“Right.”
“OK. One last thing. Everyone sure they got away all right? Nobody was asked any awkward questions? Nobody got suspicious? You know the first rule of the Brotherhood: trust no one. If anyone thinks they might have been exposed, now’s the time to tell me.”
No one says anything, including Felix.
“Let’s go. Felix, shut the van up.”
There’s the sound of feet coming round the side of the van and then Felix’s face peers in, squinting in the gloom.
I press myself backwards, but it’s no use: he sees me straight away. He jolts his head back, his eyes alarmed and panicked.
“Felix?” the voice from the front calls. I can feel the weight of them all piling into the van, just the other side of the thin panel separating us. “All set?”
He stares at me for a moment and then turns away.
“All set,” I hear him say as he slams the doors shut. He jumps into the passenger seat in front of me, and then the engine fires up and we drive off into the dusky night.
BEN
Silvio looks at his watch. “My goodness, it’s nearly showtime! Only two hours to go until the finale. I can’t be doing with babysitting you! I’ve got to find a last-minute standby for wolf boy in the clown show, and in the Wheel of Death. I have to say, I could do without losing a performer at this late stage. It was quite annoying really, him being eaten like that. Oh, who am I kidding! I’d make the same decision all over again: you know it and I know it! The impact it must have had on your lot’s morale is worth all the headache it’s causing.”
He reaches up a hand, stroking my cheek softly, his deathly white face etched with false compassion. “What was it like? Seeing them devouring him?”
My skin crawls under his touch. I’d love to tell him where Sean is now. I’d love to describe exactly what happened, exactly what we did.
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin. “Maybe I should just stick you in his place for everything, not just the opening ceremony? It’s the obvious choice, and your mother did say I could do what I like. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, if you happen to survive. Oh, Benedict, you are in for a busy night. Anyway, I must stop all this chit-chat! Get back into your normal clothes, will you. We need to keep this costume pristine for the big reveal!”
He stares at me while I get changed and licks his lips. “Life on the run certainly hasn’t done any harm to your physique, Baines, has it?”
He steps closer and I move away, hurriedly.
He lifts his arm and speaks into his watch.
“Come and take the Baines boy away, will you? Lock him up until further notice.”
From nowhere, guards appear at his command and drag me away through a fire exit at the back of the room. At the door, I look back over my shoulder. He stands in the middle of the stage and beams at me, raising his hands high in the air. Then, seemingly by magic, he disappears. How did he do that? There’s no wires above where he stood, or obvious trapdoor in the floor. Does he have special powers?
Maybe Hoshi was right; maybe Silvio really is the devil.
HOSHIKO
The men don’t talk much on the journey; maybe they’re all psyching themselves up for whatever it is they’ve got planned. I stay crouched down in the back of the van while it drives across the city, not moving an inch, even though my legs cramp up and my arms go all stiff. Eventually, we slow down. I think we must be in traffic, or some sort of queue, because we stop and start sporadically for ages.
After about ten minutes, I feel a rush of air as the window is wound down.
“Good evening, gents. All right if I take a look at your passes?” a voice outside says.
There’s the sound of rustling papers before the voice continues. “We haven’t got you down on the list. Only authorized personnel are permitted, tonight in particular.”
“We were given the approval weeks ago, by the government security services,” the driver in front of me replies, his tone assured and confident. “It’s all there in the paperwork. Extra security. For opening night. There’s a lot of VIPs here, they need full protection…”
There’s the sound of footsteps walking away and then voices talking close to the van.
“We can’t afford to hold up the queues any longer,” I hear another voice say. “They’re in a government truck, they must be legit.”
“They look more like Dregs than Pures,” the first voice says. “I don’t like it. Something feels wrong.”
“The paperwork looks OK?” asks the other voice.
“Yeah. It’s just…”
“You know what these security firms are like; the government want them to look intimidating. They probably use them for all their Dreg raids and interrogation and stuff.” The voice drops lower. “We can’t afford to mess around giving government heavies a hard time.”
“No, I guess not,” the first man says, and then after another few seconds I hear him again at the window. “Sorry about the delay,” he says. “Go on through.” And the window closes as we slowly roll forward.
We drive for another minute or so more and then the van stops and there’s the sound of the handbrake being pulled up and the engine being switched off.
Now what do I do?
Light pours in as the doors swing open and Felix’s face appears, glaring at me angrily.
“Quick!” he hisses. “Get out, quick!”
I don’t need telling twice. I scramble out and dart off between rows of cars.
I look up. I was just in time; the guys are all at the back door of the van now, peering around suspiciously. They aren’t doing a very good job at looking inconspicuous, if you ask me. The way they’re huddled together in their dark clothes carrying those big black bags, they might as well have a sign declaring “We’re terrorists.” Still, the government van and passes seem to be all the accessories they need to persuade people, because they’ve passed the hardest hurdle already.
They’re in.
And so am I.
I look around. The long rows of cars line the length of the field we’re in, and ahead, bigger and brighter than ever before, there it is.
The Cirque.
The spectacular Ferris wheel, all lit up, towers above everything else, and there’s a helter-skelter, the excited squeals of Pure kids sliding down it already filling the night. There are other rides too: roller coasters and dodgems and waltzers, whizzing round and round, the people in the carriages screaming with delight.
Pures mill about everywhere and there’s music and stalls and tents and sideshows and I can see a man in stilts walking along, and jugglers and clowns moving amongst the crowd.
A thousand lights flash and whirl and wink, and that circus smell of popcorn and smoke and sweet sugary doughnuts, freshly cooked, lingers in the air. The smell of oil and fire, of cold night air and heated bodies. The smell of excitement. The smell of life. The smell of death. It’s the smell that hits me, the smell that gets me, the smell that fills my senses and makes me close my eyes with the strength of the memories that flood in.
I’m transported back there, once more. Back to the arena, back to the wire. Back to soaring through the air, arching, gliding, flying. So free; and yet not free at all.
I can feel it now. Feel myself leaping forward off the trapeze, catching hold of Amina’s hands, springing lightly on to the wire. For so long, we were seamless up there, we moved as one, the perfect team. It was magic.
And then I see Amina falling again. I see her murdered body swinging on the same wire, and I shudder. That’s what I have to hold on to: the cruelty and the violence and the horror. That’s what’s real. How can I, of all people, be seduced by the Circus?
I pull myself together. I don’t have time for this. I need to find Ben. I become aware, all of a sudden, of voices getting louder, coming out of nowhere along the line of cars.
“I told you to bring it! What’s the last thing I said to you? Sebastian, bring your jacket!” says a voice crossly, and a Pure woman and a young boy app
ear, weaving their way through the cars and stopping at the one next to me. The woman clicks her car keys and the lights of a nearby car flashes as it unlocks. She comes round to open the door and looks at me, suspiciously, crouched down by the next car. I get to my feet and walk off quickly.
It’s only then that I notice the Brotherhood have gone.
I head quickly across the field.
What do I do? Anyone looking at me will know who I am straight away. Maybe I should start performing so that they think I’m one of the acts? I could easily do a few somersaults, a few backflips. No, everyone will have seen the drones. I must be more recognizable than ever.
I’ll have to hide somewhere until things die down a bit and the Pures head inside, to the shows. I look around but there’s nowhere to go: everywhere is all brightly lit up, everywhere is busy and bustling.
The only thing I can do is to creep to the outskirts and try and remain as hidden as possible.
I keep my head down low and dart through the open gates.
I’m back in the circus.
BEN
The guards take me outside and lead me across the main courtyard.
It’s dark already and they’ve opened the huge gates. Crowds of people are streaming in, chatting, laughing, shrieking. The lights are on, the music is playing, the rides are whirling, twirling, whizzing, the food is sizzling and frying. The Cirque isn’t a hushed ghost town any more, quietly snoozing while it waits for something to happen. It’s alive and awake and buzzing.
The big queues in front of each ride make it hard to see what’s actually happening on them. Strobes and lasers flash, things spin and soar in the air, but I can’t tell if the screams are Dregs in pain or Pures in ecstasy, or both.
The guards are so busy staring at everything that it slows their pace right down. I get plenty of time to absorb what’s going on, whether I like it or not.
Right in the middle of the courtyard, there’s a big crowd of parents with young children, queueing to buy huge balloons, the biggest I’ve ever seen.
The balloon seller is a clown, on stilts, standing nearly as high as the balloons. As we get closer, I see that it’s Ravi.
At the front of the queue, a dad is handing over some money while a mum helps her daughter choose a balloon. The girl is about eight, I reckon, all wrapped up in a white fur coat.
“I want that pink one!” she says, pointing at the biggest balloon of all, and Ravi stoops down to pass it to her.
“I’ve told you before, Verity, don’t touch the Dregs!” her mother hisses, and reaches over to take it from Ravi herself, a look of disgust on her face. They move off with their balloon, the girl clutching firmly on to the curled ribbons of string. “Keep hold of it the whole time, Verity. If you don’t, the balloon will float away and I’m not buying another one at that price!”
Their airs and graces and snobbery make me feel physically sick inside. How can they be so self-assured of their superiority in the world? So certain of their purity?
I try to pull away from the guards, but they tighten their grip on me. “Hey!” My voice sounds hard and brittle, like it could crack. “Are you proud of yourself? You really think it’s OK, do you, bringing your precious daughter here? You really want her to grow up thinking that what they do here is acceptable? That it’s entertaining? People will die here tonight, I should think. Human beings. Does that make you excited?”
The whole family stare at me in shock and the crowd of people waiting to buy balloons all turn and look at me. On every face, horror at my impertinent outcry.
The guards drag me away, kicking and struggling, while the crowd look on, outraged and affronted.
My behaviour has horrified them. My behaviour is socially unacceptable to them.
If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be funny.
HOSHIKO
It’s hard to find somewhere to hide. Everywhere is lit up and more and more and more people just keep spilling in.
My cat costume sparkles when the lights shine on it, so I try to stick to the darker places. Luckily, there’s so much going on everywhere that nobody thinks to pay any attention to the Dreg girl lurking in the shadows.
I circulate slowly around the vast Pure pleasure ground, all the time my eyes scanning the crowds, searching for people I know, wanting, and not wanting, to see them. Most of all, I look for Ben.
I stick to the quietest, darkest places, and that’s why I find myself around the back of one of the rides – Dodge a Dreg, it’s called. It’s a bumper car track, open at the sides so I can see exactly what’s happening.
Coloured cars are driving around a rink, hooting their horns. There are two Pures in most cars, sometimes couples: the boy behind the wheel, the girl screaming next to him. More often, though, it’s a parent and child, the child behind the wheel but the parent’s hands reaching over and steering the car. Some of the cars have one rider, usually a teenage boy, and they’re the ones who are driving their cars the fastest and ramming them the hardest into the other vehicles.
On the front and back of each car, bound tightly by thick straps, is a person: a Dreg, I assume, dressed in contrasting colours to the car.
Every time the cars ram into each other, the people attached to each one are crushed together. Only their lower bodies are fastened to the car, so their torsos move with every crash, reverberating back and forth. The faster, more skilled drivers – the teenage boys – slam into the back of the slower cars, again and again and again, their jaws set with determination as they spin their steering wheels. The drivers in front are oblivious to the impending impact until it’s too late, but the poor Dreg strapped to the back must be able to see it coming, see the car as it approaches, see the triumphant glee on the riders’ faces.
I can’t tell if there’s anyone I know on the cars; every person has their face painted like a clown and is wearing a different coloured wig, so it’s impossible to tell.
When the ride finishes, the Pures all climb out, chattering excitedly and laughing to each other. The Dregs stay fastened to their cars, their heads hanging low while more riders get ready.
This is even worse than it used to be.
I’d have said such a thing wasn’t possible, if you’d asked me. I thought it was hell before, when the Pures just watched, but now, in this fairground, they’re active participants. They are the instigators of the violence: the power has been put in their hands and they are loving it.
I’ve let myself forget just what it’s like, being in this place. All those months with Ben have softened me. I learnt from him and Jack to look for the good in Pures, to give people a chance to redeem themselves. I let go of hate, for a while. Now it’s back. Now it floods through my whole body.
I can’t watch this again. It feels wrong, skulking behind here, looking on while these poor people suffer like this. I move away quickly.
I didn’t come here to hide, and I certainly didn’t come to spectate.
I came here to find Ben.
BEN
The guards move more quickly now, hurrying me away from the crowds so I can’t cause any more fuss.
They manoeuvre me all the way across the courtyard and unlock the gate that leads to the Dreg holdings.
The first guard waits at the top of the stairs while the other one walks me down the stairs and pushes me into a cell, then takes a padlock from his pocket and locks up the door.
I hold on to the bars. “Do you really think this is right?” I ask him. “What happens here? You saw those kids. You see what happens in rehearsals. Do you sleep well at night?”
He looks around and up the stairs and then steps closer, responding quietly. His eyes are bloodshot and shadowed with dark circles.
“No. To answer your question. I don’t think it’s right, and no, I don’t sleep well. I do this to pay the bills, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I like it.”
He turns away from me.
When he reaches the door, he places something on the floor.
“W
hen they come to let you out, this is where the keys are,” he says, and then adds quietly, “Good luck tonight, I really hope you make it.”
I hear the guards’ footsteps overhead as they walk off.
I count to sixty. Everywhere is silent.
“Sean,” I say. “Sean, it’s only me, Ben. It’s OK, you can come out now.”
At first there’s no movement at all, and then he emerges slowly from one of the cells. You can tell by the way he’s dragging himself along that his body hasn’t healed yet.
“What are you doing in here?” he says quietly.
“Silvio wants me out of the way until the opening ceremony.”
“Did you see any of the others?”
“I saw Ravi selling balloons. I didn’t see anyone else, just Pures queueing for the rides and stuff.” I point to the keys lying in the corridor. “Can you unlock my door?”
He picks them up and fumbles with the padlock, his poor, injured hands clumsy.
Finally, it clicks.
I push the doors open and step out. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice cracking. “For last night, with the wolves.”
We smile at each other, awkwardly, then I reach out a hand and he takes it, holding it limply in his broken and bloodied one.
Only a couple of days ago, he saw me as his enemy. Now we’re brothers. Not brothers like me and Francis – linked by biology and nothing else – but brothers like me and Jack. Brothers whose experiences bind them tightly together.
Being in a place like this does that to you, I guess.
That must be why his real brother’s group call themselves the Brotherhood, because they stand together, because they’re trying to fight back together, because they feel stronger in their unity.
If they somehow manage to get into this place, bringing in their weapons and their anger, what will I do?
I’ll stand with them, that’s what, if they’ll let me. I’d fight for all my brothers’ freedom, whatever the cost. I know that now.
Show Stealer Page 28