Circus of Thieves and the Raffle of Doom (14 page)

‘You are right, ladies and gentlemen, to feel cheated and angry. Because you bought tickets to a show that promised to achieve the impossible and until now, until this
very moment, I have failed you. If you were all standing there, shouting up at me, demanding your money back, I would quite understand. For you have seen nothing impossible. Until now. Until you
looked into this lorry under my feet.’

Armitage darted out a long, long finger at the end of a long, long arm and pointed down at the woman who had asked that last question. ‘You, madam,’ he barked,
‘are an extremely savvy lady, alert to wildest possibilities of the dramatist’s art. The rest of you, frankly, are more than a little behind.’

‘I promised you the impossible, ladies and gentlemen, and here it is! Right in front of you!’

‘Your possessions, ladies and gentlemen. Transported here, through what means I cannot reveal, but as a service to your good selves, to remind you that there are bad
people about, and that your homes should be kept secure. For we at Circus Impossible think of ourselves not just as entertainers, but as public service educators, working closely with Her
Majesty’s police force to remind you, through the wonder of live performance, that nothing is more important than home security.’

‘Think of it not just as an illusion to end all illusions, not just as the impossible made possible, but as a lesson to end all lessons. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen. Help yourself to
whatever is yours. And stay safe.’

With that, Armitage took a low, deep bow. There was a tense, sceptical silence, then one single clap at the back of the crowd, followed by another and another, until something resembling a
modest round of applause trickled upwards through the air.

Armitage swivelled on his heel and turned towards Billy. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are in big, big trouble. And you . . .’ but when he spun in the other direction to address
Hannah, all he saw was a pair of fingertips disappearing over the edge of the lorry, on the way down the ladder.

Armitage darted after her, jerking his body down the slippery rungs, jumping to the ground, and setting off at a run. It was not a very successful run, however, since barely had he taken two
steps when a stick was thrust between his legs, sending him crashing to the ground.

‘MY COSTUME!!’ he yelled, as he clambered back onto his feet. ‘THAT’S A GRASS STAIN!!’

The mysterious stick, Armitage now saw, was no ordinary stick. It was a walking stick, held in the grip of a very angry-looking granny. By her side was a sleek and intelligent-looking dog.

The stick-wielding granny was approximately half Armitage’s height, but the way she stared at him was quite terrifying. Had he been slightly less terrified, he would have complained to her
that it was
his
job to go around giving people terrifying stares, but he was too terrified, even, for that.

‘YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!’ she bellowed.

Armitage didn’t answer, for obvious reasons. He was too terrified.

Granny then lowered her voice into a steely whisper that was even more frightening than her bellow. She leaned towards Armitage, fixed him with a mesmerising stare, and said, ‘I know who
you are.’

‘P . . . p . . . pardon?’ he stammered.

‘I know who you are. I know exactly who you are.’

‘A . . . and . . . wh . . . who’s that?’

‘Hmmm. I’m not impressed, frankly. Not one little bit. Never was. Although you do sell excellent candy floss.’

‘Th . . . thank you.’

‘And let me tell you this, young man. You may get away this time, but it won’t be long, now, before you meet your doom.’

‘My doom?’

‘Your doooooooooooooooom.’

With those mysterious words, Granny turned and left, hobbling homewards through the crowd, the dog by her side. Armitage watched her go, transfixed by the way she moved. Despite the stick,
despite the hobble, there was something graceful about her, something elegant and almost floaty, that did not look like the walk of a civilian.

By the time Armitage composed himself, the girl was long gone.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Billy attempting to sneak away. Keen to reassert his position as the Terrifying One, he extended an arm and grabbed Billy by the collar.

‘You get back here!’ he bellowed, in a voice he was ashamed to realise was an attempt to impersonate the Terrifying Granny. He coughed, trying to remember what his own voice sounded
like, and said, ‘Who was that girl? The one who ran away?’

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ replied Billy. ‘I think she must work for the police. She stole the lorry. I tried to stop her.’

Armitage gave Billy his are-you-lying? stare, so Billy gave Armitage a what-do-you-mean-lying-I’m-just-an-innocent-boy-who-always-does-what-he’s-told blink. Armitage gave Billy a
you’re-not-as-innocent-as-you-look gaze which Billy met with a but-why-on-earth-would-I-disobey-you-my-beloved-step-father? shrug.

‘The police don’t work like that,’ snapped Armitage, giving his chin a menacing stroke. ‘But I think I know who does.’ He glanced at the spot where Granny had been
moments earlier.

‘Who?’

‘She duped you. She was an infiltrator!’

‘An infilwhator?’

‘An infiltrator! She was sent to sabotage us!’

‘Sabowhat us?’

‘She was a spy! A double agent! A mole! A rat!’

‘A mole
and
a rat?’

‘She was working for someone, and whoever sent her knew that you were our weak point.’

‘Sent? By who?’

‘You don’t get to my position in the entertainment industry without making a fair few enemies along the way. But I think I know whose fingerprints were on this one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you another time. Right now we need to run for it.’

‘Am I still in trouble?’

‘Yes. Huge trouble. Enormous. I won’t say this again.
No friends!
’

‘Because they could be mole-rats?’

‘Exactly. Trust no one. Except me.’

‘Except you?’

‘Except me.’

That night, the circus packed up. They had two departure routines. The usual one, where they stayed the night and carefully stowed everything where it belonged the next
morning, and the emergency one, where they just pulled everything down, chucked it into the trucks any old how, and scarpered before it was light. If ever there was an occasion for Plan B, this was
it.

Armitage contemplated rushing back to the thicket and grabbing his bag, but considered it too risky. Someone investigating the post office break-in might still come after them, and he
couldn’t risk being caught with the booty.

Besides, he was a master of disguise. He could bide his time, wait until the coast was clear, then slip back into town unnoticed and retrieve the loot. That would be by far the safer option. As
he drove away, through the night, Armitage contemplated his costume choices for the task. Travelling folk singer? Traffic warden? Sailor? Chimney sweep? So many options …

But he had to do it soon. What with wages to pay, animals to feed, vats of baby oil to purchase and costumes to dry clean, there was not much margin for error in the finances of Shank’s
Impossible Circus. He needed that money.

His only fear was that he might bump into the stick-wielding granny again. There was something about her that bothered him, and not just her terrifying stare, either. He could have sworn he knew
her from somewhere.

But where?

Armitage usually never felt safer, calmer, more manly, than when at the enormous wheel of his enormous lorry, but tonight the soothing effect of motorised bigness wasn’t working. Ever
since setting off, his pulse had been irregular, his breathing had been short, his palms clammy, and his underpants strangely uncomfortable. Why? Because like an endlessly tolling bell, one awful
word had been going round and round and round and round his head That word was dooooooooooooom!