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Authors: Rob Lloyd Jones
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wouldn’t snitch on her.
Besides, these people didn’t care what he said. They just wanted to punish a freak. He had to stay tough, look for any chance to escape. “It ain’t true,” he said. “You got no evidence.”
A grin cracked across Mary Everett’s powdered face. It was as if she’d been waiting for him to say that. “Show him,” she said.
Two of the porters came forward. They took hold of the cart that held the cage and began to push it over the mud. The rest of the crew marched behind, flags of flame fluttering through the night.
Wild Boy slammed his shoulder against the side of the cage, swearing and spitting at the circus crew. “Let me out!” he yelled. “I ain’t done nothing!”
But again the porters just laughed. “Haw-haw! The monkey’s hungry. Throw him a nut!”
They steered the cart into the long stable hut. Horses whinnied behind stall doors and whips dangled from wooden rafters. One of the porters closed the doors and stood guard. The others crowded around Wild Boy’s cage — drunken, leering faces.
Too scared to fight, Wild Boy curled up in the center of the cage and pulled his knees to his chest.
“Enough!” Mary Everett called.
The group of men parted as she came forward.
“Let the freak see,” she said.
Wild Boy rose, brushing hairs from his eyes. What he saw made him gasp. “Professor Wollstonecraft!” he said.
The old scientist’s body lay in a heap against the stable wall. His arms were flopped by his sides and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. A crow pecked at his rigid fingers, and Wild Boy noticed that his golden ring was missing.
Mary Everett kicked the crow away. “You say we got no evidence,” she said. “Well, how about this?”
With the end of her crutch, she flicked away some straw beside the body. Written in the mud were two words.
A gust of wind sent an eerie howl through the stable.
Wild Boy tried to whisper
It wasn’t me,
but the words got stuck with the fear in his throat.
Now Mary Everett used her crutch to turn one of the Professor’s hands. There, on the middle finger, was a streak of mud. But there was something else too. Gripped in the corpse’s stiff fingers was a clump of long brown hair.
The ringmaster looked at Wild Boy. “That yours?”
A trapdoor opened in Wild Boy’s stomach, plunging panic. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t do it. The hooded man set me up.”
“Bloody liar!” one of the porters said.
“Shut your head!” Wild Boy yelled. “This is murder! The killer dumped the Professor’s body here and set me up. Ain’t it obvious?”
“How’s that, then?”
“Look,” Wild Boy said. “See the mud on his finger? It’s on his
middle
finger.”
“So?”
“He wouldn’t write with that finger, he’d use
this
one. And what about that hair? Look at it – it’s horse hair, not mine. And what about them horses too, and all their noise tonight?”
“The horses didn’t make any noise tonight,” one of the porters said.
“But they would’ve if there was a murder done here, wouldn’t they?”
Before Wild Boy knew it, his big eyes were scouring the ground for more clues. Among all the footprints, he spotted strange round impressions in the mud. They looked like marks from a walking cane, only wider and deeper.
“There!” he said. “See them marks? They go right up to the body. And look how deep they are. It was someone leaning on a cane or a stick. Remember, I told you the killer walked funny! And look! The Professor’s ring is gone. He was wearing a ring when I last saw him, a gold ring with the letter
G.
The killer must’ve pinched it. But I ain’t got it, do I? Search me, go on!”
A few of the porters peered at the Professor’s hand curiously, but Mary Everett waved them back with her crutch.
The ringmaster puffed her cigar. “I know a few things too, freak. Know about everyone on this traveling fair. I know you stole that coat from my band, for instance. I know you hide up on
Besides, these people didn’t care what he said. They just wanted to punish a freak. He had to stay tough, look for any chance to escape. “It ain’t true,” he said. “You got no evidence.”
A grin cracked across Mary Everett’s powdered face. It was as if she’d been waiting for him to say that. “Show him,” she said.
Two of the porters came forward. They took hold of the cart that held the cage and began to push it over the mud. The rest of the crew marched behind, flags of flame fluttering through the night.
Wild Boy slammed his shoulder against the side of the cage, swearing and spitting at the circus crew. “Let me out!” he yelled. “I ain’t done nothing!”
But again the porters just laughed. “Haw-haw! The monkey’s hungry. Throw him a nut!”
They steered the cart into the long stable hut. Horses whinnied behind stall doors and whips dangled from wooden rafters. One of the porters closed the doors and stood guard. The others crowded around Wild Boy’s cage — drunken, leering faces.
Too scared to fight, Wild Boy curled up in the center of the cage and pulled his knees to his chest.
“Enough!” Mary Everett called.
The group of men parted as she came forward.
“Let the freak see,” she said.
Wild Boy rose, brushing hairs from his eyes. What he saw made him gasp. “Professor Wollstonecraft!” he said.
The old scientist’s body lay in a heap against the stable wall. His arms were flopped by his sides and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. A crow pecked at his rigid fingers, and Wild Boy noticed that his golden ring was missing.
Mary Everett kicked the crow away. “You say we got no evidence,” she said. “Well, how about this?”
With the end of her crutch, she flicked away some straw beside the body. Written in the mud were two words.
A gust of wind sent an eerie howl through the stable.
Wild Boy tried to whisper
It wasn’t me,
but the words got stuck with the fear in his throat.
Now Mary Everett used her crutch to turn one of the Professor’s hands. There, on the middle finger, was a streak of mud. But there was something else too. Gripped in the corpse’s stiff fingers was a clump of long brown hair.
The ringmaster looked at Wild Boy. “That yours?”
A trapdoor opened in Wild Boy’s stomach, plunging panic. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t do it. The hooded man set me up.”
“Bloody liar!” one of the porters said.
“Shut your head!” Wild Boy yelled. “This is murder! The killer dumped the Professor’s body here and set me up. Ain’t it obvious?”
“How’s that, then?”
“Look,” Wild Boy said. “See the mud on his finger? It’s on his
middle
finger.”
“So?”
“He wouldn’t write with that finger, he’d use
this
one. And what about that hair? Look at it – it’s horse hair, not mine. And what about them horses too, and all their noise tonight?”
“The horses didn’t make any noise tonight,” one of the porters said.
“But they would’ve if there was a murder done here, wouldn’t they?”
Before Wild Boy knew it, his big eyes were scouring the ground for more clues. Among all the footprints, he spotted strange round impressions in the mud. They looked like marks from a walking cane, only wider and deeper.
“There!” he said. “See them marks? They go right up to the body. And look how deep they are. It was someone leaning on a cane or a stick. Remember, I told you the killer walked funny! And look! The Professor’s ring is gone. He was wearing a ring when I last saw him, a gold ring with the letter
G.
The killer must’ve pinched it. But I ain’t got it, do I? Search me, go on!”
A few of the porters peered at the Professor’s hand curiously, but Mary Everett waved them back with her crutch.
The ringmaster puffed her cigar. “I know a few things too, freak. Know about everyone on this traveling fair. I know you stole that coat from my band, for instance. I know you hide up on
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