do it again, with the blindfold on this time,” Sabatini orders. “I’d love to stay and watch but I’ve promised Benedict a tour of the whole place. He’s desperate to see it all!” He turns to the guards. “You!” he instructs one of them. “Go and tell them to bring in a firepit for the bottom, will you? And then let me know how it goes. You’d better come with us,” he tells the other guards. “Benedict is a VIP, after all. He may require protection from all these savage Dregs!”
He turns and hobbles out of the room, moving with surprising speed. The guards grab hold of me again, pushing me roughly after him.
At the doorway I turn. Sean has taken off the blindfold. His fists are clenched, his gaze is fixed on me, and his eyes burn with hatred.
HOSHIKO
Amidst a roar of applause, Kadir stands in the centre of the stage, facing the cheering people gathered below him.
“Thank you! Thank you all!” he calls as the noise subsides. “Why are we gathered here? Why? Because we are on the brink of a new era! An era of renewal, an era of opportunity, an era of hope! Before the show begins, however, I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine, some good friends. People, we are among star-studded company tonight!”
He looks across and down to where we’re standing. “Come, don’t be shy! You, of all people, should be used to the limelight!”
“It’s the Black Cat!” someone calls out. “It’s Hoshiko!”
They all start shouting then, roaring and cheering and calling my name. Word of our arrival in the slums has obviously spread.
“Come on!” Kadir calls down. “Don’t keep your public waiting!”
I feel myself pushed towards the ladder. The noise of the gathered masses is getting louder and louder, pounding, just like it used to. As I grip on to the cold iron bars, memories wash over me like a wave. For a few seconds, I’m transported, back to the time before.
The crowd are calling for me to perform for them.
I stand above them, way up high, curling my toes around the wire. The very worst thing in my life; the very best thing in my life. Time to let the conflict go.
Time to leap, time to soar, time to fly.
A sharp dig in my back jolts me to reality.
“Get up there!” Sven orders.
I look around at Jack and Greta, take a deep breath and begin to climb.
At the top, I stand on the stage before the crowd, my eyes lowered, listening to the wave of hysteria grow.
Before long, Greta appears next to me and then Jack, standing awkwardly behind us.
Kadir holds up his hands, and eventually, the noise hushes.
“Yes! They need no introductions! Please, give a warm welcome to the runaway circus stars!”
He waits, grinning, for the din of the wolf
whistles and shouting and applause to subside again.
“These people have sought sanctuary in the slums and I have assured them we will protect them: every single one of us.”
“What about him?” someone shouts. “He’s police!”
“Who said that?” Kadir’s head whips to the left, and he steps forward, peering down into the crowd. “Who was it? Remove him.” Below us the sea of people parts again as two of Kadir’s men move through the crowd and drag someone away.
“As I was saying, these people are my guests. Now, you may well be aware that there’s a reward on their heads, a big reward. You may well be thinking that you’d like to get your hands on all that lovely money. You may even be tempted to turn snitch, but—” He pauses and his eyes glint. “Money ain’t no good when your throat’s been slit.”
He doesn’t have a microphone up here. He doesn’t need to; the people below us are silent now, deathly silent.
“These people are heroes, living legends, and we are honoured to have them here with us.” He grabs my arm and raises it high. “This girl here blew up the circus! The circus which has stolen so many of our sons and daughters from us! The circus which is back and which must be brought down again!” There’s a roar of approval from the crowd.
“We are gathered here to watch the first televised political debate in over twenty-five years! To watch the first ever pro-Dreg candidate take on the system. In just a few short days we could be given the vote! The circus could be shut down for good!” There’s more roaring applause. “After years in chains, we will be free again! Would we be here without the brave actions of these people you see before you? I. Think. Not! I have promised them we will protect them. I know you will all honour that promise.”
There’s silence again.
“OK, people, let’s get on with things. Let’s start the show!” He raises his hands above his head and begins to clap, slowly, rhythmically. Below us, the crowd of people begin to join in until every single person’s hands are raised in unison.
This man next to me can play a crowd like a musician plays a fiddle. Applause, silence, clapping – he’s working them at his will. I’ve only ever seen one man before who had such presence onstage: Silvio Sabatini, the ringmaster himself. The man I killed. The man who turned me into a murderer. An unrepentant murderer.
Behind us, a giant screen descends. Dramatic music begins to play.
Whatever it is that’s going on here, it’s about to begin.
BEN
It’s dusky by the time we get back outside, and there are pink smudges in the sky; it’s going to be another warm day tomorrow. It’s cold now though, cold and crisp. You can smell the shift of season in the air, feel it in your fingertips.
Nearly a year has passed since I sat there in that big house on the hill and watched the circus come to town.
I was so excited, so desperate to see all the action. It was all I could think about. How could I ever have been so deluded, so naïve?
I remember how Priya’s shoulders hunched when I said I wanted to go to the Cirque, how her gentle eyes were suddenly hard and angry.
Decide for yourself, she said. Judge with your head and with your heart.
She risked everything to tell me that. She knew it was treason; she knew what would happen if they found out. And they did find out. My own brother, my own twin, told them. Francis killed her, or he may as well have done.
I miss her so much. I hope I’ve done her justice, wherever she is. I hope she’s proud of me. I renew again the promise that I’ve made to her every day since I discovered what they’d done to her.
One day, if we ever get out of this mess, if the world ever changes enough, I’m going to find her children, Nila and Nihal. I’m going to tell them how brave she was, how brave and wise and true. I’m going to look after them.
We’re going to find Hoshi’s family too, as soon as we can, and Greta’s. It makes Hoshi sad that Greta hardly talks about her parents any more. She used to all the time, she says, but they’ve stopped seeming real to her now and I don’t think she even misses them any more. She just loves Hoshi so much, and she loves me and Jack and Bojo. It’s not as if she wants for affection, far from it, but that doesn’t make it right. There’s a mum and dad somewhere who must be desperate to see her. And Hoshi: she’s got a mum and a dad and at least one brother, or she did have. Miko would be twelve now.
The girls were both so young when they were taken away that neither of them even know what part of the country they’re from.
One day we’ll find a way to track them all down though.
We’ll all be together. We’ll all be free.
I look up. The first star has appeared, twinkling determinedly, waiting for its friends to join it.
The name Hoshiko means child of the stars. Everything about Hoshi, even her name, is beautiful. I remember how enchanted I was by her when I first saw her, how enchanted by her I still am. Now that I really know her, know the broken and brave girl under the greasepaint and glitz, I’m more bewitched by her than I ever was.
I wonder where she is. I wonder if she’s somewhere out there, looking up at that star too. I hope she’ll be warm enough tonight, wherever she is. I hope she’ll be safe.
“Darkness is descending.” Silvio’s ominous statement breaks my thoughts. “This is my favourite vantage point, you know, of the whole Cirque. You can see the entire place from here.”
He presses a button on his watch and talks into it.
“Turn everything on, will you? Yes, all of it. Yes, now! When do you think I mean, next week? Get on with it!”
There’s nothing for a second, and then, one by one, a million lights begin to twinkle.
Every ride, every attraction, bright against the darkness. All the pathways between them stretching off like the arcs of fireworks. The great wheel rotates slowly, the waltzers spin and whirl. Up, down, left, right, the lights of the circus dance.
For a moment my heart betrays me. For a second, for less than a second, my breath catches in my throat.
No. I will not let myself feel anything but disgust for this place. It’s just electricity, that’s all it is.
I turn to Silvio, adopting the same disdainful manner for him my mother’s always had.
“Is that it? After all this time, that’s the best you can do. It’s hardly impressive, Sabatini.” His face drops, just for an instant, and then the deathly white mask is back.
“Tell you what, before I show you to your sleeping quarters, why don’t you accompany me to our cinema room? There’s a live television event starting in just a few moments.” He gestures towards the golf buggy. “Shall we? Leap aboard, Master Benedict; it will do you good to see how the land lies.”
HOSHIKO
The music fades away and there’s a few seconds’ pause as the audience below us wait in hushed silence beneath the blank screen.
I look over their heads, across the slums and towards the sprawling city. The temperature has dropped further now and, away to the west, the sun is dipping below the horizon, streaking the sky pink.
One tiny star twinkles bright. Seeing it sparkling defiantly up there makes me feel hopeful for the first time today.
I’ll see Ben again, I know I will.
In the distance, a dark mass beyond the lights of London, the new Cirque squats, waiting to rise up once more.
Suddenly, as if it knows I’m watching, it transforms. From darkness to light, from stillness to movement, from dead to alive.
My heart leaps. Goosebumps tingle across my arms and back. Greta clutches hold of my hand and we both stare, transfixed.
No. We must not let it charm us.
Under that bright canopy, people are suffering, just like we did. Caged up, frightened, desperate, fighting for their lives. I shake my head. I break the spell.
“Don’t look at it,” I say to Greta. I put my arm around her and turn us both gently around to face the screen.
After a second, an image projects on
to the stage.
It’s a holograph one, so solid-looking, so real, that it feels like the person is actually there, right beside us, the static haughty smile on her face directed straight at me.
My mouth goes dry.
Vivian Baines.
She looks different to before. The sleek bob and power suit are gone. She’s wearing a baby-pink sweater and her hair curls on her shoulders in loose waves. Looks like she’s trying to soften the ice queen aura she gives off – attempting to come across as warm and gentle. It doesn’t work.
Bojo springs out of Greta’s arms and bounds over to the edge of the image. He cocks his head curiously and reaches out a paw cautiously, jerking it back when he feels nothing but air.
She’s speaking, I think; it’s hard to tell. The crowd below us are deafening: jeering, booing, shouting obscenities. Eventually, they quieten a little and if I strain my ears and stare closely at her horrid sour little mouth, I can make out the words.
“—romantic story of my son running away with a circus tightrope walker captured the nation’s hearts. Love conquers all. Love can build a bridge. Love is stronger than hate – these are some of the sentiments I have heard expressed over the last few months.”
She smiles. It’s almost convincing.
“It’s a nice idea. It’s an idea we all like. The idea that we are all, somehow, the same. That, deep down, we’re no different – we can share, we can live in harmony. This is the story that Laura Minton and her followers are selling you. The notion that everyone, Pure and Dreg, can coexist peacefully. The notion that if we allow Dregs more rights, they will appreciate it, somehow. They will behave themselves. They will live happily amongst us.”
She leans forward. Stares intently.
“It is a lie. It is a fairy story. Do not be seduced by the myth. We must be smarter than that. We must consider the facts.
“Turn back the clock thirty years and you will see what it is really like to live in a country with open borders. Dregs swarming here in their millions: benefit tourists, grasping any handout they can get; health tourists, bleeding the NHS dry. Children, Pure, English children, forced to learn in schools where their own language is not even considered the primary tongue any more.
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