The Lampo Circus Page 17

  She reached out a finger and lifted away a curl that had flopped over Ernest’s face so they were looking eye to eye.

  ‘I think two can play Lord Aldor’s game,’ she said, and winked.

  Four expectant faces turned towards the fairy queen, but crinkled again in disappointment when she did not enlighten them. Fidelis wanted to be absolutely certain of her plan before raising the children’s spirits, which had already suffered enough knocks and blows. The children, who could not divine her thoughts, felt only frustration as they struggled to make sense of cryptic remarks such as:

  ‘If Lord Aldor thinks children are nothing more than blank canvasses upon which his duplicity can unfurl, then let’s show him what children are really capable of!’; or ‘Sometimes the strongest defence is to play into the enemy’s hands.’ They wondered if Fidelis, in her stressed condition, had temporarily taken leave of her senses.

  ‘Your Majesty, please explain to us what’s going on,’ Milli finally implored.

  ‘All in good time,’ the Queen said, recalling their presence. ‘I have come to the decision that the only course of action open to us is to remain true to ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, but what does that mean?’ asked Ernest.

  ‘You must wait and see.’

  Fidelis would elaborate no further despite the children pressing her. She had decided that ignorance was the safest state for them, for if by some misfortune Lord Aldor got wind of what she had in mind, their end would be all but assured. The Queen’s plan was ingenious in its simplicity. When the children eventually learned of it they wondered why it had not occurred to them before. But as they were not privy to the details of the plan at this stage, you too shall have to wait to find out what Fidelis had in mind.

  The Fairy Queen made two requests of the children: first, that they show faith in her judgement; and second, that they return immediately to Battalion Minor and their friends. There they must comfort the others, and offer them greetings from the Queen as well as an assurance of Mirth’s assistance. Most importantly, they must follow without question all instructions given by Oslo.

  Fidelis herself could not leave Mirth, much as she would have liked to accompany the children, for her powers weakened the further she journeyed from her people. She would be unable to protect them or herself in the event of an ambush. Instead, she summoned Mr Banker and his trusty motorcar, which regrew its egg-beater wings on command.

  The children found it difficult leaving Mirth, more difficult than they had expected. It was like being reunited with a childhood chum only to have the visit cut short by impatient parents. Instinctively, all four reached up to put their arms around the Queen’s neck, even though this was not the most appropriate way to take leave of royalty. Fidelis did not seem to mind; she returned their embraces with heartfelt emotion. The children felt they knew Fidelis well despite the brevity of their encounter. She was their only hope in the dark and arbitrary world known as the Conjurors’ Realm.

  Having become better judges of character in recent times, Milli and Ernest knew that Fidelis would not abandon them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gummy’s Secret Weapon

  The journey through the chilly night sky in Mr Banker’s silver motor vehicle would have been very different had the children not been wrapped in enchanted cloaks that prevented them feeling either cold or fear. The motorcar delivered them inside the walls of Battalion Minor. Regretfully, they watched it hover silently in midair for an instant before speeding away. They could hardly believe they were back at the camp they had worked so hard to escape from. But Fidelis had been adamant that the success of her plan depended on the children working as a team. They could still hear her words echoing in their ears: ‘Look after each other and fear nothing. I shall be awaiting your return.’

  Battalion Minor seemed unchanged as the party of four crept stealthily towards the barracks. The ablutions block was as squalid as ever, perhaps boasting an even thicker layer of grime. Despite the menacing silhouettes of combat stations all around, there was a disconcerting sense of tranquillity. It seemed to the children that each person asleep in his or her bed (or straw sack) was blissfully unaware of the battle they knew could only be hours away if the conversation they had overhead at the Drunken Admiral was to be trusted. They could hear Oslo and Fiend snoring in sync in the quarters they shared.

  As they passed the mess hall, they came across Muffy-Boo, Contessa Bombasta’s miniature poodle, dressed in a knitted vest and pink booties. His watery eyes stared reproachfully at the children as they passed. It seemed the Contessa and Federico Lampo were spending the night of Black Harvest in the jade citadel and had forgotten to take the pooch along. He looked so woeful that Milli, momentarily forgetting his poor training, scooped him into her arms. He growled and nipped her ear lobe in protest.

  ‘Muffy-Boo, I will not tolerate that from you,’ she rhymed sternly, and to her surprise Muffy-Boo hung his head and looked mortified.

  When she reached the entrance to the barracks, Milli hesitated. She felt a niggling reluctance to step back into a life of drills and regimentation. Despite the shortness of their stay in Mirth, the city had reignited in them all a love of freedom, which now proved difficult to relinquish. But they were the only ones who could lead the other children out of danger. Now was not the time to be pining after the pleasures of Mirth.

  Milli turned to look at the glowing spires of Lord Aldor’s jade citadel. They stood out prominently against the velvet sky and overshadowed everything in the vicinity. It looked as if the citadel’s master sought to rule over the heavens as well as over the earth. Time had done nothing to mellow Lord Aldor’s greed. His hunger was fuelled by both victory and defeat. Furthermore, he was cunning and wicked to the core. The foundations of Mirth were weak and he would use that to assist him as best he could. Lord Aldor was relentless; the sort of person who picks and scratches away at a scab until he succeeds in drawing blood.

  As quietly as they could manage, the four children tiptoed into the barracks, hoping to avoid a commotion. But no sooner had they stepped inside than a candle spluttered to life and a cluster of eager children surrounded them. The captives of Battalion Minor had sat awake night after night anticipating the return of their liberators. Even the youngest had refused to doze for fear of missing the news when it finally came. Ernest felt a surge of thankfulness that they had not lingered another night in the lavish toadstool palace. For these children, it would have meant another interminable night of waiting and hoping.

  When Milli had managed to subdue the excited voices to a whisper, she asked everyone to sit down to hear the story of their travels through the Conjurors’ Realm.

  Being deprived of good stories for any length of time can parch a perfectly good imagination and the children of Battalion Minor lapped up every word as a stray cat might a saucer of milk.

  Absently petting Muffy-Boo, they listened in rapture, mouths agape, when it came to the part about the dream babies described by Milli. They begged for more when Ernest told them about the marketplace in Runis and what one could see and buy there. They tittered as Finn fleshed out every detail of their stay at the uncongenial Drunken Admiral, and held their breaths while Fennel re-enacted the antics of the vicious Grin Bandits with their rusty pliers.

  It was close to midnight when the story was finished. Milli was pleased to see the children were flushed with excitement; some even looked relieved to have been left behind.

  ‘What exactly did Queen Fidelis say?’ someone asked sleepily.

  Milli paused, trying to remember the parts of Fidelis’s speech she had actually understood. As much of it was not communicable, she was forced to condense it in order to convey any real meaning.

  ‘She said she’s going to help us,’ Milli replied. ‘She sent a message to you all saying not to be afraid and that when the battle comes we will not stand alone.’

  Some faces brightened immediately upon hearing this, but others remained uncertain.


  ‘Lampo says the Fada are the ones we ought to be afraid of,’ a young boy called out. It was clear it had taken a good deal of courage for him to speak for he looked immediately abashed. To make matters worse, his comment unleashed a volley of questions and accusations the children had not been prepared for.

  ‘Is it true the Fada enchant their visitors and lock them in a dungeon?’

  ‘Do they really have wings like bats and fangs like a pythons?’

  ‘Does the Queen truly make her people dance until they can barely stand?’

  ‘We heard it is always night-time in Mirth.’

  ‘Did you see their underground torture chambers?’

  ‘I hope you didn’t eat their cakes. Lampo says if you eat anything in Mirth you can never leave.’

  ‘Listen!’ Milli called out over the racket. ‘Whatever Lampo has told you is lies. We have been to Mirth, we have eaten there, and as you can see we have come back safe and sound. The Fada are the kindest creatures you could ever hope to meet. Your heads have been filled with hooey-gooey garbage! You mustn’t believe a word of it! If you choose to, you are as bad as Oslo and the rest.’

  Some of the children were contrite and silently rebuked themselves, vowing to block their ears next time Lampo addressed them. But others were not persuaded and muttered privately to one another about victory and the tantalising promises Lampo had made in return for their allegiance.

  Milli exchanged uneasy glances with Ernest, Finn and Fennel. What had transpired in their short absence for the children to regard their captor as akin to a guardian? How much power had Lampo gained over these children and what fabrications had he used to achieve it? The worst part of it was that some children had stopped questioning and thinking for themselves. A good number had already been persuaded that the Fada were an enemy that had to be overcome in order for them to get home. And what wouldn’t they do to be able to go home!

  ‘What else has Lampo told you?’ asked Milli.

  ‘That if we defeat the Fada in what Oslo calls the Final Fray we can all go back to our families.’

  ‘If we help Lampo, that will never happen,’ Milli assured them.

  The confusion returned to the faces of those assembled.

  ‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight,’ Ernest said to Milli. ‘Let’s try to get some rest. We’ll all need our wits about us tomorrow.’

  As the group began to scatter, still muttering, an eager hand pulled at Milli and a small voice rang out. ‘Wait!’ It was Harrietta Hapless, her hair in two long ropes down her back, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. It appeared she had gained a lot of confidence since her brilliance with tying shoe-laces had been unearthed.

  ‘What is it, Harrietta?’ Ernest asked.

  ‘We have something to show you. While you were away, some of us needed a project to keep our minds off the training,’ Harrietta explained proudly. ‘So we came up with an idea of our own.’

  ‘Tell us about it,’ Milli encouraged.

  ‘Well,’ Harrietta said, suddenly hesitant, ‘just be warned that it is…well…disgusting.’

  ‘It’s crude,’ a voice piped up.

  ‘It’s unspeakable!’ called another.

  ‘It’s whiffy!’

  ‘But brainy!’

  ‘It’s zany!’

  ‘And noxious!’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Milli and Ernest together.

  ‘If this is a war we’re meant to be fighting,’ Harrietta continued gleefully, ‘we decided to develop a secret weapon of our own.’

  ‘We don’t have the materials to make weapons,’ Finn remarked dismissively.

  ‘We didn’t make one, we discovered one,’ Harrietta said. ‘Allow us to give you a quick demonstration.’

  Slowly and rather dramatically, the tank-like figure of Gummy Grumbleguts emerged from the shadows. He gave them a bow that sent his chins into a wobbling frenzy.

  ‘The secret weapon,’ he announced, ‘at your service.’

  ‘You’re the weapon?’ Fennel cried. ‘You’re the gentlest boy I’ve ever met.’

  Gummy looked offended for an instant before a rumbling filled the room like an erupting volcano. It took some moments for the four children to realise the sound was coming from Gummy himself. A few children tittered in amusement.

  But was that the worst of it? No, indeed, it was not! All laughter was cut short when the children smelt Gummy’s secret weapon a few moments later.

  Suddenly the barracks were overwhelmed by all the terrible smells in the world fused into one through some kind of internal chemical combustion. It is difficult to convey smell in print, but Gummy’s secret weapon combined wet dog with cheese in its final stages of putrefaction. It was like the ham sandwich that has been in your desk at school for the last two years. It was your brother’s sweaty socks and the cow dung fertiliser the next-door neighbours use in their vegetable garden. It was rancid and pungent and soggy and saccharine all at once. The best way to describe it would probably be to say that it was as deadly as paint stripper.

  Some children dived under their mattresses for refuge; others buried their noses in the nearest shoulder; and those with respiratory allergies simply stopped breathing altogether. It took every ounce of self-control for Milli not to run from the room. Many did try to escape, but Gummy barred their way in triumph. This was his moment and he was determined to have a full audience.

  The inventive Harrietta had taken a hair clasp out of her pocket and used it to peg her nose so she remained unaffected, but poor Ernest was one of those rendered unconscious by the deleterious gas.

  The odour refused to dissipate from the barracks for a long time, seeming to haunt the atmosphere like an entity. When at last it was safe to inhale again (and then only in very shallow and tentative gasps) Milli turned to Gummy.

  ‘What on earth have you been eating?’ she asked. Although her tone denoted both horror and disgust, she could not conceal that she was also rather impressed.

  ‘Mostly beans,’ Gummy declared. ‘I’ve been on a strict diet for weeks.’

  He rummaged in his pocket, withdrew a crumpled piece of paper and held it out to Milli. In Nonna Luna’s wobbly hand it read as follows:

  Nonna’s Hurricane Diet

  Guaranteed to produce flatulence at hurricane levels. To be avoided by newlyweds and those with a social life they wish to preserve.

  Bean Entrées

  White bean salad with mashed egg and red onion

  Kidney bean frittata

  Fried soybeans served on a bed of boiled cauliflower

  Bell peppers stuffed with organic lentils

  Lima bean and sardine roulade

  Mini cabbage rolls stuffed with beans

  Bean-based Mains

  Black bean enchiladas and a serving of bean bread

  Cheesy bean casserole

  Crispy bean tacos

  Four-bean risotto

  Bean and potato meatloaf

  Beany Desserts

  Bread, butter and bean pudding

  Bean cake with cream cheese frosting

  Borlotti bean soufflé with butterscotch sauce

  Chickpea sorbet

  Baked cheesecake with mixed bean crust

  Bean Beverages

  Warm bean juice

  Bean cola

  Bubbly bean cider

  Mineral bean water

  Bean, bean and bitters

  Bean sauvignon blanc

  Creamy bean soda

  ‘Surely this isn’t all you’ve been eating?’ asked an incredulous Milli. She was beginning to turn woozy herself and hoped it would not be too obvious if she had to sit down suddenly.

  ‘I can see that Gummy’s dangerous, all right,’ Finn said, ‘but what I don’t see is how we’re going to use him.’

  ‘It’s always useful to have a secret weapon during a battle,’ said Harrietta. She looked at her watch. ‘You’re just in time for his midnight snack. It allows the digestive juices to build up overnight.’

 
; ‘What happens in the morning?’ Fennel asked.

  ‘We don’t stay around long enough to find out.’

  At that moment a stout little figure in an apron and well-worn black boots appeared in the doorway carrying a tray covered with a checked tea towel.

  ‘My doves, you are back!’ she crooned. ‘How I missa you. Where is my Ernesto?’

  When Nonna Luna spotted Ernest on the ground, she gave a strangled cry like a seal and thrust the tray she was carrying into the arms of the nearest child. She rocketed across the barracks at an alarming speed for an old biddy and gathered Ernest’s prone figure into her arms. Using a bottle of crystallized smelling salts drawn from her apron she was able to quickly revive him.