After a moment, I nod, reluctantly.
“The only people we’re interested in targeting are Pures. You hate the Pures as I much as I do, don’t you? You must do after everything they’ve done to you.”
“Not all Pures are evil, you know,” I say.
“Yes, they are! Every last one of them. Look at what they stand for. Fight hate with hate, fire with fire. It’s the only way.”
“That’s not true. Jack was a Pure, Ben was a Pure. They aren’t evil. They’re the bravest people I ever met.”
“Once a Pure, always a Pure,” he sneers. I picture his face when I asked him to let Jack in, how he refused to shake his hand, how his lip curls with disgust every time he looks at him. “There’s plenty of people I know who’d like to tell your Benedict Baines exactly what they think of him, laying his hands on one of our Dreg girls. He should keep to his own kind!”
“That’s beyond offensive!” I fume, outraged. “One of our Dreg girls? I’m no one’s possession! That’s the problem, don’t you see? We’re all people! There are plenty of Pures who don’t like the way things are either. We have to try and fix this mess together; it won’t work otherwise. Planning attacks like that makes you just as bad as the people you hate!”
“They’re going to be at the Cirque, aren’t they? They’ll all be enjoying the shows. Call that innocent? The Pures killed my dad and they’ve taken my brother. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.” His voice cracks. “You know what? I hope we kill every last one of them: men, women, children, all of them! For every Pure that dies that’s one less of them polluting the planet.”
He turns around, his back to me. He’s so angry. I know that anger. I’ve felt it all my life, even more since they killed Amina. It’s love, that’s what causes it. Love and fear. He’s heartbroken and grieving. Just a lost and frightened boy who wants his brother to be safe.
What would I do, in Felix’s shoes? What if it was Greta in there? Or Ben? What lengths would I go to, to try and get them out?
Any lengths, that’s what. I’d put my own life on the line in an instant. I’d destroy anyone who stood in my way to protect the people I love. It’s awful, thinking of that place reopening, wondering if Emmanuel, Ezekiel, all my friends are in there, getting ready to perform. Knowing that if not, they’re probably already dead.
I reach out a tentative hand, rest it gently on his shoulder. He shakes it off angrily and whirls around to face me.
“Get your hands off me!” but then he slumps forward, lurching towards me.
I catch him in my arms. “I just want my brother back,” he says, his voice smaller: plaintive, like a child’s. “I just want him safe.” He clings on to me and his whole body judders with the force of his great wracking sobs.
Eventually, he stills in my arms. Pulling away from me, he wipes his face with his sleeves, leaving dirty smudges in the tear marks. When he looks at me again, all the sadness, all the vulnerability has gone.
“The best thing you can do is stay out of things,” he says, the tough guy mask firmly back in place. “Keep your head down, forget what you heard. There’s a plan. It’s a good one. It’s an important one. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. The only people who are going to get hurt in that circus are Pures, that’s all you need to know. You of all people should approve of it, and I’ll tell you something else: we’ll do anything to succeed, anything, and that includes getting rid of anyone who might try and stand in our way!”
He regards me coldly. “Time to make your mind up, Circus Girl. Whose side are you on? Ours, or theirs? There’s only one answer, isn’t there?” and then he turns and sprints away.
BEN
Silvio steadies himself, looking down incredulously at his chest where I’ve just shoved him. I glare at him, maintaining my position between him and the machine.
I haven’t let myself look at him directly for long before. Now I can’t stop staring at him. His face doesn’t appear to be made of flesh at all any more. It’s plastic, I think, or plaster, a smooth alabaster finish somehow stretched over his skull. That’s why it’s so white.
“I beg your pardon?” When he speaks, only his mouth moves; the rest of him remains static.
“I said: no one’s pushing that button.”
He moves his hand around me, feeling for the button. I shift on my feet and block him.
He raises up his cane, waggling it in my face.
“You sure you want to persist with this little stand-off, Baines?”
“You’re not allowed to hurt me,” I say. “I heard what my mother said.”
“Wrong. I’m not allowed to leave visible scarring. She hasn’t forbidden punishment at all. In fact, she’s actively encouraged it. There are several settings on this little cane of mine. I can make my mark on you mentally instead of physically, if I so wish.”
I take a step backwards.
“Are you frightened?” he says, quietly. “You should be.”
He slams the door of the booth shut, taking a step towards me. “You can’t get out of here unless you know the combination.”
I look across the arena at the performers, all frozen in place, staring up at us nervously.
All except Sean.
“That boy needs help!” I tell him, urgently.
Silvio reaches his arm forward. I move back, but I’m wedged into the corner now and it’s only about two foot by two foot in here.
I dodge to the left and he darts towards me again, holding his cane in front of him like he’s jousting. We dance around the booth before he finally makes contact.
It’s not a burn I feel, or even an electric shock; it’s a jab. The prick of a needle.
Suddenly, pain in my head, like it’s being crushed by a vice. I try to move, but I’m rooted to the spot. It’s as if I’ve turned into a statue. I can’t move my head, can’t move my mouth, can’t even blink my eyes. The only part of me that’s still animated is my heart: pounding, pounding, pounding.
I think I might die. I want to die.
Silvio grabs hold of me and manoeuvres me to face down over the stage. Whatever’s about to happen, he’s going to make me watch. I try to look away, but even my eyeballs are frozen into position.
“I hate you, Benedict Baines,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve never hated anyone like I hate you and Hoshiko.”
He wrenches up my head and lifts up my limp arm, swinging my hand round towards the button. I will every inch of my strength to resist, but it’s no use.
He slams my hand down on the button.
I wish I could close my eyes.
Four ropes tumble out of the trapdoor, swinging just above the clowns’ heads. The Pierrot clown steps forward and ties each of their hands to a rope, looping it around. There’s no need for the teardrops painted on his face now, because he’s actually crying, the make-up on his face streaked and ghastly, as he weeps on the stage.
He’s only young. Younger than me by quite a few years, I reckon. He should be in school now, getting an education, preparing for life. He should have the world in his hands.
What have they done to him in here? What have they done that makes him step forward and tie his friends up like that? Was it worse than this?
They’ve hurt him, that’s for sure. Threatened those he loves, maybe worse. That’s what they did to us: took Priya away, mutilating her to teach me a lesson. Strung Amina up in the arena because they knew she meant more to Hoshiko than anything. They take your love, take your loyalty, and use it against you. They turn it into a weakness.
Violins begin to play, the bows saw backwards and forwards, screeching and screaming discordantly.
The ropes jerk up and down in time with the ear-splitting music, flinging the boy and girl up and down like rag dolls. Quicker and quicker, higher and higher, splaying their bodies out way up high and then throwing them down to the ground as they drop again and again and again.
They don’t look like people any more at all.
Behind me,
pressed up far too close, Silvio gives a slow hand clap.
When the jerking eventually stops, the boy and girl drop down to the floor. They lie there, still.
Silvio leans over me to call down to them.
“OK. A bit tame, maybe, but it’s a start. Tonight’s show will be different, of course.” He turns to me. “Tonight, the front row will all be given the opportunity to pick from a lucky dip. There’ll be firecrackers in there, air rifles, that kind of thing. We’ve even added some bona fide rotten tomatoes, just to ham up the slapstick element. The audience can pretty much throw whatever they like at them while they jerk on the rope.”
He sighs, regretfully. “There is one problem, of course. It might not be the most cost-efficient idea I’ve ever had; we’re going to get through an awful lot of Dregs in this act! Like you said, it already looks as if one of our clown friends down there has tooted his last horn, and this is only the first scene – there’s so much more to come! Oh well, it’s all in the name of entertainment, I suppose, and it’s not as if there’s a shortage of resources in this city. They keep on breeding like flies down there in the slums!”
I try to speak but my mouth won’t open; my jaw is locked shut.
“Now, Baines,” he admonishes me. “You have disappointed me. I can’t trust you as much as I thought. This role obviously holds far too much responsibility for you. It looks like we’ll have to find something else to do with you. Hmm, what would be appropriate? Oh, don’t worry.” He pats my head. “I’ll think of something. I do love a challenge!”
He’s destroyed me.
I’ve only been here a day and he’s won already.
HOSHIKO
I’ve found my bearings again and I tread my cold and sodden way back to the little hut where Rosie, Jack and Greta are all waiting outside. Greta hurls herself into my arms.
“We were so worried. You were gone ages. Where were you?”
“Thank goodness!” Rosie cries, her lovely face crinkled with relief.
What good would it do to tell her about Felix? It’s not as if she’s going to be able to change his mind – he’s absolutely committed to his cause – and it would just make her worry even more.
“I got lost,” I tell them. “I walked Nila and Nihal home and I couldn’t find my way back. This place is a maze.”
“We were about to send out a search party,” Rosie says. “All three of us were in a terrible panic. We thought you’d been kidnapped again. I was just about to go to Kadir. Speaking of Kadir, it’s lucky you’re back in time; he wants to see you and Greta.”
My heart leaps. Maybe he has news on Ben. “Did he say why?”
“No. He just said he only wanted you two and that there’s someone he wants you to meet. Oh yes, and please bring Bojo.”
My stomach loops the loop. Someone he wants us to meet. Rosie said Kadir could get things done. Maybe he’s rescued Ben from wherever he’s been and brought him here.
“Let’s go!” I say. “Come on, quick!” And I dash out of the hut, Greta and Bojo trailing along behind me so slowly that it’s excruciating. I tug on Greta’s hand, yanking her along behind me.
“Hoshi!” she yelps. “You’re going to pull my arm off!”
“Well, move faster, then! Please!”
As we pass Rosie’s neat little shack, we both look in to see if Felix is in there. He is. Greta waves at him, but he just glowers at us through the tiny window.
At Kadir’s, we’re ushered straight in, right past his men, to his office/throne room, where he’s sitting majestically on his chair. He stands up when he sees us, casting his arms out warmly.
“Welcome, my friends!” He beams. “I’m ready to cash in the favour you owe me sooner than I thought.”
Raising his hand, he clicks his fingers in that over-the-top authoritative way that’s already becoming familiar and one of his men immediately appears.
“Please bring a seat in for the young ladies,” Kadir says. The guy returns with two chairs and Kadir signals to us to sit down. “We’ll need two more,” he tells the man. “And a table. For our meeting.”
“Meeting with who?” I ask. I can’t breathe properly. It must be Ben.
He smiles, enigmatically. “All will become clear shortly.”
He turns his attention to Bojo. “I’m so glad you brought along my new friend!” he croons, and reaches into one of the pockets of his long robes. He whips his hand out, brandishing a banana.
Greta gives a theatrical gasp.
“You got him one!”
He laughs and holds the fruit out enticingly to Bojo, who leaps immediately on to his lap and snatches hold of it. Peeling it with his tiny hands, he looks just like a little wizened old man, the banana puffing out his cute monkey chops as they chomp up and down.
The door opens and another one of Kadir’s guys enters: Sven, the man from last night. He ushers in a group of people; four men, all dressed in black, surrounding a figure entirely concealed by a large dark cloak. I stare at it. It can’t be Ben; he’d have said something by now.
One of the men steps forward. “We need to body search you, for weapons,” he says brusquely, and they pull us up and begin roughly patting us down. I try and wriggle away from the invasive hands.
“What are you doing? Get off!”
Next to me, Greta is attempting to squirm out of the grasp of the man searching her, too, but they just ignore us, continuing with their mechanical search. Thankfully, it only takes a minute to ascertain that we aren’t concealing anything under the thin rags we’re wearing.
The man searching Kadir takes longer. He pauses as he pats down his robes, and his eyes widen in alarm. Kadir throws his head back and roars with laughter at the man’s shocked expression.
“Is that a banana in my pocket, or am I just pleased to see you!” The man doesn’t laugh. He reaches into the folds of the gown and pulls out another banana. Kadir laughs even more.
Despite myself, I smile, and the figure, who’s been silent so far, throws back her hood and joins in with Kadir, a hearty, throaty laugh. Bojo jumps out of Kadir’s arms and snatches the banana from the man, running with it to the corner of the room and watching us all furtively. The woman laughs even more loudly.
Long auburn hair, tanned face, a determined thrust to the jaw.
Laura Minton. What’s she doing here?
She steps towards us, smiling delightedly, and seizes both my hands, clasping them warmly in hers.
“Hoshiko,” she smiles, and then turns to Greta. “Greta! I’m so very pleased to meet you both!”
She turns towards Kadir and he sweeps down low into a dramatic bow.
“Hoshiko, Greta, I’d like you to meet our next Prime Minister!” he declares.
BEN
Silvio’s watch beeps suddenly. When he glances down at it, his eyes widen and his jaw slackens, stretching the taut plastic of his white face even more.
“Your mother is here, again. She wants to see us immediately.”
He starts firmly slapping my face on both sides.
“Come on, Benedict, shake it off. I only gave you a mild dose, just enough to scare you. It should be wearing off by now.”
Despite what he said earlier about her encouraging punishment, he doesn’t want my mother seeing me like this. Is he right to be nervous? What will she say? Will she care? She might do. She’s a control freak, and I’m her possession, not his.
I feel a tingle in my fingers. I wriggle my toes. Swallow.
As quickly as it seized hold of me, the drug has worn off.
I try to stay frozen, just to keep Silvio panicking, but when he prises my eyes open with his fingers and leans forward, staring at my pupils, I feel his hot, rancid breath on my face and I can’t do it. Pushing him away, I take a step backwards.
He gasps with relief.
“Good boy! You’re back with us. I knew I’d issued just the right amount!” He smirks. “Any more and it might have been a different story, of course. I could kill you, you know
, any time I liked, with just a few prods of this cane. Not just yet though, we’ll play our little game a bit longer. I expect that’s why your mother’s here; she’s probably after an update. I’ve promised her I will quickly make you see sense. What do you think?” He takes his cane out and twirls it between his hands. “Have you had enough of your little holiday at the circus yet?”
The doors fling open unceremoniously, and there she is, my mother, and she’s got company. Two familiar faces flank either side of her.
“How delightful!” Silvio croons. “A family reunion!”
HOSHIKO
Kadir’s men bring in a table and chairs and the four of us sit down. After a moment, one of the men returns with tea and biscuits. Real, proper biscuits. On a plate. I can’t help myself, I snatch one and cram it into my mouth. It’s not even stale.
I catch Laura looking at me.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She smiles.
“Nonsense. You knock yourself out, girl.”
Next to me, Greta, munching away happily, is actually sighing with pleasure.
I take another one, prising out one of the chocolate chips which nestle in it with my teeth. It melts on my tongue. Then I stuff the whole biscuit in my mouth and crunch it up.
Once the second one’s finished, I feel a little more in control.
I look at Laura and Kadir, warily. They both smile. They’re both so friendly. They’re the good guys, aren’t they? So why do I feel so vulnerable? Why do I feel like they’re hawks, circling above Greta and me, delicious little field mice they’re about to pounce on and devour?
“Greta?” Kadir smiles down at her, paternally. “Wasn’t there something you asked for?”
She gasps, clasping her hands together.
“Chocolate cake?”
“That was it. Chocolate cake. Now, let me think … did I manage to find some chocolate cake?”
Whenever Kadir speaks, I can’t help staring at his jewelled tooth. It doesn’t sparkle when it’s away from the candlelight; it just looks like it’s rotten, or has a big lump of food stuck to it. It’s only when you look closely that you see it’s not something decaying, but a pretentious, oversized gemstone.
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