Read Online The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis by Michael de Larrabeiti - Free Book Online Page B

fast one for adults that was called a switchback.
    ‘But where do all these people come from?’ asked Torreycanyon, his face creased with puzzlement. ‘I mean what with all these riggers and drivers and performers, there can’t be room in the caravans.’
    Scooter grinned. ‘They’re all one and the same,’ he said. ‘They drive the lorries, put up the tents, feed the animals, make the ice creams and popcorn, do the shows and mend the machinery when it breaks down.
    ‘That’s right,’ added Ninch, ‘and then they’ll all change into spangles and cloaks this evening and pretend to have those marvellous names. In fact they’re nearly all related to each other, all Buffonis: uncles, aunties, brothers, sisters, cousins. They double up as clowns and all sorts. So do we.’
    Vulge shook his head. ‘What about that tiger? He looks pretty fierce.’
    ‘Oh he’s harmless. He’s so well fed that Arthur can hardly get him to climb on a chair.’
    ‘Arthur! I thought he was from Bengal.’
    ‘Bengal,’ Ninch hooted. ‘He’s Arthur Buffoni; that’s him over there in the overalls, banging a spike into the ground. He has to black up every night and put a turban on. These Buffonis all come from the Hackney Road, cockneys they are, never mind the name.’
    As the Borribles turned away from their contemplation of Arthur Buffoni they came face to face with a well built tubby character dressed in a cloth cap of bright check, a tweed jacket and polished gaiters. He was only a short man but he looked strong and his skin blazed with health and his body looked as if it were bursting with energy and enthusiasm. His cheeks were very round and very red; his honey-coloured moustache bristled and his long and bushy side whiskers spread down the length of his face and nearly reached to his chin. He carried a stick under his arm and walked like a soldier. This was Signor Ronaldo Buffoni and it was obvious to anyone who took the trouble to look at him that he loved his circus with all the strength of a
generous heart. His fairground, his sideshows and the people who worked with him were his life. He smiled delightedly when he saw the Adventurers.
    ‘Aha,’ he said, slapping his leg with his stick, ‘got some more chums, eh? Good. Ever been to Buffoni’s before?’
    The Adventurers shook their heads but said nothing.
    ‘Thought not. You can all come tonight, for free. You can see to it, Ninch. Never fill the seats, not this weather we won’t. Don’t be late now, seven thirty, sharp.’ And with a cheery wave of his hand Signor Buffoni strode away and climbed the steps to his caravan.
    For the rest of the day the Adventurers were left to their own devices. The acrobats were busy helping the Buffonis to prepare for the evening’s performance in the big top, and they had also to make sure that all was ready for their own sideshow which took place afterwards.
    The Borribles were quite happy with this arrangement. Sydney borrowed a curry-comb and worked until Sam was as well groomed as he possibly could be, and her companions went their own separate ways; some dozing in the warmth of the acrobats’ caravan, some drinking tea and chatting in the tent, the remainder strolling among the workers and sightseers.
    ‘You know what?’ said Twilight lazily at some point during the afternoon. ‘If the rest of the trip is like this it’ll be a doddle.’
    ‘Yeah,’ answered Vulge, ‘and it’s always dry until it pisses with rain.’
    Slowly the hours passed. The weak daylight faded and the sky went dark. It was evening. Music echoed round the marquees and could be heard from miles away; six different melodies at once. The diesel generators shook and rumbled and kept the lights as bright as gold and as red as rubies. Every now and then the voice of Signor Buffoni boomed through a loudspeaker to announce the main attraction; ‘Roll up, roll up, don’t miss the greatest show on earth, in the big top at seven thirty. Roll up, roll