The Lampo Circus Page 13

  ‘Umm…L…gum,’ he muttered aloud.

  The pliers dropped with a clang as all three clown-dentists turned with astounded faces.

  ‘Amalgam,’ they chorused reluctantly. ‘That…answer…is…correct.’

  ‘How can that be right?’ Ernest scoffed. ‘Why, it’s not even spelled with a—’

  Milli launched herself at Ernest and tackled him to the floor. Ernest was stunned but mercifully silenced.

  ‘Now would not be the time for a spelling bee,’ she hissed in his ear. With shouts of ‘We’ve won!’ Milli hauled Ernest up and they performed a triumphant jig around the room, their smiles now bigger than those of their assailants.

  By contrast, the Grin Bandits’ mouths now began to droop until they had melted into scowls, and tears streamed down their gaudy faces. The straps binding Fennel’s arms and feet loosened and she scrambled out of the dentist’s chair to join the others.

  ‘Goo wob,’ she mumbled, as she had not yet finished extracting the cotton rolls tucked under her tongue. But the praise and relief in her tone as she patted Ernest’s back heartily were an unmistakable indication of her gratitude.

  ‘You…have…solved…our…riddle…and…defeated…us,’ the clowns said in between sobs. ‘You…are…free…to…go.’

  The four children edged their way carefully out of the cottage until they were standing in the clearing again. They half-expected more Grin Bandits to leap from the trees in an ambush, but no one came after them. They took a moment to congratulate each other.

  ‘That was close,’ Finn said, hugging his sister.

  ‘You were brilliant,’ Fennel declared, looking at Ernest with unadulterated admiration.

  ‘All in a day’s work for an etymologist,’ he replied humbly.

  Even Milli had to admit she was impressed.

  ‘That was definitely not piffle,’ she declared.

  The children’s relief dissipated as they heard the robotic tones of the Grin Bandits behind them.

  ‘Unfortunately…we…are…not…gracious…in…defeat,’ the voices echoed around them. This announcement was followed by loud, sharp snapping sounds.

  The children looked back to discover that the Grin Bandits had waited until the last moment to unleash their most deadly weapon. An enormous set of dentures that hung on the surgery wall had come to life and was crashing through the doorway towards them. All four fled, pursued by the snapping jaws with teeth that had taken on a blade-like sharpness. It caught hold of Fennel’s dress as she ran and ripped the hem clean away.

  The only advantage for the children was their ability to dart nimbly between trees while the teeth were forced to crunch their way through. Boughs splintered around them and rained down like hail. They ran like they never had before, but despite their efforts the teeth were gaining on them. Unlike the children, the dentures did not tire. When his breath came in shallow gasps and he could hardly run another step, Ernest was reminded of Nonna Luna’s advice about the parcel she’d wrapped for them.

  ‘Milli,’ he panted, ‘the hairnet in the bundle!’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I think we need it now!’

  Skidding to a stop, Ernest wrenched open the tea towel and drew out the flimsy hairnet. The dentures galloped and snapped towards them even faster. With all his remaining energy, Ernest hurled the item at the approaching jaws. It felt like a pathetically insignificant gesture of retaliation and Ernest could not think why the idea had even popped into his head. But it worked. No sooner had he thrown the net down than something magical happened.

  It began to stretch and unravel in size so that the fast-approaching jaws became caught and tangled. The net wrapped itself around the teeth, forcing them together and bringing them to an abrupt halt.

  The children did not linger to see if the dentures would chomp themselves free but bolted out of the wood with renewed vigour. Silently thanking Nonna Luna and her magic charms, they stumbled through the trees until they were free of the Wood of Tartar at last.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Do Not Pass Go

  Only when the wood was a blur behind them did the children feel safe enough to stop and rest. They lay on the ground laughing and panting in turn; the kind of laughter that verges on the hysterical and usually accompanies the relief that follows dodging a near-fatal encounter. With visions of deadly dentures still uppermost in their minds, the children did not notice how thick and lush the grass was beneath them or that the sky was as blue as a baby boy’s blanket and the happy chirping of swallows filled the air. It was only when they felt a peculiar lifting sensation swell in their chests and looked around properly that they realised they had come to the end of their journey.

  Nestled amidst the greenery ahead was a colossal toadstool. Despite being a member of the fungi family (Fungus horribilis) and generally mistrusted by children for its slimy texture and questionable flavour, the toadstool was the most beautiful sight they had set eyes on thus far in their journey. How was it possible for something to look as strong as a fortress and yet as delicate as a flower? Beams of sunlight danced across its freckled top like golden fingers. The children worried that if they moved too close the lovely vision might fade, leaving nothing more than a pale memory. But the toadstool remained fixed, and closer inspection revealed little windows with yellow shutters carved into its rubbery base. Ornate balconies made of silver lattice curved up the stalk and chimneys smoked in its raspberry roof. Unlike the chaos of Rune, serenity lay over the province of Mirth like a mantle. In contrast to the looming form of the jade citadel, the toadstool palace seemed to beckon the children and they quickened their step so that they might reach it faster.

  So this was Mirth, the home of the legendary Fada, Milli thought. It looked as enticing as an iced cupcake. Quaint acorn cottages were dotted about the place like speckles on an egg. Despite its size, the toadstool did not cast a shadow across these little homes or any other fairy abodes. It simply curved over them as protectively as a wing.

  Milli and Ernest stood in silence, not daring to believe they had finally reached their destination while the twins let out a combined whoop and turned a series of quick back flips in joy. Resisting the urge to celebrate on the spot, the group contented themselves with a few congratulatory pats on the back before walking on.

  The gates to the city were guarded by two white bulls wearing military uniform with the outline of a daisy (the emblem of the province) embroidered on their lapels. Wings sprouted from their sturdy shoulders, heavy and feathered like those of angels and flecked with colours like lilac and rose. Their hoofs and horns were solid gold. The bulls, whose muscular haunches left no doubt as to how fierce they would be in battle, inclined their heads formally in greeting.

  ‘You have come to see the Queen,’ one of them said. The words were solemn and more of an announcement than a question. The bull’s voice was not harsh, as you might expect, but sounded like the patter of rain against a windowpane. If you have ever heard such a sound you will know it has the same soothing effect as a lullaby. The children were so calmed by the bull-sentinel’s voice that they almost neglected to answer.

  ‘We have,’ Milli said, remembering herself. ‘And our message is an urgent one.’

  ‘Follow me,’ the bull replied.

  Once inside the white gates, the children were disappointed to find that the toadstool palace was not as close as it had first appeared. It was positioned at the highest point of an incline, its top almost in cloud due to its great height. A winding path stretched all the way to the toadstool’s entrance.

  To the children’s left, a flight of steps descended into a ravine. As you might imagine, it came as quite a shock when the bull led them in that direction rather than towards the toadstool that looked and smelled like it was made of marshmallow.

  ‘Are you ready to play?’ the bull asked gravely.

  ‘Play?’ Milli said. ‘We don’t have time to play. We must see Queen Fidelis right away!’

  �
��I am afraid everyone who wishes to see the Queen must attempt the game,’ the bull replied in a voice that was both firm and patient. ‘Only those who succeed are granted an audience.’

  ‘We insist on seeing the Queen immediately. Please inform her of our arrival,’ Ernest said in what he hoped was his most commanding tone.

  The bull looked at him with limpid eyes.

  ‘You do not know our history,’ he said. ‘The Fada have many enemies in the Realm. A great many of them have attempted to enter our peaceful land. We cannot afford to trust anyone. The game is the only way we are able to differentiate between friend and foe.’

  ‘We mean no harm,’ Fennel said.

  ‘I believe you,’ the winged beast answered quietly. ‘But the game must make the final decision. If what you speak is true, you will be safe and nothing will harm you. Good luck.’

  A rush of air hit them as his wings, humming as if with electricity, spread out and lifted him high into the air. Miserably, the children watched the bull return gracefully to his post. They peered down the steep steps and were met by only silence. With no other option before them, Milli took the lead and the four tiptoed apprehensively down into the unknown.

  ‘New players, new players!’ a mysterious voice boomed enthusiastically as the children emerged into a square which, despite being underground, was as bright as day. They found themselves standing on a surface so highly waxed it was difficult to keep their footing. The shiny floor was the colour of pistachio nuts and covered in markings in the shape of arrows, coloured grids and lines not dissimilar to those on a road map. Around the perimeter of the square were street signs pointing in multiple directions and various cardboard edifices that looked like they had been borrowed from a movie set. It all seemed strangely familiar to Milli and Ernest. Was it a location they knew from a story, they wondered.

  In one corner of the square was an enormous, antiquated birdcage. Inside stood an unshaven, shaggy-haired man in what appeared to be striped pyjamas. He rattled the bars and shook his uncombed locks but the children thought he looked more comical than frightening. In another corner stood a uniformed officer frozen in the position of blowing a whistle and pointing a finger as if directing unseen traffic. In the centre of the square were some giant letters in a curly script that spelled a word they could not immediately make out. On a rectangular-shaped mat on the ground, questions marks squirmed and wriggled like a gaggle of geese as they tried to find a comfortable position, then settled down together like spoons in a drawer. Metallic bells began to sound and a pair of boom gates were lowered to allow a cardboard cut-out steam train to pass. A wooden chest painted brightly in blue and white sat with its lid open, its contents—sacks of gold—invitingly displayed.

  The letter O in the word on the ground turned out to be a man-hole. They knew this when a tubby man in a top hat and tuxedo popped out of it and raised his cane in salutation. With his appearance the penny finally dropped for Milli and Ernest. How could they not have recognised the board game that had consumed so many rainy afternoons and at which Ernest prided himself on being unrivalled champion? For reasons obscure, they had stepped straight into a life-sized game of Monopoly.

  Milli and Ernest navigated their way across the board, trying not to slip, until they were face to face with the chubby man who was still half-stuck in the hole like a jack-in-the-box. Never having played Monopoly in their lives, Finn and Fennel followed cautiously, looking completely baffled.

  With a heave and a grunt, the pint-sized man extricated himself from the hole and brushed himself down before speaking.

  ‘Welcome, children. You are just in time to join the game. I am Mr Banker.’

  He threw down a handful of trinkets which Milli and Ernest recognised immediately: an iron that had seen better days, a top hat, an old boot and a tiny silver car.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to choose a token, we can begin.’

  Finn, eyes shining, pointed to the car the size of his thumbnail. The man waved his cane and the token expanded to a sleek convertible just the right size for four small children.

  ‘It probably goes at a snail’s pace,’ Milli observed as she beat the others into the driver’s seat.

  When they were comfortably installed, and Ernest was deliberating whether to mention recent statistics on motorcar fatalities, Mr Banker raised his cane and the car did a lap of the board at breakneck speed to warm up. When it screeched to a halt and the children waited for their pulses to return to normal, they found Mr Banker propped behind a marble counter such as one might see in an old-fashioned bank. Money in the form of crisp bills was stacked around him in columns according to value.

  For those of you who have never played Monopoly, the aim is to buy up expensive locations and develop them by erecting as many homes and hotels as possible. This allows you to charge exorbitant rent each time a player is unlucky enough to land on one of your properties. The objective is to monopolise the game and force your opponents into humiliating bankruptcy. I’m sorry to say that it is each player for him- or herself in Monopoly. It is most certainly not conducive to teamwork.

  There were two other players waiting in the wings, easily distinguished by the cut-throat looks they were casting in the children’s direction. The first was an angry-looking goblin in green tights with assorted tools strapped to his belt, including daggers and hammers. He sat astride a shaggy dog, and a wad of bills bulged from a bum-bag. The dog snarled at the children, foam spraying from its jaws. He seemed especially ferocious (for a terrier). The second opponent was a fluffy cat in a bonnet carrying a parasol. She stood in an upside-down thimble as if it were a chariot and she an Egyptian queen.

  A polite cough from Mr Banker quickly brought the children’s observations to a halt.

  ‘Concentration is essential for success,’ he advised. ‘Before we begin, I would like to remind you of the main rules of this game in case we have any first-timers. Dishonesty is actively encouraged if not essential, and bankruptcy is synonymous with extinction. Any questions?’

  He winked at the openly confused children.

  ‘The player who rolls the highest number on the dice will move first. On the count of three: one…’

  The children looked around for dice but could not find any.

  ‘Two…’

  Ernest opened the car’s glove compartment in search of a rule book while Milli waved a hand in the air as if in a classroom.

  ‘Yes?’ Mr Banker snapped.

  ‘Sorry to be a bother, but we don’t seem to have any dice.’

  Mr Banker looked at her as though she were a time-wasting ninny. ‘Have you got a head?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ she retorted.

  ‘Then you have dice! Close your eyes and let your mind roll a number.’

  ‘I rolled ten,’ piped the fluffy cat with a cunning look. She had really visualised two but was determined to move first.

  ‘And I,’ shouted the goblin, his ears flapping (always an indication that a goblin is telling a fib), ‘have eight.’

  Milli, who did not like to be untruthful unless someone’s life depended upon it, closed her eyes and waited for a number to pop into her head.

  ‘We rolled four,’ she said, ignoring the goblin’s sniggers and the cat’s arched eyebrows.

  ‘Very well,’ Mr Banker announced. ‘Miss Pawpaw will move first, then Goblin Grouse and lastly you four. Let the game begin!’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Game Decides

  When the children’s turn came, Milli rolled a five. She attempted steering the motorcar ineffectually for a moment or two before it took matters into its own hands. The children were thrown back against their seats as it pivoted at a dangerous angle and hurtled down the street before Ernest could work out how to buckle his seatbelt. Various properties whizzed by in a colourful blur before the car delivered its four nauseated passengers outside a place called Squatters’ Swamp. The other properties had equally strange titles, none of which Milli an
d Ernest recognised from the game they knew so well.

  Squatters’ Swamp must have been the lowest-valued property on the board as it was more of a grimy millpond than valuable real estate. But valuable or not, our protagonists knew that business acumen was always rewarded in the game of Monopoly. Besides, judging by the speed with which Miss Pawpaw and Goblin Grouse were netting properties, the children would need to buy everything they landed on in order to keep up.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Milli said.

  ‘That will be fifty pounds,’ said Mr Banker, looking up from reading his newspaper.

  ‘Fifty pounds for a scummy pond?’ Ernest objected.

  ‘Worst pond in the best street—think of the capital growth,’ Mr Banker replied with a shrewd grin. ‘Remember the first three rules of real estate: location, location, location.’

  Whilst Ernest considered this, Finn and Fennel were already extracting the correct sum of money and depositing it onto the glossy counter.

  ‘You are the first people to purchase Squatters’ Swamp in over thirty years,’ said Mr Banker. ‘You must be as mad as my Aunt Midge, but congratulations all the same. Swamps are vastly underrated in my opinion.’

  As the game progressed, the children quickly came to understand which properties to purchase and how to maintain a plump money bag. They landed on a square labelled Chance, which entitled them to whatever was written behind one of the squirming question marks in the middle of the board, and earned themselves ten pounds for winning a best hair contest. The fact that they had not entered a best hair contest, nor indeed altered their appearance since their arrival, confused them, but they were glad for the money nonetheless.

  When they landed on the Community Chest square, they found that the game took this quite literally and presented them with tasks that served the community. The children had to brush Miss Pawpaw’s fur (which, beneath its silky façade, was rife with knots), clean Goblin Grouse’s ears (a job for which they were issued large cotton-tipped spoons) and repair breakages for any of the landlords who requested it. Despite this, it would not be an exaggeration to say that the children were doing rather well and stood a fair chance of reigning unchallenged as Monopoly experts.