Scrivener's Moon by Philip Reeve Page B

reminded me of the old days, the fights Godshawk staged at Pickled Eel Circus. Except that no one is ever really killed in Borglum’s shows. Well, barely ever. . . Come, we’ll wait until the crowd is gone, and then I shall take you to meet him; you shall meet them all.”
    Neither Fever nor Dr Crumb was keen to meet the dwarf showman or his frightening friends, but they knew that it was futile to argue with Wavey, so they waited meekly, yawning from time to time, while the rest of the audience filed out.
    On the far side of the arena, among the crowd around the exit, Charley Shallow waited too, and watched. He had this vague idea forming that there was something shady about Wavey and that dwarf, and that if he could learn the secret of it, well, he might use it to his own advantage.
    Milly pulled at his hand. “You’ll walk me home, Charley, won’t you? Ooh, I should be scared to walk home all alone, after seeing all that. . .”
    Charley barely heard her. “You run along then,” he said. “I’ll catch you later.”
    “But Charley!”
    “I said ’ op it ,” he said, his voice sliding down to the Bagmanish growl which the other apprentices had all learned to fear. “I got business .”
    She said something bitter which he did not catch and flounced off. Charley kept his eyes on Wavey and the Crumbs and moved himself sideways, behind the back rows of benches, into a tight and shadowed space where he could watch unseen.
    Borglum was watching too, while the last of his audience drained out of the arena, their chatter fading. Then, while the girl with the lobster-claws went round snuffing the lanterns one by one he crossed the stained canvas to the bench where Wavey sat, flanked by the white coats of her family.
    “Jasper,” she said, with a smile in her voice. She knelt down, and they embraced, the dwarf’s big head resting for a moment on her shoulder. “Duchess!” he said, and stepped back, still holding Wavey, his eyes darting over her face, as if he were taking stock of all the ways in which she’d changed since last they met. Only then did he spare a glance for Dr Crumb and Fever.
    “My husband and daughter,” said Wavey.
    Borglum beamed. “Dr Crumb. It’s good to meet you, sir. And little Fever. . . Not so little now! The Duchess used to talk about you often. ’Course, she wasn’t even sure you were alive back then. Now look at you. Grown up, and pretty as your mother.”
    He held out his hand.
    “You have upset them with your display,” said Wavey.
    “Then I’m sorry to hear it,” Borglum said. He did look sorry, too, just for a moment. Then he turned to Wavey again, as if he could not stop looking at her for long.
    “So what brings you to London?” she asked slyly.
    “How do you know it’s not just business?” asked Borglum. “All these workers Quercus has dragged here, hanging around bored and in need of entertainment. I’m on a humani-bloomin’-tarian mission to bring some excitement to their lives.” He chuckled. “Anyway, ’tis but a fleety visit. We’ll pass a fortnight here, then we’re for the north again. I was planning to come and find you in the morning. I thought you’d be too posh now to come and watch the carny. I got some news from the north I thought would interest you. About the tower up there. But come; come aboard the barge, my dearie-os. I’ll tell it to you all in comfort. . .”
    “It is very late,” said Dr Crumb uncertainly. “Perhaps we should go home, and save this news for tomorrow. . .” But it was no use, for the dwarf had reached up to take Wavey’s arm and they were walking together towards the side exit, which hung half-open, revealing the hatchway of the Knuckle Sandwich waiting just outside. Fever gave her father an encouraging smile. She was tired too, but she was curious to find out who these strange friends of her mother were, and how she knew them. She was relieved when her father shrugged, and shook his head, and started