And with a silent nod, the spy melted into the shadows and returned from where he came.
(#ulink_cc5678ed-f0c8-5075-a29e-938cf00262ec)
The Flying Circus (#ulink_cc5678ed-f0c8-5075-a29e-938cf00262ec)
There was all-round whooping and hollering and a happy trumpeting from Alice as the Circus of Marvels readied itself for departure. According to the Tinker, they always did their real travelling at night. When Ned stepped outside, he could see why. The very same fog that had rolled into Grittlesby had followed them again across the sea. Through the layers of rolling grey he saw the circusâs big top. Its red and white striped canvas was bulging as if it were about to burst, making it more than twice its normal size.
Even stranger though was the fact that the big top seemed to be floating thirty feet off the ground, as if it were some sort of hot-air balloon ⦠Then Ned saw them through the fog â¦
Hanging from the big top, suspended in the air, was a series of buses and caravans that had all been joined together. Some were inside out, and others bent in half, all forming a huge metal gondola more than three storeys high through the middle and four at the back. It was all tethered together with great bars of steel and knots of iron rope. Walkways taken from the big topâs inner seating ran all over its hull, and Ned could see crewmen running along the upper deck, checking its rigging and shouting to one another over the roar of the engines. Not for the first time that day, Ned stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed, gawping up at this great metallic beast as against all odds it rose up through the fog. It was the stuff of dreams, a marvel of engineering, and Ned was lost in its every detail.
âCome on, josser, donât just stand there! Windâs about to change!â yelled Benissimo.
Nedâs body suddenly drained of blood as he was marched up a narrow walkway and into the airshipâs belly. Inside were mismatched corridors of old and new. Not even his dad could have made any sense of it. Every room was different, latched together from some metal bus or wooden trailer, and yet it all seemed to fit perfectly, as though it had been built as a whole first and its separate four-wheeled vehicles extrapolated after. But it was dawning on Ned that impressive as it was, it was also uncommonly large; large and extremely heavy, and also extremely high. As he peered over the edge, his heart plummeted to his stomach. Being scared of heights was one thing; flying in an inflatable tent was quite another. He was already dreading Benissimoâs reply as the question left his lips â¦
âThis thing, this flying machine ⦠is it ⦠safe?â
The Ringmaster stopped dead in his tracks and began muttering to himself.
âWhy me? A blasted child and scared of his own shadow â¦â
âOi, I am here, you know?â said Ned crossly.
âFor your information, boy, this is not a âthingâ, this is the Marilyn â the finest airship on either side of the Veil and as safe as a ruby in a crown.â Benissimoâs moustache was now twitching quite violently. âThere are âthingsâ aplenty where weâre going that will offer up more than ample danger. Your fear of heights should be the least of your â or my â concerns.â
Ned sensed that it might be a good time to hold his tongue.
âNow, while youâre aboard, you need to follow a few simple rules. One â donât touch anything. Two â donât talk to anyone, and if anyone talks to you remember: youâre a runaway.â The Ringmaster paused to scratch at his chin. âOn second thoughts, it might just be better if you stayed in your bunk. Donât leave unless you absolutely must.â
Benissimo indicated a door to their immediate right.
âWhat about permission to breathe? You left that out,â Ned grumbled under his breath.
âVeil-bound and right secure on the third!â roared one of the Marilynâscrewmen.
âNearly home and all aboard on the second!â yelled another below.
The first floorâs reply was a loud metallic clunk as the circusâs captured Darklings were locked into their hold. Benissimo strode away to take his place at the helm from where Ned heard a long blast of the shipâs foghorn. From all around the Marilyn a chorus of trumpets and what could only have been a cannon replied and Ned realised she was only one floating vessel in a much larger convoy.
He went into his cabin and looked out the window to a wall of fog. It came as a huge relief. Without seeing their take-off, at least he could pretend he was on a bus. A really big, weird bus.
One thing was certain, Benissimo â his protector and only route to finding his father â did not think very highly of him, which was fine because the feeling was entirely mutual. He decided to focus on more pressing matters. There was the girl for one thing, Lucy Beaumont. Did she know they were looking for her? Was she lost? Afraid? Were the clowns after her too? It was then that he remembered the scratched writing on the patio doors of his sitting room.
Y C U L â¦
Of course! He hadnât thought about it at the time but the clownâs writing, seen from the other side of the window, would appear backwards. It was Lucyâs name. Was that what his dad had wanted to explain? Did he want to tell him about her? This new world that his father was supposed to be part of was not Nedâs. It made him feel like he didnât really belong, even at home with his own dad.
Alone in his swaying bunk, Ned checked on the black bag his dad had given him. He found clothes, a toothbrush and his passport (which had never actually been used). He opened it up and looked at his name. It made him wince because it wasnât really his name after all. Was any of it real? Was anything his father had ever told him actually true?
At the bottom of the bag he found some cash, quite a lot of cash. But the most surprising item was the empty photo frame Ned kept by his bedside. So that was what his dad had run up the stairs for when theyâd made their escape.
This was not the freedom Ned had wanted. This was the kind of bag you prepared if you knew you werenât coming home. It made his eyes prick with tears. He took his phone from his pocket and laid it by the photo frame. A pictureless frame and a powerless phone; even Nedâs pet mouse wasnât real. He had never, in all of his life, felt more alone.
âRoom for another?â came a polite grunting voice from the doorway. It was George the giant gorilla.
His attempts to fit his enormous bulk into the small cabin made him look rather clumsy and much less intimidating. Despite everything that heâd seen that day, Ned still had no idea what to make of him.
âErr, sure, but I donât think Iâm allowed to talk to you. Or anyone else.â
âI think thatâs over-egging it a bit, old bean. Iâve been fully briefed on your situation along with the rest of our inner circle.â
âOh. Right â¦â
âAnd on that note,â George rumbled gently, âI made you some angel cakes. Had a feeling our resident josser might need a smidge of cheering up.â
The oversized ape opened a bag and beneath a pile of books and his favourite reading glasses, were four of the ugliest cakes Ned had ever seen.
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