sometimes adults can be tickled, but only if they’re surprised. Not normally.’ He turned and gave Fizz a look as if to say that this was information not to be abused, but as he turned there was a popping sound and the look he gave included more pain than was intended. ‘I was tickled,’ he went on after a moment, ‘and I wriggled and my back went pop and then Madame Plume de Matant fell on top of me and we both fell down. She wasn’t hurt, but I couldn’t move at all. Ooh!’
‘Who tickled you?’ Fizz asked.
‘Well, that’s the thing, son. I never saw. While I was lying on the floor, I looked around, but there was no one there. But I swear I was tickled by something.’
‘Maybe it was a feather blown by the wind.’
‘Maybe,’ his father agreed.
However much sense it made, it was clear this solution pleased neither of them.
The two Stumps got back to their caravan and Mrs Stump had her husband lie down on the hard floor and stretch, just in case it helped.
‘That’s your father out of action,’ she said to Fizz. ‘Last time his back went it took a month before he was able to lift a broom, let alone a car.’
‘But what about the Inspectors?’ he asked hurriedly. ‘Flopples is sick too and your nose . . .’
‘I know, Fizz. We turned the caravan upside down this morning looking for my nose. It’s not here. I’ve had to order a new one. The woman from the Clown-U-Factory is coming tomorrow to measure me up. But it’s still going to take a week to make. This family isn’t having the best of luck, Fizz. Your mum and dad aren’t exactly doing much for the circus, are we? It’s lucky we’ve still got you and Charles in the ring.’
‘But, will you get expelled? I mean, if you can’t perform?’
‘Oh no,’ Fizz’s dad said from the floor where he was lying. ‘I don’t think it works like that. They’ll judge the circus as a whole, probably. I doubt they’ll ask about us. I mean they can’t judge an act they can’t see, can they?’
‘I suppose not,’ Fizz said, unsure whether that really made sense. ‘But . . .’
‘Well,’ Mrs Stump said, ‘if you’re worried, you’d best make sure you and Charles put on a blinder of a show tonight. Yes?’
‘Oh yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you proud.’
He wished he’d meant what he’d said, but after all that had happened, the good effects of Wystan’s pep talk had evaporated. Fizz began to worry, not just about his act, but about the others too. If things carried on like this, Fizz thought, the circus might run out of acts altogether. And then the Circus Inspectors, with their clipboards and their red pens, couldn’t give a Good Mark, could they? Where would the circus be if that happened? On the scrapheap, or working in a supermarket putting price stickers on tins of beans, or doing photocopying in a local council planning department office. It didn’t bear thinking about, thought Fizz, as he thought about it.
Fizz watched that evening’s show from the darkness behind the curtains backstage. He could see the acts just as well as you could from any seat in the audience, except everything was backwards. That is to say, he saw backs more than he saw fronts and bottoms more than he saw tops. But still, it was enough for him to know what was going on.
He was still excited about the Barboozuls’ act, even while worrying about the rest of the stuff. He really wanted to know how they did all that beard stuff, not to mention Wystan’s trick with the cannon. This evening it was definitely a different girl that he plucked from the audience, and Lord Barboozul stole a notebook out of her pocket, not a camera, but Lady Barboozul still produced it from her beard.
Eventually Wystan climbed up the ladder onto the platform near the rear of the ring. Fizz watched as he slid himself into the cannon’s barrel. He listened to the fizzing fuse and counted down the seconds before the explosion.
As it went off, a
‘Who tickled you?’ Fizz asked.
‘Well, that’s the thing, son. I never saw. While I was lying on the floor, I looked around, but there was no one there. But I swear I was tickled by something.’
‘Maybe it was a feather blown by the wind.’
‘Maybe,’ his father agreed.
However much sense it made, it was clear this solution pleased neither of them.
The two Stumps got back to their caravan and Mrs Stump had her husband lie down on the hard floor and stretch, just in case it helped.
‘That’s your father out of action,’ she said to Fizz. ‘Last time his back went it took a month before he was able to lift a broom, let alone a car.’
‘But what about the Inspectors?’ he asked hurriedly. ‘Flopples is sick too and your nose . . .’
‘I know, Fizz. We turned the caravan upside down this morning looking for my nose. It’s not here. I’ve had to order a new one. The woman from the Clown-U-Factory is coming tomorrow to measure me up. But it’s still going to take a week to make. This family isn’t having the best of luck, Fizz. Your mum and dad aren’t exactly doing much for the circus, are we? It’s lucky we’ve still got you and Charles in the ring.’
‘But, will you get expelled? I mean, if you can’t perform?’
‘Oh no,’ Fizz’s dad said from the floor where he was lying. ‘I don’t think it works like that. They’ll judge the circus as a whole, probably. I doubt they’ll ask about us. I mean they can’t judge an act they can’t see, can they?’
‘I suppose not,’ Fizz said, unsure whether that really made sense. ‘But . . .’
‘Well,’ Mrs Stump said, ‘if you’re worried, you’d best make sure you and Charles put on a blinder of a show tonight. Yes?’
‘Oh yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you proud.’
He wished he’d meant what he’d said, but after all that had happened, the good effects of Wystan’s pep talk had evaporated. Fizz began to worry, not just about his act, but about the others too. If things carried on like this, Fizz thought, the circus might run out of acts altogether. And then the Circus Inspectors, with their clipboards and their red pens, couldn’t give a Good Mark, could they? Where would the circus be if that happened? On the scrapheap, or working in a supermarket putting price stickers on tins of beans, or doing photocopying in a local council planning department office. It didn’t bear thinking about, thought Fizz, as he thought about it.
Fizz watched that evening’s show from the darkness behind the curtains backstage. He could see the acts just as well as you could from any seat in the audience, except everything was backwards. That is to say, he saw backs more than he saw fronts and bottoms more than he saw tops. But still, it was enough for him to know what was going on.
He was still excited about the Barboozuls’ act, even while worrying about the rest of the stuff. He really wanted to know how they did all that beard stuff, not to mention Wystan’s trick with the cannon. This evening it was definitely a different girl that he plucked from the audience, and Lord Barboozul stole a notebook out of her pocket, not a camera, but Lady Barboozul still produced it from her beard.
Eventually Wystan climbed up the ladder onto the platform near the rear of the ring. Fizz watched as he slid himself into the cannon’s barrel. He listened to the fizzing fuse and counted down the seconds before the explosion.
As it went off, a
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