A more recent Mayor (the current one in fact) preferred to attract tourists with big posters advertising his ‘Summer Season Festival of Fun!!!’ The circus had been booked as the main entertainment and had been parked in the park for just over a week. They had one more night here before the festival ended and the tents got packed away and they trundled off to a new town.
Fizz had been busy with circus work and his lessons, and had hardly had time to stroll on the beach, let alone go exploring along the prom. But now he had nothing but time on his hands. A little exploring wouldn’t go amiss.
They walked along the path that led out of the park, the sea on one side and the town on the other. At the seaside any path or pavement that stretches between beach and buildings isn’t called a path or pavement. It’s a ‘prom’, or ‘promenade’ for long. The Victorians liked to walk up and down looking at the sea on one side and the urchins on the other (although sea urchins would be on the sea side, of course), and that’s (sort of) what ‘promenade’ means in French, which isn’t what the Victorians spoke (except the French ones), but is what they called it anyway. (That explanation got a little more complicated than I expected, but is still shorter and clearer than the explanation Dr Surprise gave Fizz and Wystan as they walked, and which happened while I just did all this describing and explaining. So be thankful for small mercies.)
A hundred yards out of the park, the scene on the left changed from a grey shingle beach to a grey shingle beach with an old fishing boat hauled up on it. There were seagulls sat in a row on its bulwarks (which is another way of saying they were sat on its gunnels, which are the bits of a ship’s side that stick up like a tiny wall around the deck’s edge). They squawked and cawed as the little party went by. (Not ‘party’ like a birthday party, of course, just ‘party’ like a small group made up of a mind reader and his two short friends, which would be a very disappointing birthday party, unless you only have one friend and enjoy mind readers, in which case it’s pretty much perfect.)
Ignoring my descriptive writing, Fizz and his friends continued towards the Aquarium, which they could see sat square at the other end of the prom. It was a large white-washed building, thick and squat and irregularly-shaped, like a jumble of building blocks. Its doors were wide open and over them large friendly letters spelt out the word ‘QUARIUM’, which would have looked better if the first ‘A’ of the word hadn’t fallen off when a particularly fat seagull had landed on it.
Fizz had never been in an aquarium before and he wondered what it would be like. The only fish he knew anything about were the sort that lay on plates, unmoving and dribbling vinegar. The sort that went well with potatoes (another thing he’d never seen in their natural environment, or even in a potatoarium (or greengrocers, as they’re more usually known)). What would fish be like alive and in action?
Well, only time would tell.
It took a minute to walk to the doors. It took less than a minute for Dr Surprise to buy three tickets, and then two minutes to untangle Wystan, who’d got his beard caught in the turnstile.
Then they were in.
And all around Fizz, filling every wall, were tank after tank of water, filled with a hundred different examples of very dull fish.
Looking into one tank he could see big grey fish that swam to the right, turned around and swam back to the left, and in another there were small grey fish that did the same, only the other way round. There were pebbles that sat at the bottom of the tanks looking only slightly less action-packed than the fish. One tank had a miniature statue of an old-fashioned diver leaning at a jaunty angle in it, but even that wasn’t enough to keep Fizz’s attention.
Though the fish were incredibly dull, he couldn’t help but think of what Fish might’ve thought of the place. The silly sea lion would’ve loved it. Of course, it would have been dangerous to let him loose in there. Fizz could imagine the broken glass and the spilling water and the guzzled fish . . .
It would at least have been more interesting than this.
He sighed loudly. Wystan joined in.
‘Well, I expect the really exciting stuff is further on,’ said Dr Surprise, peering into an empty tank that almost certainly didn’t contain an octopus in disguise. (It contained a lot of air and a sign on the front saying UNDER RENOVATION, and a sign under that saying UNDER ‘UNDER RENOVATION’.)
Next to it was another empty tank.
‘That’s odd,’ Wystan said, pointing at it.
Although it was filled with water and there were weeds in it moving slowly in the current from a little pump, there were no fish in there, just a sign pasted on the glass, which read: THESE FISH HAVE BEEN STOLEN. BY THIEVES. WE APOLOGISE FOR THE DISAPPOINTMENT. Then there was a phone number for anyone with any information about the theft to ring.
‘Who’d steal a fish?’ Fizz asked.
‘Well, Fish would,’ Wystan said.
‘Yeah, but he can’t work door handles and he wouldn’t have stopped at just the one fish, would he?’
They turned around to show the sign to the Doctor, but he’d already wandered off. There was only one way he could’ve gone, so the boys trotted along after him.
Turning a corner Fizz saw Dr Surprise peering into tanks in a corridor filled with blue fish. Through the doorway at the end he caught a glimpse of a room that flashed with yellow light, which he reckoned was a yellow fish room. So, the aquarium was colour-coded. Fizz had worried it was just going to be grey fish all the way through.
The blue fish were slightly more interesting than the grey ones. A few of them had weird huge mouths with spindly teeth, some had fins frail as lace doilies, and some were such a bright blue it hurt your eyes to look at, which made Wystan and Fizz look at them even more.
They stumbled past a couple more tanks with ‘Stolen Fish’ signs on them and wobbled dizzily into the yellow room, and from there followed the Doctor into a room of green fish.
‘Oh!’ said Dr Surprise.
‘What is it?’ asked Fizz, wondering if something interesting had happened.
The Doctor was staring intently into an empty tank. Like the other tanks it was filled with water and a few gently waving fronds of seaweed. But apart from that, as far as Fizz could see, it was devoid of contents. Oddly, it had no sticker stuck on the glass.
‘It’s just another empty tank,’ Wystan said, tapping the glass with his knuckle.
‘Ah, Mr Barboozul,’ Dr Surprise said, ‘there you are wrong. This is the wonderful lesser green-footed coral octopus. Look at the way she hides. Absolutely beautiful. So clever. So perfect! So exquisite! How much I admire her talents.’
The boys squinted and peered and looked really hard, but saw nothing.
‘There’s nothing in there, Doctor,’ Fizz said. ‘You’re pulling our legs.’
‘This is a fine octopus, Fizzlebert, and you’re very lucky to have seen it.’
‘You mean “to have not seen it”,’ Wystan grumbled as he turned away from the glass.
(There’s a theory that says every zoo has at least one cage or area filled with trees and bushes and no animals, and that next to this area they all have a sign with the name of a really interesting animal on; say, a tiger. Crowds of people spend hours looking into the empty cage saying things like, ‘Oh, I think he’s up the back there,’ and ‘Do you see, just in that shadow, under the big tree?’ or ‘They must be off sleeping somewhere.’ And even though no one sees the tiger they’re never annoyed by the empty cage with the interesting label, because humans have a deeply held belief that wild animals should be hard to spot, and so the empty cage experience in some way feels more worthwhile than the enclosure where the polar bear lies in full sight, in the open, sulking on a concrete beach next to a pond of stagnant water.
In fact, there’s a second theory that says a zoo could be constructed entirely of empty enclosures, empty cages and interesting labels, and that this would be a deeply satisfying experience for the visitors, who would enjoy the challenge of spotting the rare and
elusive animals, and much more fun for the animals, who wouldn’t have to live in cages any more.
As far as I know, such a zoo hasn’t yet been built, or if it has, no one has noticed.)
‘No, I still can’t see anything,’ Fizz said, turning away.
And then he saw something.
BRAND NEW, the poster behind him announced, SEA-LIFE SPECTACULAR, DEATH-DEFYING STUNTS THREE TIMES DAILY – 11AM, 1PM, 3PM.
Whenever the words ‘death-defying’ appear, the ears of a circus performer perk up, and Fizz’s ears did just that (which was weird, since he’d read the sign with his eyes). Death-defying stunts had to be better than deathly-dull fish and non-existent octopuses.
He looked at his watch.
It was almost eleven now, so he dragged Wystan and the Doctor from in front of the empty tank.
They pushed through a set of swing doors and found themselves outside, in front of an enormous pool. Water lapped with a calm gurgle across the tiled poolside and the sudden gust of fresh air smelt briskly sea-y. Gulls circled noisily overhead and the high stands of seats were filled with as many as several people.
On the opposite side of the pool was a concrete stage, backed by a wall with a curtained doorway in it. The wall ran from the side of the main Aquarium building, but only for a few metres. Beyond that the stage area dwindled away into the pool, which lapped against a low wall, beyond which was the sea. Or at least the sight of the sea: they were probably higher up than high tide could reach them here, but Fizz could see a sailing boat out in the distance and bobbing white specks which were more gulls. It was quite a view.
Our circus trio shuffled along the front row of the seating, apologised their way past a woman who was sat with a notebook and pen on her lap (‘Press,’ Dr Surprise said to himself, meaning she was from a newspaper, not that anyone should touch anything), and sat down right in the middle.
There was a drum roll, and then tinny recorded music echoed round the watery arena as a man appeared through a curtain at the side of the pool. This was drama! This was exciting! This was showbiz!
On his head was a nineteenth-century sea captain’s hat, on his body was a long heavy navy blue coat with brass buttons, on his top lip was no moustache at all and in his hand he held a silvery fish.
No!
Fizz looked again, just as Wystan began nudging him. He didn’t hold a silvery fish in his hand. He had a silvery fish stuck, impaled, pierced if you will, on the end of a curving metal hook, exactly where his hand would have been, had it not been replaced with a hook. And a fish.
‘Told you so,’ muttered Wystan, and Fizz had to admit that he had.
Chapter Four
In which some flying fish fly and in which a sea lion is seen
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ the nautical gentleman began, his voice amplified and echoing round as the music died away to a background murmur. ‘I am Admiral Spratt-Haddock and this is my world famous ’Quarium Spectacular. Today you will see things you never dreamt of, things unparalleled in their excitement, unrivalled in their oddity, unequalled in their sheer fishiness. Just wait! Witness daring displays of synchronised squirting squid! Fantastic flapping free-flying flying fish! And more, much more. And after all that, there’s . . . oh, but wait, what’s this?’
The music perked up, a jaunty little funny tune, as, from behind the curtain, a sleek low brown shape ran, leapt in the air, snatched the fish from Admiral Spratt-Haddock’s hook where it had been dangling by his side, and dove headfirst into the water. It all happened so fast Fizz didn’t know what it had been until Dr Surprise whispered, ‘I think that was an otter.’
‘Oh, Philip!’ the hook-handed host said, his bright voice echoing round the arena as he laughed. ‘That wasn’t your fish, that was my lunch.’ He turned around and hooked another fish out of the metal bucket that sat beside the back wall. ‘Now, where have you got to?’
The Admiral leant out and peered into the water, trying to see where the otter had gone. He didn’t notice Philip slide out of the pool. The otter tiptoed behind him, keeping his eyes on the Admiral’s back, before slowly lifting a fish from the bucket with its teeth. It looked sideways at the other fish hanging on the hook, then looked at where Fizz was sat, and he could have sworn the otter winked at him. Then, in a flash Philip snatched the Admiral’s dangling hooked fish and did a somersault backwards into the water. Once safely out in the middle of the pool the otter clambered up onto a large log that was floating smack in the middle of the pool and began to eat his prize.
‘Philip!’
Fizz laughed at this, and heard his laughter echoing round the empty arena. His performer’s heart wished that there had been a crowd there to appreciate the comedy of the act. He looked around, and saw that Wystan was frowning at him.
‘That’s him,’ the bearded boy hissed, pointing at the figure on the stage, ‘how can you laugh?’ Fizz realised that the unlikely funny otteriness of the show had momentarily outweighed his suspicion of this ‘Admiral’.
But just because he’d been sneaking round the circus, that didn’t mean he was a bad guy, did it? After all, there might’ve been a perfectly innocent explanation, Fizz thought, especially now it turned out he was in show business too. Maybe he was looking for Captain Fox-Dingle to discuss animal training things. Maybe Fish really had just wandered off.
All the same, he had to admit, this Admiral did look suspicious.
The show moved on. A shoal of flying fish soared above the water, flying in intricate patterns over the otter who still lay calmly on his log, floating in the middle of the pool. Their wing-fins glittered like rainbows in the midday sunlight, rustling like the pages of riffling library books. They looked like dragonflies, he thought, but damp fishy ones. The display was as beautiful as Philip’s act had been funny.
‘At this point,’ the Admiral said, rubbing his ear with that glinting hook, ‘normally you’d be witness to the astonishing music of Craddock the Choral Cod, but, just last night he was . . . he was . . . stolen. This morning, land-lubbers, I opened the ’Quarium doors, and his tank was empty. Craddock’s gone, and his beautiful song gone with him.’
The Admiral looked angry and upset. Of course, Fizz knew what it was like to lose someone. He and Wystan were both missing Fish. At that thought he smiled slightly. The Admiral was missing fish too. The only difference was a capital letter.
Admiral Spratt-Haddock stood silent, staring out at the ranks of seats, most of which were empty. Fizz wondered if he was going to say something else, or whether the show was over already.
But it wasn’t. A shoal of synchronised goldfish swam under the water in the shapes of popular celebrities; a school of eels did simple sums (not terribly well, but still, they were eels); and a squadron of squid squirted water at different-sized tin cans lined up along the lip of the pool.
Finally Admiral Spratt-Haddock hushed the imaginary noise down (Fizz could imagine the noise a real crowd would have been making quietening), the music diminished to a murmur and he looked around.
‘Now me lovely landlubbers,’ he said, as if he were imparting a secret, ‘we reach the finale, the grand spectacle. This morning you will see here at the ’Quarium, a brand new act. Would you please put your hands together and hold your breaths for the astonishing, the amazing, the absolutely unique Pescado, the Sea Lion of Dreams!’
There was a drum roll and then . . .
. . . nothing happened.
Fizz wondered if this was yet another act that had gone missing.
Admiral Spratt-Haddock said his cue again, ‘The absolutely unique Pes—’
A head poked through the curtain and honked.
Fizz recognised those whiskers. He recognised that nose. He recognised that honk.
The head looked around, big black eyes mournful and cute like a limping puppy abandoned on the steps of an orphanage on Christmas Eve.
‘Oh, there you are, you rascal,’ said the Admiral, waving a fish on the end of his hook.
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The sea lion waddled out from the curtain, nose up, eyes wide, following the scent of the dangling pilchard. He wore a spangly sequined waistcoat and honked excitedly.
‘Fish!’ Fizz shouted.
He stood up in his seat. Wystan was standing beside him.
‘Fish?’ Dr Surprise said.
‘Look at the waistcoat!’ Fizz said.
‘Look at the whiskers!’ Wystan added.
On the little poolside stage the sea lion had gobbled the fish and rolled over, gulped down another fish and done a handstand, and now, following the scent of yet more fish, had gone and got its head stuck in the bucket.
‘Oh dear,’ said the Admiral, in such a tone of voice as to make an audience aware that this was still part of the act.
With the bucket on his head the sea lion was clattering about by the side of the stage. He banged into the wall and then stepped to the left. His flipper flapped on the first step of a flight of concrete stairs which led up and up to a platform thirty feet above the pool.
‘Pescado,’ the Admiral said like a bad actor, half-winking at the audience, ‘not that way. Don’t go up there.’
But the sea lion was determined and, flipper by flipper, he pulled himself up the steps, galvanised bucket rattling, echoing metallic honks punctuating the climb.
The Boy Who Cried Fish Page 3