CHAPTER FOUR
Under the Big Top

A stodgy man strutted into the ring cracking a whip. He had the toothiest grin the children had ever seen and would have been wonderful in a toothpaste advert. He wore a gold earring that twinkled when it caught the light, an embroidered waistcoat and a large top hat that glittered with horseshoes and centipedes. Every few moments his enormous buttons exploded with shimmering silver dust that fell from his clothes as he moved, giving him the appearance of being incandescent. Ringmaster Lampo’s apple cheeks shone so brightly that he appeared to be made of wax, and the beads of perspiration beginning to gather on his forehead made him look as though he were melting. He gave an exaggerated bow and opened his arms to the audience in a sweeping gesture.

‘My dear children, I welcome you to the Lampo Circus where extraordinary things happen at every turn.’

His voice was ridiculously high-pitched and had a grating, falsetto ring. If you have ever heard the squeals of a pig stuck in a fence, then you will recognise the noise Ringmaster Lampo produced every time he opened his mouth.

‘Are you ready to witness a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle?’ he teased his audience, raising wild eyebrows. ‘I promise you an extravaganza so spectacular you will not want to blink for fear of missing a moment of it. I promise you a matinee to remember!’

He paused mid-breath to pull a snail from his pocket, which morphed into a rainbow-coloured lollipop that he bestowed upon the closest child. Lampo gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction and from another pocket produced a dragonfly, which he swallowed whole only to have it reappear sitting on his head, which was revealed to be as bald as an egg when he lifted his top hat. He smiled graciously in response to the sighs of wonder that followed.

‘There is much more in store for you this afternoon, so you had better hold on to your seats. But before we begin, I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge a very special guest gracing us with her presence today. I am speaking, of course, about the one and only Contessa Augusta Bombasta, Patroness of the Arts, without whose largesse the survival of this circus would not be possible. Please show her your appreciation.’

He inclined his head reverently in the direction of one of the specially reserved box seats.

The children broke into hesitant applause, not entirely sure what ‘largesse’ meant but hoping it did not refer to size. (In actual fact, it is just a word snooty people like to say in place of ‘generosity’.) The children craned their necks to take in the personage upon whom Lampo lavished such praise. When the Contessa stood to acknowledge their applause, the children might have been forgiven their confusion as to the meaning of ‘largesse’ for there was an awful lot of her to take in.

Contessa Bombasta was a rhinoceros of a woman. From her great height she looked down her aquiline nose at the children and raised one pencilled eyebrow almost vertically in disdain. She had heavy, pendulous jowls, and beady eyes. Across her shoulders was draped a stole of black ermine. Indeed, all of her garments appeared to be made from assorted animal pelts. The jewellery around her neck had the creamy sheen only ivory possesses and was so heavy she seemed to sag a little under its weight. On her feet she wore pumps decorated with glazed lizards’ eyes. One hand clutched a crocodile leather handbag, and the other cradled a shorn miniature poodle. On her head was perched a hat plumed with feathers from the rare and endangered Congo Bongo Bird.

Two female assistants in heavy-framed glasses and matching suits flanked the Contessa and ministered to her needs like automatons. With their hair pulled back so tightly their eyes slanted upwards, they looked like executive Barbies. When Bombasta’s nose twitched, both knelt on the ground, whipped open a briefcase, unfolded a crisp linen handkerchief and lunged to catch her sneeze, just missing it by seconds. Contessa Bombasta rolled her eyes at their ineptitude and roughly pushed them aside. She gave a regal nod to the crowd before resuming her seat. This appeared to be the ringmaster’s signal to proceed.

‘To start off the show with a whiz and a bang,’ Lampo squealed, ‘it is my great pleasure to introduce to you our first act for this afternoon. Please make welcome the world’s most incredible contortionist. All the way from Mongolia, I give you…Bling-Bling!’

The hypnotic chords of a mandolin filled the tent and a nimble and svelte girl no more than sixteen materialised in the ring. Bling-Bling wore silk pantaloons and an Oriental blouse buttoned up to her neck. Her long black hair hung in a thick rope down her back. Pressing her hands together as if in prayer, she bowed and performed some graceful stretching exercises. Then, as calmly as if this were an everyday occurrence, she began to fold up like a napkin. She sat cross-legged and began snaking her limbs together as though her entire body were made of play-dough. Soon she had halved in size with her chin touching the floor parallel with her feet. The children expected her to stop there, but an assistant hurried into the ring carrying a lacquered hatbox. He placed it in front of Bling-Bling, who waddled towards it on hands and feet. With a few deftly executed movements she manoeuvred her entire body into the box’s cramped interior. The assistant snapped the lid shut and walked out of the ring carrying Bling-Bling under his arm.

As the audience erupted into applause, Bling-Bling bounced her way back for the second instalment of her act. This time the assistant arrived bearing a largish porcelain teapot on a silver tray. Spinning on the balls of her feet, Bling-Bling built up enough speed to appear a blur. She then shrank down in size until she was able to dive into the teapot leaving only a pair of dainty feet protruding from its rim. The assistant picked up the teapot and made as if to pour from it, whereupon Bling-Bling spilled out and unravelled to her normal size.

No one knew what to expect when Federico Lampo introduced the next act as The Croakers. They turned out to be a troupe of break-dancing toads wearing caps at an angle and enormous white runners. They accompanied their routine (involving head-spins and moonwalks) with toad song, a type of synchronised croaking so rhythmic that the audience could not help tapping their feet along in time. At one stage, the toads climbed up on one another’s backs until they had formed themselves into a toad pyramid. They peeled off their hooded jackets to reveal iridescent skin glowing as bright as fairy lights. The entire pyramid twinkled like a Christmas tree.

Next, The Croakers arranged themselves to resemble famous structures such as the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum and the Sydney Opera House. When their final song ended, the toads dispersed to resounding cheers. A couple of megalomaniacs amongst them could not resist crowd-surfing, but were safely caught and petted by delighted children.

The next act involved four acrobats on a tightrope. As they balanced on the wire, hooded black figures appeared below them and hurled beach balls, cricket bats and even the occasional toaster in order to topple them. The audience held its breath and hoped ambulances were at hand, but the acrobats dodged every missile and did not even falter. They skipped, hopped and tumbled along the wire effortlessly, even waltzing with each other at times. When one momentarily lost his footing it was clearly intentional, as he caught one of the beach balls in midair and threw it out to the audience before vaulting back up to the tightrope, where he landed as lightly as a cat.

Other acts followed, each more riveting than the last. Fireworks exploded from the ears of the tattooed fire breather they had seen in the town square, and an escape artist known as Moolini hacked and wriggled his way out of a sticky web before ravenous spiders a hand’s breadth in size made a meal of him.

Before the children knew it, Lampo was announcing that interval had arrived. He invited them to partake of the refreshments provided and reminded them to pay a visit to the fortune-teller’s booth, which had been set up just outside the big tent.

‘Our fortune-teller hails all the way from the Po Valley and is none other than my own little grandmother. Nonna Luna would be more than happy to look into the seeds of time for you. She keeps no secrets, so find out who will prosper and who will perish…if you have the nerve.’

Milli and Ernest spilled outside with all the other children to stretch their legs, but could not speak so overwhelmed were they by what they had seen. Suddenly, two nimble figures whisked by and pulled them into the shadows.

‘What are you doing?’ Milli began crossly, but stopped when she recognised the faces of the twins, Finn and Fennel. This time they were dressed in flared aqua-blue jumpsuits and covered in sequins from ankle to collar. They were an eye-catching sight.

‘We need a favour,’ Finn gabbled. ‘Urgently!’

‘Well, it’s not for us,’ elaborated Fennel. ‘It’s Nonna Luna—she can’t read without Wild Butterbean Thistle and she’s run out.’

‘What in heaven’s name is Wild Butterbean Thistle?’ demanded Ernest.

‘A herb, of course,’ said Finn. ‘Puts her into a trance so she can activate her second sight. She’s in a terrible state and Lampo won’t be happy if he finds out.’

‘We would get it for her ourselves,’ Fennel hastened to add, ‘only we’re on next. Can you help?’

Milli and Ernest exchanged puzzled looks. The last thing they needed just before the second half of the show (which, if Lampo was to be believed, would prove even more exhilarating than the first) was to be sent off on a tedious errand. Especially one to help somebody’s grandmother they hadn’t even met. They turned longingly back to the tent, but Finn and Fennel looked so desperate that neither Milli nor Ernest had the heart to refuse them. Perhaps if they hurried they could be back before the second act began.

‘Where do we find it?’ asked Milli.

She watched instant relief spread across the freckled faces of the twins, who shook their hands and thanked them repeatedly before turning and hurrying away.

‘Wait!’ Milli called after them. ‘You haven’t told us where to find Wild Butterbean Thistle!’

But Finn and Fennel were already disappearing inside the circus tent.

‘Wonderful!’ Ernest threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘This is a perfect example of why it’s a bad idea to make new friends. They can be such work. How will we ever find this hallucinogenic herb in time?’

‘We’re going to have to try,’ said Milli, a hint of half-heartedness detectable in her voice. She wanted to help Finn and Fennel but she found it hard to believe that the twins could make such an impossible request and then leave without giving them instructions.

Wasting no time, Milli and Ernest embarked on a quest through the town. They wandered aimlessly for a few minutes before realising there was only one person who could really help them. Ernest’s Aunt Bulb had recently set up her own herbal pharmacy in a cobbled lane off Drabville’s main square. She used her knowledge of botany to make her own brand of herbal remedies she called Bulb-Aids. When they arrived, the children found Aunt Bulb consulting with a customer who was describing the behaviour of a persistent verruca.

‘We’re going to have to call in the big guns,’ Aunt Bulb was saying. ‘You will need a mixture of cat’s urine and sea salt—a tricky combination but guaranteed to dissolve the most persistent of fungal growths.’

She removed the stopper from a bottle and poured its contents into a jar, then added a generous spoonful of white grains from a mortar and pestle. She gave the mixture a few good shakes and handed it to the patient whose expression suggested that living with the ugly growth did not seem such a bad option after all.

‘Morning and night for a week,’ Aunt Bulb instructed firmly.

‘Hello, dears,’ she greeted the children once the verruca victim was on his way.

‘What brings you here on the last day of the circus?’

She bustled about in her white lab coat and safety goggles, carefully arranging rows of glass bottles with handwritten labels on the shelves. When the children explained the purpose of their unexpected visit, Aunt Bulb’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Wild Butterbean Thistle, you say?’ she mused. ‘Do you mean the herb famous for warding off boggarts and swamp monkeys?’

‘That’s the one!’ the children cried. Of course, they had no idea what other things Wild Butterbean Thistle could do but they were in a hurry to get back to the circus and willing to accept anything with stalks.

‘You can’t mean the plant herbalists mix with Edelweiss and Catnip to induce invisibility?’ Bulb continued in her own frenzy of excitement.

‘Exactly!’

‘The plant that restores youth if you stuff your pillow full of it and sleep face down on it for a month?’

‘That’s the one!’

‘You can’t be referring to the same Wild Butterbean Thistle that in the wrong hands can be used to summon the dead?’

‘Yes, yes—have you got some?’

‘Wild Butterbean Thistle hasn’t been seen in these parts for over a hundred years. I’ve only read about it myself, but I don’t think you’ll find anyone within a thousand miles who has actually seen it, let alone used it.’ Bulb folded her arms. ‘Sorry, dears, but I can’t help.’

Milli looked at Ernest. ‘Is it just me or do you get the feeling that we’ve been sent on a wild goose chase?’

Feeling both angry and foolish, the children sprinted back to the village green. Checking the Town Hall clock, they realised the matinee performance would be close to over by the time they got back. They could not believe they had been tricked like this. Wild Butterbean Thistle was virtually extinct. Surely Finn and Fennel must have known that? And if they did, what was the purpose of their ruse? What did they hope to gain by it?

The children were mere metres from the red tent, hoping there would be at least one more act left before the show ended, when something extraordinary happened. A buzzing like electricity filled the air. A sharp wind blew up, stinging their eyes and slapping their faces. Before they could gather their thoughts, Federico Lampo’s circus tent began to collapse and fold like an umbrella before their very eyes. Was this the final act? But where were all the children? They must still be inside.

When sparks began to shoot out Milli knew something was amiss. She gave a cry and tried to move towards the tent which now bobbed in the field like a bottle at sea, but the wind drove her back. She could hardly see for the dust that was kicked up. In the middle of it all, the tent gave an enormous shudder, wobbled slightly and launched like a zeppelin straight into the air.

For a moment, the children simply stood riveted. Then Milli came to her senses. ‘Quick!’ she shouted, forcing her way towards the rapidly rising tent. The thick golden tassels that had worked as pegs were now being tossed about in the wind. Milli looked up at them. They were just close enough to grab if she jumped. Another few seconds and they would be out of her reach.

‘Get hold of a tassel,’ she shouted to Ernest. Bracing herself, Milli leapt with as much strength as she could muster. She felt the silky fringe of the tassel beneath her fingers and held tight, the muscles in her arms straining.

‘Jump!’ she yelled to Ernest below.

Ernest tried a couple of times and missed. He landed in a heap on the ground.

‘Get up!’ Milli urged. ‘Try again!’

Ernest bent his knees before making a final lunge and this time the tassel did not slip through his fingers. He felt his hand close around it just in time.

With a judder and a jolt the tent was propelled high above the treetops. The tassels blistered their hands and the wind flung their small bodies from side to side like kites, but the children clung on like death, so determined were they not to be left behind. The tent burst through cloud, dampening them so that they shivered all over. They closed their eyes and tried to remain calm as they followed Federico Lampo and his Travelling Circus on their furthest journey yet…into the sky.