The Boy Who Cried Fish (15 page)

‘Without
me
,’ Cook was going on, ‘this circus would be
nothing
. But no one thinks about that do they? No one puts
Cook’s
name on the posters. No one shouts
Cook’s
name in the Big Top, do they? No. They say, “Hey Cook, we’re
hungry
.” They say, “Hey Cook, we’re waiting for our
dinner
.” They say, “Hey Cook, can I have some
more
?” Cook! Cook! Cook! That’s all I hear.’ He put the carrot down and picked up a meat cleaver (which is a sort of knife with a massive square blade, specially made for whacking off great hunks of meat and careless fingers). ‘Do you know what, though? That’s – Not – My – Name!’

With each word he slammed the huge knife down on the chopping board, sending chunks of carrot flying through the air.

He stepped towards the three of them, waving the hunk of sharpened metal in his hand. It dripped with orange carrot juice. Fizz looked to his side, with his eyes, and saw the Admiral looking back at him. There was a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face, as if he were really trying his hardest to move.

‘
You
,’ Cook shouted, waving the chopper in Admiral Spratt-Haddock’s face. ‘You were a dream come true, weren’t you, with your
seafood supermarket
just up the prom. The Ringmaster’s always on at me to cut costs, to keep the expenses down. But it’s not just that, oh no. You see, I know
who
you are, Admiral Fish-Brains. You’re another one of them
animal trainers
.’ Cook spat at the ground, as if the words disgusted him. ‘There’s loads of your sort round here. Trembly with all her lovely horses, prancing around with their feathery headdresses. Erasmus Dockery and his Educated Iguanas. Dingle, with his mangy old lion. Oh, I remember when he turned up, when the Ringmaster made the announcement. Coming in, stealing the show, stealing the limelight. “We’ve got a lion act now,” they said, “no need for Terry Trapp’s boy.” Criminal! That’s what it was. Criminal!’

Fizz could see hear the swish of the meat chopper as Cook waved it around underneath the Admiral’s nose, chopping the air into small slivers. If Admiral Spratt-Haddock had had a moustache, it would have been all gone by now, Cook was waving it that close.

‘Well, it was my
pleasure
to ruin your rotten fish house, just as it’s my
pleasure
to supply Dingle’s rotten meat. Hah!
Anything
to make the
zookeepers
unhappy.’ He chuckled, to himself, wickedly. His red eyes flared. ‘When that lion’s gone, they’ll come begging me. They’ll be on their knees. “Oh,” they’ll say, “Terry Trapp’s boy, will you come and do your act for us?” Then it’ll be no more cooking! No more chopping and roasting and toasting! That’ll be tomorrow, but today . . .’

He stopped talking and looked around. He scratched his ear with the cleaver, then he turned back. Fizz still couldn’t move. He tried shouting, but nothing came out.

‘Today, though, I’ve got a problem, ain’t I? You three know too much. So, I’m going to have to do something about it. I think a mysterious disappearance, don’t you? That’ll put an end to all this fish on the menu. No more complaints. I’ll give ’em meat pies. Tell ’em they’re pork pies, eh? No one’ll know the difference.’

Fizz wanted to gulp. Could Cook really mean it? Surely not. But when Fizz looked in his eyes, as bloodshot and red as they usually were, he was sure the bloke had gone potty. They were flashing with lightning and creased round with anger. This was exactly the moment Dr Surprise should come back, he thought. A click of his fingers and the three of them would be free, and they’d be able to jump on Cook and pin him down.

Except he hadn’t come back.

Fizz tried extra hard to move . He concentrated and strained and wished and . . .

. . . his finger, the little one on his left hand, moved half a centimetre.

It was a start.

A very small start.

‘Okay, we’ll start with the big one!’ shouted Cook, pulling the Admiral forwards.

Fizz saw him lift the cleaver high and then he heard a noise.

If he’d been able to turn his head, he would’ve turned to look at where it came from. He wasn’t able to, but Cook was, and he looked round, understandably anxious to not be disturbed in his chopping.

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

Through the side of the tent a dark shape lunged, so huge and fast it burst the canvas into ribbons, its clawed feet propelling it forwards like a scaly missile.

‘Arrghhh!’ screamed Cook, never having been attacked by a huge crocodile before, and, apparently, not being open to new experiences.

He fell backwards, knocking saucepans off work surfaces, and dropping his meat cleaver onto the grass at their feet. There was an awful clattering and crashing and the man fell out of sight, behind benches and tables, with the crocodile following him.

Fizz couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear. Cook was shouting, which meant at least he hadn’t been eaten yet. Things were falling over. It was a cacophony.

And then it wasn’t. One word had cut through the noise and turned it to silence.

‘Sit!’

Well, almost silence. Fizz could hear Cook babbling in fear, somewhere on the floor out of sight.

‘Naughty,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle, from the side of the tent.

The Captain was wagging his finger and telling the crocodile off. And to Fizz’s amazement, the crocodile was listening.

‘He’s not out there. And he’s not in his caravan. I went and checked. We ought to tell the Ringmaster. He must be found. I wonder if—’ said Dr Surprise, coming into the tent through the flapway he’d gone out five minutes before. He stopped when he saw the wreckage all around him. ‘Um?’ he said.

‘Croc,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle, pointing at the huge reptile.

‘Oh yes. Oh my,’ said the Doctor. ‘And
there’s
Cook,’ he added, pointing underneath the crocodile. ‘Croc and the cook. Cook and the croc.’ He looked at the boys, and at the Admiral. ‘Why are you all standing there?’

‘Mmm-nnn-gghh,’ said Fizz, pointing at himself with his little finger.

Dr Surprise still had his watch in his hand, like a gangster might carry a revolver. He looked at it and said, ‘Oh. Cripes.’ Then he clicked his fingers and Fizz felt every muscle in his body relax.

He was free again.

Somewhere outside he could hear the circus band playing the walkout music, which is what they play at the end of the show after the big finale, for everyone in the audience to, well, walk out to. And he could hear the excited chatter and laughter of a happy audience passing by the Mess Tent on their ways home. If only, he thought, they’d seen the show that had happened in here this evening. They’d really have got their money’s worth.
Death-defying
was one way to describe it. (Although only just.)

Chapter Fourteen

In which ends are tied up and in which the circus moves on

Once he was able, Fizz poured the whole story out.

Captain Fox-Dingle listened, his moustache quivering. Even though he was a military man and notoriously reserved, the idea that Cook had been about to do what he’d been about to do made him go purple in the face. He didn’t seem to mind so much about having eaten half of the Admiral’s fish.

‘Well, lads,’ said the Admiral, when Fizz had finished. ‘We’ve got to work out what to do about this.’ He pointed at Cook, who was still underneath the crocodile. ‘I’m angry about my fish. I could keel-haul the man, I could gut him from gizzard to lizard and leave him for the seagulls, but that’s not the point. That won’t bring back Craddock and the rest. And you’re moving on in the morning, you could take him with you. But I’m worried for you boys. What’ll happen to you if he’s not . . . dealt with? We’re going to have to get the police in.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Dr Surprise. ‘I’ve got an idea. But first we need to move the, uh . . .’

He pointed at the crocodile.

‘Good luck with that,’ said Admiral Spratt-Haddock. ‘I’ve been trying to tell her what to do for years. Threw me alarm clock at her once and she
still
follows me around, getting in the way and beeping when she gets excited. She don’t do nothing that I say.’

Captain Fox-Dingle twitched his little moustache at that. ‘Easy,’ he said.

He stepped over and tapped the crocodile on its armour-plated shoulder, and said ‘Off,’ in a firm voice.

The crocodile opened an amber eye, eyed the Captain for a moment, and then stood up and waddled away to another corner of the tent.

‘Oh, Captain Fix-Dongle,’ the Admiral said. ‘You’re a marvel and no mistake.’

‘It’s Fox-Dingle,’ whispered Fizz.

‘Is it?’ said the Admiral, innocently.

‘Sprott-Hiddock,’ said Captain Fox-Dingle.

‘It’s Spratt-Haddock,’ said Fizz, before he realised the Captain had just done the unimaginable. He’d cracked a joke. Hadn’t he?

The Admiral laughed and clapped the Captain on the back.

‘Oh, that’s a good one, you old dog!’

Fox-Dingle coughed. One joke was quite enough and he didn’t approve of all this backslapping and laughter.

‘Croc?’ he asked, pointing at the beast.

‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ Admiral Spratt-Haddock said. ‘If you’re minded to train her, and if she’ll stay, then she’s yours, Captain. All yours.’

Fox-Dingle rubbed his hands together and his small square moustache perked up.

‘Captain,’ Fizz said, tugging at his sleeve. ‘I’ve just remembered something else Cook said. He said he’d been giving you Charles’s meat. It sounded like he’d been poisoning it or something. So maybe Charles is going to be alright now? Maybe he’ll get better?’

As the Captain looked at Fizzlebert there was softness round the edges of his eyes. He shook his head slowly.

‘No,’ he said.

Which, Fizz realised, meant several things. First it meant Charles wouldn’t be getting better, that he
was
old and tired and there’s nothing to stop that. But secondly it meant, ‘No, I’ve not been feeding Charles with the scraps Cook gave me, I’ve been ordering premium steak and great chewing bones from local butchers. I didn’t want to hurt Cook’s feelings by telling him this.’

Sometimes a simple ‘No,’ in the right hands says a whole lot more than you might think.

While they’d been talking Dr Surprise had been leaning over Cook. Fizz had noticed some pocket-watch waving and had looked away quickly, not wanting to be zapped by a hypnotic timepiece.

‘There we go,’ Dr Surprise said, standing up.

Cook stood beside him. His eyes looked much less crazy, less bloodshot than before and underneath his stubble his mouth was curved into something of a smile.

‘What I’ve done,’ the Doctor went on, pointing to his watch, ‘is, I’ve removed all memories of this last week, of his burglaries and of this evening’s . . . unfortunate events. And, on top of that, I’ve instructed him to love cooking. From what you said, Fizzlebert, it sounded like he was jealous of everyone in the ring, everyone with an
act
. Well, the answer to that is simple. It is to love what
you
do, not to hate everyone else for what
they
do. So, he’s now a chef to his bones. For him, now, every mealtime will be a display of his talents. An act, in fact. Every empty plate will be like a round of applause to his ears. I think we’ll see a marked improvement in standards round here.’

‘Can you do that?’ Fizz asked.

‘I have,’ the Doctor said.

‘I mean,
should
you do that? Is it right?’

‘I think he’ll be happier now, Fizzlebert,’ the Doctor said, which wasn’t really an answer, but sometimes the real answer is complicated. ‘And this way, we don’t need to tell your parents that you
ran away
at night
and
broke into an Aquarium
, and we don’t need to tell the Ringmaster any of it. And anything we can do to not worry that fine gentleman, I think, is for the good.’