Brightling (14 page)

25

So Tapper was in Stollenback. Even sitting behind the closed shutters in the warm, cosy parlour with Bruno, Hilda and Gerta, Sparrow was nervous. He was out there, looking for her; perhaps creeping up on her in the dark.

‘Relax my dear, relax,' Bruno said, seeing her darting glances. ‘Or did you think you heard your cat?'

Sparrow shook her head.

‘I wonder if poor Sparrow isn't a little bored with us?' Gerta said. ‘We are dull old things and she's young and full of energy.'

‘Oh don't say that, Gerta!' Hilda said. ‘It's not true, Sparrow, is it?'

‘You know it's not,' Sparrow said.

Tapper was out there; that's why she was nervous.

‘Well, you're all jittery tonight,' Gerta complained. ‘Perhaps you've remembered where this match factory is, have you?' she went on. ‘Because then we could have the match-girls arrested, couldn't we?'

‘I told you,' Sparrow said. ‘I only saw the street once. I don't know where it was.'

‘The papers insist that it is the match-girls that sell Brightling,' Bruno said.

‘Do they? What
is
Brightling? Some sort of tonic?' Sparrow said. ‘Why's it illegal?'

‘Brightling comes from spitfyres,' Hilda said.

‘It's an elixir,' Gerta said. Her eyes gleamed suddenly as she stroked her cheek. ‘They say it irons out your wrinkles and makes you look twenty years younger. They say –'

‘People say it does all sorts of ridiculous things,' Hilda butted in. ‘But how can it cure warts and carbuncles? Be an antidote for snakebites and bee stings? Make your eyesight better and help new wives fall pregnant?'

‘I know for a fact it helps your hair grow thicker and stops you going grey,' Gerta said, stubbornly. ‘Cicely West used it and –'

‘Poppycock!' Bruno spluttered, throwing down his newspaper. ‘Utter rubbish! Don't listen to such twaddle, Gerta. Otto is closer to the spitfyres than any of us and he says it doesn't work and he should know. Spitfyres –'

‘Oh! I saw spitfyres!' Sparrow said. ‘I saw them breathing fire when I ran away from the Nashes' house! They were so beautiful!'

‘They are, but –' He stopped and sniffed. ‘A spitfyre caused Mayra's death,' he said. ‘An accident. They're dangerous and wonderful at the same time.'

Hilda patted Bruno's arm lovingly. Then she disappeared into the kitchen and came back with one of the pamphlets that she and Sparrow had been handing out earlier. She gave one to Sparrow. Sparrow read it then turned back to Hilda.

‘People
hurt
the spitfyres?' she said.

‘Yes,' said Hilda. ‘The thieves don't care. Brightling is the spark of the spitfyre, their essence, and without it they die. It looks for all the world like bottled sunlight – sunbeams condensed into a sort of liquid dust – but it isn't sunlight. It's their life.'

Sparrow's mouth fell open and stayed open. Miss Minter had had some in her safe; she knew it instantly. And Kate was selling it at the market; it was what she'd kept hidden in her tray.
Brightling
.

‘Yes,' Bruno said, misreading her expression. ‘It is amazing stuff.'

Sparrow nodded dumbly.

‘Is it really so bad though?' Gerta said, in a wheedling voice. ‘What's wrong with taking a little of this sparking fluid from a spitfyre? Isn't it just like taking milk from a cow?'

Hilda shook her head. ‘No, no,' she said. ‘It's not like that at all, Gerta.'

‘And it might work,' Gerta said obstinately. ‘You never know for sure.'

‘It doesn't, Gerta! It's a myth,' Bruno said. ‘We all want long life and good health –'

‘ – And happiness,' Gerta said. ‘You name it, Brightling does it.'

Bruno sighed. ‘It does not.'

‘Because the spitfyres' ancestors were dragons,' Hilda said, ‘they're fantastic, mysterious creatures. Of course, folk believe all the silly stories that get made up about them – the more weird and wonderful the better.'

‘When I saw them they made me feel happy. They gave me hope,' Sparrow said.

‘Well, now,' Bruno said, grinning at them all, ‘talking of spitfyres  …  I had a letter from my brother, Otto, today and  … '

‘He works at the Academy,' Hilda told Sparrow.

‘ …  And he told me that the spitfyres will perform at the circus on Friday night.' Bruno laughed. ‘And
we're
going to see them!'

‘But, my dear,' Hilda said gently, suddenly serious. ‘Are you sure? Spitfyres at the circus? Won't it bring back too many sad memories? Aren't you worried there might be another accident?'

‘No. I'm not worried. That was years ago. That terrible time when Mayra died, the animals were made to perform outrageous and impossible tricks. That won't happen again.' He pulled four tickets from his pocket and waved them in the air. ‘Otto has got us the best seats. I can't wait!'

Hilda smiled. ‘I knew all about it,' she said. ‘We discussed it at our committee meetings.' She turned to Sparrow. ‘Stormy – he's the Director of the spitfyre Academy – he's on our side. He's bringing the spitfyres here to try and persuade the good folk of Stollenback that Brightling is no more beneficial than a glass of water. And much more dangerous!'

26

‘What are we going to do now, so?' Tapper said, swirling his bark-beer around in the glass and watching it with dull, hooded eyes. ‘Got no money.'

Glori licked her teeth; they ached. She'd been working on the phosphorus table and the stuff coated her teeth and seeped into her very bones; she felt as if her mouth had been hammered and her jaw was loose. ‘I don't know, Tapper,' she said, rubbing at the side of her sore face.

‘You don't know!' He smacked the little round table loudly. ‘You don't know!'

Glori looked round nervously as people turned and stared at them. She shrank inside her jacket – her old red one; she hadn't worn the purple velvet jacket since Sparrow had disappeared. ‘It's not my fault, Tapper. I've walked the streets looking for her. She's gone.'

‘Haven't tried hard enough,' Tapper said. ‘If you'd tried hard enough you'd have found her. 'Cos she's somewhere, in't she?'

‘But I –'

‘Knip's gone quiet,' Tapper said, thinking aloud. ‘S'pect she's given up the search. No match for Miss Minter. What scheming, eh? Good move, that. Smart girl.'

For a second Glori thought he meant
she
was smart, but it was Miss Minter and her planning he admired.

They sat in gloomy silence.

‘Any sign of that big old cat?' Tapper asked.

Glori shook her head. ‘No. Violet knows something, I think, but won't say nothing.'

‘Huh. Good riddance, I say. So.' He drained his glass, ‘I might as well go. This in't any fun, is it, when you're so flat and gloomy.' He suddenly slapped down a pair of knitted gloves on the table. ‘Oh I came across these. Got them for you. But what's the point when you're such a misery?'

‘Oh Tapper, thank you!' Glori quickly put the pink gloves on. ‘You are kind. I know you're kind, really. No one ever buys me presents. Ever. Do stay, Tapper,' she said, grabbing his arm. ‘Don't go just yet. I'll try to perk up. It's just my jaw that hurts and –'

‘Fact is, I've to see Miss Minter,' Tapper said, standing up. ‘She wants my help. Friday.'

‘
Friday
? Are
you
coming out with us too?' Glori said.

He winked and gave her a crafty smile. ‘Yes. You're surprised Miss Minter likes me? She does. She sees what's what, and she needs me.'

Glori knew that he wanted her to be jealous, but she wasn't. She was no match for Miss Minter, nor did she want to be. ‘She likes anyone who is useful to her,' she said.

‘I'll tell her you said that.'

‘Oh don't do that!' Glori cried. ‘I didn't mean it, Tapper, honest  … ' She thought for a moment. ‘If you're planning to speak to her, you'll be going back to the nest  … ?'

Tapper shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose we can walk along together.'

Glori smiled. She was the only girl in the nest with an admirer, and that's how she liked it.

Glori climbed the stairs wearily with Tapper lumbering ahead. The nest hadn't been the same since Sparrow came and Sparrow went. She'd been almost happy with Sparrow around, Glori thought. But now everything seemed so pointless.

As soon as they opened the door, Hettie came running up. She stopped when she saw Tapper, hesitated then flung her arms around Glori. ‘Glori! Glori! Did you find Sparrow today?'

Glori shook her head. ‘No sign of Sparrow,' she said. She took off her coat and hung it up and went to sit beside Hettie at the table. ‘Where is everyone?'

Only Miss Minter sat alone by the fire.

‘Everyone else is busy,' Hettie said.

‘Good evening, Miss Minter,' Tapper said, going over to her. The fire flickered forlornly and died down as he went and stood beside it.

Miss Minter nodded at him. ‘I hope you've kept your mouth shut,' she said quietly, but not so quietly that Glori couldn't just hear her.

Tapper whispered something but Hettie's loud voice drowned him out before Glori could catch what he said.

‘No Sparrow, no Sparrow,' Hettie sang sadly. ‘Oh well, you're my big sister again today, aren't you?'

Glori smiled and patted her arm. ‘Yes, course I am.'

‘Sit next to me at the circus! We're going to the circus!' Hettie cried. ‘Miss Minter said we were. All of us. On Friday! We're going to make special, glittery matchboxes and sell hundreds and hundreds of them!'

‘Gloriana, take Hettie away,' Miss Minter said. ‘Her shrieking is getting on my nerves.'

‘Come on, Hettie,' Glori said and reluctantly led Hettie to her bed.

Tapper took a chair from the table, swung it round back-to-front and sat down opposite Miss Minter, leaning over the chair's back and grinning.

‘Friday night at the circus, Miss Minter,' he said. ‘What fun!'

While they talked, Glori sat with Hettie on her bed.

‘Sometimes I think you're going to bring Cari back with you,' Hettie said, looking suddenly forlorn. ‘You never do. But I won't forget her.'

‘No. Good. That's right,' Glori said.
Cari
. Miss Minter had forbidden them from visiting her while she'd been in prison. Now it was too late; she'd gone to the wastelands and would never be seen again. Tough. She hadn't run fast enough. Poor Cari.

‘You'll love the circus,' Glori said, turning back to Hettie with a smile. ‘You'll love all the lights and things. You like horses, don't you?'

‘I do!' Hettie cried. She waved a pamphlet advertising the circus at Glori. ‘Look! Not only horses but littles – they're tiny people – and even cats!'

Glori laid the crumpled pamphlet on the bed and read it.

27

There! Gerta thought. There
was
something mysterious about Sparrow, just as she had guessed. All right, she was from the Knip and Pynch Home as she'd said, that wasn't a lie – but Miss Knip was hinting at secrets too. Hopefully she knew who her real family was and then they could be reunited with Sparrow, and Hilda would be all hers again.

She slipped the letter into her bag. ‘I'm not doing this for me,' Gerta said quietly to her empty room. ‘It's for you, dear Hilda. Sparrow is not the right little girl for you,' she went on, putting on her coat and adjusting her hat. ‘I understand you have an empty place in your heart, but please, sister, dear, don't fill it with that unworthy girl!'

She checked her reflection in the mirror.

‘Perfect. I do like the circus.'

28

The night was cold and starry with a clear, white-blue moon; Sparrow's favourite kind of night. She held onto Hilda's arm as they joined the crowds streaming towards Zippo's tent, which had been put up in a field on the outskirts of town. She was thrilled at the prospect of seeing spitfyres again.

The huge red and white striped tent was decorated with strings of flags, which danced in the breeze. Fairy lights were strung up in the surrounding trees and linked in a circle around the tent. Beside it were many brightly-coloured caravans, and cages where the animals were kept.

As they queued along the sawdust path to go inside, circus people, dressed in bright, glittery costumes ran around with sticks of fire, tumbling and leaping on the grass. There were hundreds of people; their breath billowing out in clouds in front of them. The air smelled of animals and hot sugar candy.

A ‘little', not much taller than a seven year old, galloped up and down, bareback, on a miniature white pony. He had very blue eyes and a wrinkly face like a raisin.

‘Roll up! Roll up!' the little called. ‘Zippo's circus is about to begin!'

Sparrow's group was propelled along, caught up with the throng, pushing towards the lights and the open doorway of the tent. Hilda chatted and pointed things out to Sparrow and they were so absorbed that neither of them saw the match-girls with their trays of pretty matchboxes, or heard their calls.

But the match-girls saw
them
.

Glori was the first to spot her.

‘Sparrow!' She lurched forward, and then stopped, biting her lip and letting her voice fade away as she stared at Sparrow's retreating figure. Glori's shoulders slumped. She blinked back a tear and turned away as if she'd seen nothing out of the ordinary at all. ‘Matches! Lovely matches!' she cried, turning her back on Sparrow and edging away, out of sight. ‘
Matches
!'

But Violet had spotted Sparrow too. She quickly closed up her tray and sped off like the wind to find Miss Minter. Her face was alight with mischief and excitement.

‘Come on, this way,' Bruno was saying to his group. ‘My brother has got us front row seats. Come along, Gerta. Aren't we lucky? Good old Otto. He's so looking forward to meeting you, Sparrow. We've told him all about you.'

Sparrow hardly heard what he said. She was beyond listening, beyond speech. The lights, the people, the smells of sawdust, animals and lantern oil were overwhelming. She couldn't believe that something as wonderful as this existed.

Tiers of wooden seats rose up and up around her and they were filling quickly. Everyone was talking and now and again someone laughed loudly and blew a hooter.

‘It's wonderful!' Sparrow whispered to Hilda. ‘It's the most marvellous thing ever. I wish I could come every day. I want to live here. I want to
be
a circus.'

Hilda laughed. ‘You can't
be
a circus!' she said. ‘Dear girl.' She nudged Bruno. ‘Did you hear that?' she whispered. ‘
Now
what do you think? A coincidence, or what?'

‘Shh,' Bruno said. ‘Look, there's Otto.' Bruno pointed to a large man standing on the other side of the ring. ‘That's my brother,' he said. ‘That's dear old Otto. See him, Sparrow?' he added, waving. ‘We'll meet him after the show.'

Otto was even bigger and broader than Bruno. His head was lumpy and pale, like a badly-peeled potato. His ears were huge. He grinned and waved and then stopped, mid wave, as his eyes lighted on Sparrow. He was struck rigid and his mouth fell open. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

Miss Minter wore a wig of black curly hair and square, dark glasses. She was draped in a full-length coat of midnight-blue velvet that reached to the floor. Her cheeks glowed unusually hot and pink with excitement and her gloved hand tap-tapped the bar in front of her. It wasn't the circus that excited her; it was her scheme for this evening.

She could barely contain herself; her eyes flashed right and left behind the dark lenses, checking and measuring. There, just there, she thought, fixing her eyes on the tent flaps, Tapper would come in. There, and there, the lanterns must be put out. And there! She would not miss a single thing! The plan had to go perfectly. Everything must work. Oh how satisfying to hurt the Academy Director when he least expected it.

She jumped as Violet suddenly slipped in beside her. ‘
Miss
!' Violet hissed.

‘What? What?' Miss Minter snapped.

Violet whispered quickly in her ear. Miss Minter grabbed the rail in front of her and scanned the rows of seats, around and around and up and down  …  she stopped abruptly.

‘I see her.' She stared hard at the group opposite and fixed on Sparrow. ‘I see her.' Her eyes had taken on a round, glazed look, like marbles. ‘Go back. I'll see to this.' She slipped out of her seat, elbowing her way back through the incoming crowd to where Tapper was lurking in the dark, behind the caravans and animal cages.

‘What's up?' Tapper said. He sprang away from where he'd been leaning against one of the tethered horses for warmth. ‘Something up?'

Miss Minter told him.

‘Well, well,' he said, grinning and raising his eyebrows. ‘Ain't we the lucky ones?'

‘Can you do it?' Miss Minter asked him.

‘Course. I'm on it. I've enough special mix to knock out the entire circus,' he said with a chuckle. ‘I'll have a word with the girls. Just so's they know.' He laughed. ‘Lucky, lucky, lucky!'

Miss Minter smiled as she took her seat again. She had to have that girl! Sparrow was equally important as the spitfyres.
More important? Equally important. More?
She fixed her gaze on Sparrow, daring her to slip from her grasp again. Little Sparrow, worth a fortune. Who'd have thought it?

She breathed a sigh of relief as six littles danced around the ring and extinguished some of the lanterns; dark was good. Dark was safe.

The show was about to begin.

Everyone clapped as Zippo, the ringmaster, skipped and jumped into the ring, cracking his whip and twirling his moustache.
Slap! Slap!
The whip made the sawdust fly up around him. He wore black boots with tassels and a red and gold jacket. His eyes gleamed. Finally he came to a standstill in the centre.

The audience roared. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!' he cried. ‘Sit back and enjoy the one and only, wonderful, Zippo's Circus! The Greatest Show On Earth!' The curtains were drawn back behind him and the entire circus company trooped into the ring: clowns, ponies, littles, acrobats and  …  cats.

Sparrow nearly toppled off her seat.

Cats
.

Not tigers, or lions, but big, beautiful mink-coloured cats, each the size of a small fox, just like Scaramouch. She could not take her eyes off the slinky, wonderful cats as they circled the ring, their large paws puffing up the sawdust, tails swinging gracefully from side to side. They were special cats; handsome cats with round, knowing, yellow eyes  …  Each had the same noble head and finely-chiselled nose that Scaramouch had, the same curl at the end of its long, thick tail. It wasn't her imagination; they were identical.

‘Just like my Scaramouch!' Sparrow breathed. Her fingers gripped the top of the barrier in front of her. She leaned forward, totally amazed and thrilled. Just like Scaramouch!

Music blared and the acts began to trail out.

‘For your first act tonight,' Zippo cried, ‘please give a big hand for the amazing Felix and his Feline Friends!' A man in leopard skin had remained in the ring; his four cats sat patiently beside him, their eyes fixed on his craggy, handsome face.

Felix smiled at the crowd and bowed. The band struck up a tune. Felix flicked his hand to the waiting cats and they began to run swiftly and quietly around the ring, their tails streaming behind them, their paws padding soundlessly on the sawdust. Their mouths were open, showing sharp, white teeth; they looked as if they were laughing.

‘Ladeees and gen'lemens!' Felix cried in a voice thick with a foreign accent. ‘Boyz and girlies, put your 'ands togezzer please, for my four spectacular, amazing, dancing, acrobatic cats! Fandango, Pulcinella, Pierrot and Columbine!'

As each cat's name was called, it leaped high into the air, stretching out long and smooth and landing with a ripple of muscle and a shiver of fur.

‘Zeeze are rare Sherbavian cats, brought back from ze furzest lands in ze world,' Felix cried. ‘No-vair will you be lucky enough to see such magnificent cats as zeese!'

Sparrow smiled to herself. At the
nest
, she thought. You'd be lucky to see just such a one at the nest! And she felt a sharp thump in her chest, as if someone had hit her, thinking longingly of her own Scaramouch.

Pulcinella had a black nose and both Fandango and Pierrot had black tails. Columbine had white paws. They all had eyes as round as saucers and yellow as gold, circled with black. Their ears were upright, perky and tipped with dark chocolate fur. Scaramouch was, without a doubt, a Sherbavian cat.

Sparrow bounced in her seat, desperate to share her knowledge with Hilda and also keen not to miss a moment of the show.

Felix had only to click his fingers or jerk his chin and the cats leaped over high bars, walked along a tightrope and climbed ladders. They balanced on seesaws and ran up ramps, through flaming hoops and onto balls, and everything they did, they did smoothly and calmly and with obvious enjoyment.

Finally, the music grew melancholic and soft and the cats began to dance. A single beam of light picked out Pulcinella and Fandango, who stood on their hind legs and somehow, Sparrow thought, didn't look stupid or wrong or un-catlike. They danced beautifully; gracefully swaying to the music while the other two cats weaved around them, trailing their floaty tails across their bodies and under their tummies.

Sparrow was mesmerised. She perched on the edge of her seat and hardly breathed. When the act ended and Felix started to run out of the ring she felt like bursting into tears. The cats ran after Felix and leaped up onto his broad shoulders, two on each side, balancing on his outstretched arms. He turned round then and bowed and the cats one by one trickled down his back, over his bottom and floated away.

Everyone applauded loudly.

‘Oh Hilda, that was
so
marvellous!' Sparrow said. ‘That's what I shall do!' she went on, clapping her hands furiously. ‘When I'm older, I'm going to be a cat trainer in the circus.'

All three looked at her as if she had just said something very wonderful and very odd.

‘What's the matter?' she said, staring at their extraordinary expressions. ‘Oh,' she went on, ‘and my Scaramouch, my cat, he's just like that. Just!'

‘Now, Sparrow, really that's ridiculous,' Gerta said. ‘Your cat couldn't be as big as those Sherbavian monsters.'

‘He is!'

‘Nor as clever,' Gerta added. ‘I just don't believe it.'

‘He is,' Sparrow said obstinately.

‘Perhaps he is, Gerta, perhaps  … ' Bruno said.

‘It was quietly clever, wasn't it?' Hilda said, dabbing a tear from her eye.

‘Are you all right?' Sparrow asked anxiously.

‘Of course, of course, it's just memories  … '

They had to be quiet then, as five littles came somersaulting into the ring and began to roll around and do silly things to entertain the audience before the next big act came on.

Sparrow began to dream about wearing sequins and flying on a trapeze with Scaramouch. Why not? she thought. She'd see if she could get a job with Felix; he might want an assistant and  …  but first she must find Scaramouch! She'd almost forgotten that he wouldn't be waiting for her back at the Butterworths' house. Dear, dear Scaramouch, where was he?

The acrobats and clowns came in and, although they were thrilling, she wasn't as interested. She felt hot and overexcited. She began peeling off her gloves and then stopped.

Her fingertips were glowing faintly silver in the lantern light.

She turned her hands over and over to see if she was imagining it, but it was true. She shone. She glowed just like the other girls in the nest had glowed in the dark. Quickly she pulled her gloves on again. It must be phosphorus. It had to be. It had got inside her just as it had the other match-girls. Now, as she watched the horse riders and the clowns and the man on a unicycle, she couldn't help wondering all the time what the phosphorus would do to her. She knew it made your teeth rot and jaw ache. She didn't have any symptoms of that yet and hoped she never would.

The white horses, ridden by a family of beautiful blonde girls, distracted her, as did the handsome strong man who lifted up a baby elephant. Two littles breathed fire and put themselves out with buckets of water and made them all laugh.

Sparrow laughed too and then stopped just as suddenly.

She'd right that moment made up her mind. Even if it meant leaving the Butterworths she would, because she absolutely had to. She had to find Scaramouch.