Читать книгу The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4 - Darren Shan - Страница 20

Gervil was on fire. Flames engulfed his lower legs, his hands, his torso and his face. People in the crowd were screaming. Some had fainted. A few fled by the exits at the back of the large tent. On the small stage, Gervil writhed, fell to his knees and rolled around as if trying to quench the flames.

A couple of the braver men tried to mount the stage and rush to Gervil’s aid. But as they clambered on to the boards, the owner of the Cirque Du Freak, Mr Tall, appeared before them suddenly. It was as if he’d materialised out of thin air.

“Please return to your seats, gentlemen,” Mr Tall murmured in his deep, croaky voice, his lips barely moving. “Your efforts are appreciated, but unnecessary.”

The men stared doubtfully at the impossibly tall, bony man in the dark suit and red hat. He had huge hands, black teeth and even blacker eyes. They’d seen him at the start when he introduced the show. He had looked merely strange then, eerie in appearance, but otherwise harmless. Now, staring up into his pitch-black eyes, the men felt uneasy, as if the tall owner of the fantastical circus was peering into their hearts and could stop them with a whistle if he wished.

“The Cirque Du Freak has been touring the world for more than three hundred years,” Mr Tall muttered, and even though he spoke softly, everyone in the tent heard him. “We have lost several audience members in grisly circumstances during that time — as I told you before the show began, this is a place of fabulous dangers and we cannot guarantee your safety. But in all those years we have never lost a performer. And we will not break that fine record tonight. Observe!”

Mr Tall stepped aside and the people in the crowd saw that Gervil had stopped struggling. He was sitting in the middle of the stage, still covered in flames, but grinning. He waved at the stunned spectators, jumped to his feet and took a bow. As they realised this was part of his act and went wild with applause, Mr Tall slipped off stage and paused out of sight of the audience, where Larten was watching, mesmerised as he had been every time he’d seen Gervil in action.

“A lively pack tonight,” Mr Tall said. “But I think they will be quiet after this.” He studied the toys and sweets on the tray that Larten was holding. He picked up a statue of Gervil and frowned. It would stay lit for more than a month once its owner set it on fire. That was impressive, but Mr Tall wanted the flames to last for a year. He walked off with the statue, stroking the side of his cheek, considering the problem. Larten barely noticed. He was entranced by the real Gervil, who had now brought a woman on stage and was letting her set his tongue on fire.

Larten had been travelling with the Cirque Du Freak for six weeks and he still found himself transfixed at each performance. Tonight’s show had started normally enough. After Mr Tall’s introduction, a group of scantily clad dancing ladies had taken to the stage, to the delight of the men in the audience. Mr Tall didn’t like the dancers – he felt they cheapened the show – but they were expected. By the end, nobody would remember them — they’d stream away yammering about Gervil, Laveesha and the rest. But many had come to see semi-naked ladies, and Mr Tall knew that it paid to give your audience what it wanted. At least to begin with.

Rax, the human hammer, followed the dancers. He could hammer nails into wood and stone blocks using his head. It was a fun but unspectacular act. Merletta, a magician married to Verus the Ventriloquist, followed Rax. She was a skilled magician and wore almost as little as the dancers, so she was warmly received. But, like Rax, she offered nothing out of the ordinary.

Gervil was the first of the magical freaks. His appearance marked the real start of the show. The lucky people in the crowd would be taken on a voyage of dreamy, unbelievable dimensions from this point on. By the time they filed out an hour or so before midnight, their imaginations would never be the same again.

The hairless Gervil could set his flesh on fire and not be burnt. It was a truly remarkable gift. Larten knew that many people came to the Cirque Du Freak convinced it was a sham. And while they fell into a wondrous spell during the performances, he was sure a lot of them would convince themselves in the cold light of day that it had all been a clever act.

Larten knew better. He had travelled with these people, eaten with them, run errands for them, traded tales with them. Each performer was genuine. Mr Tall had no place in his show for fakes.

Gervil finished by setting his eyeballs on fire – that part of the act still shocked Larten – then left the stage to riotous applause. There was a break after that, during which Larten wove through the crowd, selling wares from his tray, shaking his head with a smile whenever he was asked how Gervil had endured the flames.

Salabas and Laveesha were the stars of the second act, Merletta sandwiched between them in order to allow the crowd to draw its breath. She often performed in all three acts, a variety of impressive tricks. She had amazed with playing cards to begin with. Now she displayed her escapology skills, wriggling free of chains and shackles, topping it off with an escape from beneath a dropping frame of stakes. Her routine was slick and exciting, but nothing compared to the pair set either side of it.

Salabas Skin looked like an ordinary person. He told a short story about his life and made it sound very dull. “But then, one day, I had an itch. I tugged at my skin and lo and behold…” He grabbed the flesh of his right forearm and pulled. The skin stretched away from the bone as if it was made of some supple fabric.

To gasps of disbelief and delight, Salabas proceeded to stretch the skin all over his body. He pulled out the wall of his stomach by nine inches on either side. Tugging the flesh of his face, he invited audience members up and had them attach more than fifty pegs to his cheeks. He tied the skin of his chest into a bow.

His grand finale involved Salabas gathering the skin of his throat. He raised it higher and higher until it formed a weird mask over his mouth and nose. It was both disgusting and hilarious. Salabas exited to a huge round of cheers, as he did every night.

Laveesha was billed as the tattooed lady. Most freak shows had a tattooed performer, someone who showed off their fleshly display of art, but Laveesha’s tattoos were mystical and spellbinding. They changed shape whenever somebody sat close to her and stared at them. The inks would shimmer and run, break apart, then reform to reveal a new image, reflecting a hidden desire or secret of the person watching.

Laveesha always warned her volunteers of the power of her tattoos, and urged them not to come close if they had any deep, dark secrets they wished to hide from the world. Killers had revealed their murderous deeds in her presence. So had other criminals. Many more had brought forth the faces of people they lusted after, or images of loved ones who had died.

Her show was unsettling and upsetting. Yet volun-teers always came, even after the first few had reeled away from the tattoos in tears or screaming or protesting their innocence. They were drawn to her, compelled to approach, darkly fascinated by what their souls would reveal. It was like having a mirror that showed only the features you least wanted to behold. A person might hate such a mirror, yet still feel driven to stare into it.

Laveesha could have entertained a steady stream of customers all night, but she stopped after the sixth. She was a superstitious woman and didn’t like a straight string of seven clients. But as she took her bows, a number of people slipped away to meet her in her tent for a private audience. Individuals sought out Laveesha after every show, even though she never offered her services or told them where her tent was. Larten could have eavesdropped on those meetings, but he didn’t, partly because it would have been rude, mostly because he was scared of what he might learn.

He circulated with his tray during the second interval. Dolls of Salabas Skin disappeared from it like magic — they always sold well, especially the versions which you could eat. But although there were beautifully crafted dolls of Laveesha, featuring a variety of tattoos, Larten only sold a couple of them. If he had been responsible for production of the merchandise, he wouldn’t have bothered with any doll of Laveesha. But Mr Tall made most of the sweets, toys and dolls, and for him the reward lay in the creation more than the sales.

“Having no need for money, I would happily give my wares away,” he’d told Larten one day, “but humans don’t appreciate anything unless they pay for it.”

Larten had noted the tall man’s use of the word humans, but made no comment. There was a lot more to Mr Tall than met the eye, but the owner of the Cirque Du Freak guarded his secrets carefully and Larten figured he would learn more by watching than by asking questions.

Acrobats spun around the stage while Larten and his team sold goods to the crowd. Most of the acrobats doubled as the dancing ladies at the start, only now they were dressed in different costumes. Once they’d departed, a couple of clowns caused chaos in the aisles, drenching people with water and telling rude jokes. Mr Tall was a master when it came to judging the mood of an audience. Laveesha was a true star, but she had a grim effect on the crowd. These simple entertainers were his way of shifting the show back on track for an uplifting finale guaranteed to send everyone away with a smile. (On other occasions he kept Laveesha back until the end and sent the audience away uneasily into the night. He liked to experiment with the line-up.)

As the clowns rolled away, fighting and cursing, Verus the Ventriloquist took to the stage. He started with a dummy, like any other of his kind. But after a few minutes he put the wooden figure aside and pointed at a woman near the front.

“I think you have been secretly admiring me, madam,” he said.

The woman looked shocked and opened her mouth to protest. But what came out was, “Yes, Verus, you’re the most dashing man I’ve ever seen.”

Her husband started to roar at her, but his angry cry changed halfway through and instead he said, “I’ve been admiring you too, Verus!”

The crowd erupted with laughter as they realised Verus was manipulating the pair, working them as he had the dummy. The laughter never stopped as Verus picked on one member of the audience after another, having them say whatever he wanted them to, but in their voices, not his.

As Verus drew his act to a close, Merletta came on one last time. Verus cocked an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. He focused and pointed both hands at her. He was trembling slightly. Merletta only smiled, then crooked a finger in Verus’s direction. He fell to his knees and declared, “You’re beautiful, Merletta! You’re the real star of the show!”

To a chorus of cheers and whistles, Verus rose and passionately kissed Merletta before exiting the stage. In real life the ventriloquist and magician were married, but they never told that to an audience. It was more fun to let people think that Merletta had turned the tables on Verus.

After a few small tricks, Merletta sawed a woman in half, then made herself vanish. Mr Tall came on with the final performer, Deemanus Dodge. As the stage was cleared, Larten and others went through the crowd, handing out rotten fruit and vegetables, along with dirt-encrusted rocks and chunks of coal.

“Ladies and gentlemen — observe!” Mr Tall yelled, producing a bar of solid gold. A hush fell over the audience, all eyes pinned on the yellow bar. It was a genuine fortune. Though there were some wealthy people in the crowd, most were poor and had to scrape by in life, surviving day to day in a hard, cruel world. A bar of gold like this would change their lives forever.

“You have all paid an entrance fee and bought many of our trinkets, for which we bid you thanks,” Mr Tall said. “But you do not have to go home lighter of pocket. We will give you a chance to win this gold bar and walk out of here rich beyond your wildest dreams. When I leave, Deemanus will issue a challenge. If any of you get the better of him, this bar will be yours.”

Mr Tall glided off stage and Deemanus stepped forward. He was wearing a white suit and a matching bowler hat. He smiled at the silent, covetous crowd. “It’s very simple, good ladies and gents. All you have to do is throw your missiles – that is to say, the objects that have been handed out – at me. You can throw other things too: shoes, coins, whatever you like. The first person to hit me wins the gold bar.”

Deemanus stood there, smiling and waiting. For a few seconds nobody moved. Most people were frowning, trying to figure out the catch — winning a gold bar could never be that simple. Then one man, a bit quicker or greedier than the rest, stood up and threw a head of cabbage at the stage.

Deemanus stepped aside as the cabbage sailed past. “A lame first shot,” he chided the man. “Surely the rest of you can do better than that.”

As soon as he said it, objects rained down on him from all directions. People threw manically, savagely, fruit, vegetables, rocks and coal. Some tore off their shoes or snatched trinkets from their pockets and lobbed those at him. Many raced to the front of the stage for a better shot, tussling with those in their way. One over-eager man produced a gun in his furious excitement and fired two shots at the performer.

Deemanus dodged everything, even the bullets. He didn’t move at an incredible speed, but simply seemed to dance around the stage, making tiny adjustments to his limbs to avoid the flying objects.

It seemed to last an age, but in reality the act lasted no more than a minute. The rain of objects trickled to a drizzle, then ceased. People were panting, wide-eyed, staring hungrily at Deemanus, scouring his suit for the slightest smudge. But it was spotless. He turned slowly, letting everyone see, even taking off his hat to display the top of it. Then, with a wink, he bowed and skipped from the stage.

Disappointment gave way to chuckles. People laughed at others and themselves, appreciating the humour in their wild display. A few looked genuinely bitter, but most had enjoyed the sport. The applause, as Mr Tall took to the stage to bid them goodnight, was deafening. They filed out in high spirits, buying more of the toys and sweets from Larten and his crew, before strolling home to catch as much sleep as they could before work early in the morning.

As the last patron left, Larten stowed his tray, then returned to the tent to help clean the stage. This was the only part he disliked, but with lots of people chipping in, they swept up quickly enough. By midnight he was sitting by a huge fire with the cast and crew of the circus, enjoying a hot drink and the warm glow of having been part of another legendary, unique and freakishly fabulous performance.