Mortlock (14 page)

‘It’s not just that,’ Alfie said, frowning. ‘It’s about showin’ respect, doin’ things right.’

‘You have to do this.’ Josie stood up, giggling, then did an impression of Alfie’s slow, stiff funeral march. She pouted her lip and lowered her brows, swinging her head from side to side.

The caravan erupted with laughter but Alfie clattered his spoon down on the table and stood up. Sending his chair crashing to the floor, he barged out of the van, slamming the door behind him.

.

.

‘You dug a hole beneath the moon,

And there you laid our bodies down.’

‘You covered the hole with mossy stones,

And there you left our tiny bones.’

‘The Cruel Mother’, traditional folk song

.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lorenzo’s Circus

The silver mist hadn’t lifted as Josie stepped out into the chill morning in search of Alfie. She shouldn’t have mocked him. They were both tired and far from home.
Both?
Josie wondered. What did she have back in London now? No Cardamom, no Gimlet. The folk of the Erato were kind but they weren’t close. Maybe
this
could be her home now, like in her dream. Alfie still had Wiggins. He would never understand why the circus attracted her so much. She shivered. To perform again – that would be wonderful.

Lorenzo loomed out of the fog, appearing as if from nowhere. He nodded at Josie and touched the brim of his tall hat.

‘You are exploring, I see,’ he said. He waved a long, thin arm around the caravans. ‘There isn’t much to see. We are a small band of performers. Nothing too special.’

‘It’s special to me, Lorenzo,’ Josie said, smiling and pushing her hair behind her ear. ‘It was my mother’s circus.’

‘Ah, your mother.’ The tall ringmaster smoothed his impossibly long moustache.

‘What was she like?’

‘As graceful as a ballerina,’ Lorenzo said. His voice softened and a gentle smile wrinkled the corners of his mouth. ‘As fierce as a tigress. The most loving of mothers. She told fortunes but she danced and tumbled, too.’ He raised an eyebrow at Josie. ‘She even threw the odd knife. It was a tragedy that she left us and went to the city, only to return . . . dead.’

‘She died of a fever,’ Josie whispered. ‘I know that much.’

‘Cardamom brought her home.’ Lorenzo’s eyes looked red and moist. ‘He knew she would want to rest here.’

Josie gave a start. ‘She’s buried here?’ Would there be a grave? Somewhere she could visit?

Lorenzo shook his head slowly. ‘We do not bury our dead,’ he sighed. ‘She lay in her caravan, surrounded by all her possessions. We burned it, a cremation, as is our custom.’

An awkward silence hung between them. A thought occurred to Josie: maybe this man knew her father, too. So little had been said about him.

‘What about my father?’

Lorenzo paused, and a shadow crossed his gaunt grey face. He sighed and then reached out to touch Josie’s forehead. ‘His name was Necros . . . Professor Necros, he called himself.’

‘The name on the poster,’ Josie said, barely able to contain herself. ‘I saw his name at Scrabsnitch’s shop! What was he like?’

Lorenzo shrugged. ‘Just another sideshow performer. He left us . . . He died . . . He wanted more than the circus could ever give him. Now, your mother.’ The smile returned. ‘Performing was all she ever wanted. She lived for it –’

‘So do I!’ Josie cut in. She hugged herself. To have so much in common with Madame Lilly!

‘You are so full of life, Josie,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes gleaming. ‘It will be like having your mother back.’

Josie grinned. ‘Can I practise throwing and tumbling with Paulo and Nicolao?’

‘By all means.’ An indulgent smile flickered briefly on Lorenzo’s care-worn face. ‘You will find all you need in the tent.’ He paused and the troubled frown returned. ‘Perhaps you should find your brother first. I saw him leave the caravan. He did not look happy.’

Josie sighed. ‘He’s so miserable,’ she muttered. ‘He’s not excited about the circus at all.’

‘He is your brother, nonetheless. You should not let bad feeling grow or it will fester for all time.’ Lorenzo’s eyes seemed to glow as he spoke.

Josie frowned, watching as he wandered away into the mist.
What a strange thing to say
, she thought. ‘
For all time
.’ But he was right: things left too long became harder to repair. Alfie couldn’t be far away. Perhaps he had gone back to their van. She would find him and make peace.

The entrance to the tent gaped open as Josie passed it. She couldn’t help peering in. A single solid pole, as wide as a man, rose up in the centre; at its top, a circle of daylight cast down feeble rays. A shadowy twilight filled the tent. Josie could just see the circus ring, covered in sawdust, surrounding the pole. Bench seats crouched around it, giving the vast space a closed and confined feeling. A corkboard stood against the pole, next to a table with twelve silver throwing blades. They glinted in the grey light, dazzling Josie.

She hadn’t thrown in weeks – not real throwing knives, not just for fun – not since that last fateful night when the Aunts arrived at her house. Josie stepped into the tent. She imagined the seats full of smiling people. Music would be playing. She picked up two of the knives and tapped them together, hearing the audience murmur, and grinned. The music would stop now, she thought – maybe there’d be a drum roll as she turned to her target. The scene became real: the expectant hush, the warmth of the gaslights hissing. Josie was back onstage at the Erato and yet in the circus, too, a strange mix of the two in her mind.

She hurled the first knife, watching it twirl and spin towards the corkboard until, with that satisfying
thunk
, it quivered in the board. She threw the second, getting it as close to the first as possible. Her imaginary audience cheered and clapped. She bowed and held up two more knives. They were beautiful, perfectly balanced.
As if they were made for me
, she thought.

Time and again she practised, lost in her dream. Lorenzo was calling her name, the Gambinis bouncing and leaping as she burst balloons, hit spinning targets and amazed the audience with her accuracy. Morning shadows shifted as the day grew older.

A shadow at the tent door broke her daydream. Alfie stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. Josie felt a stab of guilt. She’d forgotten all about him. How long had she been in the tent? She had no idea. Alfie looked terrible – worse than before, if that were possible.

‘What you playin’ at?’ he said, his voice sullen. Black ringed his heavy eyes. ‘You been in ’ere all day?’

‘I’m not playing,’ Josie said, sending a knife twanging deeply into the corkboard. ‘It’s what I do. I’m a performer.’

‘We’d be better off thinkin’ of how we get back to London.’ Alfie shuffled further into the tent. He stumbled, plonking himself down on to a bench before he fell.

‘Alfie, what’s wrong with you? You look awful and you’re so miserable. We’re safe here and there’s going to be a performance!’ Josie’s heart quickened; surely he would be excited by the idea of seeing a show. ‘Lorenzo wants us to take part. I heard him talking last night!’

Alfie stared at Josie, confusion in his face. ‘What’s wrong with me? Josie, what about the Amarant? Corvis? Have you forgotten? We’ve not been ’ere a day and you’re prattlin’ on about performin’ and –’

‘How dare you!’ Josie hurled another blade. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

But Alfie sat frozen, staring at the door. A raven, sleek-feathered and sharp-beaked, had fluttered in and landed on the benches. It waddled into the circle, cocking its head at them. Josie could see the malice in its marble eyes.

‘D’you think it’s one of Corvis’s?’ Alfie whispered, eyes wide.

‘As you said before, we haven’t seen any birds round here at all,’ Josie whispered back. ‘I’m certain it is.’

She stretched her hand out slowly, gradually reaching for one of the knives. Her movement broke the spell; it was as if the creature knew what she planned next. With a squawk, it threw itself upward, battering the musty air with powerful wings.

‘It’s headin’ for the vent at the top,’ Alfie yelled. ‘If it gets away it might lead the Aunts ’ere . . .’

Josie threw the knife, aiming slightly ahead of the raven, anticipating its path. The creature’s angry cawing stopped suddenly as the blade struck it squarely, sending it spiralling down to the floor with a thud. Its wings flapped feebly as it lay pinioned to the ground, until, finally, they stopped.

Pulling the knife free, Josie sighed. ‘It’s not fair. I just want to be my old self for once. I miss Cardamom and Gimlet.’ She scrubbed out the tears with the back of her hand. ‘I miss all this.’ Josie waved her hand around the tent. ‘Just for a moment I want it to be simple. I want to be Artemis again and throw knives, and the audience will cheer and I will bow. And there’ll be no ghuls or crows or Corvis, and no Amarant.’

Alfie frowned and shook his head. ‘I know, but they won’t go away. And it ain’t right ’ere, Josie, can’t you see?’

Before Josie could reply, the Gambinis came spilling into the tent. Ashena walked in on her hands, a huge grin splitting her face.

‘Lorenzo says we will perform soon,’ she said, bounding to her feet.

‘He says you want to practise and join us.’ Nicolao bounced up and down on the spot.

‘It makes us so happy.’ Paulo beamed at her, gripping her hand a little too tightly.

Josie gave a thin smile back. ‘It makes me happy, too, Paulo,’ she said, staring defiantly over at Alfie. But her brother had slumped forward on to the ground. His eyes were rolled back in his head and his whole body shuddered.

.

.

Last night she came to me, my dead love came in;

She entered so softly that her feet made no din.

She laid a hand on me and this she did say,

‘It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.’

‘She Moved through the Fair’, traditional folk song

.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Reality of Rope

Alfie lay pale and still, wrapped in blankets. Josie leaned forward, placing a damp cloth on his brow. The heat of his skin warmed the rag. His eyes flickered and he grimaced at Josie.

‘Never ’ad you down for a nursemaid,’ he said, giving a weak smile.

‘Can’t go finding brothers and not look after them, can I?’ Josie grinned at him. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Drained . . . like when I move the corpses.’ He coughed. ‘Only worse. Josie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t let’s row. We got to stick together.’

Josie smiled and shook her head. ‘We won’t row again.’ Seeing Alfie lying on the floor like that had shocked her. He was all she had left.

‘I’m glad you’re my sister,’ Alfie said. His face relaxed and he let sleep take him.

Josie bit her lip. She was glad, too. She thought of the obnoxious boy she’d first met in the undertaker’s. That wasn’t really Alfie; it was just a hard shell he wore to keep out the harshness of his life. But she’d lost everyone she cared about. And now he was so fragile . . .

Lorenzo appeared at the foot of the bed, looking even taller as he stooped in the cramped caravan. Josie hadn’t heard him enter.

‘Some kind of seizure, I suspect,’ he said. ‘The poor boy.’

‘He’s been feeling bad since he woke up this morning,’ Josie said, looking up at Lorenzo. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’

‘The marshes are full of disease,’ Lorenzo said, shrugging. His long face stretched into an even longer frown. ‘All we can do is make him comfortable. There will be a performance soon. It will not matter then.’

A performance? Soon?
Josie bit her lip. She watched Lorenzo tuck the sheets round Alfie. The ringmaster looked like a huge grasshopper folded up in a matchbox. His face was so skeletal and sorrowful.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow night,’ the ringmaster replied slowly. ‘When the tide is at its height and folk can come.’

‘The tide?’ Josie frowned, puzzled. What did the tide have to do with it?

‘Don’t you worry,’ Lorenzo said. His eyes glowed again and a fierce smile lit his face. ‘Just practise your throwing, sharpen your act and be ready for the performance of your life.’

He unfolded himself from Alfie’s bedside and, still bent double, clambered out of the caravan. Josie turned back to Alfie, who mumbled in his sleep, sweat matting the hair on his brow.

Lorenzo’s words echoed in her mind, making her stomach flutter. ‘Sharpen my act,’ she whispered, excitement stretching her mouth into a smile. There were other things he had said, confusing things, but all that stuck in her mind was ‘
the performance of your life
’.

‘The ropes,’ Alfie whispered, tugging at her sleeve, his eyes tight shut. Josie leaned over him.

‘What, Alfie? What did you say?’

‘The ropes . . . look at the ropes . . .’ Alfie’s eyes opened a crack, then shut again as he fell back into a troubled, murmuring slumber.

Why would he want her to look at ropes? And which ones? Josie shook her head.
Must be delirious
, she thought. Dipping the rag in some cold water, she mopped his brow again.

Josie stood on a narrow platform on the centre pole near the top of the tent, her arms extended to the roof. She was so high up she could have touched it. Swings and lines dangled from beams that radiated out from where she stood. Below, the band played a merry tune and clowns cartwheeled and cavorted across the ring. In the void before her, Paulo swung to and fro, building momentum, coming closer and closer with each swing.

‘The ropes, Josie, the ropes!’ Alfie called distantly. She peered down into the depths of the tent. Row upon row of spectators stared back, open-mouthed. Somewhere down there in the dizzying distance, Alfie’s pale, scarred face peered up, too.

Paulo swung towards her, hanging upside down on a trapeze, his hair trailing, a crazed grin on his face.

‘Jump, Josie, I will catch you,’ he cried, arms extended. Josie looked down again. Her mouth felt dry. The rope ladder seemed to stretch and twist down to the sawdust floor. There was no net. ‘Jump,’ Paulo called again.

‘The ropes!’

‘Just let yourself go.’ Paulo’s face swung nearer. His eyes looked feverish, his fingers long and claw-like. ‘We will keep you safe.’

Josie grabbed the rope swing near her and recoiled at once. It felt cold and slimy, green with fine seaweed.

‘Look at the ropes!’ Alfie’s voice called. Barnacles crusted the bar of her swing, the shells cutting into the palms of her hands. Paulo came nearer again, his eyes gaping black sockets, his face a grinning skull.

‘We will take care of you,’ he hissed in a voice as dry as winter leaves. His long skeletal fingers grasped at Josie, making her scream and pull away. Overbalancing, she tumbled back, her stomach lurching as she plummeted towards the ground . . .

With a gasp, she awoke, her head on Alfie’s pillow. He muttered and sighed, rolling over. Josie sat up. Her heart pounded.
A horrible dream
, she thought,
yet so real
. She shuddered at the memory of Paulo’s face, his hideous voice. With a groan and a stretch, Josie stood up from Alfie’s bedside. He looked no better – pale and feverish, shivering and grumbling. She looked out of the small window.

Night had passed.
I must have slept right through
, Josie thought, looking back at Alfie with a twinge of guilt. Another grey, misty day. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a thrill of excitement shiver through her. A performance. Tonight. But the shocking image of Paulo reaching for her with withered hands lingered. Shaking herself, she picked up the knives and shuffled through the dewy marsh grass to the tent. Perhaps there she could practise, forget the nightmare.

The day passed quickly. Josie lost herself in rehearsal, throwing and dancing, tumbling and bowing.
Madame Lilly performed in here
, she thought. She’d never felt so close to her mother before. She imagined the glamorous gypsy woman dancing across the ring, so exotic, bewitching the locals, labourer and gentleman alike. And here Josie was, following in her footsteps, amazing audiences with her astounding skill. Madame Lilly would have been so proud of her child. Josie stopped.
Children
, she corrected herself, realisation dawning on her.
I haven’t looked in on Alfie!

In a panic, she hurried across the scrubby ground to the caravan and banged the door open. Alfie lay sleeping, his breathing deep and ragged. Josie heaved a sigh of relief and cooled his face with the damp cloth.
He seems rested
, she thought.
A bit more practice wouldn’t harm
.

The light had faded a little by the time Josie made her way back to the tent again. She stopped and peered across the flat landscape and frowned. Something looked different. The mist had lifted slightly. She could just make out Rookery Heights, small and distant on its hillside. Smoke swirled around it. No, it wasn’t smoke, she realised; they were crows, thousands of them, whirling and twisting in huge flocks above the house.

Another movement caught her eye, much closer this time. A black figure was stalking about the marshes, poking the gulleys with a long stick. Two more joined the first.

‘The Aunts,’ Josie gasped. They were still searching for them!

‘Don’t worry about them,’ said a voice behind her. Ulrico the clown slouched, hands in pockets, regarding her with piggy eyes. ‘They can’t touch us – no, sir.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Josie asked with a frown.

‘They steer clear of us, know they can’t harm us.’ He smirked. ‘They won’t come lookin’ here.’

‘I don’t understand . . . Is it because we’re so far out on the marsh?’ Josie said, confused by the clown’s words. She felt vulnerable and alone here, beyond the caravans with this huge man.

‘Yeah, missy, that’s right,’ he sneered. ‘Or they might think that if we’ve got yer, then you’re not goin’ anywhere anyways!’ Ulrico gave a nasty chuckle which grew into full-blown laughter.

Josie covered her ears and hurried back to the caravan, the words ‘you’re not goin’ anywhere’ ringing in her head. Why did he seem to hate her so?

‘Josie!’ Ashena’s cold hand grabbed hers and dragged her into their caravan. ‘What is wrong? Why are you so upset?’

‘Oh, Ashena, it’s Ulrico – he said we would never leave,’ Josie sobbed. ‘He’s so horrible.’

‘He is not a nice man.’ Ashena’s face darkened. She clung to Josie, stroking the back of her hand. She grinned up at Josie again. ‘But we are nice. We are your friends . . . We will look after you.’

Josie snatched her hand away from the clammy grip. ‘I’d better see to Alfie,’ she muttered. But Ashena grabbed the hems of her skirts, still grinning. She looked too gaunt, too wide-eyed . . . too desperate. Josie shuddered.

‘We can be your friends for ever, Josie, yes?’ Ashena whispered, staring. ‘We can perform every night for the rest of time. Won’t that be wonderful?’

Josie backed away, horrified by the little girl’s words. ‘Ashena, I have to go. I’ll see you later perhaps.’ Josie slammed the door behind her and ran for the caravan. Her mind tumbled and twirled like an acrobat, swinging from one thought to the next. What had come over Ashena? What did she mean, they could perform for ever? Lorenzo had said something similar. Alfie was right: there was something strange about the whole circus. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

An urgent chattering startled Josie out of her thoughts. Walnut dangled above her from the ropes that held up the big tent.

‘The ropes,’ Josie said as the monkey swung back and forth. ‘Alfie said to look at the ropes.’

For the first time, Josie noticed how green with algae they were. And the stout iron pegs at her feet were covered in dead seaweed. The tent canvas was filthy, caked in a thin layer of mud, which made it hard to work out where the ground ended and the bottom of the tent began. The monkey squeaked again. Josie felt numb. The circus hadn’t moved, probably for years, she thought.

‘You begin to see with real eyes.’ Lorenzo appeared from behind her. ‘It doesn’t matter now. You are with us, where you belong. You will stay here and be safe.’

A spasm of alarm jolted through Josie. Lorenzo gazed at her. His face looked kind and gentle, but a feverish glow lit his eyes.

‘We can’t stay,’ Josie said. ‘We have to leave.’

‘If only it were that simple,’ Lorenzo sighed, and straightened up to his full height. ‘You will understand after the performance tonight. Nobody can leave Lorenzo’s Circus.’

‘But we must,’ Josie said again. ‘I made a promise to Cardamom . . .’

‘We can’t always keep our promises.’ Lorenzo edged forward and took Josie’s hand. His fingers felt the same as Ashena’s – cold, clammy and faintly disturbing. His eyes burned with the same pleading desperation. ‘You are so vibrant, so beautiful, my child. So full of life. Stay here with us.’

‘I can’t . . . I won’t.’ Josie recoiled.

‘You have no choice, my dear.’ Lorenzo sighed again, his shoulders sagging as if with the weight of knowledge. But his eyes still burned feverishly. He extended his hand. ‘Join us . . .’

Josie staggered away, shaking her head, tears stinging her face. She’d been wrong – there was something hideous and frightening about these people. Of course she and Alfie couldn’t stay here for ever. She felt as if a spell had been lifted. How could she have been so blind to the dilapidation and decay? She’d been drawn in by the excitement of the circus, the glamour of performing. How could she have lost all sense of what was important so quickly? They had to find and destroy the Amarant! They’d escaped from Corvis but, she suddenly realised, even here they were still prisoners.