The Pilo Family Circus (11 page)

Winston shook a tiny amount of the powder into the clay bowl as he spoke. It tinkled like glass. ‘Anyway, having it in you
was enough to bring you to the show’s attention. But you wouldn’t have noticed much when you swallowed it. Wasn’t prepared right, see? This stuff is good for what ails you, and I mean
whatever
ails you. You gotta cook it up, though. Watch …’

Winston flipped open a silver cigarette lighter and made a small flame tickle the bottom of the bowl. ‘Got to be a flame,’ he said. ‘Can’t boil it, steam it, put it in the sun. Got to be flame.’

In the bowl the thick round crystals gave off a thin bluish smoke as they popped and cracked. The smell was foul. For a moment Jamie thought he could hear a tiny sound, not unlike human wailing. Soon the powder had melted to a silvery liquid. ‘Now,’ said Winston, ‘make a wish.’

‘What?’ Jamie gasped.

‘I said make a wish. I’m not yankin’ yer chain, hurry up, make a wish, swallow this, and you’ll be fine. Hurry now.’

Jamie wiped sweat from his face and said, ‘I wish this — ohh, Jesus — pain would stop.’

‘That’ll do it. Swallow. Quickly.’

Jamie took the bowl and nearly spilled it over the blanket. He got it to his lips and slurped the liquid down. It left a strange, unpleasant taste in his mouth. Almost instantly the pain was snuffed out like a smothered candle. There were no lingering echoes of it, no gradual ebbing — it was gone, just like that. He patted himself all over in disbelief and stared at Winston, who said, ‘There we are, all better.’ He stood to leave.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Jamie, feeling his midriff in amazement. ‘That’s our salary? Painkiller?’

‘Not just painkiller,’ said Winston, heaving a sigh as he sat back down. ‘The powder gets you whatever you want, within reason. Wish dust is what some call it. It’s …
expensive, I guess. The most expensive stuff going around. Worth more than anything else in the world.’

Jamie squeezed the small velvet bag in his hand. ‘What do you mean? I ask for something, it appears?’

‘Doesn’t quite work like
that
,’ said Winston. ‘Look, whatever you ask for has to be approved by … Damn it, how do I put it?’ He slapped his forehead then leaned close, dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Has to be approved by the highest authority in the show. Higher than Kurt Pilo, higher than anyone we’ve ever met. I can’t say no more, don’t want to and just plain can’t, all right? Leave it at that. There’s rules, and if you ask for somethin’ against the rules, then you wasted your wages. Those don’t come cheap.’

‘How do I know what to ask for, then, and what not to?’

‘Start low key. Small things, like we just did. Don’t wish harm on anyone else in the show. Chances are it won’t work, but apart from that, it’s not how we settle scores here. Use the powder sparingly, save it up. Never know when you’ll have to get yourself out of a jam. Or wake up in worse pain than you were in just now.’

Winston stood and his manner said he had pressing business elsewhere. He paused in the doorway. ‘Consider it,’ he said, without turning to face Jamie, ‘like having a teensy prayer answered with a certain “yes”. Just don’t get carried away. And don’t worry, those pains’ll be gone in maybe three days. That face paint is pretty heavy stuff, as you’d know.’

Winston left. ‘Face paint?’ Jamie said, and then it hit him. ‘Holy shit … Winston!’ he yelled. ‘What the hell happened yesterday?’ But Winston didn’t return.

What had happened? After Winston had applied his face paint, the day was mostly blurred pictures. He remembered vividly the
mood
— wickedness, gleeful wickedness,
completely at the mercy of any impulse.
I became someone else,
he thought, and it chilled him so much he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders.
I did, too. I completely lost control.

Next came the memory of Kurt Pilo, the way his eyes had glittered with light below a brow like a storm cloud. Jamie closed his eyes and groaned; suddenly he felt sick.

I am in … so … much … fucking … trouble …

And it was worse than that. Gone now were any lingering doubts about what the fortune-teller had told him, about any of the impossible things he’d been asked to believe. It was all real. After yesterday, he could not doubt it if he tried. He was part of the circus.

Now might be a good time, he supposed, to use some more powder. Hands shaking, he tipped a little of it out onto the clay bowl, which Winston had left lying by the stretcher. He found a box of matches, melted the crystals into silvery liquid. ‘Please, let me get some more sleep,’ he whispered. He swallowed, set down the bowl, and barely had time to lie back before his prayer was answered.

THE day passed him by, and whether or not it was the work of the dust no one tried to wake him until dark, when a hand impatiently tugged at his shoulder. Groggy and barely able to string two thoughts together, he peered up at the silhouette of a three-pronged hat with silver bells, which tinkled quietly by his bed. It was a clown, and for a blissful instant he was back in New Farm wondering what a clown was doing in his bedroom. The instant ticked by. ‘Hey, JJ,’ said Rufshod in an excited whisper. ‘Wakey wakey!’

Jamie sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Huh? I’m ’wake.’

‘Come with me. This is gonna be great. Put your face paint on. You’re probably too chicken shit without it.’

Harsh but true. Jamie remembered Winston’s warning about joining Rufshod for any adventures, but so close to sleep he didn’t have the wits to argue. He heard Rufshod rummaging around in the darkness. ‘Aha!’ he said, and sat on Jamie’s chest, pushing him back down. He quickly rubbed a palmful of greasy white paint over Jamie’s cheeks.

‘Hold on a second,’ said Jamie. ‘Get off me for chrissakes. I’ll put it on myself.’

Rufshod sprang off him like a jack-in-the-box. He fetched a hand mirror and a lighter, lit it, and presented Jamie with his own reflection. His face was half painted, but that was enough. The feeling of giddiness hit him instantly, and all fear left him.

JJ grabbed Rufshod by the collar and pulled him close. ‘You come in here and wake me up again,’ he whispered slowly, ‘and I’ll fucking kill ya. You got me? I’ll
fucking kill
ya.’

Rufshod grinned and rubbed a finger along Jamie’s forehead. ‘Missed a spot,’ he said. JJ got up and lunged for him. Rufshod dodged him easily and kicked him in the belly. ‘Missed a spot!’

‘All right, that’s
enough
!’ JJ screamed.

‘Shhhhh …’ Rufshod grimaced. ‘Quiet! We’re breaking the rules. It’s show day tomorrow. No high jinks on show day eve. That’s the rule. Come on, you awake yet?’

‘Where we going?’ JJ said, regaining his composure and making careful note that he ‘owed’ Rufshod ‘one’. Rufshod leaned close and grinned. ‘You know the fortune-teller?’

JJ nodded.

‘We’re gonna fix her. We’re gonna get her good. And right before show day!’ Rufshod giggled. ‘She’s gonna be so pissed at us.’

JJ considered this and decided he liked the idea. The fortune-teller had come across a tad lofty for his liking, now that he thought about it.

Rufshod picked up something he’d set on the floor when waking Jamie. He held it carefully to his chest now, motioning for JJ to follow. They stole through the tent to the parlour, where Rufshod paused, making a hush gesture, pointing at the table where Doopy lay sleeping with an empty bottle sitting loosely on his chest. As they tiptoed past
him Doopy mumbled in his sleep: ‘No … Don’t poke her, Goshy … s’not
funny
…’

JJ paused to listen. ‘Goshy been poking … all over town … twice more in the sore spot … ate her up in the sore spot, Goshy …’

Fucking space cadets,
JJ thought, disgusted though not sure why. He ran to catch up with Rufshod, and the pair of them crept across the grassy lanes, threading a path through the carnie dwellings. The showgrounds were silent as a tomb, and JJ found that when his mind was set to it, he could move with complete stealth, not betrayed by a single popped joint or rustle of his pants.

The fortune-teller’s hut was soon in sight. Her caravan had no lights on. Rufshod kneeled down and removed the cloth from his bundle, held up a lighter and showed JJ what he had — a glass ball. JJ crouched beside him. ‘What’s that?’

‘Shh. Watch.’ Rufshod held a hand over it, the same way the fortune-teller did with her crystal ball. In the light of the tiny flame an image appeared on the glass: a scrotum, packing two nuts. ‘They’re mine,’ Rufshod explained. ‘This is all she’s gonna be able to see, all day.’ He started giggling but managed to hold it in. ‘We’re gonna take hers. Replace it with this.’

JJ looked up and down the path. No one was around, but the very first dawn light was creeping into the gloom. ‘Asleep in there,’ Rufshod whispered, pointing to the caravan. ‘Go watch her door. If she comes out, make a noise like an owl. Okay? Then run.’

JJ nodded. He crept to the caravan door and waited, crouching down by its front steps. He could hear Rufshod spluttering as he tried to contain his laughter. There was a minute of total silence, rudely broken by the sound of wood
being ripped, obscenely loud in the still night. JJ listened intently for signs of life inside the caravan, his heart pounding. It seemed they’d gotten away with it … Then the sound of tearing wood was repeated.

What’s the dumb bastard doing?
JJ thought, shaking with adrenaline and biting his knuckle so as not to laugh. He very faintly heard the beads rattling at the hut’s entrance. There was a moment in which everything seemed to hold its breath and wait — the night air, the buildings around them, the grass underfoot. Then came a giant noise as something crashed to the floor; glass broke, the earth thudded.

JJ heard a female voice murmuring, as though in sleep, inside the caravan.

Hurry up, you idiot!
he thought giddily.
Jesus, man, hurry up!

If there were no more loud noises, they’d be okay, he thought … And right on cue came the loudest yet, a noise like a cabinet of glass statues being toppled. From Shalice’s caravan came a voice no longer clouded by sleep. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked sharply.

There were footsteps in the caravan. JJ stood up and ran. He forgot to make the owl noise. As he rounded the fortune-teller’s hut he saw Rufshod sprinting through the doorway, sending beads clattering like rattlesnake tails. He held a bundle to his chest. Mission accomplished. The pair of them sprinted away, giggling madly. When they were at a safe distance they paused to watch the lights coming on in the hut. ‘Oh shit, run!’ Rufshod whispered. They raced back to their tent.

Doopy was still asleep at the card table. Still high on adrenaline, JJ grabbed the bottle from Doopy’s chest and smashed it on the wood next to his head. The sound of shattering glass exploded through the parlour, and they
bolted for the safety of JJ’s room. Doopy gave a snort but didn’t stir.

Rufshod lit two candles and carefully placed the bundle on JJ’s pillow. The candlelight gleamed on the glass ball like two yellow eyes. Rufshod waved his hand over the ball. ‘What was all the noise?’ JJ asked him.

‘Didn’t know she boards the place up at night,’ said Rufshod, tapping the glass with his thumb. ‘Had to rip off the planks. Think I knocked over a couple of shelves. How do you turn this thing on?’ He held both palms over the ball, and suddenly it glowed with white light. ‘There we go. Ha! Look at her. She’s awake …’

Rufshod giggled madly. In the glass the fortune-teller was examining the wreckage of her hut, a gas lantern in hand. Wooden planks lay on the ground by the door. Visible through the doorway were broken ornaments and books scattered over the floor. The fortune-teller’s face was wooden. She plucked the cloth veil from the replica crystal ball and seemed to sense nothing amiss. She replaced the cloth. JJ and Rufshod exchanged a glance of pure glee.

JJ figured he and Ruf could become fine friends indeed.

‘Wait till she has her bath,’ Rufshod whispered. ‘We’ll see that bush of hers. Wow. Should’ve stolen this thing a long time ago.’

JJ
knew
he and Ruf could become fine friends indeed.

They watched her as the sun came up, the crystal ball bathing Jamie’s little room in its flickering light. Shalice had set about clearing the damage from her hut, her rage evident in the deliberate calm of her movements. ‘Been awhile since
she’s had her comeuppance,’ Rufshod explained. ‘She’s not used to it. Looks like she forgot what it feels like. Been getting too big for her boots, last few years. Knows too much about everyone, what people get up to. Watches it all in this ball, you know. Thinks the Pilos need her more than anyone else, just ’cause of her outside jobs. We fixed her now! It’s show day, and she’s gonna be looking at my nuts all day!’

When it seemed Shalice wasn’t likely to look into the prank crystal ball any time soon, Rufshod got up to leave. ‘Can I borrow this?’ said JJ.

‘Yeah, why not, since you helped. But if she gets naked, you come and get me, okay?’

‘Can do, buddy.’ JJ watched the fortune-teller for a while longer as a burly gypsy came to help her tidy the hut. He put the ball under his blanket when he heard the other clowns up and about in the parlour.

Stepping out of his room, JJ had to stifle a scream; Goshy was standing right outside the door, marsupial eyes peering directly into his own. First the left blinked, then the right. There was something menacing and surreal about the moment that JJ didn’t care for at all and he cringed away.

Goshy turned to the right and stared at something down the hallway. JJ watched him for a second then carefully stepped around him.

What the hell was that about?
he wondered, then he remembered smashing the bottle beside Doopy’s head. Was it some kind of warning? He wasn’t sure. And looking back over his shoulder at Goshy, still staring fixedly at a patch of bare wall, it occurred to him Goshy wasn’t sure either.

ONCE the morning was a little older the clowns gathered for one last pre-show rehearsal. Gonko began with a pep talk to get everyone’s head in the right frame, but the heads he was working with were bent into odd shapes, and the frame was stretched, cracked and coming apart. He managed to get the clowns paying attention, itself no mean feat. They were all here bar the apprentice, whom Gonko didn’t expect to see any time soon. Setting him alight should have gotten the point across …
You’re fired, fucker
. He was presumably lurking somewhere in Sideshow Alley, but sacked performers didn’t tend to last long. Whatever the circus decided to do with him was not Gonko’s concern.

He checked his pocket watch; an hour till the tricks started coming in. Small crowd today. From New South Wales this time, some regional fair or other, one of those deals where people wander around smelling cow shit, having their wallets stolen, looking at preschool finger paintings. Highlight of their calendar, sad fucks. They’d be entertained today, and no fooling.

Gonko squinted at his troops. The new guy, JJ, was hiding at the back of the group trying to look inconspicuous. He
seemed timid and frightened, overawed. No doubt he expected to get away with all kinds of trouble while he was new, and that was fine; Gonko was glad to see some personality emerging. As long as JJ was compatible with the group, no problem. The apprentice had been useless both as a performer and comrade in arms, the latter only marginally less important — factional spats in the circus were no joke.

Earlier Gonko had taken a casual morning stroll past Shalice’s hut, observing the carnage and her distress with satisfaction. Rufshod had done something, which was just dandy, but most importantly Gonko didn’t know what that something was. Shalice was a tricky one to lie to, with her psychic mumbo jumbo and such like. She’d spotted him as he walked past and ran over demanding answers. Luckily she’d been too worked up to point her questions shrewdly.

Gonko took Rufshod aside before the pep talk, got the lowdown, and was pleased to hear JJ was into the swing of things. He upped the bounty to two bags, and Ruf split the loot with the new guy. Heart-warming stuff.

Down to business. ‘Listen up. Shut your fuck flaps!’ he barked at the clowns. Doopy was cleaning out Goshy’s ear with a cotton bud while Goshy made chirping sounds, but they seemed to be listening. ‘Tonight,’ said Gonko, ‘is an important show. Don’t forget, we’re still on notice. Like I said yesterday, pretend like you give a shit and put on a good one. Never know, ol’ Kurt might just decide to make an example of us if we blow it again. I don’t like getting sneered at by the acrofucks either. DOOPY PAY ATTENTION!’

‘Sorry Gonko, I just, I —’

‘Now line up. JJ, you’re not ready for a spot onstage yet, since you been dodging rehearsal like you’re Goldilocks and I’m the big bad wolf.’ JJ looked shamefaced and cowered
behind Winston’s shoulders. Gonko decided to keep pretending he was falling for the act, and softened his tone. ‘It’s okay. You’re new here. You’ll get the hang of things, sooner or later. It’s a big adjustment. We’ve all been there, new and confused, once upon a time.’ JJ cowered even further, as though he’d been reproached. ‘But, JJ, stick around and watch. You might learn something. All right?’

‘Yes sir,’ JJ stammered.

‘’Atta boy. All right, my pretties, into it. Go!’

Doopy coaxed his brother onto the mat and the clowns went through their routine. Gonko watched with an appraising eye; the act was shaping up okay. Goshy was copping bats to the head with the right look of surprise on his face — probably because he
was
surprised — and his skull made the right sounds when Rufshod whacked it with a hammer.
Pop!
Ruf, for his part, was easily dodging the hatchets Gonko threw, and Doopy’s pants-down routine came off without a hitch. Winston looked a little off-colour, a little tired. Maybe he was under some kind of strain. Gonko frowned; whatever it was, the powder should be able to fix it, and the old guy was getting more than his fair cut.

Not thrilled, but satisfied the act wouldn’t be a repeat of the other night’s disgrace, Gonko called out, ‘That’s a wrap.’ The clowns dispersed. Gonko turned to have a word with JJ about some of the finer points of the routine, but JJ had gone.

JJ hadn’t watched any of the rehearsal, having snuck off as soon as Gonko’s back was turned. He felt pretty sure that as long as his eyes were moist and his voice trembled he could
do whatever he liked. For now he wanted another look into the crystal ball, which he’d decided was a godsend. No wonder the fortune-teller was so snooty — she must know everything about everyone, probably had a century’s worth of blackmail options stored away in her head. JJ wanted in on that action.

There also remained many unanswered questions about the show. He was curious for his own sake, and for Jamie’s, since he seemed a bit more stressed out about the whole deal. First, he wanted to see more of Kurt Pilo. Very much. He wanted to know what the big monster was capable of, when mad enough. Then there was the matter of the tricks. Where did they come from? They seemed to be regular people, the type who eat pies, watch football and breed. They turned up here in their hundreds. JJ made a brief sift through Jamie’s memories, searching for mention of the Pilo Family Circus. He found none. But a show like this would be noticed; how could so many people come here every few days, go home, and keep it a secret? It wasn’t like all visitors were … ha ha, get this …
killed
at the end of the night.

Was it?

Hm … no. No, he didn’t think so. Not killed, but …
something
happened when they were here. What did the circus gain by putting on the show? Surely not just the price of tickets.

In any event, he’d made his plan for the day: watching the carnival in action from start to finish in the crystal ball.

Back in his room for a change of clothes, he saw a fine new pair of pants laid out on his bed, much like those Gonko wore. He frowned and put them on, ignoring a quiet little suspicion that there was something odd about finding them there. Once dressed he strolled down the main street.
A few tricks were arriving already, just a handful of families and old folks who roamed down the path in a slow march, eyes glazed.

What JJ needed was a secluded spot from which to peer behind the scenes. He squinted up at the roof of the clowns’ tent, standing tall over the surrounding attractions and gypsy homes. Up there would do nicely. He ran back to his room and grabbed the crystal ball, wrapping it in a pillow case. As he was about to dash outside a noise stopped him dead in his tracks. At first he thought it was a siren or alarm, one long note, rising and falling at an absurdly high pitch: ‘EEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEE
-EEEEEEEEE!’

It was the eeriest thing he’d ever heard. As the sound trailed off it began again, a dog’s howl and a fire engine, coming from somewhere inside the tent. JJ held his hands over his ears — by Christ it was loud. On it went, mercilessly.

‘EEEEEEEEEEEEE-
EEEEEEEEEEEEE
-EEEEEEEEE!’

Terrified but curious, he headed towards the sound and saw Doopy burst out into the hallway. ‘Guys!’ he cried. ‘Guys, come look! Come look, guys! Oh, gosh, he’s so
happy
!’

‘JESUS!’ JJ screamed, unable to take it anymore. ‘What the hell is it?’

‘Come on, JJ,’ said Doopy, bounding over and tugging at his sleeve. ‘It’s Goshy. It’s Goshy and she said yes. JJ, she said yes! I just knew she would JJ, I just knew it!’

Goshy? She said yes? What was this nonsense? Doopy dragged him by the shirt to Goshy’s bedroom. What he saw sent a chill to his heart. Goshy stood in the middle of the room wearing a look not meant for a human face. His eyes were so wide they seemed about to burst; his lips were
pulled back unnaturally far over the gums to reveal small sharp white animal’s teeth; skin was bunched around his forehead, cheeks, neck and ears like waves of dough, as though someone had tried to peel it off by massage. The ungodly eyes turned to JJ in what he could only guess was a look of rapture. Then came another wail.

Averting his eyes from that monstrosity, JJ saw what this was all about. On a small table there sat a fern in a black pot. It had thin yellow-green leaves that feathered out from the stems. On one of the thicker stems there was a gold diamond ring. Goshy’s fiancée. Doopy pawed the back of JJ’s shirt. ‘Ain’t it grand?’ he whispered. ‘Ain’t it just super?’

JJ couldn’t find the strength to disagree. His knees felt weak. Beside him Goshy wailed and wailed and wailed. JJ backed away slowly.

Once all was quiet, he went outside with the crystal ball hidden behind his back and looked for a way onto the tent’s roof. He tapped the wall with his knuckles and was surprised to find it hard like wood, or a carapace. But when he tried to climb he could find no foothold and get no grip. As he pondered the steep wall his hand absently strayed to his pocket. He was surprised to feel something hard and cold in there. He pulled it out — it was a steel pick, the kind used by rock climbers. Frowning, he shifted the crystal ball to his armpit and reached into his other pocket. There was another one.

He was quite sure these weren’t in his pants when he put them on. ‘How ’bout that,’ he said, and swung the picks into the wall with a loud
thunk
. Placing the crystal ball down the front of his enormous pants, he hauled himself up the side of the tent, and found the muscles in his arms not the least bit
strained by the effort. Whatever this face paint did to a person’s head, it was rocket fuel for the body.

Once on the roof he indulged in his first bird’s-eye view of the showgrounds. The place looked bigger from up here than it seemed on ground level. There were crowds on the move below, all walking at that same dazed pace as they trickled into various tents and stalls. Off to the south was Sideshow Alley, the gypsy hive with its one long road of attractions and rides, with the shanty town behind it. JJ could just make out carnie rats swarming around down there doing last-minute work on their stalls and games.

Turning north he could see the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the roof of Kurt’s trailer. It looked innocent and inconspicuous out there on its own, by all appearances no more than a janitor’s hut full of mops and brooms. As he watched he saw the trailer door open and shut as someone exited. Hard to tell from this distance, but he had a feeling it was the fortune-teller, perhaps reporting last night’s raid to the boss. JJ then tried to look over the tall wooden fence behind Kurt’s trailer, and noticed something strange: he could see nothing but a misty white light. After a moment he had to look away from it — it hurt the eyes. ‘Ain’t that the damndest,’ he muttered. He could only guess the circus was in a deep valley somewhere, with lots of fog.

Ah well, Jamie could worry about that. Down to business — other people’s. He removed the ball from his crotch, took it out of the pillow case and sat cross-legged on the roof with his back against the vertical support pole. He did what Rufshod had done, tapping the glass, waving his hand over it, and soon an image appeared.

After a few minutes he had the hang of it. By moving his fingers over the glass, left, right, up, down, he could pan in
any direction, even through rooftops and walls. The vision could be shifted from one end of the showgrounds to the other with one sweep of the hand. Shown in the ball now was the minute but crystal clear image of a bunch of tricks from overhead as they marched like zombies down the main dirt road. Some had cameras, but none took photos. He swept the image off towards Sideshow Alley, the direction they seemed to be coming from. Following the line of people he came to a place where the main path simply ended. There was a dead-end alleyway; no gate, no door. There was a booth where a fat old carnie, looking bored and sick of life, sat scratching his thigh. JJ frowned and zoomed in on the booth. Painted on it was the word
TICKETS
.

Well that explains sweet fuck all,
he thought. He was about to pan back and look elsewhere when two tricks, a young couple, appeared out of nowhere and stood in a daze by the old carnie’s booth. One moment there had been a patch of trampled grass, the next, two people … No flashing lights or vortexes, at least none he could see. Just blink and you missed it, there they were. And as he blinked, there were two more people, granny types, one with a walking brace, standing a little to the right of the others.

He pushed the vision along a little further afield to the magician’s tent. He’d almost forgotten about that crazy sucker —
I do your bunny treek — splat!
He pressed his fingers down on the glass, panning through Mugabo’s roof. No tricks were yet assembled for the magic show, all the plastic seats were empty. Up on stage was the magician, looking ten feet tall in that turban, skin dark as midnight. Mugabo was clearly lost in some private grief, face buried in his hands. After a moment he moved his hands and JJ saw Mugabo wasn’t crying, but enraged. He was talking to himself — no, shouting, head
wrenching around, veins in his neck straining, teeth gnashing. Mugabo tried to calm himself with steadying breaths, massaging the back of his neck, smoothing his long cream-coloured gown. He didn’t succeed — five seconds later he was screaming again. He kicked at a chair in the front row and JJ grunted with surprise as a small shower of sparks lit up when the magician’s foot connected with the plastic.

JJ rubbed his chin and pondered. This guy was indeed a formidable customer. Maybe that was just it — mighty powers, but he was stuck pulling bunnies from hats and reels of handkerchief from his sleeve. He wondered what would happen if Mugabo simply refused to perform. Who got the job of sorting him out?

That question was answered immediately as Gonko strolled into the magician’s tent. The clown leader smiled as he strode casually to the stage, hands in his pockets. Mugabo bared his teeth, body hunching over like a wildcat about to spring, fingers clawing at the air. He pointed an accusing finger at Gonko and yelled something, teeth bared. ‘Wanna be careful there, Gonks,’ JJ whispered. But Gonko didn’t seem in the least concerned. There was contempt, almost pity, in his gaze. With one lithe jump he was onstage. Mugabo backed towards the wall until Gonko had him cornered. Then the magician moved sideways, tripped on something, and Gonko towered over him, nodding his head with a sympathetic smile, hands still in his pockets. Mugabo crawled backwards away from him, propelling himself with his feet. Gonko took a hand from his pocket and pointed at the upside down top hat, and with a few choice words sent Mugabo into a spiralling rage. The magician was about to attack, JJ could see it in his face, but Gonko just kept at him, sneering.
C’mon, I dare you
…