The circus arrived on Monday, and by Wednesday there was not a single soul who had not seen the show. In fact, most had seen it more than once because the acts varied from day to day. Milli and Ernest heard painstakingly detailed accounts of the incredible feats performed inside the tent and the magical treats that could be purchased there. The more they heard, the more tormented they became. They found they did not have the enthusiasm to slip into one of their games, and even visiting the ruins of Hog House had lost its appeal. Their thoughts drifted inevitably towards the circus during every conversation. It really could not be helped when there was nothing (not even school) to fill the long hours of the day and serve as a distraction.
According to reports, Ringmaster Lampo was an instant success with the town’s children. He kept all manner of tricks and treats in the oversized pockets of his waistcoat which he gave away readily to those lucky enough to be in closest proximity. As for the grown-ups, Lampo regaled them with tales of circus history dating back to ancient times. And he never failed to inquire with interest after their own town affairs, which they were more than happy to gabble endlessly about. Although Milli and Ernest had never laid eyes on the ringmaster, they were already beginning to dislike him and his blasted circus which had excluded them so wholly from their own community.
The week stretched on interminably, rather like sitting in an algebra lesson when the teacher is talking about quadratic trinomials. But still Mrs Klompet remained unyielding. She tried to make up for it by setting aside extra time for Family Capers, but Milli refused to participate. The tension in the household mounted. As more tales of the circus reached them with each new day, Milli became more and more resentful until she could think of nothing else. Even Stench sensed her mood and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible for fear of being accidentally trodden on or banished outside.
In Bauble Lane, Ernest was faring no better. He was being teased (more than usual) by his younger siblings, who, unable to comprehend his decision to stay away from the circus, ridiculed it. When he wasn’t with Milli, Ernest spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom brainstorming synonyms for ‘injustice’ to add to his lexicon. He even took to having his meals in his room as listening to the family’s excited chatter about the marvels of the Lampo Circus had begun to interfere with his digestion.
On the morning of the circus’s last day in town, Milli and Ernest decided to go for a stroll at an abnormally early hour to avoid running into what they had dismissively dubbed ‘circus fanatics’. They were looking forward to the Lampo Circus packing up and moving on so they could put the whole beastly experience behind them and recover some of the popularity they had now come to miss. Quite by chance they ran into two unexpected people. A pair of young circus performers in green tights and spangled capes were back-flipping their way down Drabville’s main street, looking as flexible as if their bones were made of rubber. They stopped every now and then to paste flyers on lampposts and shopfronts.
When the two reached Milli and Ernest, they came to a halt. They were a girl and boy who seemed to be about the children’s own age, with burnished red hair, freckled noses and startlingly blue eyes. They gazed at Milli and Ernest as if they did not often meet other children and were unsure how to behave. The boy smiled awkwardly while the girl shuffled her feet.
As usual, Milli took the initiative.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Milli and this is my friend, Ernest. What are you doing out so early?’
‘I could ask the same of you,’ the boy retorted spiritedly, before formally introducing himself. ‘I’m Finn and this is my twin sister, Fennel. We’re Lampo acrobats.’
His sister smiled shyly, then did an impressive double somersault before shaking their hands. The children could not help liking the twins immediately. How providential to run into a couple of Lampo’s actual stars. It was the closest to the circus the children could expect to get thanks to Milli’s intractable mother.
‘Have you seen the show?’ Finn asked.
‘Not as yet, but we’re hoping to,’ Milli fibbed. ‘You both seem very talented.’
The twins beamed at the compliment.
‘Well, we have to practise every day,’ Finn said.
‘Are your parents in the circus too?’ Ernest wanted to know.
‘They were,’ Fennel said softly. ‘We’re orphans.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Ernest, conscious that he had made a faux pas.
‘It’s okay. The circus is our family now,’ said Fennel.
‘Is Ringmaster Lampo as wonderful as everyone says he is?’ Milli asked.
The pause that followed this question was a touch too long. The girl seemed to pale a little and stole a sidelong glance at her brother.
‘Federico Lampo looks after us all,’ said Finn. ‘Please excuse us now, but we must finish this task.’ They both bowed politely before spinning on the balls of their feet and cartwheeling their way down the street.
Milli frowned as she watched Finn and Fennel go. There was something odd about their behaviour. She had not missed their sudden downcast eyes when Lampo’s name was mentioned. Milli knew from experience that you could deduce a great deal by what people did with their eyes when asked a simple question. The twins had been unsure where to look. Perhaps this meant there would be repercussions if they were late in completing their assignment. Of course, Milli could not be sure of this, and she hoped she was wrong as they seemed such gentle and unassuming children.
Not wishing to delay them further, Milli did not call after them but instead detached one of their notices from a nearby lamppost.
FREE CHILDREN’S MATINEE!
Thank you Drabville for your hospitality and warm welcome! In recognition of this,
Federico Lampo and his Travelling Circus are proud to issue an open invitation to all children to attend our final matinee today at 2 pm sharp.
If you meet the following requirements then you are most welcome!
You want to see a show you will one day tell your grandchildren about.
You are ten years of age or over.
You’re not averse to participating in magical feats.
You are of sound mind and body.
The idea of mortal combat appeals to you.
Light refreshments will be provided. Unhealthy confectionery available in abundance. Children may be collected from the exits at 4 pm.
Charges for lateness will apply.
NB: No identification required. Parental supervision unnecessary. (Parents—take a little you time!)
Milli could barely contain her excitement. A matinee performance exclusively for children! How could her parents possibly object to that? Seizing Ernest by his jacket, she pelted back to Peppercorn Place and burst in the door gasping for breath. Thrusting the flyer at her mother, Milli folded her arms in indignation.
Rosie let out a weary sigh and closed the wallet of papers she had been working her way through. Straightening her glasses she began to read. When she had finished, she put down the flyer and looked thoughtfully at her daughter.
Milli and Ernest were not without a plan. This was their final chance to campaign for their cause and they had several strategies to put in place. The conversation went something like this:
Milli: Nothing has gone wrong all week and now it’s their last performance.
Ernest: (hanging his head sadly) We’re the only children in town who haven’t seen the show. We’ve heard there are going to be presentations about it at school…I guess we’ll just have to talk about the history of the steam engine instead.
Milli: It must be worth seeing if it’s being incorporated into the curriculum.
Ernest: No parent would willingly rob their child of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Milli: It’s Lampo’s way of expressing gratitude for the town’s support.
Ernest: (ruefully) One is a child for such a short time…
They could not be sure if it was guilt or exhaustion or a combination of b
oth that finally caused Mrs Klompet to crack. I suspect she was thinking about the everlasting stream of tears and recriminations that would follow should she prevent Milli from attending. As children, you and I know just how malleable parents can become given the right game plan.
‘Enough!’ Rosie raised her hands in protest. ‘You two should consider running for politics. If you really want to see the show that badly, then go. Just try not to be late home for dinner—your father is making his famous chunky starfish stew with lima bean purée.’
Milli grinned at her mother. ‘Thanks for the warning.’
It was well before the matinee was due to begin and the village green was already awash with children waving their parents off. Milli and Ernest were jostled and elbowed but were too awed by the sights around them to be bothered by bad manners.
Brightly decorated caravans in rows served as the performers’ homes. In the centre of the open field a mammoth tent had been erected. It looked to Milli like an alien spaceship that had landed in Drabville by mistake. Images shimmered across its canvas surface. On one panel, daring equestrians rode upside down on galloping horses; on another, elephants in pastel tutus pirouetted daintily whilst behind them kangaroos boxed in satin shorts.
It was no surprise to see the ticket stall with its fringed canopy was unattended, as no tickets were required for today’s matinee.
Milli and Ernest, who had eagerly anticipated this moment all week, could hardly wait to get inside. The crashing of cymbals caught everybody’s attention. The entrance to the tent furled open to reveal uniformed ushers ready to escort the children to their seats. Inside did not resemble a circus tent as you or I know it. They entered a sumptuous interior with tiered seats and silk cushions to sit on. Instead of sawdust on the floor there was a fine white sand that gave off a cosy heat in case your feet got chilly during the performance. Special box seats at the front offered an uninterrupted view of the ring. Ernest, who was interested in engineering, was intrigued to discover that he could see no evidence of rigging keeping everything in place. Giant gold tassels instead of pegs pinned the tent to the ground.
On every child’s seat was a hessian drawstring bag containing edible delights such as sour sherbet canes, a jug of caramel shake (the creamy contents miraculously did not spill until you were ready to take a sip) and butterflies made entirely of coloured marzipan that fluttered around your mouth for a moment before dissolving. There were also keepsakes, including a miniature horn that roared out different animals sounds each time you blew it. (It had educational merit as well because you had to correctly guess the animal before the horn would move on to the next sound.) There was also a tin of tiny toy soldiers that leapt from the confines of their container and used the heads of audience members as trampolines, pulling hair, knocking off glasses and thieving confectionery as they went. Their antics were met with shrieks of glee from the children. Just as the last soldier was recovered and returned to his drawstring bag, a hush of anticipation fell over the audience. The lights dimmed and a drum roll signalled that the show was about to begin.
CHAPTER FOUR
Under the Big Top
A stodgy man strutted into the ring cracking a whip. He had the toothiest grin the children had ever seen and would have been wonderful in a toothpaste advert. He wore a gold earring that twinkled when it caught the light, an embroidered waistcoat and a large top hat that glittered with horseshoes and centipedes. Every few moments his enormous buttons exploded with shimmering silver dust that fell from his clothes as he moved, giving him the appearance of being incandescent. Ringmaster Lampo’s apple cheeks shone so brightly that he appeared to be made of wax, and the beads of perspiration beginning to gather on his forehead made him look as though he were melting. He gave an exaggerated bow and opened his arms to the audience in a sweeping gesture.
‘My dear children, I welcome you to the Lampo Circus where extraordinary things happen at every turn.’
His voice was ridiculously high-pitched and had a grating, falsetto ring. If you have ever heard the squeals of a pig stuck in a fence, then you will recognise the noise Ringmaster Lampo produced every time he opened his mouth.
‘Are you ready to witness a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle?’ he teased his audience, raising wild eyebrows. ‘I promise you an extravaganza so spectacular you will not want to blink for fear of missing a moment of it. I promise you a matinee to remember!’
He paused mid-breath to pull a snail from his pocket, which morphed into a rainbow-coloured lollipop that he bestowed upon the closest child. Lampo gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction and from another pocket produced a dragonfly, which he swallowed whole only to have it reappear sitting on his head, which was revealed to be as bald as an egg when he lifted his top hat. He smiled graciously in response to the sighs of wonder that followed.
‘There is much more in store for you this afternoon, so you had better hold on to your seats. But before we begin, I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge a very special guest gracing us with her presence today. I am speaking, of course, about the one and only Contessa Augusta Bombasta, Patroness of the Arts, without whose largesse the survival of this circus would not be possible. Please show her your appreciation.’
He inclined his head reverently in the direction of one of the specially reserved box seats.
The children broke into hesitant applause, not entirely sure what ‘largesse’ meant but hoping it did not refer to size. (In actual fact, it is just a word snooty people like to say in place of ‘generosity’.) The children craned their necks to take in the personage upon whom Lampo lavished such praise. When the Contessa stood to acknowledge their applause, the children might have been forgiven their confusion as to the meaning of ‘largesse’ for there was an awful lot of her to take in.
Contessa Bombasta was a rhinoceros of a woman. From her great height she looked down her aquiline nose at the children and raised one pencilled eyebrow almost vertically in disdain. She had heavy, pendulous jowls, and beady eyes. Across her shoulders was draped a stole of black ermine. Indeed, all of her garments appeared to be made from assorted animal pelts. The jewellery around her neck had the creamy sheen only ivory possesses and was so heavy she seemed to sag a little under its weight. On her feet she wore pumps decorated with glazed lizards’ eyes. One hand clutched a crocodile leather handbag, and the other cradled a shorn miniature poodle. On her head was perched a hat plumed with feathers from the rare and endangered Congo Bongo Bird.
Two female assistants in heavy-framed glasses and matching suits flanked the Contessa and ministered to her needs like automatons. With their hair pulled back so tightly their eyes slanted upwards, they looked like executive Barbies. When Bombasta’s nose twitched, both knelt on the ground, whipped open a briefcase, unfolded a crisp linen handkerchief and lunged to catch her sneeze, just missing it by seconds. Contessa Bombasta rolled her eyes at their ineptitude and roughly pushed them aside. She gave a regal nod to the crowd before resuming her seat. This appeared to be the ringmaster’s signal to proceed.
‘To start off the show with a whiz and a bang,’ Lampo squealed, ‘it is my great pleasure to introduce to you our first act for this afternoon. Please make welcome the world’s most incredible contortionist. All the way from Mongolia, I give you…Bling-Bling!’
The hypnotic chords of a mandolin filled the tent and a nimble and svelte girl no more than sixteen materialised in the ring. Bling-Bling wore silk pantaloons and an Oriental blouse buttoned up to her neck. Her long black hair hung in a thick rope down her back. Pressing her hands together as if in prayer, she bowed and performed some graceful stretching exercises. Then, as calmly as if this were an everyday occurrence, she began to fold up like a napkin. She sat cross-legged and began snaking her limbs together as though her entire body were made of play-dough. Soon she had halved in size with her chin touching the floor parallel with her feet. The children expected her to stop there, but an assistant hurried into the ring carrying a lacquered hatbox. H
e placed it in front of Bling-Bling, who waddled towards it on hands and feet. With a few deftly executed movements she manoeuvred her entire body into the box’s cramped interior. The assistant snapped the lid shut and walked out of the ring carrying Bling-Bling under his arm.
As the audience erupted into applause, Bling-Bling bounced her way back for the second instalment of her act. This time the assistant arrived bearing a largish porcelain teapot on a silver tray. Spinning on the balls of her feet, Bling-Bling built up enough speed to appear a blur. She then shrank down in size until she was able to dive into the teapot leaving only a pair of dainty feet protruding from its rim. The assistant picked up the teapot and made as if to pour from it, whereupon Bling-Bling spilled out and unravelled to her normal size.
No one knew what to expect when Federico Lampo introduced the next act as The Croakers. They turned out to be a troupe of break-dancing toads wearing caps at an angle and enormous white runners. They accompanied their routine (involving head-spins and moonwalks) with toad song, a type of synchronised croaking so rhythmic that the audience could not help tapping their feet along in time. At one stage, the toads climbed up on one another’s backs until they had formed themselves into a toad pyramid. They peeled off their hooded jackets to reveal iridescent skin glowing as bright as fairy lights. The entire pyramid twinkled like a Christmas tree.
Next, The Croakers arranged themselves to resemble famous structures such as the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum and the Sydney Opera House. When their final song ended, the toads dispersed to resounding cheers. A couple of megalomaniacs amongst them could not resist crowd-surfing, but were safely caught and petted by delighted children.