‘I dunno,’ Wystan said, wringing a few more drops of water out of his beard. ‘If he don’t turn up, what am I gonna do? I ain’t got no act without Fish.’
Fizz didn’t say anything to that. He knew, even when they did find Fish, that he didn’t have an act come tomorrow, not unless Captain Fox-Dingle had found a miracle cure for old age, and since he wasn’t a doctor and miracles are hard to come by, that seemed unlikely.
‘The sea lion,’ the Admiral intoned in his deepest, most wise tones, ‘is a mysterious creature. The sea lion is his own master, we merely borrow his attention for a time. Pescado came to me, me lads, in me hour of need. He just rocked up one evening and brought his act to my ’Quarium. One day, I know, he will wander off, flollop down the beach and be gone, off into the great sea to find himself a new destiny. And maybe, just maybe, this Fish of yours is the same. Maybe he’s heard the call of the ocean singing in his salty veins. Maybe he has been called home.’
Fizz hoped what the Admiral was saying wasn’t true, that Fish hadn’t grown tired of travelling round with the circus. They shouldn’t have come to the seaside at all, not if one whiff of the salt breeze could tempt his friend away. He blamed the Ringmaster, he blamed Bill, the head lorry driver who drove the truck with the Big Top on, he blamed anyone he could, except Fish.
Fizz missed him something rotten at that moment. He wondered if he’d ever see his kipper-flavoured friend again.
Ahead of them they could see the lights of the circus through the row of trees that separated the park from the prom, and when the wind whipped round in their direction they could hear the muted sound of music coming from the Big Top. The evening’s show wasn’t over yet. With any luck the boys wouldn’t even have been missed.
Now, Fizz told himself, was not a time to be sad. There was work to be done. And when there’s work to be done, the best thing to do is to do it. He knew exactly where he could find the Admiral’s nemesis, the burglar, the thief, the robber.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Even if we’ve not found Fish, maybe we can rescue some fish of yours.’ And with that he ran straight into the next chapter.
Chapter Thirteen
In which fish are found and in which a villain is faced
‘Fizz!’
Captain Fox-Dingle had spotted them sneaking into the circus and was shouting from the steps of his caravan.
He looked miserable. His moustache, small as it was, seemed to be drooping uncombed and unkempt across his top lip.
The show was going on in the Big Top (they could hear the audience applauding and laughing and the band playing) and the Captain was having to miss it all. No wonder he looked sad. And then he caught sight of who Fizzlebert was with.
He stepped off the bottom step, just as the trio of potential heroes came to a stop.
Captain Fox-Dingle looked at the Admiral. He looked at his dark sailor’s coat, at his rather appropriate nautical hat, at the hook on his hand. Took the whole lot in in one slow sweeping look from head to toe.
‘Fizz?’ he asked.
‘It’s all right Captain,’ Fizz said hurriedly. ‘He’s from the Aquarium, we’re helping him find his lost fish.’
‘Admiral Spratt-Haddock,’ the Admiral said holding his hand out to shake (not his hook-hand, but his hand-hand). ‘Delighted to meet a fellow—’
Captain Fox-Dingle interrupted, ignoring Spratt-Haddock’s words and hand and speaking to Fizz instead.
‘Come.’
And with that he turned on his heel and strode off behind his caravan, assuming that the boys would follow.
‘I’m sorry about that, Admiral,’ Fizz said. ‘He’s got a lot on his mind at the moment.’
The Admiral shook his head. ‘Not everyone’s got the knack of making shipmates, Fizz,’ he said.
‘But he didn’t need to be so rude. He’s a lion-tamer, you’re a fish-tamer: I reckoned you’d be friends.’
‘It don’t work like that, Fizzlebert. Things ain’t always as simple as they should be. Look at the rest of tonight. You thought you’d just come along to the ’Quarium and find your sea lion, but that didn’t happen, did it? Instead we’re hunting a fish-napper—’
‘Speaking of which,’ Wystan interrupted, ‘shouldn’t we be . . .’
‘Yes,’ Fizz said resolutely. ‘We’ve got a thief to catch.’
‘But what about the Captain? He wanted you to go with him,’ Admiral Spratt-Haddock said. ‘I don’t want to get you in trouble, boys.’
Fizz was torn. He could guess where the Captain had gone. Round the back of the caravan was where Charles’s cage was. He wanted to see the lion, but at the same time he wanted to follow his plan and finish his mission. The longer he waited the more likely it was the Admiral’s fish might be cooked.
The trio crept through the circus, passing caravans and tents and wagons and trucks. The Admiral drew odd looks from some lounging riggers, but when they saw he was with Fizz they tipped their hats and said ‘Good evening,’ and went back to their conversations. Other than that they were undisturbed as they made their way to the large tent where Fizz thought the answer to the mystery of the missing fish would be uncovered.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Wystan whispered as Fizz lifted the flap and poked his head in.
‘As sure as custard’s hot,’ Fizz said, confidently.
‘But custard’s not always—’
‘Shhh,’ added Fizz before Wystan could finish pointing things out.
The Mess Tent was empty, the lights were out. They tiptoed towards the serving bench where Cook dished up the evening meal. There was a light coming from back there, from behind the bench where the kitchen tent joined onto the Mess Tent. That was where Fizz thought they’d find their culprit.
‘Oh!’ said Admiral Spratt-Haddock, as they got closer. It was an ‘Oh!’ of shock, and when Fizz looked at what the Admiral was looking at he understood why.
There on the blackboard was chalked the menu from earlier that evening.
COD & CHIPS & SEAWEED
Underneath it said: VEGETARIAN OPTION: CHIPS & SEAWEED
The Admiral touched the writing with the curve of his hook. ‘Craddock,’ he said.
‘Who?’ said Wystan.
‘Craddock the Choral Cod,’ Fizz said. ‘Remember this morning at the Admiral’s show? He said Craddock had gone missing. I was too busy thinking about Fish to pay much attention, but then this evening when we had our tea,’ (he pointed at the board) ‘I remembered it. The cod and chips reminded me of it, but I didn’t for one minute think I was eating that cod.’
‘We ate the Admiral’s fish?’
‘I reckon so. We’ve been having an awful lot of fish this last week, haven’t we?’
‘What did you have yesterday, me lad?’ asked Spratt-Haddock, a slight tremble in his voice.
Fizz tried to remember. He’d been eating it when Cook and Fish had their argument. No! That wasn’t quite true, was it? He’d been pushing it around his plate because he didn’t want to eat it. It had reminded him of his mum . . . it was fricasséed clown fish.
He told the Admiral, and could tell, when he didn’t get a reply, that the clown fish must’ve gone missing the night before.
Between the Mess Tent and kitchen was a thin canvas curtain, which could be tied up when the place was in use, but which was hanging down now. There was a light on behind it, and like a shadow puppet show they could see the silhouette of someone moving about in there. It would have been a pretty rubbish shadow puppet show, since the image was faint and kept moving out of the way of the light and vanishing, but all the same it told one simple story, which was all that Fizz needed to know: there was someone at home.
‘Do we just burst in, or what?’ he asked the Admiral.
‘Oh I think so, don’t you?’ said Admiral Spratt-Haddock patting his belt, where a cutlass would have been had he been a pirate (which he wasn’t).
‘Drop your fish and put your hands in the air!’ shouted Admiral Spratt-Haddock
as he leapt through the curtains into the kitchen.
He stood, his hands on his hips, a determined, steely look on his big chin. A breeze came from somewhere and rippled his coat. He looked every inch a nautical man in control.
‘Oh dear!’ squeaked Dr Surprise, surprised.
‘Dr Surprise?’ said Fizz, looking around the kitchen. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was just getting a glass of milk for Flopples,’ the Doctor said in a tremulous tone, holding a glass of milk in the air and pointing at it. ‘She always likes a warm glass of milk after the show, it helps her relax.’
‘Where’s Cook?’ asked Wystan.
‘Who’s Flopples?’ asked the Admiral, at the same time.
‘Pardon?’ said Dr Surprise to both of them, having heard neither.
‘After you,’ said the Admiral to Wystan.
‘Dr Surprise,’ mumbled the boy through his beard, the wind having been taken from the sails of his expostulation, ‘have you seen Cook anywhere?’
‘Cook?’ said the Doctor. ‘Now let me think.’
He took a sip of the milk he was holding in his hand, realised he didn’t like milk, pulled a face and said, ‘He was just here. I think he’s popped out to the freezers.’ He pointed to the flap that led to the smaller tent with the freezers in. Fizz could hear the faint rumble of the generator that kept them cold.
‘He’s stolen the Admiral’s fish, Dr Surprise,’ said Fizz. ‘You’ve got to help us stop him.’
‘Fish?’
‘From the ’Quarium, Doctor. Fizzlebert here reckons your Cook’s the one what’s been breaking in, robbing me fish and serving them up for your dinner.’
‘Oh, surely not?’
‘It all fits, Dr Surprise. All the fish dinners we’ve had this last week, and we found an empty packet of flour at the Aquarium, and Cook’s the only one round here who’d have flour packets, and we had cod for tea tonight, didn’t we? Battered cod, and Craddock was missing from the show this morning, do you remember?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose, but it’s probably a coincidence, Fizz.’
‘I wondered about that, but then I remembered what you’d said this morning. When we were talking about Fish, you told me who Cook’s dad was. You said he was the son of Terry Trapp the escapologist. And that explains why no one could work out how the break-ins had been done. No one’s better with unlocking locked locks than an escapologist, and I bet his dad taught him all the tricks of the act, don’t you?’
‘But why, Fizz? I mean, why break into an Aquarium to steal fish?’
‘It’s probably the best place to get them,’ said Wystan.
‘Well, it all sounds rather silly to me.’ The Doctor dismissed the idea with a wave of his glass of milk.
‘But we saw him,’ Fizz said loudly, stamping his foot.
‘You saw him?’ The Doctor put the glass of milk down. He screwed his monocle tightly into his eye socket and peered closer at the three of them.
‘Yeah, when we were in the Aquarium looking for Fish.’
‘When you were looking for fish? I thought you said Cook was stealing the fish?’
‘No, Doctor, we were looking for Fish, and while we were there we bumped into the burglar, only we didn’t know who it was at the time. But . . .’
Fizz stopped talking.
‘What is it, Fizz?’ asked Wystan.
‘I’ve just thought of something. We didn’t know who he was, not then, but he saw us too. And he just ran off and left us there, in the Aquarium, at the scene of the crime. He left us to get caught in his place while he ran.’
‘He did what?’ said Dr Surprise, suddenly standing straight, and looking very angry. His moustache wobbled violently. His monocle glittered. ‘How dare he, Fizzlebert? How very dare he? You wait here. If what you say is true, I’ll feed him to Flopples.’
‘Who is this Flopples?’ asked the Admiral, not having had an answer earlier.
‘My rabbit,’ said the Doctor.
‘Of course she is,’ said the Admiral.
Dr Surprise pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket (he’d been to the watch-mender’s that afternoon and picked it up). It swung in the air before him, shiny and newly polished, without a rabbit tooth-mark in sight. It glinted gloriously in the sharp kitchen lights, sparkling and twirling and ticking loudly.
‘Stay here,’ he said.
He sounded stern. Fizz wanted to do as he was told. He wasn’t sure he knew why he wanted to do as he was told, but he did. He stayed where he was. So did Wystan and the Admiral.
They looked at each other from the corners of their eyes.
The Doctor walked toward the flapway (which is a new word I’ve just invented to describe a doorway in a tent) he’d pointed at a minute earlier.
He stepped through it.
Then nothing happened.
A moment later, from a different flapway, Cook walked into the kitchen, chewing his stubby pencil between his teeth, humming to himself and holding a large carrot.
‘Here you go,’ he said, before looking up.
He stopped when he saw the boys.
He stopped even more when he saw the Admiral.
He said something that Fizz thought was a swearword, although it was new to him and he knew he’d have to check it in a big dictionary next time he visited a library.
Then Cook said, ‘You again. How’d you get back here? And what’s he doing here?’ He pointed at the Admiral, with the carrot (which oddly made it an even more threatening gesture than normal). ‘What’s going on?’
Fizz wanted to say, ‘Aha! We’ve caught you, you thief. We know what you’ve been up to, but the game’s over now. Just give yourself up and we’ll call the police and you can be arrested, which is what should happen to all criminals, but first show us what you’ve done with the fish you stole this evening. Are they still alive?’
But what he actually said was, ‘—’
He tried to move his mouth, but he couldn’t. It was as if his mouth didn’t want to work. His brain was happily working away, but his mouth, no. He tried to move his hands to touch his mouth, see what was wrong, but he found his whole body was frozen. Not frozen as in cold, but frozen as in unmoving. However hard he thought, his body simply refused to follow his orders.
‘Nothing to say, eh?’ jeered Cook. He scratched his stubble with the carrot. ‘Not so brave now, are you? Think you’re so brilliant, always sticking your head in that fleabag’s gob. As if that’s anything special, just ’cause Mr and Mrs Stump want their son to be a star. And you, Beardy, you’re just as bad with your greedy thieving flolloping sea lion. You all think you’re so much better than old Cook, don’t you?’
While Fizz was listening to this rant his brain was whirring. He realised what had happened, why he and the others were frozen in place. They’d made the mistake of looking at Dr Surprise’s watch when he pulled it out. It had swayed, just like it did in his show when he’d get someone from the audience and hypnotise them. And as they’d looked at it, what was it the Doctor had said? ‘Stay there.’
The problem with Dr Surprise was, he didn’t realise his own power. And now he’d left them trapped with this, it was becoming increasingly clear, madman. Fizz hoped the Doctor would be back soon.
‘Without me,’ Cook was going on, ‘this circus would be nothing. But no one thinks about that do they? No one puts Cook’s name on the posters. No one shouts Cook’s name in the Big Top, do they? No. They say, “Hey Cook, we’re hungry.” They say, “Hey Cook, we’re waiting for our dinner.” They say, “Hey Cook, can I have some more?” Cook! Cook! Cook! That’s all I hear.’ He put the carrot down and picked up a meat cleaver (which is a sort of knife with a massive square blade, specially made for whacking off great hunks of meat and careless fingers). ‘Do you know what, though? That’s – Not – My – Name!’
With each word he slammed the huge knife down on the chopping board, sending chunks of carrot flying through the air.
He stepped
towards the three of them, waving the hunk of sharpened metal in his hand. It dripped with orange carrot juice. Fizz looked to his side, with his eyes, and saw the Admiral looking back at him. There was a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face, as if he were really trying his hardest to move.
‘You,’ Cook shouted, waving the chopper in Admiral Spratt-Haddock’s face. ‘You were a dream come true, weren’t you, with your seafood supermarket just up the prom. The Ringmaster’s always on at me to cut costs, to keep the expenses down. But it’s not just that, oh no. You see, I know who you are, Admiral Fish-Brains. You’re another one of them animal trainers.’ Cook spat at the ground, as if the words disgusted him. ‘There’s loads of your sort round here. Trembly with all her lovely horses, prancing around with their feathery headdresses. Erasmus Dockery and his Educated Iguanas. Dingle, with his mangy old lion. Oh, I remember when he turned up, when the Ringmaster made the announcement. Coming in, stealing the show, stealing the limelight. “We’ve got a lion act now,” they said, “no need for Terry Trapp’s boy.” Criminal! That’s what it was. Criminal!’
Fizz could see hear the swish of the meat chopper as Cook waved it around underneath the Admiral’s nose, chopping the air into small slivers. If Admiral Spratt-Haddock had had a moustache, it would have been all gone by now, Cook was waving it that close.
‘Well, it was my pleasure to ruin your rotten fish house, just as it’s my pleasure to supply Dingle’s rotten meat. Hah! Anything to make the zookeepers unhappy.’ He chuckled, to himself, wickedly. His red eyes flared. ‘When that lion’s gone, they’ll come begging me. They’ll be on their knees. “Oh,” they’ll say, “Terry Trapp’s boy, will you come and do your act for us?” Then it’ll be no more cooking! No more chopping and roasting and toasting! That’ll be tomorrow, but today . . .’
He stopped talking and looked around. He scratched his ear with the cleaver, then he turned back. Fizz still couldn’t move. He tried shouting, but nothing came out.
The Boy Who Cried Fish Page 9