Hoshi told me about Emmanuel losing his partner, how he watched her die in front of him. I feel like it’s all my fault; I feel like I did it. And I did, in a way. He knows who my mother is. He knows where I came from. I’m a Pure – or I used to be. Last time I saw him, I watched him narrowly avoid being eaten by lions. Does he know I was there, in the audience?
I force myself to meet his eyes. There’s no hatred there, though, no animosity, just a calmness, a wisdom.
There’s a commotion as another figure pushes his way through the masses, a little boy. He steps forward and grins up at me, a beautiful, wide smile. “You know Hoshi, don’t you? I know her too. I’m—”
“Ezekiel,” I say. “Hoshi and Greta have told me all about you. They miss you.”
His face lights up even more. “Do they? I miss them. Hoshi was my first friend in here.”
“She misses you a lot. She misses all of you a lot. She hated leaving you behind.”
Emmanuel gives a sad smile. “Hoshi and Greta made it out of the circus. They give all of us hope.” He frowns. “Gave all of us hope. Where are they?” His face is creased with apprehension. “They’re all right?”
“Yes. At least, I hope so. I don’t know where they are. They’re still on the run, I hope.” He looks at me, waiting expectantly for me to elaborate, but my leg’s aching again and I don’t even know how to begin explaining everything that’s happened.
“It’s a long story. Is there somewhere we can go and sit down?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I’ve already seen what’s in this place. Prison cells and a corridor, that’s it.
He shakes his head. “Nowhere. They didn’t give us any communal space this time round. Your mother has been very specific, from what I understand. She said it was having too much freedom to associate with each other that spread ideas of rebellion to Hoshi and Greta. They don’t even want us to talk to each other any more.” His expression is mournful. “They’ve taken away the one thing we had: our sense of community. We thought things were bad before, but they’re worse now, far worse.”
“How do they stop it? They can’t just stop people communicating, not unless they fill the place full of guards all night.” I look around. There are no guards in here at all.
“They have their ways, believe me.” He clutches my arm urgently. “We must prepare you for what comes next. If there’s anything you want to tell us, you’d better do it quickly, and you’d better do it here, in this corridor. There’s nowhere else. Are the girls OK?”
So, as quickly as I can, I tell them about Hoshi and Greta and Jack escaping. I don’t mention the way I bargained myself, it’s too embarrassing, and it’ll sound like I’m trying to paint myself as some kind of hero, which I’m not. I just tell them that the others got away, but I didn’t. Somehow, though, I think Emmanuel knows anyway because he gives me a knowing smile.
“You love her, then, Hoshiko?”
It’s a funny word, love. We use it for so many things: I love chocolate. I love dancing. I love this song. Would you like to come over? Thanks, I’d love to. How can one word mean all those different things? And how can the same word sum up what I feel about Hoshi, when that’s so much more than I could ever capture in a million words, let alone one?
Hoshi turned me into a different person. She made me better, made me stronger, made me fight for what’s right, for what’s true. She made me look at the world in another way altogether. She inspires me. She fascinates me. She fills me up.
Hoshi is everything.
I don’t say that though. Instead, I just nod and smile back. “Yes, I love her.” And I look down at the floor, feeling embarrassed and shy.
When I look up, I catch the eye of Sean. His fists are clenched together. His jaw is tight.
“I still don’t get it,” says Ezekiel. “Why are you in here? You’re not a Dreg.”
“I am now, or I may as well be. You know who my mother is, right?”
He nods, wide-eyed.
“Well, she’s not very happy about the things I’ve done, as you can probably imagine. She wanted me to say I was sorry, and she wanted me to go back, to become a part of her family again. When I refused, she put me in here. She said it was to teach me a lesson.”
There’s the sound of a slow hand clap and Sean steps forward, his expression twisted and angry.
“Oh, how heartbreaking,” he says. “Poor you. Poor little rich boy.” He turns to the rest of the group. “Didn’t any of you see Sabatini giving him the guided tour? Don’t let him fool you. He asked to be here. He’s just watched us out there, me and Leah, both of us nearly dying, and he loved it.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “They caught me. They’ve put me in here as a punishment.”
“You girls had better be careful,” he says to the others. “He’s probably after another poor Dreg to rescue. He likes playing the hero. Don’t believe a word he says. Sabatini said he’s working with him!”
“He was lying!” I say. “He wants to turn you against me! He hates me!”
“Not what it looked like. We saw you strapped into the ride next to him all cosy, didn’t we, Leah?”
She shrugs. “He was there,” she says. “He didn’t look happy though. If Silvio’s playing some sick kind of game with him, what choice does he have?”
“He had a choice when he paid to come and watch the shows. He’s missed the action, that’s why he’s back. He’s come back for more.”
“Enough!” Emmanuel commands. “Since when do you trust anything Sabatini says? Think about it, just for a moment. If he had any kind of choice, he wouldn’t have asked to be in here tonight, would he? Not if he knew what was about to happen?”
I look at Ezekiel, staring up at me gravely. I look at the rest of the group. “What is about to happen?” I ask.
Sean snorts. “Like he said before, welcome to hell. Poor little Pure boy, never had to suffer before in your life and now you’ve been thrown to the wolves.” He smirks. “Literally. Welcome to reality, mate. Welcome to the circus.”
HOSHIKO
As the night deepens, the slums get quieter and quieter until I feel like I must be the only person for miles who’s awake. Jack, Greta and Bojo are all fast asleep; I can make out their steady breathing.
What a day it’s been. I woke up this morning with Ben. I’ll wake up tomorrow without him.
I creep over to the door and open it a crack. The slums are quieter now. It’s soothing somehow, breathing in the crisp air, but after a moment or two, I push the door shut. I know how cold this insubstantial cardboard shack will become in the dead of night; I need to keep it as warm and snug as I can.
I seek out the sleeping forms of Jack and Greta; I can just make out their shapes in the darkness. What’s in store for us, I wonder, and what’s in store for Ben?
I hope they’re looking after him. I hope he’s safe. What will they do to him? He’s made such a mockery of them for so long. Will they want to make an example of him? What if he’s already dead? What if they’ve killed him? What if he’s killed himself? I keep seeing his gun pointed to his temple, and then I keep seeing it going off…
Standing there, listening to the unfamiliar night-time sounds of the slums – the shouting, faraway, odd bangs, the occasional muffled laugh – the panic and fear I’ve squashed down into the pit of my stomach all day creeps out of the darkness and envelops me like a shroud.
Ben told me once that he spoke to me, in his head, back at the Cirque: when they took me away and he was scared they were going to kill me. He made a promise that he would get me out. “It was a bit like a prayer,” he said. “I felt like you could hear me somehow.” I remember his eyes flicking up at me and then back down when he said that; all shy in that cute little way he has. He was embarrassed but he still told me.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. I thought it was just Ben being Ben: romantic and hopeful and idealistic – the opposite of me. I never told him that though; I didn’t want to disappoint him so
I just smiled.
Now, though, after all we’ve been through, I think maybe he was right. Maybe we are bound together, so tightly that we can feel each other, even when we’re not there. Maybe I could feel him, even back then, but I blocked him out. Maybe I just needed to let him inside.
He’s inside now. Inside my head. Inside my heart. He’s a part of me. I’d know if anything had happened to him.
I close my eyes. Picture his face. Not the graphic scary pictures like before, but his face when he looks at me. It wobbles a bit in my mind, but I wait for it to settle and still, until it’s clear, until I see him, see his beauty and honesty and bravery. See it right there, shining in his eyes; his love, his need for me: vulnerable, open, strong.
In my mind, I reach forward and touch his soft hair.
I look back into his eyes. I don’t look away, like I still do even now when I can’t cope with the intensity of the moment and I have to break it, even though I don’t want to, even though it’s the best feeling on earth.
You’ll be OK, I tell him, talking in my head just like he said. And I’ll be OK too. And we’ll find each other again. We’ve defied the odds before; we can do it again. I’ll keep believing. For you. I’ll keep strong.
I squeeze my hands together, pretend I’m holding his, and I shut my eyes tight. I feel him next to me. If I think hard enough, if I don’t lose sight of him, even for a second, I’ll keep him safe through the night.
I’ll see you again, he says. I’ll see you soon.
A different sound out there makes me jump. A shuffling noise, loud in the silence.
I creep over and peer out of the window.
There’s no one there.
Clutching hold of the torch Sven left us, I open the door a crack and peer out. I turn the torch on and search with its narrow light, making sure I don’t shine it into any of the huts opposite.
There’s a figure crouching down behind the shack next to us. I hold my breath.
I sweep the torch in front of me and make out another shape edging its way towards the building. I jolt my head backwards.
When I peep out again, the shape’s gone. Maybe it was never there in the first place. Maybe I was imagining it.
Behind me, Jack and Greta are still sleeping soundly. The monkey’s not though. He’s sitting up, looking at me, his little brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Sorry, Bojo, did I wake you?” I whisper. I try to coax him over to me, but he presses himself into Greta and eyes me accusingly. Looks like you have to be a seven-year-old child to win Bojo’s trust. Or a psychopathic ringmaster. Or a bejewelled slumlord.
I open the door and peep outside. All is quiet. All is still. There’s nothing there. There’s no one.
Suddenly, a hand over my mouth. My body grabbed, roughly. I try to shout, try to kick, but it’s no use. They’ve got me.
They’ve got me and they’re dragging me away.
BEN
Emmanuel glowers at Sean.
“You’ve only been here a short while; you don’t know our ways. This not how we behave in here. We don’t fight amongst ourselves. We never have. We look after each other, as best we can. If we do not have that, we have nothing. We have such a short opportunity to be together and you are cutting it short further.”
Sean shakes his head, disgustedly. “His girlfriend didn’t look after you, did she, when she set fire to the place and ran away? She ditched you all as soon as she damn well could. Anyway, he’s not one of us. He’s a Pure. Once a Pure bastard, always a Pure bastard.”
He turns on his heel and storms into one of the little cells, slamming the door behind him and, rather dramatically, locking himself in.
There’s a heavy silence, and then one of the boys who’d been standing with Sean at the back turns around and walks into one of the other cells. Four others do the same. The girl, Leah, sighs and begins to turn away.
“He was watching us perform,” she says almost apologetically to Emmanuel before disappearing into one of the cells.
For the first time since this morning, I feel tears filling up my eyes. Being here, with the circus folk, makes me miss Hoshi even more. She lived with these people. She was a part of them and they were a part of her. They still are a part of her, that’s what Hoshi says. She says that being in the circus together, going through all the torture and pain, all the grief and fear, bound them together, so that when one of them suffered, they all did.
I tried to understand, but I knew I never would, not really. Not when I’d always had such a safe and protected life, and not when I’d never really felt close to anyone until her, except Priya.
I can’t bear what Sean said about her just now. Hoshi could never have forgotten about the people she left behind. She’s agonized about them, and so has Greta; tormented themselves every day with worry about what was happening to their circus family.
Suddenly, I hear her voice in my head.
You’ll be OK, she says. And I’ll be OK too. And we’ll find each other again.
I feel her next to me, feel her hand in mine.
I’ll see you again, I tell her. I’ll see you soon. And for the first time, I believe it.
Emmanuel’s hand on my shoulder jolts me back to reality. “Come, Benedict, let’s sit down; we have only a few minutes at best to talk.”
He gestures to the dirty mud floor.
I sit down and he lowers himself next to me. Ezekiel comes around to my other side and does the same. The rest of the people, the ones who haven’t walked away, sit down too.
There’s another difficult silence. “It’s not right,” I say, quietly. “What he said about Hoshi. She hated leaving you all behind. She thought about you all the time.”
“Hoshi had no choice,” Emmanuel says, loud and firm, so that his voice must carry into every cell. “She was brave. She came so close to destroying Sabatini. She could never have known what would happen to him, what he would turn into.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “What has happened to him? I still don’t really understand.”
“Someone paid for his reconstruction and rehabilitation,” Emmanuel says. “It was his family, it must have been. You’ve heard the rumours about them?” I nod. “They gave him a blank cheque, apparently, and he used it to recreate himself. He says he’s a Pure now. The guy’s deranged. He thinks it’s his God-given duty to make as many Dregs suffer as he can. Hoshi could never have predicted what he’d do.”
“What did he do?” I whisper, even though I don’t think I want to know. There’s a lump in my throat and it’s hard to swallow.
“After what happened with you and Hoshi, they locked us up. I guess they were trying to decide what to do with us. They chucked bread and water in once a day and left us to rot for months. We didn’t know how long we’d be in there for, or if we’d ever get out. Some people couldn’t cope; they lost their minds, it was a terrible thing to witness.
“Then one day a few weeks ago, they brought us here, told us the Cirque was reopening, made us start rehearsals straight away. They took anyone who was sick, either in the body or mind, away and brought in a whole load of new people from the streets.
“None of us could believe it when we first saw Sabatini. Even in our wildest nightmares, we could never have imagined the monster he would become. He’s worse than he ever was before. You’ll need to be on your guard; he seems to have it in for the teenage boys the most – people like you and Sean. It’s like he’s envious of their strength and their age. He’s only been here a month and he’s already killed three people. He never used to like getting his hands dirty before but he shot them himself, right in front of us at point-blank range, for no reason at all. And every time – before, during, after – do you know what he did?” His voice shakes with rage and indignation. “He laughed. He was taking a life away and he loved it. I’ve never seen him so happy. He’s power-hungry – addicted to inflicting pain, addicted to killing.”
My stomach heaves. If it wasn’t emp
ty, I think I’d be sick.
“He’s working closely with your mother now; she’s made the Cirque her pet project, a way of getting revenge on you and Hoshi, I guess. He says she’s told him he can take as many people as he likes from the slums. We think he’s been encouraged to keep the turnaround high: the authorities want as many of us dead as possible. We’re completely replaceable to them, especially those of us who aren’t yet trained in a circus skill.”
I feel like a huge cold weight has settled in the pit of my stomach. People have been thrown in prison, people have lost their minds, people have been murdered, because of what we did, because of what my mother is doing.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my words coming out in a whisper. “We never knew this would happen.”
“It’s not your fault. No matter what anyone says.” His words ring out. “It’s their fault. Silvio’s, Vivian Baines’s, all the people out there who fund them, who pay to come to places like this. All the people who support the regime.”
That was me once. I don’t say that, nobody else does either, but I bet they’re all thinking it.
Emmanuel carries on talking.
“All of the acts are dark, all of them are violent. They want the circus to pull in even bigger crowds than it did before and they think more bloodshed and death is the way to do it. The new circus is only going to open once a month, so they can replace any performers who die, bring new ones in and start all over again.
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