‘Today, though, I’ve got a problem, ain’t I? You three know too much. So, I’m going to have to do something about it. I think a mysterious disappearance, don’t you? That’ll put an end to all this fish on the menu. No more complaints. I’ll give ’em meat pies. Tell ’em they’re pork pies, eh? No one’ll know the difference.’
Fizz wanted to gulp. Could Cook really mean it? Surely not. But when Fizz looked in his eyes, as bloodshot and red as they usually were, he was sure the bloke had gone potty. They were flashing with lightning and creased round with anger. This was exactly the moment Dr Surprise should come back, he thought. A click of his fingers and the three of them would be free, and they’d be able to jump on Cook and pin him down.
Except he hadn’t come back.
Fizz tried extra hard to move . He concentrated and strained and wished and . . .
. . . his finger, the little one on his left hand, moved half a centimetre.
It was a start.
A very small start.
‘Okay, we’ll start with the big one!’ shouted Cook, pulling the Admiral forwards.
Fizz saw him lift the cleaver high and then he heard a noise.
If he’d been able to turn his head, he would’ve turned to look at where it came from. He wasn’t able to, but Cook was, and he looked round, understandably anxious to not be disturbed in his chopping.
Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.
Through the side of the tent a dark shape lunged, so huge and fast it burst the canvas into ribbons, its clawed feet propelling it forwards like a scaly missile.
‘Arrghhh!’ screamed Cook, never having been attacked by a huge crocodile before, and, apparently, not being open to new experiences.
He fell backwards, knocking saucepans off work surfaces, and dropping his meat cleaver onto the grass at their feet. There was an awful clattering and crashing and the man fell out of sight, behind benches and tables, with the crocodile following him.
Fizz couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear. Cook was shouting, which meant at least he hadn’t been eaten yet. Things were falling over. It was a cacophony.
And then it wasn’t. One word had cut through the noise and turned it to silence.
‘Sit!’
Well, almost silence. Fizz could hear Cook babbling in fear, somewhere on the floor out of sight.
‘Naughty,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle, from the side of the tent.
The Captain was wagging his finger and telling the crocodile off. And to Fizz’s amazement, the crocodile was listening.
‘He’s not out there. And he’s not in his caravan. I went and checked. We ought to tell the Ringmaster. He must be found. I wonder if—’ said Dr Surprise, coming into the tent through the flapway he’d gone out five minutes before. He stopped when he saw the wreckage all around him. ‘Um?’ he said.
‘Croc,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle, pointing at the huge reptile.
‘Oh yes. Oh my,’ said the Doctor. ‘And there’s Cook,’ he added, pointing underneath the crocodile. ‘Croc and the cook. Cook and the croc.’ He looked at the boys, and at the Admiral. ‘Why are you all standing there?’
‘Mmm-nnn-gghh,’ said Fizz, pointing at himself with his little finger.
Dr Surprise still had his watch in his hand, like a gangster might carry a revolver. He looked at it and said, ‘Oh. Cripes.’ Then he clicked his fingers and Fizz felt every muscle in his body relax.
He was free again.
Somewhere outside he could hear the circus band playing the walkout music, which is what they play at the end of the show after the big finale, for everyone in the audience to, well, walk out to. And he could hear the excited chatter and laughter of a happy audience passing by the Mess Tent on their ways home. If only, he thought, they’d seen the show that had happened in here this evening. They’d really have got their money’s worth. Death-defying was one way to describe it. (Although only just.)
Chapter Fourteen
In which ends are tied up and in which the circus moves on
Once he was able, Fizz poured the whole story out.
Captain Fox-Dingle listened, his moustache quivering. Even though he was a military man and notoriously reserved, the idea that Cook had been about to do what he’d been about to do made him go purple in the face. He didn’t seem to mind so much about having eaten half of the Admiral’s fish.
‘Well, lads,’ said the Admiral, when Fizz had finished. ‘We’ve got to work out what to do about this.’ He pointed at Cook, who was still underneath the crocodile. ‘I’m angry about my fish. I could keel-haul the man, I could gut him from gizzard to lizard and leave him for the seagulls, but that’s not the point. That won’t bring back Craddock and the rest. And you’re moving on in the morning, you could take him with you. But I’m worried for you boys. What’ll happen to you if he’s not . . . dealt with? We’re going to have to get the police in.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Dr Surprise. ‘I’ve got an idea. But first we need to move the, uh . . .’
He pointed at the crocodile.
‘Good luck with that,’ said Admiral Spratt-Haddock. ‘I’ve been trying to tell her what to do for years. Threw me alarm clock at her once and she still follows me around, getting in the way and beeping when she gets excited. She don’t do nothing that I say.’
Captain Fox-Dingle twitched his little moustache at that. ‘Easy,’ he said.
He stepped over and tapped the crocodile on its armour-plated shoulder, and said ‘Off,’ in a firm voice.
The crocodile opened an amber eye, eyed the Captain for a moment, and then stood up and waddled away to another corner of the tent.
‘Oh, Captain Fix-Dongle,’ the Admiral said. ‘You’re a marvel and no mistake.’
‘It’s Fox-Dingle,’ whispered Fizz.
‘Is it?’ said the Admiral, innocently.
‘Sprott-Hiddock,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle.
‘It’s Spratt-Haddock,’ said Fizz, before he realised the Captain had just done the unimaginable. He’d cracked a joke. Hadn’t he?
The Admiral laughed and clapped the Captain on the back.
‘Oh, that’s a good one, you old dog!’
Fox-Dingle coughed. One joke was quite enough and he didn’t approve of all this backslapping and laughter.
‘Croc?’ he asked, pointing at the beast.
‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ Admiral Spratt-Haddock said. ‘If you’re minded to train her, and if she’ll stay, then she’s yours, Captain. All yours.’
Fox-Dingle rubbed his hands together and his small square moustache perked up.
‘Captain,’ Fizz said, tugging at his sleeve. ‘I’ve just remembered something else Cook said. He said he’d been giving you Charles’s meat. It sounded like he’d been poisoning it or something. So maybe Charles is going to be alright now? Maybe he’ll get better?’
As the Captain looked at Fizzlebert there was softness round the edges of his eyes. He shook his head slowly.
‘No,’ he said.
Which, Fizz realised, meant several things. First it meant Charles wouldn’t be getting better, that he was old and tired and there’s nothing to stop that. But secondly it meant, ‘No, I’ve not been feeding Charles with the scraps Cook gave me, I’ve been ordering premium steak and great chewing bones from local butchers. I didn’t want to hurt Cook’s feelings by telling him this.’
Sometimes a simple ‘No,’ in the right hands says a whole lot more than you might think.
While they’d been talking Dr Surprise had been leaning over Cook. Fizz had noticed some pocket-watch waving and had looked away quickly, not wanting to be zapped by a hypnotic timepiece.
‘There we go,’ Dr Surprise said, standing up.
Cook stood beside him. His eyes looked much less crazy, less bloodshot than before and underneath his stubble his mouth was curved into something of a smile.
‘What I’ve done,’ the Doctor went on, pointing to his watch, ‘is, I’ve removed all memories of this last week, of his b
urglaries and of this evening’s . . . unfortunate events. And, on top of that, I’ve instructed him to love cooking. From what you said, Fizzlebert, it sounded like he was jealous of everyone in the ring, everyone with an act. Well, the answer to that is simple. It is to love what you do, not to hate everyone else for what they do. So, he’s now a chef to his bones. For him, now, every mealtime will be a display of his talents. An act, in fact. Every empty plate will be like a round of applause to his ears. I think we’ll see a marked improvement in standards round here.’
‘Can you do that?’ Fizz asked.
‘I have,’ the Doctor said.
‘I mean, should you do that? Is it right?’
‘I think he’ll be happier now, Fizzlebert,’ the Doctor said, which wasn’t really an answer, but sometimes the real answer is complicated. ‘And this way, we don’t need to tell your parents that you ran away at night and broke into an Aquarium, and we don’t need to tell the Ringmaster any of it. And anything we can do to not worry that fine gentleman, I think, is for the good.’
Fizz didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked at Wystan and then at the Captain and then at the Admiral and said, ‘Okay.’
The next morning the sun rose and the birds sang and it didn’t rain and all was good and right and proper in the world. All around the circus riggers were deconstructing things and trucks were being loaded up with tents and cages. The Big Top had been taken down in the early hours of the morning.
The circus was getting ready to move on.
Fizz made his way over to Captain Fox-Dingle’s place to see how Charles was.
The Captain had polished the buttons on his uniform extra hard. They gleamed in the sunlight, dazzling Fizz as he came near.
‘Captain Fox-Dingle,’ he said. ‘How’s Charles?’
The Captain pointed to a truck Fizz didn’t recognise. On the side of it were painted the words: TWILIGHT TOPS, and underneath in smaller writing it said: A RED NOSE RETIREMENT HOME.
‘Alright mate,’ said a burly chap who was about to climb into the lorry’s cab. ‘You the lad wiv the head?’
Fizz thought for a moment, before understanding what the man meant and nodding.
‘Round the back, mate.’
Fizzlebert Stump went to the back of the truck and found that the doors were open. Inside was a cage and inside the cage was Charles. He looked tired. When he saw Fizz he yawned and grumbled a small greeting-ish roar. Fizz reached through the bars and patted his nose.
‘Goodbye,’ he said, a lump in his throat almost blocking the way up for the word.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘He’ll be alright, won’t he? They’ll take care of him, won’t they?’
Captain Fox-Dingle said nothing, but he squeezed tightly. Fizz felt that was a good enough answer from the Captain. In fact, because he knew how much the Captain cared about Charles, he hadn’t really needed to ask.
‘Alright, chums?’ the driver said. ‘I’ve got a schedule to keep. Sign here and we’ll have old Chaz here up at Twilight Tops in time for lunch.’
Captain Fox-Dingle signed the clipboard and helped the driver to shut the doors.
They watched the truck drive off, slowly out the park and then it turned away onto the main road and was gone.
Then the Captain turned to Fizz and said, ‘New act.’
‘What?’
The Captain didn’t say anything more, but led Fizz away to the large cage in which Charles had spent his days. In it was the crocodile. She watched them with beady amber eyes and slowly waved her tail. Fizz felt a butterfly bloom in his stomach, because he understood what the Captain meant.
‘Kate.’
The tail stopped waving.
‘Open.’
The crocodile’s jaws slowly parted, wider and wider. The yellowed teeth glistened moistly and the fat pink tongue pulsed like a heart. Fizz looked into the long space between those jaws with a bravery mingled with terror. There was room in there for a boy’s head.
Well, he thought, a circus can’t stand still, even the best act must move on. This would be a challenge. No false teeth here. As soon as the circus unloaded itself in the next town they could begin practising.
Wow, he thought, coming round to the idea. This is going to be a brilliant act. Just wait until I tell Wystan!
And with that thought he remembered what he’d forgotten in all the excitement and sadness.
Fish!
‘Sorry Captain,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to go see Wystan.’
And Fizz ran across to Miss Tremble’s caravan (which was just over the way from the Captain’s, so he wasn’t even out of breath when he got there).
‘Wystan, Wystan!’ he shouted.
He banged on the door, and after a moment a startled Miss Tremble answered, clutching her dressing gown tight and holding a large hairbrush in her hand.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Excuse me, Miss Tremble,’ Fizz said, ‘where’s Wystan?’
‘I think he’s round the back, isn’t he? Playing with Fish.’
‘What?’
‘In his paddling pool.’
‘What?’
‘I just saw them out the window.’
‘What?’
Fizz jumped off the steps and ran round her caravan, past the portable horse paddock, right round to where Fish’s paddling pool usually sat, and there in the middle of it was Wystan, in a pair of bathing trunks, and Fish, in his spangly waistcoat and a Moroccan fez (which is the sort of hat Fish is wearing in the accompanying picture).
‘Fish!’ Fizz shouted.
Fish turned to face him, thinking that a person who shouted ‘Fish!’ might have a fish on them, and let out a haddock-flavoured burp which wafted right into Fizz’s face.
‘How . . . ?’
‘I think,’ Wystan said, since Fish wasn’t going to answer, ‘he’s been out in the sea. There was seaweed in his waistcoat and a crab hanging onto a flipper, which makes sense, but where he got the tattoo, poker chip and the cool new hat, I don’t know and he ain’t telling. But he must’ve seen the circus getting packed up and I reckon he didn’t want to be left behind. So he came home.’
Fish honked as if to say, ‘That’s right.’ But because animals can’t talk he was never able to tell anyone exactly where he’d been those last few days, or why he’d decided to come back when he did. Fizz and Wystan just chose to believe what they believed, because it seemed sensible, even if it meant all the grownups kept saying, ‘See, we said he’d come back,’ which was astonishingly annoying.
So there it was. The end of their stay by the seaside.
Wystan and Fish had their act back together.
The Captain and Fizz had a new act to rehearse, even scarier than his old one.
Admiral Spratt-Haddock had offloaded an overly friendly crocodile.
And Dr Surprise had reprogrammed Cook’s brain so he was a happy and talented chef.
The End
Except, there’s just one last thing I need to tell you, something Fizz didn’t see, but which I think may be important to the story. Or it may not be. You decide. Anyway, here it is.
Chapter Fourteen-and-a-half
In which Flopples makes another appearance
It was the night before. All the excitement in the kitchen was over. The all-new improved Cook had finished tidying up and was beginning to plan some new recipes for breakfast. Captain Fox-Dingle had wandered off with the crocodile. The boys had gone to bed. All was quiet in the circus.
There was a knock on a caravan door, metal on wood.
There was a creak as the door opened.
In the doorway stood Dr Surprise. Even though it was late, he didn’t have a hair out of place, his monocle was bright and clear and his plastic moustache was elegantly placed. His white rabbit, Flopples, was cradled in his arms like a baby. Her nose twitched.
‘Yes?’ Dr Surprise quavered in his high voice.
‘Now, I looked in his freezers,’ Admi
ral Spratt-Haddock said, starting his conversation in the middle rather than at the beginning. ‘And I found in there the last fish he stole. Me green-gilled mudsharks. Nothing I can do for them now. But I think he took something else, Doctor.’
As he spoke the Admiral cleaned under his fingernails with the tip of his hook. His large navy blue coat fluttered in the gentle breeze that blew between the caravans and his eyes had a slightly unnerving gleam about them.
‘Oh yes?’
‘Me prize mollusc, me extremely rare and extremely talented lesser green-footed coral octopus were gone this evening. The tank were empty. But, it ain’t in the freezer. And that’s when I thought of you, Doc.’
‘Me?’
‘I couldn’t help but remember the visit you made last week. You looked at me octopus and you asked how much it would cost to buy and I said—’
‘Oh, much more money than a simple circus employee could find.’
‘It be a very rare octopus, Doctor.’
‘And beautiful, Admiral.’
The two men looked at each other. The Doctor stroked Flopples with one hand and the Admiral picked between his teeth with his hook. There was a tense silence.
‘I thought,’ the Admiral said eventually, ‘you might have heard something. Maybe this villainous chef of yours might’ve offered you an octopus at a knock-down price? Maybe . . . he was even working for—’
‘Oh no, no,’ said the Doctor, his monocle glinting. ‘You shouldn’t think such suspicious thoughts, Admiral. They stick in the brain and drive a man mad. That’s what happened with Cook, remember, all that jealousy and suspicion? You heard him. His brain needed a good wash. Me, on the other hand, I’m just a simple showman, happy and honest.’
He stroked Flopples under the chin and she twitched her nose and shook her lovely white ears.
‘Never liked rabbits myself,’ the Admiral muttered, watching with a shudder.
‘Goodnight, now,’ Dr Surprise said, in a manner that meant, ‘This conversation is over, please go away.’
‘No,’ Admiral Spratt-Haddock snapped, angry at being dismissed. ‘I ain’t finished, Doc, I still got questions. Before I go, I want to get this cleared up.’
The Boy Who Cried Fish Page 10