Read Online The Playmakers by Graeme Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

Shakespeare,
tears streaming down his face, “the poor old thing … Ohhh, dear
…”
    “My balls nearly killed her!” roared
Hercules, bursting into laughter, and slapping Shakespeare on the
shoulder.
    Shakespeare bent forward under the pressure
of the mighty blow, his laughter suddenly changing into a
spluttering, coughing sound.
    “Ohhh,” said Max, patting him apologetically.
“Sorry, Will. Don’t know me own strength!”
    The pair began to roar laughing again, but
suddenly stopped when the van began shaking.
    It was rocking up and down, and side to side
so violently that even the strongman began to blanch. They looked
at each other in fear, as the rocking continued, Shakespeare’s
tools began to roll across his mottled work-board, and the pots and
pans hanging at the back began to clang.
    “Blimey,” said Hercules.
    “Is it an earthquake?” said Shakespeare.
    “Ha! No, no, only me,” came a booming voice,
followed by a hearty chuckle. Shakespeare and Hercules turned to
the entrance of the van, to see Budsby trying to heave his giant
figure up from the step onto the platform, rocking the wagon as he
struggled for balance. “These steps are getting higher every day,”
he said, as Soho appeared from behind and began pushing his boss.
“Remind me, if we should ever make a fortune, to buy myself a wagon
that is built lower to the ground. It’s all I can do to get into
bed at night.”
    Hercules moved forward, grabbed his boss by
the hand and in one quick movement, pulled him inside.
    “Ah, thank you Master Hercules,” said Budsby,
catching his breath, which was icy from the December cold. “I know
it is said that intellect rules the world, but just occasionally a
bit of brute force wins the day.”
    “Hercules, er, Max, that is, is a thinker as
well,” said Shakespeare.
    “Oh, I know, I know,” said Budsby, catching
his breath. “I would not want you to believe that I feel otherwise.
Thinking. Timing. Confidence. That’s what it is all about, isn’t
it, Max?”
    “Certainly is, Mr Budsby.”
    “Mr New Shakespeare, one day, when you are
running your own show, you will be able to relate to your
associates how the most successful travelling mummer outfit you
ever came into contact with, worked on a three-point philosophy
espoused by the show’s resident muscle-man.”
    There was a pause.
    “Plus,” added Budsby, winking to Max, “other
unique strategies developed by its owner, of course!”
    “Let me hear that again? My own show?” said
Shakespeare, with surprise.
    “The time has come, Mr New Shakespeare, for
you to spread your wings.”
    “But, Mr Budsby, I’m happy in my job. I’m
grateful that …”
    “Sssh,” he said, just like he did the first
day they met at the stream, waving the big silver-capped Blackwood
stick at him to cease. “You don’t need to be grateful to me. I am
grateful to you for what you have done.”
    “I’ve enjoyed every day since we met.”
    “Excellent. But remember what we discussed on
that first night, around the fire? I will not blame if you cannot
recall the conversation, considering the state you were in.”
    Shakespeare looked down at the strongman’s
belt and then back at Max.
    Max gave him a nod, a knowing nod, as if to
you say “Come on, Will, I’ve told you how to do it. The three
steps.”
    Will nodded.
    First up, think, he
said to himself. Think.
    He cast his mind back to that night. There was the fire. And the beer that the big man
drank. And the acrobatic man that handed him the beer. Nick Sayers.
That’s it. The acrobat. Who is also the manager.
    Of course, I remember what
he said!
    But, wait, he thought. Don’t spill the beans too quickly now. Timing. It’s all in
the timing.
    Thinking.
Timing.
    He paused, and looked up.
    “Versatility,” he said, with confidence.
    The chubby red face of the big man split into
a smile. Max beamed with pride.
    “Splendid,” said Budsby. “Splendid, Mr New
Shakespeare. Versatility it is, and that