CHAPTER TWO
A Sighting in the Valley

Milli and Ernest lay in a striped hammock suspended between a fig and a plum tree in the Klompets’back garden. Pencils, books and jotters were scattered between their tangled limbs. They had been brainstorming town names all morning, in between their game of being at sea and under pirate attack (for which stakes pulled from the vegetable garden served nicely as cutlasses). The Custodians of Concord had recently launched a competition to rename the town, as Drabville, everyone agreed, now seemed such a misnomer. Fired by the challenge, Milli and Ernest had spent entire afternoons in animated discussion over possibilities for the town’s new name and what it ought to suggest. It was not an easy task trying to encapsulate all that Drabville had become in a single word and, being competitive as well as creative children, they had no intention of rushing the process. Their ideas so far included names like Jollyvale, Perkytown and Happy-Chappie, none of which were suitable to be shared with anyone else let alone submitted formally.

This competition was only one of many innovations instigated by the Custodians of Concord. They had also decided on a new and inspiring town motto, Découvrez L’enfant (funny how mottos always sound more motto-ish in a foreign language), which had already found its way into everyday speech. For those with a negligible knowledge of French, Découvrez L’enfant means Discover the Child and was entirely appropriate for a town that liked to describe itself as ‘child-centred’. It was hoped that this motto would ensure that no individual talent or gift was ever overlooked or wasted again. In order to implement this noble objective the dons and scholars of Drabville had set to work pinpointing areas of uniqueness in each child. Schoolmasters were trained to identify talents and then nurture and give them scope to flourish until their owners became dexterous in their particular gift.

One poor girl, Harrietta Hapless, didn’t seem to have a natural ability for anything, let alone something that might be described as a gift. Harrietta had tried and given up pottery, snorkelling, rose pruning and even skirting-board cleaning, until one day the professors observed her remarkable aptitude for speedily tying shoelaces. From that day on, every child at Drabville Elementary whose laces came undone sought out Harrietta so that she might showcase her skill. Harrietta Hapless soon excelled beyond the average standard of lace tying and moved on to tying (and sometimes even untying) more complicated items. Her reputation grew and she quickly established herself as unrivalled champion of this art. She was once even seconded to the Department of Town Planning when they ran into a knotty problem involving scaffolding and ropes.

In the Klompet garden, Milli and Ernest were distracted from their efforts by the arrival of Mr Klompet bearing a tray of Crispy Clouds, which just happened to be Ernest’s favourite afternoon snack. Crispy Clouds were balls of dough that puffed up into irregular cloud shapes when lightly fried and were then dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The best bit was their surprise centre, which could contain either a blob of tangerine custard, black-cherry jam or hazelnut praline. The amazing thing about Crispy Clouds was that the dough was so aerated you could eat a dozen of them and still have room for more, but it required a master baker such as Mr Klompet to get them just right. Coming from what was usually a confectionery-deprived household (Mrs Perriclof’s idea of a treat was throwing a handful of raisins in with the carrot sticks) Ernest found the Klompet kitchen a veritable paradise.

Tired of warding off another pirate invasion, Milli’s thoughts strayed into more dangerous territory.

‘Do you ever wish we could have another adventure?’ she began tentatively. Her question, apropos of nothing, made Ernest immediately wary. After all, the last time she had said something like that he had ended up as a yodelling goatherd.

‘Not really,’ he replied casually, hoping to discourage further discussion.

‘But don’t you miss having a problem to solve?’ Milli persisted.

‘Not so long as you’re here.’

‘Very funny.’ Milli scowled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not proposing anything. I just feel idle sometimes, that’s all.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ said Ernest firmly. ‘I am very busy compiling my new lexicon.’

He took such an enthusiastic bite into a Crispy Cloud that a spurt of custard was jettisoned onto Milli’s shirt front. She responded with surprisingly good grace.

‘But you don’t know any Mexicans, Grotty.’

‘A lexicon, dunderhead, is a type of dictionary containing words pertaining to a particular field or subject.’

‘And what, may one ask, is your subject?’

‘Piffle, mostly,’ Ernest replied. ‘You see, the English language often falls so short of conveying exact meaning that I have decided to do something about it.’

‘But isn’t piffle just nonsense?’

‘Mine shall be meaningful piffle.’

Milli was sceptical. ‘What happened to geology?’

‘I have been forced to pursue a more secure hobby,’ Ernest said bitterly, thinking of the havoc wreaked on his rock collection by his insensitive younger siblings.

Milli patted his arm sympathetically. ‘I think we need a break,’ she said.

Ernest looked crestfallen at the idea of leaving behind the uneaten mound of Crispy Clouds, but cheered up considerably when Milli took the tray with them into the kitchen and tipped its contents into Dorkus’s floppy-brimmed sunhat. She then had to wait patiently for Ernest to apply a liberal coating of sunscreen before they could venture outside again.

‘Hurry up, Ernest, it’s not even sunny,’ Milli nagged.

‘Just because you can’t see the sun doesn’t mean it isn’t there,’ Ernest replied. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when you start peeling like an onion.’

Milli examined the tube. ‘This looks suspiciously like moisturiser to me,’ she teased.

‘It most certainly is not moisturiser,’ Ernest said. ‘It is a specially imported aloe vera protection gel.’ With that, he marched out the front door and down Peppercorn Place just as Dorkus wandered in asking if anybody had seen her sunhat.

Eventually their jaunt through town led the children to the familiar gates of Poxxley Gardens. Inside, they headed directly for the old oak tree they had come to affectionately refer to as their Headquarters. Weeks ago, bored with children ceaselessly begging for stories about magicians and the Hocus Pocus Ball, Milli and Ernest had decided a sanctuary was in order. They had secretly constructed a treehouse in the uppermost branches of the oak; a place they could retreat to when the pressure of having been catapulted to stardom proved too much.

Despite the fuzzy rug and the spotty curtains framing the window, the best thing about the treehouse was definitely its lookout. This was where Milli and Ernest kept an eye out for approaching enemies and ensured that Drabville remained protected and villain-free. Although such enemies existed mostly in their combined imaginations, occasionally they included a stray child or dog who came dangerously close to discovering the hideaway. Their vigil was assisted by the use of a telescope—an Ernest construction made of cardboard tubes and a series of magnifying glasses fastened together with masking tape. The children were convinced it was as effective as any professional astronomer’s tool.

This afternoon, Ernest busied himself jotting ideas for his lexicon in a pocket notebook while Milli commandeered the telescope. The day was cloudless and she enjoyed looking out over the undulating landscape. The telescope faced away from the ruins of Hog House and looked east to the mountains that separated Drabville from adjoining boroughs. The main road meandered like a white ribbon through fields and hills as green and lush as those seen on postcards. She scoured the horizon for signs of anything amiss, but saw only the occasional horse-drawn cart laden with market produce, and then a rollicking yellow bus carrying a group of Drabville’s octogenarians back from a sky-diving excursion. Milli shifted the telescope’s focus away from the road and scanned the skies for suspicious-looking clouds. She found one that looked uncannily like the face of a bearded scholar and was busy waiting for his expression to change when something altogether different caught her eye. At first she thought it was a bird, but no bird she had ever seen was this size or colour. It was moving too fast to be a hot air balloon, and it was far too early for the sun to be setting. But a flash was streaking across the sky and staining the surrounding hills a blood red. The streak of colour spiralled downward towards an open field, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. But by the time she convinced Ernest to come and look, whatever it was had gone. Milli had been so determined to spot something that she wondered whether she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

When Milli and Ernest wandered home some hours later, the sound of jubilant shrieks reached them well before they entered Drabville’s main square. There they found young children tugging at their mothers’sleeves and demanding answers, their faces upturned in anticipation, whilst older children jumped around in a flurry of excitement. Adults gathered in clusters, having abandoned their usual posts, and there was a good deal of gesturing, shaking of heads in incredulity and clasping of hands. What could have caused this degree of animation in the normally decorous town? Was it a good or a bad thing that had occurred? Did the authorities need to be notified?

Milli and Ernest tried to pick up fragments of the conversations taking place around them but could only glean single words or disjointed phrases because people were speaking so quickly. Some of these words included: spectacular, unexpected, surprise and world-renowned. Whilst this did not clarify anything much, it did at least reassure them that there was no cause for alarm. The traffic had stopped but no one seemed to mind. Vendors had stepped out of their shops and workers were leaning perilously out of office windows and ignoring their ringing phones. The children managed to get the attention of Mr Percival Bow, who was standing outside his violin shop, and asked him what was going on.

‘Where have you two been hiding?’ he chided gently. ‘Haven’t you heard the news? The whole town’s in an uproar. This is a historic event. My oh my, are we in for a treat!’

Milli and Ernest turned in the direction Mr Bow was pointing and saw a gangly figure on stilts parading up and down the main street. The children did not recognise the man with his long dreadlocks and spider web tattooed across his face. He was clearly an outsider. Every inch of him was hung with bells and with each step he created a racket that was impossible to ignore. He had the same effect as one hundred town criers all working together. (Town criers, as everyone knows, date back to the Middle Ages and existed to deliver important announcements and proclamations to the people. Unfortunately, they have long since been replaced by technology, which is undoubtedly more efficient but sadly less dramatic.)

Suddenly the man stopped and the curious crowd closed in around him. Balancing effortlessly on his stilts, he drew something from his ear and popped it into his mouth. Throwing back his head, he inhaled deeply and breathed out a column of fire above his head. There was a collective gasp and the crowd took a step back. The fire hovered a moment before scattering. It twisted and danced until the blazing image of a circus tent hung in the air. Above it, the fire scrawled the message: The Lampo Circus Awaits.

The burning letters gradually faded and began to fall. The onlookers ducked and shielded their children from the embers, but there was no need as they transformed midair into circus flyers that fluttered their way downwards. The crowd scrambled to collect them before they were snatched away by the wind. The fire breather’s feat was met with thunderous applause and cheering. His painted face remained surprisingly blank despite the thrill he had generated and, with a brief bow, he continued on his way.

Now, you may be thinking that all this fuss by the Drabvillians about the arrival of a circus was just a touch disproportionate. But that is because you and I have been spoilt by access to a variety of events, each one more exhilarating than the last. I, myself, recently attended a birthday party hosted in a video-game parlour where the guests were invited to divide into armies, slip into bulletproof vests and do battle using laser guns. At home, we are able to visit virtual realities via our computer screens and help our favourite heroes save the world simply by pressing buttons and manoeuvring little levers. But this story is about the technologically naive citizens of Drabville who were about to get their first taste of something you and I engage in as routinely as brushing our teeth: entertainment. The truth is, if someone had walked down the streets of Drabville juggling a few old oranges, the citizens would have been impressed. The arrival of a world-renowned circus could not help but send them into a spin.

Milli made her way back to Peppercorn Place with one of the flyers in her pocket. A flustered Dorkus, still in pelican-print pyjamas (despite it being late afternoon), greeted her at the door. This was the furthest distance Milli had ever seen her sister venture from her bedroom. Even Dorkus had heard the news and was full of questions. Had Milli seen anything of the actual circus? What had she heard? What went on at a circus?

Seeking answers to similar questions herself, Milli made her way to the kitchen. Given the excitement she had just witnessed in the square, it was disconcerting to find her parents seated at the table, deep in conversation and looking decidedly ill at ease.

‘The town’s gone mad,’ Milli blurted. ‘Everybody’s talking about this Lampo Circus.’

‘It’s been a long time since anything like a circus has come to Drabville,’ Rosie said. ‘I suppose the reaction is understandable.’

‘Why do you look so worried, then?’ Milli wanted to know.

Rosie did not quite understand her own trepidation, but suspected it came from a vague awareness of her family’s, and indeed the town’s, vulnerability.

They had only recently recovered from the upheaval of conquering Lord Aldor and restoring the townsfolk’s shadows. She did not feel prepared for another disruption so soon. Unable to articulate this to her exuberant daughter, however, she opted for a conservative response.

‘There are more important things to think about,’ she said, and reverted to reading the newspaper.

‘But I can go, can’t I?’ Milli said. ‘They’re only here for a week.’

Mr Klompet rose to put the kettle on, which he always did at the first sign of discord.

‘Milli has to go!’ put in Dorkus, quite prepared to live vicariously through her sister. ‘Who else is going to tell me all about it?’

Rosie remained noncommittal. ‘We’ll see,’ she replied, smoothing her younger daughter’s dark curls.

And despite her persistence, this was the only answer Milli was able to elicit from her mother all evening.