Read The Circus of Adventure Online
Authors: Enid Blyton
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Action & Adventure
But at last he saw houses in the distance. Anne was coming to a village—no, a town, because as he came nearer he saw that it was far too big to be called a village.
‘If I could just find somebody who spoke English, it would be such a help,’ thought Jack. ‘I could ask for a police-station then, and get a telegram—or cable—sent to Bill. I wish he’d come out here and help. I wonder what happened to him. I bet those fellows knocked him out.’
He came into the town and looked around him with interest. The shops were small and dark, the houses were white-washed or pink-washed, and seemed to run to curls and squiggles and much decoration—rather ‘fretworky’, Jack decided. Curly roofs, squiggly bits of woodwork here and there, and windows whose sills were covered with decorated flower-boxes.
The people looked like peasants, and were dressed in gay, simple clothes. No woman wore a hat, but many wore shawls. The men wore rather tight trousers, and had some kind of sash round their waists. Their waistcoats were gaily embroidered, and somehow they reminded Jack of bull-fighters though he didn’t quite know why.
The children were very dirty and badly dressed. Even the little girls wore long, rather raggedy skirts, and the boys wore tight trousers like their fathers but had no gay waistcoats. Instead they had very dirty red, blue or yellow shirts.
They soon saw Jack, and ran to him. The parrot fascinated them.
‘Powke, powke!’ they yelled, pointing at Kiki, who was delighted at being the centre of attention. She put up her crest and lowered it, and even did a little hoppitty dance on Jack’s shoulder.
‘Powke—that must mean parrot,’ thought Jack. ‘Hey, you kids—where’s the police-station?’
They didn’t understand a word, of course. They followed Jack, talking together, still entertained by Kiki, who was showing off tremendously.
Then a small boy with a little wooden gun ran up. He pointed it at Jack, and shouted ‘Pop-pop-pop!’
That was quite enough for Kiki. She stood up on her toes and shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Pop! POP! BANG-BANG-BANG! Pop goes the weasel! Powke, powke, powke.’
There was an awed silence after this effort of Kiki’s. Everyone stared, still trotting after Jack.
Kiki went off into one of her idiotic bouts of laughter, and the children all began to laugh too.
‘Wipe your feet, blow your nose!’ shouted Kiki, and then made a noise like an express train in a tunnel.
This made a tremendous impression. The children fell back a little, startled. But they soon caught up again, yelling ‘Powke, powke, powke ‘, and soon the crowd was considerably bigger, and Jack began to feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin with so many children following him.
Then a peculiar-looking person stopped him at a cross-roads, and addressed him quite sternly, pointing to the crowd that had now gathered round him. Jack didn’t understand a word.
‘I am English,’ he said. ‘English. You speak English? Yes? No?’
‘Ha! Ingleeeeesh!’ said the person, and took out a black note-book which immediately told Jack what he was. Of course—a Hessian policeman!
‘You speak English?’ said Jack, hopefully.
The policeman rattled off something at him, and held out his hand. He still had the note-book in the other one. Jack hadn’t the faintest idea what he wanted. He shook his head, puzzled. The policeman grew annoyed. He slapped his hand with the note-book and shouted again.
Jack shook his head once more. Kiki shouted back at the policeman. ‘Pop goes the weasel, put the kettle on, POP!’
All the children laughed. There were a good-many grown-ups around now, watching. One suddenly put his hand into his pocket and drew out a dirty, doubled-over card. He showed it to Jack, and made him understand that that was what the policeman was asking him for.
Jack saw that it was a kind of passport or identity card. He hadn’t got one on him, of course, so once more he shook his head. Kiki shook hers too, and the children roared.
The policeman shut his note-book with a snap and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He fired a sentence at him in sharp Hessian and pushed him in front of him smartly.
‘Now where do we go?’ thought Jack. ‘What a comic policeman—blue trousers, red shirt, blue sash, a comic kind of flower-pot helmet—really!’
But he didn’t think things were quite so comic when he saw where the policeman was taking him. There was no doubt about it at all. It was a police-station, a small, square, white-washed place, sober-looking and severe, with a good many more of the comic policemen standing about.
‘Look here! You can’t put me into prison!’ cried Jack, struggling away. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong! You let me go!’
Chapter 15
THE MAP COMES IN USEFUL
Jack was pushed firmly into a small, square room with one bench in it against the wall. He was made to sit down on this, and the policeman went to report at a big, untidy desk. He spoke very quickly, and it all sounded like a lot of Double Dutch to Jack.
It did to Kiki too, and she sat on Jack’s shoulder and sent out such a stream of unending nonsense that every policeman in the place stared in admiration.
Nobody was standing in Jack’s way to the door. He looked at it. He thought he would make a dash for freedom, and try to get away from these comic policemen. He was half-afraid he might be locked up for weeks. Perhaps they thought he was a beggar or a tramp? Perhaps it was a great crime not to have some kind of card to say who he was?
He saw his chance, when nobody was looking at him, and raced for the door. He was down the steps and into the street before a policeman stirred! He heard shouts behind him but he didn’t look back. Down the dusty street he ran at top speed, turned a corner, ran down an alley, and came to a big door.
He ran inside and looked round. No one was there. A squawk attracted his attention, and made Kiki look round in interest. Jack saw a parrot in a cage, a very gay one with blue and green and yellow feathers.
Kiki flew to the cage and stood on the top. She bent her head down and looked inside excitedly. Another parrot!
‘How-do-you-do, how-do-you-do!’ said Kiki. ‘Good morning, good night! Pop goes the weasel!’
The other parrot gave another squawk. It seemed rather scared. Then Jack heard the sound of footsteps, and before he could move, a voice spoke—a gentle voice, soft and kind.
A girl stood there, aged about twelve. She was beautifully dressed in gay silks, and her long dark hair was woven in and out with bright ribbons. She stared at Jack in surprise.
‘Eglinoota?’ said the girl. ‘Oota?’
Jack wished he knew what this ‘oota’ word meant. He really didn’t know what to say. He pointed to the parrots and smiled cheerfully. ‘Powke, powke!’ he said. The girl looked at the two parrots and laughed.
Then, to his delight, she slowly spoke a few words in English. ‘Where—you—go?’ she said. ‘You—English—yes?’
Jack fished out the bit of paper the man on the bicycle had drawn him. It would look as if he really was going somewhere, if he showed her that! She took it and nodded her head.
‘Come,’ she said, and took him to the door.
‘Listen—do you know anyone who speaks English well?’ asked Jack, eagerly. The girl didn’t understand, though he repeated it several times. Then she heard a voice from somewhere in the house, and she gave him a push, pointing down an alley, and then to the right. Jack thanked her, called Kiki and went out. He ran down the alley and came to the end. Then he turned to the right and went quickly along a narrow, dusty street with high walls each side.
He stopped at the end and looked at his map. He supposed he might as well follow it. Obviously the bicyclist must have had some reason for drawing it. It might lead somewhere useful!
In front of him was what would be, in England, a village green. But this green was parched and dusty, and three skinny hens wandered over it looking thoroughly miserable. At the side was a big round pond in which dozens of small children were paddling. Jack looked at his map again.
‘Ah—the pond! Yes, I must be on the right road. I’ll go down here, and see if I can spot the thing that looks like a church tower.’
He went on for some way without seeing anything like a church tower. At last he stopped a kindly-looking old woman and showed her the map. He pointed to the drawing that looked like a church.
She nodded her head at once. She took his arm and pointed across a field. There was a path there. It led upwards towards a hill. On the hill Jack saw a building with a great tower. He couldn’t imagine what it was, unless it was a Tauri-Hessian church.
He went on again, over the field and up to the tower. He looked at the map again—it showed a winding road from the tower and this road led to the drawing on the map that looked rather like a tent. Jack looked up from the map and recognized the winding road, going down the other side of the hill on which the tower stood. But what could the tent-like drawing be?
An old man sat on a bench, dozing. Jack went cautiously up to him and sat down. The old man opened an eye, saw the parrot and sat up at once.
‘Good. He’s awake,’ thought Jack, and pushed the map in front of him, pointing to the tent-like drawing, and trying to make the man understand that he wanted to get there.
‘Ahhhh,’ said the old fellow, in a hoarse voice. ‘Pikkatioratyforg. Ahhhhhh!’
‘Very helpful!’ thought Jack. The old man got up and tottered a little way down the path. Then he pointed with his stick.
‘Surkytalar,’ he said. ‘Surky.’
‘Surky,’ repeated Jack, and looked where he was pointing. Then he stared hard. He knew why the bicyclist had drawn the tent now! In a big field were crowds of tents and vans! It must be a circus of some kind—a travelling circus!
‘Of course! Surky—he means circus,’ thought Jack. ‘It’s a circus. That’s why that fellow on the bike directed me there. He thought I wanted the circus—thought I was trying to make my way to it, because I’d got a talking parrot. Well, well, well! I’ve solved that puzzle!’
He thanked the old man and thought he might as well make his way to the circus. Somebody there might possibly speak English. Circus people knew all kinds of languages. Anyway they were usually kindly folk, they might give him a meal and help him a bit.
So Jack, suddenly feeling very hungry again, went down the long winding road to the field where the circus was.
It took him about half an hour to reach it and when he got there he saw that it was packing up to move on. The tents were being taken down, horses were being put into some of the vans and there was a great deal of shouting and noise.
Jack leaned over the gate. A boy came by, carrying a load of boxes that looked very heavy. As he passed, the pile toppled over, and he dropped about four of them. Jack leapt over the gate and went to help.
The boy was about his own age, swarthy and black-eyed. He grinned at Jack, and said something he couldn’t understand. He said it again, in another language. Still Jack didn’t understand.
‘Merci beaucoup,’ said the boy, trying again this time in French. Ah—Jack understood that!
‘Ce n’est rien!’ he answered. The boy looked at Kiki and rattled off something in French again, asking Jack if he was a circus boy and had come to ask for a job there.
Jack answered as best he could, for his French was not really very good. ‘I should like a job,’ said Jack, in French. ‘Better still, I should like a meal!’
‘Come with me then,’ said the boy, again in French, and Jack followed him to a van. A woman sat there, peeling potatoes.
‘Ma!’ said the’ boy, in English. ‘Here’s a hungry kid. Got anything for him?’
Jack stared at the boy in astonishment. Why, he was speaking English! ‘Hey!’ said Jack, ‘why didn’t you speak English before? I’m English!’
‘My Dad’s English,’ said the boy, grinning. ‘My Ma’s Spanish. We don’t mind what language we speak, really. We’ve picked them all up in our wanderings around. Ma, give this boy something to eat. Do you think he can get a job with us? Where do you want to go?’ he asked Jack.
‘Well—is there a place called Borken anywhere about?’ asked Jack, hopefully.
‘Borken! Yes, we’re on the way there,’ said the boy, and Jack felt suddenly cheerful. ‘It’s a big town, and outside there’s the Castle of Borken on a hill.’
Jack drank all this in. A castle—would that be where the others had been taken? This was a bit of luck after all his set-backs. He would certainly go with this travelling circus if they would have him.
Ma gave him a meal. It was very rich and rather greasy, but Jack enjoyed it because he was so hungry. Then Ma said something commanding in Spanish and the boy nodded.
‘Got to take you to the Boss,’ he said. ‘And let him look you over. Got anyone to speak for you? Anyone’s name to give? The Boss will give you up to the police if you’ve run away from any kind of trouble.’
‘No, I don’t know anyone here who will speak for me,’ said Jack, anxiously. ‘I just want to get to Borken. I’ve got friends there.’
‘Oh, well—maybe they’ll speak for you,’ said the boy. ‘Look, my name’s Pedro. What’s yours?’
‘Jack,’ said Jack. He followed Pedro to a big motor caravan. Pedro rapped on the door, and a voice growled something from inside. They went in, and Jack saw a vast, enormously fat man sitting in a great chair. He had startlingly blue eyes, grey curly hair, and a beard that fell to his waist. He looked rather a terrifying kind of person.
‘You speak for me, Pedro,’ said Jack. ‘I shan’t be able to understand a word he says, unless he speaks English.’
‘I spik the English,’ said the old man, in his deep, growling voice. ‘English boys are good boys. Where you come from?’
‘Well—nowhere particularly,’ said Jack, wondering what to say. ‘Er—I’ve just been wandering about since I came to this country. But I’m hoping to meet my friends at Borken.’
The old man fired a question or two at Pedro. Pedro turned to Jack. ‘He wants to know if you’ve ever been in trouble with the police?’ he asked. This was awkward. Had he been in trouble with the Hessian police? Well, no, not really, Jack considered. So he shook his head.
‘He wants to know if you’ll make yourself useful here?’ said Pedro. ‘He can see you must be used to circuses because you’re carrying a talking parrot around with you. He says that if we stop here and there on the road to Borken, you can put your parrot on show if you like,’ and earn a bit of money by making it talk. He says, make it talk now.’