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Authors: William Sutcliffe
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straight for Narcissus’s living quarters (woe betide 26 anyone who Narcissus heard calling it a cage), and greeted Billy with a big hug.
She didn’t even know she was going to hug him – it just happened – but Billy didn’t seem to mind. Among circus folk, this kind of behaviour was probably perfectly normal.
Perhaps this was why it had happened. Hannah was definitely feeling distinctly circussy, as if she somehow belonged out here, among the performers, rather than in there, with the audience. This
felt like
her
place, in a way that her actual place – the town where she lived, the home she shared with her parents – never did.
You know that feeling when you’ve had an itchy foot for hours, and you haven’t been able to get to it, then you finally take off your shoe and sock and give it a good old scratch,
and a wave of hot velvety gorgeousness just bursts out and rampages through your whole body? Well, imagine this happening to a centipede, and it’s scratching all one hundred feet at once.
That’s how Hannah felt. 27
From where, you may wonder, did an ordinary girl born into a humdrum family (no offence), in a humdrum little town in a humdrum part of a rather humdrum little country (no offence), get this
strong feeling that she belonged among circus artistes? Coincidence? Happenstance? Freak event in the tumbling together of squillions of strands of genetic material? Wonder on, bonnet-lifters.
Wonder on . . .
‘Ready?’ said Hannah.
‘Ready,’ replied Billy.
While Hannah and Billy settled Narcissus, Fingers O’Boyle took to the stage. Close-up work was Fingers’ true speciality, but that’s not to say he didn’t know how to
command a Big Top. He always liked to kick off with one of the classics, so he began by striding around the ring (Fingers never pranced, and was vehemently opposed to prancing, prancers, prancists,
pranotomy and prancification) carrying three metal rings which he tossed, rolled, twirled and balanced. Sometimes the rings clanged together, sometimes they passed through one another. That was
all. But everyone in the auditorium was somehow mesmerised, as if he had made water flow upwards, or gravity do a loop-the-loop, which in a way he had, because it seemed to be up to Fingers
O’Boyle, rather than the laws of physics, whether the rings behaved like metal or air.
It wasn’t magic, of course. It was just dexterity and skill, but the dexterity was so dextrous, the skill so skilful, that the effect was, quite simply, magical.
Hank and Frank, meanwhile, had wiped off the worst of the custard and paint and sawdust and charred wig and make-up and sweat, and dressed themselves in black tracksuits. No, they weren’t
going to a jogger’s funeral, they were going burglarising, to Privet Place. They used pretty much the same technique as their colleagues, except that they liked to start with a conversation
along the lines of the following:
‘You go upstairs, I’ll do the downstairs.’
‘No, you go upstairs and I’ll do the downstairs.’
‘Why should I go upstairs?’
‘Why should
I
go upstairs?’
‘You always go upstairs.’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Yes you do.’
‘No I don’t, and why should you choose anyway.’
‘Why should
you
choose?’
‘Because you always choose.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Says who?’
‘Me.’
‘Me who?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘You, that’s who.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about your attitude.’
‘What attitude?’
‘Oh, all right.
I’ll
go upstairs.’
‘I thought you wanted to go upstairs.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Just go upstairs!’
‘You go upstairs.’
At this point, Princess and her prized pack of panicky puppies began to woof, yap, howl, growl, yowl, snarl and bark.
Hank and Frank went silent.
Briefly.
‘You’ve set the dogs off!’ said Hank.
‘
You’ve
set them off!’ replied
She didn’t even know she was going to hug him – it just happened – but Billy didn’t seem to mind. Among circus folk, this kind of behaviour was probably perfectly normal.
Perhaps this was why it had happened. Hannah was definitely feeling distinctly circussy, as if she somehow belonged out here, among the performers, rather than in there, with the audience. This
felt like
her
place, in a way that her actual place – the town where she lived, the home she shared with her parents – never did.
You know that feeling when you’ve had an itchy foot for hours, and you haven’t been able to get to it, then you finally take off your shoe and sock and give it a good old scratch,
and a wave of hot velvety gorgeousness just bursts out and rampages through your whole body? Well, imagine this happening to a centipede, and it’s scratching all one hundred feet at once.
That’s how Hannah felt. 27
From where, you may wonder, did an ordinary girl born into a humdrum family (no offence), in a humdrum little town in a humdrum part of a rather humdrum little country (no offence), get this
strong feeling that she belonged among circus artistes? Coincidence? Happenstance? Freak event in the tumbling together of squillions of strands of genetic material? Wonder on, bonnet-lifters.
Wonder on . . .
‘Ready?’ said Hannah.
‘Ready,’ replied Billy.
While Hannah and Billy settled Narcissus, Fingers O’Boyle took to the stage. Close-up work was Fingers’ true speciality, but that’s not to say he didn’t know how to
command a Big Top. He always liked to kick off with one of the classics, so he began by striding around the ring (Fingers never pranced, and was vehemently opposed to prancing, prancers, prancists,
pranotomy and prancification) carrying three metal rings which he tossed, rolled, twirled and balanced. Sometimes the rings clanged together, sometimes they passed through one another. That was
all. But everyone in the auditorium was somehow mesmerised, as if he had made water flow upwards, or gravity do a loop-the-loop, which in a way he had, because it seemed to be up to Fingers
O’Boyle, rather than the laws of physics, whether the rings behaved like metal or air.
It wasn’t magic, of course. It was just dexterity and skill, but the dexterity was so dextrous, the skill so skilful, that the effect was, quite simply, magical.
Hank and Frank, meanwhile, had wiped off the worst of the custard and paint and sawdust and charred wig and make-up and sweat, and dressed themselves in black tracksuits. No, they weren’t
going to a jogger’s funeral, they were going burglarising, to Privet Place. They used pretty much the same technique as their colleagues, except that they liked to start with a conversation
along the lines of the following:
‘You go upstairs, I’ll do the downstairs.’
‘No, you go upstairs and I’ll do the downstairs.’
‘Why should I go upstairs?’
‘Why should
I
go upstairs?’
‘You always go upstairs.’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Yes you do.’
‘No I don’t, and why should you choose anyway.’
‘Why should
you
choose?’
‘Because you always choose.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Says who?’
‘Me.’
‘Me who?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘You, that’s who.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about your attitude.’
‘What attitude?’
‘Oh, all right.
I’ll
go upstairs.’
‘I thought you wanted to go upstairs.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Just go upstairs!’
‘You go upstairs.’
At this point, Princess and her prized pack of panicky puppies began to woof, yap, howl, growl, yowl, snarl and bark.
Hank and Frank went silent.
Briefly.
‘You’ve set the dogs off!’ said Hank.
‘
You’ve
set them off!’ replied
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