Ned’s Circus of Marvels

“Yes, dear, I did have a little peek or two. Now pipe down, I’m trying to think.”

In the darkness of his mind, Ned saw a pinprick of light a million miles away from his troubles. It was disorientating and strange, as though he were in the room and somewhere else at the same time.

“Kitteee … moy stomach … feeeeels …”

“A minute more … OK, just as I thought. Open your eyes, that’s enough for today,” said the old woman.

Ned felt strange and very slightly sick, as the room came back into focus.

“What just happened?”

“Yes, Kit-Kat, what did just happen?” came a deeper voice from the bus’s doorway.

Ned looked up. There, framed in the doorway, was the huge figure of the Circus of Marvels’ Ringmaster – Benissimo.

Ned felt a mix of awe and hope. Perhaps he was finally going to get some answers. This was the man his father trusted, the man who would get Ned’s life back in order.

“It’s unclear, Bene. On the one hand, something … on the other, most definitely nothing,” answered Kitty brightly.

“Hell’s teeth, Kit-Kat! What kind of answer is that?”

“It is the only answer you’re getting till you mind your manners and ask the right question,” she retorted, now in the deeper voice of an elderly but formidable woman, all traces of giggly girlishness gone.

“I just did!” snapped the Ringmaster, his bushy moustache twitching irritably.

“Not to me, you fool, to the boy.”

The great tower that was Benissimo changed, his face shifting from irritation, to new-found understanding.

“I see … yes, yes, of course.”

He raised one of his large eyebrows, then lowered it and raised the other, before studying his subject more closely.

“So this is him and here he is. Not much to look at and very young, Kit-Kat, too young,” said the Ringmaster, now drawing uncomfortably close.

Ned’s shoulders tensed again. Benissimo may have seemed saner than the rest of the circus crew but he was also slightly terrifying and he was staring at Ned so closely it was as if he was trying to read the pores of his skin.

“Err, sorry, but too young for what?”

“Too young for us, pup,” said Benissimo, “for the Circus of Marvels and the road we travel. Tell me, did your father explain anything about what we do here and where it is we come from?”

Ned shrugged. “He garbled a lot of stuff, none of it made much sense though …”

Benissimo did not look impressed.

“Just as I thought. Underaged, unprepared and frankly … underwhelming.”

The brutish Ringmaster was intimidating, but he was also rude and Ned had had enough.

“Look, I don’t know who you lot are or what my dad’s mixed up in, all I know is you’re supposed to help me, and right now you’re not being very nice, so what I want to do is … call the police, or something, so if I can use your phone …”

“Help you?” said Benissimo with a snort. “That’s not it at all. You’re here to help us – though I seriously doubt a josser like you will be anything but a hindrance.”

Ned didn’t know what Benissimo meant by “josser” but by now he was somewhere between the salty welling-up of tears and outright anger. His dad had told him to trust Kitty and Benissimo, and one of them was mad – and clearly a, well, witch – and the other was rude, bordering on foul. What was his dad thinking and how could he possibly help anyone when he didn’t actually know what was going on?

“Why don’t you tell him about your little box, dearie?” cut in Kitty’s singsong voice.

Ned suddenly remembered the birthday present and how it had slipped through his fingers the night before.

“How do you know about that? Dad said I should give it to you, but I think I lost it last night …”

“Fear not, lamb chop, George found it when he scooped you up off the floor,” said Kitty, pulling the box from her pocket and handing it to Ned.

He studied the cube and for the first time noticed a tiny O embossed on to one of its sides.

“Yes, this is it. It’s a puzzle box I think. I’m usually pretty good at stuff like this, but I can’t figure out how it opens.”

Benissimo’s eyes grew wide.

“Jupiter’s beard! That’s no puzzle box, boy, that is something else … entirely.”

(#ulink_b2f3e2f1-1e73-55f3-8247-b7c9e3fd5c9f)

Lots & Lots of Marvels (#ulink_b2f3e2f1-1e73-55f3-8247-b7c9e3fd5c9f)

“If it’s not a puzzle box, then what is it?” asked Ned.

“My suspicions will need a pinch or two of verification, but if I’m right, this may well be the second half –” the Ringmaster paused, eyeing Ned up and down – “of a very slim chance.”

“Chance of what?”

“Of keeping the world’s biggest secret a secret, boy. And of keeping your father alive. Come with me, there are some things you need to see.”

Ned’s chest tightened. “Keeping your father alive” were not words he wanted to hear. Was his dad really in that much trouble?

The Ringmaster stepped off the bus and beckoned Ned to follow. Outside, Ned realised they were nowhere near Grittlesby green. The sun was rising and he could see now that the circus had pitched its tents by the side of a motorway. In front of them was the abandoned building site of a half-constructed shopping mall. A single large sign across its fencing read ‘OUBLIER AND CO’. Beyond that, thick untameable forest.

“Where are we?”

“Across the Channel, southern France.”

“France! How did we get here so quickly? Did you get the entire circus on the ferry while I was asleep?” gasped Ned.

“Our presence was required to take care of a local disturbance. It’s what we do, my troupe and I.”

“Disturbance? I thought you like … juggled and stuff?”

“Juggled and stuff?” Benissimo sighed. “This is going to take longer than I thought … I’ll start at the beginning, shall I? You see, the circus, as you and the rest of the world know it, is a place of harmless fun, but its roots are of a more secretive nature. When the old Roman Empire used to rule, they would scour the world for its best fighters and train them in mortal combat. Back then we fought as gladiators, for money, and for fame. It was barbaric, they were barbaric times, but it was done for a reason – to ready us to manage certain borders, to keep what was in in. We’re descendants, Ned, of those very same circuses, those very same warriors, the gatekeepers of a border or borders that we collectively call ‘the Veil’, behind which certain things hide or are kept hidden.”