Show Stealer

by Hayley Barker

  “So what happens next?” Sean says.

  “They’re coming back for me in an hour or so. I’m taking your place in the big opening ceremony.”

  He smiles ruefully. “Sorry my fake death has landed you in it.”

  “It’s hardly your fault,” I say. “Do you know what I’m supposed to be doing?”

  He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t tell any of us anything. Silvio just kept saying it would be better if we were unprepared, that the Pures would want to see genuine shock on our faces.”

  He looks around the cells. “Hold on,” he says. “What are you still doing here, anyway? You can get out of here – those are the master keys, I reckon. They probably unlock all the doors.”

  “Where would I go? Everyone will recognize me.”

  He nods. “You’re probably right, but if I were you, I’d rather take my chances out there than just sit in here and wait for them to come back and drag me along to the opening show.”

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just go out there and take my chances. No. I can’t. The thought of staying down here, waiting obediently for them to come and take me, is awful, but going out there again, after what I’ve just seen? I don’t think I can bear it.

  “It’s the same for you, though, isn’t it?” I say. “You could go out there if you wanted to. Your brother’s supposed to be breaking in tonight, isn’t he?”

  He nods, his face grave.

  “That’s all I’ve been thinking about; Felix and his crew are going to storm the finale. Felix knows I’m supposed to be in it. When he doesn’t see me, he’ll think I’m already dead.”

  “What are you waiting for then? You might be able to find him.”

  He shakes his head forlornly. “Look at me. I can hardly move. The guards’ll seize me straight away. I’m supposed to have been wolf food. They’ll kill me as soon as they realize.”

  “But they’ll find out eventually anyway. You can’t stay hidden down here for ever.”

  “I won’t need to if the Brotherhood succeed.”

  It’s futile, what his brother and his gang are planning. There are guards everywhere. They aren’t even going to make it as far as the main entrance and, even if they do, they’ll be mowed down before they’ve taken five steps. I don’t say that though. I don’t say anything.

  “You don’t look like a Dreg,” Sean says. “Even now. If you can avoid Silvio and the guards, and if you keep your head down, you might be able to last out there, for a while at least. You could look for my brother. He looks exactly like me – you’d recognize him straight away. Tell him I said you’re different from the others, that I said you’re a good lad. Tell him I’m not dead.”

  “I tell you what,” I say. “Let’s go out together.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I’ll just draw attention to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter really, I’ll never get out past the guards anyway. You’re right though: we might as well as give them the runaround a bit before they catch us, and if you brother has made it inside, you can tell him and his gang not to shoot me yourself.”

  He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. When he opens them, there’s a spark of life in them that wasn’t there before.

  “Come on then,” he says. “Let’s go and join the revolution.”

  HOSHIKO

  I move away and run quickly across an open area to the next ride, duck down behind it and then move on to the next one.

  Across the square there’s a band playing, moving along in a big procession: a classical orchestra with soaring violins and strumming harps. Twelve tiny children, dressed as angels, tumble simultaneously at the front. I strain my eyes but I don’t recognize any of them. They must be newly selected – God, they’ve trained them up quick, and they’re good, all of them; flipping and turning as one. Behind them are two fire eaters, the flames they create flaring up into the air before they devour them. As they move closer, my heart jolts. I know them. Alex and Archie, they’re called: friends of mine, friends of ours.

  I can’t watch. I turn my head. Look instead at what’s in front of me.

  Big mistake.

  Up high, a flashing sign is lit up with the words Fatal Blow. Below it, Pures are lining up, taking it in turns to strike a rubber cushion with a giant hammer as hard as they can. Every time someone slams it down, a big iron ball whooshes up a vertical panel. The harder the hit, the higher the ball goes.

  I raise my eyes. I know I shouldn’t. I know what I’m going to see.

  There’s a person, right at the top, trapped in a bubble of glass. The Pures are trying to hit the cushion with enough force to make the iron ball shoot up high enough to hit him.

  They’ve made him wear his leopard-skin thong, the same one he used to wear in the lion show.

  It’s Emmanuel.

  A woman steps up. Swinging the hammer behind her, she whirls around and pelts the rubber cushion. The bar rises all the way up, whacking right into Emmanuel. The whole pole lights up in multicoloured strobes while an alarm loudly sounds. It must hurt like hell, but he stares ahead, unflinching, proud as ever, as they cheer and jeer below him.

  I stare up at him, but he never looks down. I step forward, right into the main area in front of him, to get his attention. I don’t know why. I don’t know what the point is, but I want him to know I’m here.

  The procession moves closer and closer while I stand there, right in the middle of the square, in full view. And then I see a horse, a golden palomino. I’d know that horse anywhere; it’s still just as beautiful, just as thoroughbred, just as Pure.

  A white figure stands on top of it, smiling and waving down at the crowd gathered around him, all gasping, all cheering.

  It’s a ghost, it must be. Same height, same gestures, same maniacal grin but devoid of colour. His clothes are white. His face is deathly white. Everything’s white except his glowing eyes of blue.

  The procession comes to a standstill. The golden halos of the children light up as they begin to sing. Angelic, choral voices, their crystal tones soaring through the night.

  Behold! Behold!

  He has risen! He has risen!

  Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

  Right in the middle of them, standing on his horse’s back, his arms thrown out wide, his head thrust towards the heavens. Silvio Sabatini, back from the dead.

  BEN

  I unlock the door slowly and poke my head out, scanning the dark and silent field.

  Over the fences seeps the glow of a thousand lights and the noise of the fairground.

  Slowly, I creep across to the gate and try the keys in the lock. It clicks open.

  I beckon to Sean, who’s peering out nervously from the top of the stairs, and he runs across as quickly as he can. Once he gets to me, he bends over double to get his breath back. It takes a while for his breathing to steady, but when he pulls himself back up, that same light of hope is still there in his eyes. I try and smile at him. There’s no point showing him that all I feel is the promise of doom.

  We slip through the door and into the Cirque.

  When we aren’t instantly seized, I look about and allow myself a quick sigh of relief. Nobody has noticed us. There’s nobody near where we are at all; everyone seems to be gathered across the square, lining the main thoroughfare and watching a procession moving through. It’s a band, a full orchestra and a choir, singing in angelic voices. All the children are at the front, dressed in white, tumbling and turning and, in the middle, Silvio is standing on his horse. There’s no sign of his cane now, no sign of any injury at all. His arms are thrown out, Christlike, as he gazes up into the sky.

  I look at Sean and roll my eyes.

  “What an idiot.”

  He laughs.

  “We’d better get out of here before they get any closer.”

  I glance around for somewhere to go.

  To the far left, there’s a carousel, noticeably quieter than all the other rides. It’s an old, traditional one by th
e looks of it, with no sick adaptations. I think it must be meant for little kids and their parents, but it’s empty. All the Pures who’ve come here tonight, even the ones who’ve brought their children, are after as much Dreg suffering as they can possibly get for their money – nobody wants good old-fashioned fairground fun any more.

  “That carousel. On the count of three, make your way over there.”

  Sean looks over to where I’m pointing.

  “OK. One, two, three. Run!”

  HOSHIKO

  It’s the shock that roots me to the spot. I don’t run away. I don’t hide. I don’t do anything except stand there, mouth wide open, gaping at him. His gaze scans over me. And then his head jolts back round. His eyes lock on to me and they stare.

  I stare back.

  Finally, far too late, I pull myself together.

  Behind me, on the Fatal Blow attraction, another Pure is about to attempt to bang the rubber cushion hard enough for the iron ball to reach Emmanuel.

  I snatch the hammer from his hands and run as fast as I can across the square, but when I turn back, it’s too late.

  Silvio’s down off his horse.

  He’s slowly crossing the square towards me, and his eyes are hungry.

  I’m too exposed.

  An old-fashioned carousel looms up in my path, revolving slowly. I run around the back of it and jump on to it.

  It’s just a traditional ride, no horrid Dreg torture twists going on here, and that probably explains why it’s so quiet. I don’t think there’s anyone on it. I move into the middle, crouching down behind a horse and carriage, which bobs serenely up and down. As the carousel rotates slowly round, I peer out. Silvio’s still crossing the square, moving towards me. He’s looking around, though. He doesn’t know where I am. He’s walking with a cane. Maybe I can get away. I keep my eyes fixed on him.

  Just as I turn out of view, he sees me.

  I edge my way slowly around to the other side, pressing my body against the middle point.

  BEN

  We crouch down on the carousel, hiding behind a horse and cart.

  Across the square, Silvio is still standing on his horse, smiling and shouting something down to the people gathered around him.

  Suddenly, his expression changes. He’s gazing, transfixed, across the Cirque. He’s seen something he doesn’t like, something which has shocked him.

  It must be Sean’s brother and his crew.

  I look across, following his gaze, but it’s not a gang of men I see.

  It’s one girl. One girl, running across the square. One girl, jumping up here, on to the carousel.

  Not just any girl. My girl. My Hoshi.

  She’s on the other side. I can’t see her any more but she’s metres away from me.

  What’s she doing here?

  I stand up. I have to get to her, but Sean grabs my arm and pulls me back down. “Wait!” he hisses. “Pick your moment.”

  HOSHIKO

  I creep my way along behind the horses.

  Where’s Silvio?

  A hand clamps down on my back and someone spins me around.

  I’m staring into the face of the ghost.

  “Ah, Hoshiko! What a pleasant surprise!” It’s a voice that makes my blood run cold and my legs crumple beneath me. A voice that makes the nausea rise up in my throat and makes me lose my breath with fear and shock and loathing. A voice that’s haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember.

  I try to raise the hammer up but it’s too late. He wrenches my arm behind my back and the hammer falls, landing with a metallic clang behind me. The other hand hauls me by my hair off the carousel and throws me to the ground. By the time I look up, loads of people: the whole population of the Cirque, it seems, are gathered around us, staring at him, staring at me. All the people who were watching the parade must have seen him leap off his horse and limp across the square and they’ve all followed him, gathering more people along the way. He doesn’t look quite so messiah-like now, standing over me with his fist raised.

  “It’s her!” someone shouts out. “The Cat!”

  More people appear then, out of nowhere, and the crowd pushes forward towards us, frenzied.

  “Hoshiko, where have you been?”

  “Where’s Benedict Baines?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Silvio turns to them and then looks at back at me. His strange white face is ecstatic.

  “Yes! Yes! The Cat is back!” he cries jubilantly. “Just in time for tonight’s opening ceremony!”

  BEN

  It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I crouch in the shadows and wait as Silvio jumps on the ride, his injuries suddenly forgotten.

  I hear a sound and see a hammer fall to the floor of the ride. I watch silently as he throws Hoshi to the ground, then turns to address the gathering crowd.

  I glance over at Sean. He points to the hammer.

  I crawl over to it, keeping behind the pastel-coloured horses whenever I can.

  I lift it up. It’s heavy enough to knock someone out. Heavy enough to kill them, maybe.

  I look down at Silvio below me and pick my moment, just like Sean said.

  I crouch low, spring up and jump, swinging the hammer as I drop.

  HOSHIKO

  A thousand camera phones flash, snapping pictures of me and Silvio.

  He keeps his vice-like grip on my arm and pulls it behind my back, standing behind me, facing the crowd.

  The guards have gathered quickly and they manage to restrain the surge, but it’s a struggle.

  Suddenly, I feel his grip loosen and he slumps forward into me and then tumbles sideways on to the ground.

  BEN

  As Silvio falls, an astonished Hoshi turns and faces me. The guards are already moving towards us, raising their guns. There’s no time to talk, no time for anything. She grabs my hand, and we turn together and run, as fast as we can, bullets whistling past our heads.

  “There’s nowhere to go!” I gasp as we run. “We’re heading straight to the fences!”

  Hoshi points to the huge Ferris wheel. The Wheel of Misfortune, Silvio called it. It must be popular; there are loads of people milling around in front of it, looking up at it and pointing.

  “Head that way.”

  “Why?”

  “More people. They can’t shoot at us if we’re amongst a load of Pures.”

  She’s right, I guess, but the Pures won’t protect us, especially not the ones who come here. They’re as likely to kill us as Silvio. Still, I don’t have any better ideas.

  We run towards the crowd.

  Suddenly, bright light from up ahead, images projecting down.

  The drones are back.

  HOSHIKO

  Just as we’re running towards the Big Wheel, the sky lights up and the crowd of people we’re running towards all stop what they’re doing to stare.

  It’s the holograms again. Hundreds and hundreds of me, all performing at different times on a loop. Some versions of me are jumping up high, others crouching down low and springing up; some of me are tumbling through the air, some of me are soaring. They’re so damn realistic. They don’t look like images at all.

  Around each image, purple and gold fireworks soar. The sparks dance and shimmer against the night sky and the smell of gunpowder and smoke fills the air. The images have been choreographed so that they are perfectly in sync with the fireworks. When I somersault, they somersault. When I leap up, they leap up. When I fly high, they do too.

  Loud, so loud that it drowns out all the other noises, my voice, on repeat, saying the same thing, again and again and again.

  We are all flesh and blood. We all feel. We are all human.

  Vote for what is right. Vote for change.

  For a while, everyone’s distracted. Even the guards have stopped, staring in confusion at the dozens of versions of me dancing around in front of them.

  Ben could blend into the crowd if he slipped away without me now.
He doesn’t even look that different from all the other Pures. Dirty old tracksuit bottoms and scruffy tops must be fashionable, because they’re pretty much what every single teenage boy around here seems to be wearing too.

  I’m the one who usually stands out, especially in this costume. Not today though. Not right now. If I start performing, they won’t be able to tell which one of the girls they’re looking at is me.

  “Go!” I tell Ben. I push him towards the wheel. “Lose yourself in the crowd.”

  “No! Not without you. Not again.”

  “I’ll find you,” I tell him: the same words he said to me the other day. “They’ll be looking for us both. We can get away if we’re not together.” He stares at me, his beautiful eyes frightened and unsure.

  “Trust me,” I say. “Watch.”

  BEN

  Hoshi moves away from me and starts somersaulting, flipping and turning and springing her way over to the other versions of her dotted around the Cirque.

  The sound of her voice fills the air.

  We are all flesh and blood. We all feel. We are all human.

  Vote for what is right. Vote for change.

  The lights, the rides, the wheel, all of it, fades into insignificance when Hoshi moves like that. Nothing can compete with the brightest light of them all.

  Time stands still, just for a few seconds, as the whole of London stops in its tracks and holds its breath, spellbound.

  Finally, the guards gather themselves together and move towards her. None of them are looking at me. Why would they when the most beautiful girl in all the world is performing on loop right in front of them?

  If I can just distract them for a second, they won’t know which one is her.

  “Hey!” I call. “Over here!”

  Their heads whirl around.

  “He’s there! Get him!”

  I turn and run towards the crowd of people queuing for the wheel, pressing myself into the crowd.

  I look over my shoulder.