Ned’s Circus of Marvels

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“I’m me. Why am I still me? If Dad’s this Engineer character, then shouldn’t he have horns or something, and shouldn’t I be like him, you know, like everyone else in this freak show?”

“No, boy, you’re both quite human, and that will be the last time you use the word ‘freak show’ in my presence,” said Benissimo with a clear note of warning in his voice. “Being human does not however mean that your dad can’t have magic in his blood. Sometimes it happens that someone is just born with magical ability, like your dad, or given it. I was quite human myself once …” At that the Ringmaster paused for a moment, as if in thought. “And Kitty is completely so. Human, minutian, elven or troll, good, bad or somewhere in between, there are all kinds behind our beloved shroud. Now, please let go of the Tinker’s head. We have serious matters to discuss. Besides, I need it in one piece almost as much as I need yours.”

Ned unclasped his fingers and slumped back on to his stool.

“What is he? I mean, being an Engineer, what does that mean? Why is it so important?”

“Engineers can control atoms with their minds. With strong enough focus, air can turn to fire, wood to metal, and water to stone. But it doesn’t end there. The creations can be shaped to any variety of complex structures. The possibilities are endless. It’s a hard concept to grasp, especially for a josser who is new to our ways, but his skills together with the Medic’s are unique. Add one to the other, and their combined purpose is to mend, to rebuild and heal. I need to make that happen. The Veil is failing and I need them to mend it.”

Ned looked up at the Ringmaster. He was torn between the loyalty a boy feels to his past and the almost certain knowledge that his past is not what he had thought it was. More precisely, that his father was not what he had thought he was. What had his life been like as an Engineer? What kinds of things had he seen and done? Why had he never told him? The questions hurt too much to want answers, at least not from anyone except his dad, and for that to happen, he was going to have to trust a man who clearly thought very little of him and join his troupe of oddities.

“So let’s just say I’m not mad. You, the Tinker and everything you’ve told me is all real.” Ned paused for a second to gather his thoughts. “If we go to this Fidgit and Sons place, and we find the girl, and she and Dad do whatever it is they’re supposed to do … then I get him back for good and life goes back to normal? Like, Grittlesby normal?”

Even as he said it, it surprised him. He wanted his father back just the way he was. Even if it meant being bored, even if it meant being fussed over and forced to stay in. He would do anything for that right now, anything at all.

“I can’t promise normal, but with enough wind behind us …” the Ringmaster sighed and looked him up and down yet again, “… and a great deal of luck, yes, you’ll get your dad back.”

“I’m going to ignore that look you just gave me, if you promise not to do it again.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Ned gritted his teeth. “Fine. When can we go?”

Benissimo’s mouth turned towards what might have been a smile, though it ended up with just a hint of sadness.

“Perhaps you’re more like your father than it first appears … though while you’re with us, it’d be for the best if you kept him to yourself. Just a few of the troupe know who you really are – let’s keep it that way. Tell me, did the clowns see you?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

“Well, ‘don’t think so’ will have to do. That said,” continued Benissimo, “it does not guarantee that prying ears or eyes won’t find out about you. There’s a rot in my circus, a spy or spies that are trying to hamper our progress. Until I root them out, you keep your head down, understood?”

“Understood.”

“For now we’ll say you’re a runaway. We get a lot of recruits that way and no one will pay someone like you much heed.”

Ned felt another flicker of anger. Why did the man dislike him so much?

“By ‘like me’ I guess you mean ordinary, right?”

“I had something else in mind, but ordinary will do.”

Ned had a pleasing vision of yanking Benissimo’s moustache, then setting it on fire with one of the Tinker’s gadgets.

“Tinker, a message to Oublier, if you will?”

“Right you are, boss!”

Ned seethed quietly as Benissimo’s head of R&D opened two windows at the back of the truck and picked up a large device shaped like a trumpet. Directing one end out of the window, he started to speak in a mixture of slow drawn out tones and revolting nasal snorts, all the while contorting his face and lips horribly.

“N e w … l e a d … f o u n d … F i d g i t … a n d … S o n s.”

A large gust blew up, swirling leaves into a pillar of spinning greenery, before launching itself over the forest’s canopy and away from the truck.

“What’s he doing?”

The Ringmaster gave Ned a withering glare. “Hush, boy, it’s an air-modulator. He’s harnessing the wind to send a message.”

“Who is he messaging?” whispered Ned in amazement, but they were too deep in concentration to hear him, or to reply.

The Tinker continued to work the machine, twisting dials and pressing its keys to change pitch. Finally something else happened. A dozen wind chimes, both crystal and wooden, started to sound on the truck’s roof. Outside a gust of wind was blowing in over the treetops. And then it came, in soft blowy whispers. A reply.

“H … U … R … R … Y .”

“Well, we’d better get to it then,” said Benissimo, “it’s time for tear down.” And taking Ned’s blood-key for safe-keeping, he charged out of the Tinker’s vehicle.

Ned followed closely behind, having no idea what he was talking about. But as Benissimo called for the troupe to gather round, he soon found out.

“All right everyone! Pull your tent pegs and fire up the engines …” he called. “We’re going home!”

***

Much further than the crow flies but only moments later, a meeting was held between a spy and his master. The master was holding an apple, which he cut carefully, his sharp knife making perfect incisions across its golden skin. He was a great dark hulk of a man, with a deep, unsmiling voice.

“Sister Clementine’s ‘ending’ was unfortunate. She was the closest we’ve come in years,” brooded the master.

“Yes … but now there is the boy,” whispered back his spy.

“A lucky turn of events. Tell me, does he know?”

“Not all of it, no. Bene has kept nearly everyone in the dark for fear of your watchful eyes.”

“And fear them he should!”

“How shall we proceed?” asked the spy from his shadow.

“Everything depends on the boy’s key. I believe it always has. Do you remember the tale of the Parnifer tree?”

“Vaguely.”

“You of all creatures should. In the story, the King’s son was taken by a terrible affliction and could not be woken. The King cried for a hundred days and a hundred nights, till his tears formed a river. By its banks, a tree sprang up from the ground.”

“The Parnifer tree.”

“Precisely. They say a single seed from the tree’s fruit could cure anything. The girl is like the seed. If she were to meet with the Engineer …”

The master put down his knife, before crushing the apple in his fist, its wet pulpy flesh oozing through his fingers.

“The seed, must, be, crushed. I’ll send the devil himself if I have to.” He gazed for a moment at the fruit falling from his hand. “In the meantime, we’ll be needing some leverage. With the boy’s spirit-knot and enough time, we could do extraordinary things. I’ll leave that up to you. Watch, observe, slow them down if you can. When the moment is right, we’ll make our move.”

And with a silent nod, the spy melted into the shadows and returned from where he came.

(#ulink_cc5678ed-f0c8-5075-a29e-938cf00262ec)

The Flying Circus (#ulink_cc5678ed-f0c8-5075-a29e-938cf00262ec)

There was all-round whooping and hollering and a happy trumpeting from Alice as the Circus of Marvels readied itself for departure. According to the Tinker, they always did their real travelling at night. When Ned stepped outside, he could see why. The very same fog that had rolled into Grittlesby had followed them again across the sea. Through the layers of rolling grey he saw the circus’s big top. Its red and white striped canvas was bulging as if it were about to burst, making it more than twice its normal size.

Even stranger though was the fact that the big top seemed to be floating thirty feet off the ground, as if it were some sort of hot-air balloon … Then Ned saw them through the fog …

Hanging from the big top, suspended in the air, was a series of buses and caravans that had all been joined together. Some were inside out, and others bent in half, all forming a huge metal gondola more than three storeys high through the middle and four at the back. It was all tethered together with great bars of steel and knots of iron rope. Walkways taken from the big top’s inner seating ran all over its hull, and Ned could see crewmen running along the upper deck, checking its rigging and shouting to one another over the roar of the engines. Not for the first time that day, Ned stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed, gawping up at this great metallic beast as against all odds it rose up through the fog. It was the stuff of dreams, a marvel of engineering, and Ned was lost in its every detail.

“Come on, josser, don’t just stand there! Wind’s about to change!” yelled Benissimo.

Ned’s body suddenly drained of blood as he was marched up a narrow walkway and into the airship’s belly. Inside were mismatched corridors of old and new. Not even his dad could have made any sense of it. Every room was different, latched together from some metal bus or wooden trailer, and yet it all seemed to fit perfectly, as though it had been built as a whole first and its separate four-wheeled vehicles extrapolated after. But it was dawning on Ned that impressive as it was, it was also uncommonly large; large and extremely heavy, and also extremely high. As he peered over the edge, his heart plummeted to his stomach. Being scared of heights was one thing; flying in an inflatable tent was quite another. He was already dreading Benissimo’s reply as the question left his lips …

“This thing, this flying machine … is it … safe?”

The Ringmaster stopped dead in his tracks and began muttering to himself.

“Why me? A blasted child and scared of his own shadow …”

“Oi, I am here, you know?” said Ned crossly.

“For your information, boy, this is not a ‘thing’, this is the Marilyn – the finest airship on either side of the Veil and as safe as a ruby in a crown.” Benissimo’s moustache was now twitching quite violently. “There are ‘things’ aplenty where we’re going that will offer up more than ample danger. Your fear of heights should be the least of your – or my – concerns.”

Ned sensed that it might be a good time to hold his tongue.

“Now, while you’re aboard, you need to follow a few simple rules. One – don’t touch anything. Two – don’t talk to anyone, and if anyone talks to you remember: you’re a runaway.” The Ringmaster paused to scratch at his chin. “On second thoughts, it might just be better if you stayed in your bunk. Don’t leave unless you absolutely must.”

Benissimo indicated a door to their immediate right.

“What about permission to breathe? You left that out,” Ned grumbled under his breath.

“Veil-bound and right secure on the third!” roared one of the Marilyn’screwmen.

“Nearly home and all aboard on the second!” yelled another below.

The first floor’s reply was a loud metallic clunk as the circus’s captured Darklings were locked into their hold. Benissimo strode away to take his place at the helm from where Ned heard a long blast of the ship’s foghorn. From all around the Marilyn a chorus of trumpets and what could only have been a cannon replied and Ned realised she was only one floating vessel in a much larger convoy.

He went into his cabin and looked out the window to a wall of fog. It came as a huge relief. Without seeing their take-off, at least he could pretend he was on a bus. A really big, weird bus.

One thing was certain, Benissimo – his protector and only route to finding his father – did not think very highly of him, which was fine because the feeling was entirely mutual. He decided to focus on more pressing matters. There was the girl for one thing, Lucy Beaumont. Did she know they were looking for her? Was she lost? Afraid? Were the clowns after her too? It was then that he remembered the scratched writing on the patio doors of his sitting room.

Y C U L …

Of course! He hadn’t thought about it at the time but the clown’s writing, seen from the other side of the window, would appear backwards. It was Lucy’s name. Was that what his dad had wanted to explain? Did he want to tell him about her? This new world that his father was supposed to be part of was not Ned’s. It made him feel like he didn’t really belong, even at home with his own dad.

Alone in his swaying bunk, Ned checked on the black bag his dad had given him. He found clothes, a toothbrush and his passport (which had never actually been used). He opened it up and looked at his name. It made him wince because it wasn’t really his name after all. Was any of it real? Was anything his father had ever told him actually true?

At the bottom of the bag he found some cash, quite a lot of cash. But the most surprising item was the empty photo frame Ned kept by his bedside. So that was what his dad had run up the stairs for when they’d made their escape.

This was not the freedom Ned had wanted. This was the kind of bag you prepared if you knew you weren’t coming home. It made his eyes prick with tears. He took his phone from his pocket and laid it by the photo frame. A pictureless frame and a powerless phone; even Ned’s pet mouse wasn’t real. He had never, in all of his life, felt more alone.

“Room for another?” came a polite grunting voice from the doorway. It was George the giant gorilla.

His attempts to fit his enormous bulk into the small cabin made him look rather clumsy and much less intimidating. Despite everything that he’d seen that day, Ned still had no idea what to make of him.

“Err, sure, but I don’t think I’m allowed to talk to you. Or anyone else.”

“I think that’s over-egging it a bit, old bean. I’ve been fully briefed on your situation along with the rest of our inner circle.”

“Oh. Right …”

“And on that note,” George rumbled gently, “I made you some angel cakes. Had a feeling our resident josser might need a smidge of cheering up.”

The oversized ape opened a bag and beneath a pile of books and his favourite reading glasses, were four of the ugliest cakes Ned had ever seen.