Show Stealer

by Hayley Barker

  OK, so I’m the special effects guy. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

  I look up at Silvio; his eyes are bright with anticipation.

  This isn’t a normal circus, a voice in my head says.

  Below me, Sean, or the hapless clown Sean is pretending to be, gets out of his car, awkwardly, and opens the front bonnet, scratching his head in puzzlement. Leah sees what’s going on and starts to walk over to him when another figure appears on the stage, precariously riding a unicycle and juggling at the same time: the jester. He sees Leah, gives a loud wolf whistle and drops all his juggling balls in excitement. He jumps down from the unicycle and, out of nowhere, produces a large bunch of flowers. Meanwhile, Leah has walked over to the car and seems to be offering her help. Sean puffs his chest up and puts his hand inside the car’s bonnet. For a telling second, he slips out of the role as he glances across the auditorium to Silvio and me. Video screens on either side of the stage close in on his face. His eyes look frantic and there are beads of sweat on his forehead.

  I look at my script. Augustine lifts bonnet: (C), it reads.

  I stare down at the button labelled C, then turn to Silvio.

  “What does it do?” I say.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, man, just push it!” he answers.

  My hand wavers above the button.

  HOSHIKO

  I walk slowly down the path, heading back the way we came.

  The clouds gathering above are darkening by the second and the shadows of the city rise up all around me.

  I look up at the PowerHouse, still lit up with our images, and think about all that it is and all that it stands for. That’s where Ben’s family will live, if Vivian Baines is victorious. Those great glass eyes will be her office windows. I stare into them, imagining her standing there, proudly surveying her domain.

  Way over on the other side of the city, I can see the new Cirque.

  It’s nothing like the old one. The trailers are gone, and so are the warren of aerial tunnels they used to keep us out of the way: the tunnels we escaped through. The old arena’s gone too – it must have been irreparable after I blasted a bloody great hole in it.

  There must be another arena replacing it now – several, by the looks of it – there are loads of buildings down there, all the colours and shapes you can imagine and a huge Ferris wheel with scores of other fairground rides below it.

  For a while, I was stupid enough to think we’d destroyed our enemy, but it’s just risen up, even stronger than it was before.

  We didn’t accomplish anything, not really, Ben and Greta and me. All we did was focus the world’s attention on what happened in the Cirque. We turned it into a battleground. If the government allowed a Dreg tightrope walker to blow the place up and destroy it, then we’d won, and that would never do.

  It looks like it’s ready for its grand unveiling. There’s no more scaffolding, no more cranes, no signs at all of any building works going on.

  I wonder if Emmanuel’s there somewhere, getting ready to perform. I wonder if Ezekiel is. I wonder if they all are.

  Poor Rosie. Poor Felix. It must be agonizing for them, knowing their boy, Sean, is in there and being unable to do anything about it. I don’t know how they bear it; I don’t think I could.

  That must be how my family felt when I was taken. How they still feel, maybe – if they’re still alive. Miko, my brother, won’t remember me at all. He’ll be twelve now, nearly a teenager. What do they tell him about me? Maybe they don’t tell him anything. Maybe it’s too hard to say the words: You had a big sister but the circus took her away. Maybe he doesn’t know I ever existed. Maybe that’s what they do: pretend I was never there at all.

  I’ll find them, one day, if I live long enough to get out of this city.

  I don’t know how, though. I don’t even know where I’m from; I was too young when they took me away. I know it’s somewhere in England, but I don’t know if it’s north or south, east or west. I don’t know anything.

  How must they have felt when I was taken? They must have thought that I’d die in that place, like so many others, but they wouldn’t have known when, or how. They must have wondered, every night, if it was my last one alive on earth.

  Maybe not. Maybe they kept track of me. I was the golden pin-up girl for a good few years before I blew the place up. Maybe they saw me on the posters. The Cirque could have pitched up in my hometown and I wouldn’t even know it.

  And if they didn’t know then, they must have heard about what happened by now.

  It was big news: the biggest, not just locally but nationally – internationally, by all accounts. How do they feel, knowing the little girl who was snatched from them turned out to be a violent criminal, on the run from the police? Maybe they don’t tell anyone I’m their daughter. Maybe they’re too ashamed.

  It’s dreadful, not knowing the truth. Always wondering, always searching, for answers which never come.

  At least Priya’s poor children have some kind of closure now.

  No, that’s not right. It’s worse, much worse for them than it is for me. Before, they had hope, something to cling to. Now, they just have grief and emptiness. Now they have to somehow find the strength to face the cold, hard reality of growing up without her.

  Death is the end of all hope.

  Tears blur my eyes, threatening to spill over again. I shake them away. I have to be strong. I have to try to focus on the positive.

  At least Silvio’s not in the Cirque any more. Whoever’s running the show now, however depraved they are, they can’t be as bad as him.

  I won’t think about that place.

  It’s hard not to, though; it’s caught up with every memory I have. I feel so angry with myself every time I feel that betraying tug.

  My mind is wandering so much that I don’t pay much attention to where I’m going. I turn down one of the little bends, the one I thought led to our little cardboard shack, but it’s not there.

  I try to find my way back to it, but I just get more and more confused, twisting and turning so much that, in the end, I don’t even know which direction I’m heading or even which way I came from. This whole slum is a massive labyrinth of tiny clustered dwellings and, after a while, they all look exactly the same.

  The clouds above thicken even more and it gets dark really quickly. Groups of people start to appear, gathering together again around the fires. No one speaks to me; they all just stop talking and stare as I walk past them.

  They must have heard those cries of pain last night, coming from Kadir’s. Those terrible, torturous cries, for hours. And then nothing. A silence that went on and on.

  Do they know it was because of me?

  A group of children dash past nearly knocking me off my feet and a big rat with gleaming eyes runs across my path.

  It starts to rain, a thin drizzle at first, but then falling heavier and heavier. The cold penetrates my thin clothes, penetrates my bones. The groups gathered around the fires quickly disperse back into their tiny homes and I tread the abandoned paths looking for my own people.

  Is Ben somewhere in this big sprawling city? Is he dry and warm? Is he safe?

  I’m totally disoriented now.

  I find myself at the edge of the slums again, near where we came in yesterday, and where the men took me last night. I walk towards the huge rubbish mound and turn and face inward. I should be able to find my bearings from here.

  A noise breaks the silence and a group of dark figures appears, slinking along the fence.

  I step back, pressing myself into the shadows of the stinking mound behind me, trying not to think about the rats and the rotting food. I don’t really know why, but it becomes suddenly vital that they don’t see me. Maybe it’s because they look so sinister, so secretive.

  They’re talking in muffled whispers, but I’m so close I can hear what they’re saying.

  “So, everyone knows what they’ve got to do, right? And not a word to anyone else. If this gets out, we�
��ll all be dead.”

  “I still don’t like it,” says another one. “We’re not ready. There’s no point rushing into a place like that unprepared. There’ll be way too much security, especially after what happened before. Things will go wrong, they’re bound to.”

  “We have to do it now,” the first guy says. “His brother’s in there, remember. We promised him. And anyway, we are prepared. Felix has been staking out the place for weeks and Billy’s gone tonight to have one final look.”

  “What if they catch him?”

  “They won’t. You know how good he is at stuff like this.”

  There’s a pause. “Tomorrow night,” says the first guy. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” the others say, and they all give each other a strange little handshake. “The Brotherhood!” they say in unison and then walk off, one by one, in separate directions.

  There’s something familiar about one of them, even in the darkness. The way his hands are thrust in his pockets, the way his shoulders are slumped. I wait a moment or two and then follow behind him. I walk closer and closer until I’m sure.

  “Felix, stop!”

  The rain is even heavier now; it flicks from his hood when he spins around. “I heard you,” I say. “Back by the rubbish heap. What are you planning?”

  He looks blankly at me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not planning anything.”

  “Yes, you are.” I step towards him. “You’re planning a terrorist attack on the Cirque.”

  BEN

  A horrible feeling of foreboding squats deep in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what will happen if I press this button, but I do know it won’t be anything good.

  Suddenly, Silvio’s arm shoots out and he slams my hand down, holding it there from above.

  There’s a flash and Sean jerks forward. His body jolts and his eyes bulge as he shakes, spasmodically.

  I look at Leah’s face on the screen. Her eyes flick upwards and she whispers something to herself: a prayer, maybe? And then she puts her arms on Sean’s waist. As soon as her hands touch him, the shock travels through her body too and the two of them convulse helplessly on the stage: jerking, jolting, juddering.

  They don’t look human any more.

  I wrench my hand from under Silvio’s but it’s too late; they just keep shuddering.

  My stomach heaves.

  Their hands were both bandaged already. They’ve been through this before, and they’ll go through it every night from tomorrow. Every night, until when? Until they die, I suppose. How much electricity can a body take before it just gives up?

  Eventually, the jolts stop and they both crash heavily to the floor. I’m not even sure if they’re alive.

  “Come on, you should be used to it by now!” calls out Silvio. He rolls his eyes at me. “Honestly, it’s only a minor shock. These people are so feeble!”

  The jester is staring down at their crumpled bodies. His face on the screens shows pity, grief, horror: a mix of churning emotions.

  “Get your act together!” shouts Silvio. “Or you know what the consequences will be! This performance is just not good enough! You should all be seamless by now!”

  Leah slowly pulls herself up to a sitting position. The jester steps forward hurriedly and presents her with the bunch of flowers.

  She stares up at him in confusion for a moment, but then she seems to pull herself together because she takes the flowers and scrambles to her feet. She’s a bit wobbly, but she stays upright and plants a kiss on the supposedly delighted jester.

  Sean is still lying on the floor. He hasn’t moved.

  Is this part of the scene? Is he acting? I hope he’s acting.

  Seeing him lying there, I remember Anatol, the poor boy they shot from a cannonball and left to die. For the first time, I wonder if it was better for him that he didn’t survive that day. He’d still be here otherwise. Here to be tortured at Silvio’s whim.

  From the wings, a third clown – the Pierrot one dressed all in white – appears. When he sees Leah and the jester together, he rubs his eyes with fisted hands in a crying gesture and the cheery music is replaced by the sad cadences of a single violin. Pierrot goes to the wings, dragging out an object, a giant mousetrap by the looks of it, which he positions carefully on the stage, glancing upwards and placing it directly below a trapdoor in the ceiling.

  The jester takes Leah’s arm and they walk across the stage while Pierrot looks on, apparently seething with jealousy.

  Sean is still lying there.

  The happy couple act as if they don’t see the huge trap that has been placed in their path, both stepping on to it at the same time. It springs shut hungrily, clamping down around their ankles. Neither one of them is a good enough actor to disguise the fear they feel. Their faces contort, their bodies shrink and their shoulders hunch as they brace themselves for whatever it is I’m about to release from the door directly above their heads.

  “Push the button!” Silvio hisses at me. “Push the damn button!” His arm reaches over me again.

  The anger burns inside me. Hot, red hot. I push the stool back, push him away, hard, stand up, turn around to face him.

  “No,” I answer. “There’s no way I’m pushing that button, and I’ll tell you something else … you’re not pushing it either.”

  HOSHIKO

  “Shut up, you stupid girl!” Felix hisses and turns from me, walking quickly away up the path.

  “Stop!” I call. “Tell me what’s going on!”

  He hurries from me faster. I run after him, tramping through the puddles. “If you don’t talk to me, I’ll give myself up to the police and tell them everything I just heard!” I raise my voice. “Don’t think I won’t do it!”

  He spins around and glares at me, before taking my arm and pulling me down into one of the little side alleys, glancing around furtively as he does so.

  “Keep your bloody voice down! The Brotherhood have been planning this for months, you’re not going to come along at the last minute and spoil everything!”

  “I’ve got friends in that place!” I answer angrily. “People I care about! Do you expect me just to nod my head and just let a bunch of terrorists blow them all up?”

  He propels me further down the sidewalk.

  “The Brotherhood aren’t terrorists,” he says. “We’re freedom fighters!”

  “Freedom fighters? You make it sound as if going around murdering people is heroic or something.”

  He looks at me incredulously. The rain that’s streaming down both our faces trickles down my back in cold rivulets.

  “Erm, hello? That’s what you tried to do, isn’t it?” he answers angrily. “You weren’t so concerned about anyone else when you threw a grenade into the middle of the circus ring!”

  “That’s not fair,” I say. “There was no one in there. Well, only one person, and he deserved to die!”

  Like so many times before, I see Silvio’s face, looking up at me, his eyes widening in shock as I threw the grenade that killed him.

  Felix looks around anxiously again. “What do you think you were doing when you dropped that bomb? Fighting for freedom, that’s what. You inspired us – you did exactly what we all would have done, given the chance. What was the alternative? That you let them keep on treating you like some kind of performing animal? That you let them kill you?” His eyes burn with passion. “Asking nicely for things to be different, waiting for some Pure with a conscience to miraculously gain power and make things a bit better for us, that’s not enough. If we want real change, we need to tear things up, blow this world apart. I’d have thought you, of all people, would see that!”

  His words are vicious slaps; they make my head reel. Maybe he’s right. I did blow up the arena and I did kill Silvio. And I’ve never regretted it, not once. So what does that make me? A terrorist, or a freedom fighter? If the cause is justified, if it’s important enough, shouldn’t you fight with everything you have, even if it
means people might get hurt along the way?

  And there’s the sticking point: people might get hurt.

  People dying isn’t an unfortunate consequence for groups like the Brotherhood; it’s their aim. It’s their sole purpose.

  “Look, no one’s going to lose their life,” he says, reasonably. “Well, none of the Dregs anyway.” He sighs, heavily. “If I tell you what we’re doing, will you shut up about it?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “The Brotherhood are storming the Cirque. We’re going to seize control of the whole place as soon as it opens. Surely that must please you? We’ll get the Dregs out first; liberate every single one of them. It’s all been properly planned.”

  I shake my head. “You’ll never do it. The security in there’s going to be unbelievable, especially on opening night.”

  “We will. We know exactly what’s going on in there. There’s more than one insider providing us with information. And I tell you something else: that’s just the start of it. There’s a revolution coming. The tables are turning.”

  My heart is tight in my chest. Of course I’d like to see the Cirque destroyed once and for all, of course I want the Dregs released, but this feels far too dangerous, far too risky.

  “Listen,” Felix says. “We know the Cirque layout. We know how to get in. We’ve got guns. We’ve got bombs. It can’t fail. All this crap they keep telling us about how Laura Minton is going to gain power, about how things are going to come to a peaceful end, it’s all bullshit. And she knows it too: she ain’t as holier than thou as she makes out, I’ll tell you that for nothing. We have to seize power, not go to the Pures cap in hand and beg for it!”

  There’s a silence. I get what he’s saying, I can’t even begin to argue with it, but it still feels wrong.

  “Does Kadir know what you’re planning?” I ask.

  He laughs, a cold, hard laugh.

  “Kadir’s a bully and a thug, surely you’ve worked that out by now, despite my mum’s romantic take on it.” He looks into my eyes, unblinking and intense. “If he finds out this has leaked, we’re all dead, so you’d better keep your mouth shut, you understand?”