(What you couldn’t tell from my telling you that Wystan was walking towards his caravan from the opposite direction was that he was, as Fizz so rightly observed, dressed as a baby. He had a nappy on, done up with a big safety pin. He had a rattle in one hand, a couple of little bows in his beard and a damp dummy in the other hand (damp because he had pulled it from his mouth just before saying, ‘Hello,’ to Fizz). The reason I didn’t tell you that three paragraphs earlier was that I didn’t want to spoil the surprise when Fizz said, ‘Wystan. Why are you dressed like a baby?’ It’s one of my favourite lines in the book and I wanted it to retain its full impact.)
‘You made me think,’ Wystan said, rattling his rattle in an annoying manner. ‘All those things you said, ways of getting memories back and all that. I thought that the last time they saw me, I mean the last time they saw me when they still knew who I was, before they flew away and got lost . . . Well, I was just a baby back then. I thought maybe if I jumped out at them like this, gave them a shock, it might jog their memories. So that’s where I’ve just been, back to the farmhouse. As they were going in for their dinner, I jumped out rattling this thing.’ (He rattled the rattle.) ‘And do you know what?’
‘What?’
‘It didn’t work.’
‘What happened?’
‘They said, “Hello,” and went indoors. They didn’t even seem very surprised.’
Fizz felt for his friend. He could imagine a small bit of what it must be like to be ignored, rejected, forgotten like that. It must be dreadful. He couldn’t help but think of his own parents, back in their caravan watching telly. As embarrassing and annoying as they sometimes were, at least they were there.
He had come to see Wystan with an idea which, although it might not make him feel much better, might take his mind off his problems for a while. This was the time to say it.
‘Wystan,’ Fizz began. ‘This afternoon Cedric struck again.’ He described the scene with the currant bun and the elephantine interruption. ‘You know you said you wanted to get your own back? Well, count me in.’
‘What about Alice?’
‘She’s in enough trouble with her dad,’ Fizz said. ‘He was dead upset about her act going wrong. I don’t want to get her in any more trouble, so let’s leave her out of this.’
‘Okay,’ mumbled Wystan between sucks of his dummy. ‘Fine.’
‘Now, you said you had a plan?’
‘I’ve got a sort of idea, Fizz,’ Wystan said. ‘But you’re the real brains round here so see what you think.’
‘Fire away.’
So Wystan told Fizz his idea of a plan and Fizz listened and came up with some extra ideas and they put them altogether and came up with what they agreed had to be the absolutely best plan for revenge on a boy called Cedric anyone had ever come up with for at least a fortnight. (Maybe three weeks, even.)
The next morning they would put it into action and the bullying leather jacket-clad sabotaging show-off would get his comeuppance. Ha ha! (That’s how they actually said it, with a ‘Ha ha!’ at the end, because that’s what all good evil master-plans of revenge have at the end of them. Trust me, I know a thing or two about revenge (by which I mean I saw a play once with some in).)
And no, before you ask, obviously I’m not going to tell you their plan.
The following morning the boys met outside the Big Big Top.
‘Are you ready?’ Fizz asked. ‘Did you get the stuff?’
‘Yeah,’ said Wystan, patting his beard.
‘Excellent,’ Fizz replied, rubbing his hands together.
‘Hi, guys,’ Alice called, running over. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Happening?’ Fizz sputtered.
‘Yeah, you’re looking all suspicious. Like you’re spies or something. You’re skulking.’
‘Revenge,’ said Wystan, picking a slice of stale gherkin from his beard and eating it.
‘Cedric?’ she said.
Wystan nodded.
‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘What’s the plan?’
Reluctantly Fizz outlined what was going to happen and Alice pointed out where she could come in useful and the boys agreed and the three of them made their way into the gloom of the Big Big Top.
That morning Mr Gomez was watching all the ‘Animal (Wild (Dangerous))’ acts, of which, between the six circuses there were only three.
First up was Ranaman Smith (no relation) from La Spectacular De La Spectacular De La Rodriguez’ Silent Circus Of Dreams. He took to the ring as his circus band played mighty, magnificent, martial music. It was blaring and jarring and daring and had there been an audience there they would have been expecting tremendous things.
Smith pulled off his smart animal trainer’s jacket to reveal a bare chest, threw his top hat aside to reveal a bald head, and pulled a small box from his pocket to reveal a small box.
As the band hushed themselves and a drum roll rolled across the ring, he, slowly, masterfully, opened the box. Inside were little dark wriggling shapes Fizz could barely see.
Ranaman Smith then, in front of literally twenty-six eager(ish) spectators, seemingly without a thought for his own safety, proceeded to wrestle as many as almost three leeches.
Fizz hadn’t seen an act like it.
‘What are they?’ Wystan asked, squinting.
‘Leeches,’ Fizz said, checking his timetable where he’d made a note of the acts they had to see before Cedric (he wanted to be ready).
‘They’re very small.’
‘Yep,’ Fizz said. ‘They’re leeches.’
‘Are they actually dangerous?’ Alice asked.
‘They suck blood,’ Fizz said, remembering what he’d read a few weeks before in Robots in the Amazon II: Rusty’s Canoe of Danger, a very bad but enjoyable novel. ‘And some of them carry parasites. That could be dangerous.’
‘Hmm,’ Alice said.
As Fizz watched the act he thought of Apology Cheesemutter. People might call the man mad for putting mouse ears on dogs, but they couldn’t deny that he did it for the right reason. Mice are much too small to be seen in the circus ring, and leeches were even smaller.
As Ranaman Smith jumped to his feet, sawdust scattering, holding aloft the last of the leeches, the tiny foe finally vanquished by the mighty wrestler, an applau (which is what you get when there’s not enough clapping to add up to ‘some applause’) echoed across the Big Big Top and Fizz looked down at his programme.
‘It’s Captain Fox-Dingle next,’ he said.
The Captain had a much better idea of what made an interesting act than Smith had. He swept into the spotlit arena riding on the back of the low green form of Kate, the crocodile, like a surfer. When they reached the centre of the ring he jumped off, lifted his hat, bowed low and waited.
After a moment Kate lunged forward, snatched his hat between the tip of her huge jaws, and snapped it backwards so it somersaulted through the air and landed on her head, just above her eyes.
Fox-Dingle and Kate went through a number of tricks: he got a broom and she chopped it into ever smaller pieces, until it was just sawdust on the ground; he got a lion tamer’s chair and she chopped it into ever smaller pieces, until it too was just sawdust on the ground; he produced a pack of cards and the crocodile picked one (ate the rest) and Fox-Dingle showed the audience the card she had picked (he had meant to say beforehand which card it would be, but he forgot (which was lucky because she’d messed up)).
Then, for their pièce de résistance (a French term meaning ‘the Good Bit’) the Captain knelt down beside Kate and watched as she opened her mouth wide. He looked as if he was going to do it, going to put his head in there just as Fizz had used to do with Charles, but at the last moment Fox-Dingle drew back and shook his head.
A watermelon rolled out of the darkness towards him. He lifted it up and balanced it on Kate’s lower jaw. Her many sharp and wickedly pointed (and very real) teeth held it in place.
Captain Fox-Dingle stood up.
He r
aised his right arm in the air.
He paused.
The moment went on.
And then he clicked his fingers . . .
. . . and SNAP!
The watermelon exploded into a thousand sweet wet flying fragments as Kate slammed her mouth shut.
Wystan nudged Fizz in the ribs. ‘That could’ve been you,’ he said.
Fizz gulped.
He’d seen the Captain practising, and knew exactly what he had done (which was to watch very, very carefully for the moment that Kate would snap (there was a glimmer in her eyes a millisecond beforehand, he said) and click his fingers right then. To an audience member it would look like he had complete control of her, whereas in actual fact she only sometimes listened to him.).
As the Captain and Kate left the ring (to a smattering of genuine applause) there was a faint beep beep beep as the digital alarm clock in her belly struck the hour.
Finally, the moment they’d all been waiting for arrived.
The third of the animal acts was about to begin.
Into the ring marched Cedric Greene with Major Winch-Hardly (A Ring & A Prayer’s lion tamer, an upright woman in a uniform like Captain Fox-Dingle’s (but green) with a nose like an eagle’s beak, sharp narrow eyes and a quality showbiz smile) and their lion, Coconut.
Cedric was wearing his leather jacket and looked around the Big Top as he walked in, lifting his hands and blowing kisses to the imaginary audience. What an idiot, Fizz thought, ungenerously.
‘What an idiot,’ Alice said, equally ungenerously, but out loud.
Wystan muttered something into his beard that no one could quite make out. It probably wasn’t a compliment.
Major Winch-Hardly put the lion through a number of tricks – sitting up, rolling over, balancing on one leg, juggling meat, the usual stuff.
‘When . . . ?’ asked Wystan.
‘Not yet,’ said Fizz. ‘It’s gotta be at the right moment.’
‘Should we get ready though?’ Alice asked.
‘I suppose,’ said Fizz.
He knew that the ‘putting the boy’s head in the lion’s mouth’ would be the finale of the act, it had to be, and he wanted their revenge to happen then. That way Cedric would know it was meant for him in particular and not just the lion act in general. (Fizz felt bad messing up the act for the Major and her lion. After all, it wasn’t them who’d thrown fish and currant buns at the other acts, they didn’t really deserve having their act sabotaged. Cedric, though, deserved everything that was coming to him.)
Wystan pulled a couple of things out of his beard. There was a floppy bit of rubber, there was a little metal canister and there was a small cardboard box.
He shook the contents of the cardboard box into the floppy bit of rubber, which the more observant of you will have already noticed was a deflated balloon, then he attached the neck of the balloon to a nozzle on the little canister. With a twist of a valve and a hiss of gas the balloon rapidly inflated. Wystan tied it off and handed it to Fizz.
They had sat well away from anyone else (not that there were many other people around) and in the darkness of the Big Top they were sure this had all gone unnoticed.
In the ring Major Winch-Hardly had had Coconut (a silly, undignified name for a lion, I agree) balance on a ball, walk a low wire (which is like a high wire, but lower (lions don’t mind heights but don’t like ladders)) and now she had her sit up straight and open her mouth. (As you know female lions are the most dangerous ones in the wild, they’re the ones who do most of the hunting and all that, but in show business it’s the male lions who get all the attention. And that’s because (a) they’re not as intelligent as the female lions and so don’t mind living in cages so much, and (b) they’re the ones with the fancy hairdo. Coconut, who was an old girl, wore a fluffy mane-wig, because that was what people expected.)
Cedric, who up to this point had been assisting the Major with the tricks (holding her hat when needed, handing her the lion tamer’s chair and so on), stepped forward. This was it, this was his big moment.
Fizz took the balloon from Wystan and bopped it out towards the centre of the ring. Being filled with helium, it floated up and up.
‘Can you do it?’ he asked Alice.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Easy.’
She took a cornflake Wystan pulled from his beard and perched it on the top of the last knuckle of her middle finger. Holding the tip of that finger down with her thumb, she lifted her hand up to her face, shut one eye and lined the finger up with the balloon.
‘Not yet,’ Fizz said, a hand in the air. ‘Not yet.’
He wanted the balloon to be in the perfect position before she fired.
Not yet, not yet.
‘Now!’
Alice Crudge flicked the cornflake with all the strength of her finger (which, considering it had played no small part in her pulling an elephant yesterday, was nothing to be sneezed at).
The cornflake whizzed through the air. It was so small and moved so fast they couldn’t see it, but they did see the balloon burst, high up in the topmost tent flaps of the Big Big Top.
(Nobody heard the pop. The balloon was far away, and the audience was small and focused on the lion-related event in the ring.)
The powder with which Wystan had filled the balloon shimmered in the air as it fluttered slowly, mistily downwards towards the circus ring.
‘Is this going to work?’ Wystan mumbled, as much to himself as to anyone else.
‘It was your idea,’ Fizz said. ‘Of course it’s going to work.’
‘Yeah,’ Wystan said, deadpan. ‘I’m also the one who thought dressing as a giant baby would work, but . . .’
‘That’s different.’
‘A giant baby?’ Alice said, turning to look at the bearded boy.
‘The ring! Look in the ring,’ Wystan said, pointing.
The dust cloud from their balloon had reached the ring. It was impossible to tell it apart from all the rest of the ordinary dust that was in the air, not unless you’d followed it all the way down.
Cedric was leaning over, his head almost inside Coconut’s wide open mouth. Major Winch-Hardly was stood to one side, her hat jaunty, her whip handle twinkling, ready to intervene when the time came.
And then something happened.
Something wonderful.
Something funny.
Something embarrassing.
(All Fizz and his friends had wanted to do, it should be noted, was embarrass Cedric the way he’d embarrassed them. Of course they didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to put him in danger. They just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine and see how he liked it.
Of course, it’s at this point I should give you a little lecture about revenge. Being the author, I have to take some responsibility here. Revenge is one of these things that makes sense in a novel, but probably isn’t so good in real life. If we all lived by the code, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, meaning Do back to them what they done to us, then we’d be fumbling around knocking soup bowls over all the time, and where would that get us?
That’s the end of the lecture. Now, back to the story.)
As Cedric put his head in the lion’s mouth the lion, Coconut, sneezed.
When a lion sneezes it’s not a pretty sight (not as bad an elephant, perhaps, but still . . .).
Their noses are much bigger than yours or mine and they’re more full of . . . well, to put it delicately in case there are readers of a sensitive disposition out there, more full of ‘the sort of things noses are full of’.
Anyone who’s read any of these books before will remember that Fizz’s lion, Charles, had a set of rubber false teeth he wore for the act, and luckily old Coconut was the same, so when she sneezed Cedric wasn’t bitten in two, but he was trapped with his head inside a sneezing lion’s mouth and with her nasal expulsions (a polite way of saying, excuse me, ‘snot’) all down his back.
As the cloud of pepper had drifted down from the balloon it
had settled, bit by bit, on the delicate surfaces of everyone in the ring’s noses.
Inside Coconut’s mouth, not only was Cedric trapped, but he too was sneezing. Have you ever had anyone sneeze when their head was inside your mouth? Especially when you feel like sneezing again yourself, when your eyes are beginning to stream and when the boy in your mouth is flailing his arms and legs about? (No? I am surprised.)
Coconut wasn’t happy. She sneezed again, splurging more green gunk and goo further down Cedric’s back. Cedric sneezed again, banging his head on her tongue, pulling at her lips with his hands and doing a strange sort of involuntary dance with his legs.
Major Winch-Hardly, who was sneezing herself (the pepper cloud having reached her at the same time as the others), tried her hardest, between blowing her nose on her handkerchief to say, ‘Nut! Drop!’ and to tap the lion on the shoulder.
The old girl spun round, surprised at the tap, pulled Cedric off the ground, and swung him (accidentally) into the lion tamer’s head, knocking the sneezing Major to the floor. Coconut’s mane-wig came loose and flew across the ring, leaving the poor lioness naked and embarrassed.
A naked and embarrassed lioness (even one trained for circus tricks) isn’t what we generally call a Good Thing.
‘Oh no,’ Fizz said when he saw that Winch-Hardly wasn’t climbing to her feet. ‘I think she’s been knocked out.’
Wystan said, ‘Uh-oh.’
Alice said, ‘We’ve got to help. Fizz, what do we do?’
Fizzlebert was the only one who knew anything about lions. He was the one who’d have to go down there. He knew it. He had caused the trouble and he’d have to set it right. Oh, why had he been so set on revenge? So what if the boy had teased him and got Fish in trouble?
But this was no time for thinking, he thought, this was a time for doing.
He stopped thinking and did.
‘Wystan,’ he said. ‘Go get Fox-Dingle. He must be around somewhere, he’s only just left.’
‘Aye aye,’ said Wystan, running off between the chairs.
‘Alice, you’re with me. Keep your distance and keep safe, but come with me.’
Fizzlebert Stump and the Girl Who Lifted Quite Heavy Things Page 9