The Palace of Laughter (15 page)

M
iles Wednesday, freshly minted Pigball legend, smiled as he was carried shoulder-high by cheering Halfheads down the bullring terraces. The Stinkers waited below in a surly knot, arguing about the outcome of the game. Tempers flared and scuffles broke out. Little and Henry were still under guard on the Stinker terrace. Jook approached the chief Stinker, and the rest of his gang fell silent.

“Halfheads claim the prisoners back,” said Jook.

The chief Stinker shook his head. “Stinkers demand a rematch. Spectators aren't allowed to score.”

“The Gnat didn't score,” said Jook. “You seen
it—our pez dropped the ball in the can.”

“Maybe so,” said the Stinker in chief, “but he played two balls. That's not allowed.”

“The way I heard it, that's only not allowed if one of them is an eyeball,” said Miles. “Anyhow, I can't help it if your Stinkers are dumb enough to run off with my best Sunday shirt.”

Jook laughed. “Pez is right, and you made a deal. Now hand over the prisoners.”

“Or else what,” sneered the Stinker in chief. Some of his fighters began to close in behind him.

“Or else the cops will get you,” said Miles.

“What are you talking about, farm boy?” said the chief Stinker.

“Big fellas, shiny buttons, just picked up your two guards,” said Miles, pointing over the Stinker's shoulder. The Stinker in chief laughed. “You don't expect me…,” he began, but he never got to finish his sentence. Miles was gone, his tiredness forgotten, sprinting in a wide arc around the surprised Stinkers toward the Stinker terraces, where two policemen were hauling Little's guards roughly up the stone steps. Another large meat-faced man made a lunge at Little herself, but she ducked between his legs and jumped down the last three terraces, almost landing on top of Miles
as he reached the bottom step.

“Miles!” she said. “You were brilliant!”

“No time for that.” Miles grinned. “Here's our chance. Let's get out of here.”

The police were streaming out from under the arches and cantering awkwardly down the terraces. They had managed to catch a couple of Gnats by surprise, though the small boys were mostly too quick for them. The arena was suddenly like an ant's nest that had been poked with a stick. Halfheads and Stinkers ran in every direction, pursued by police blowing whistles and shouting—now that the element of surprise had passed—about burglary and painted 'ooliganism, and grabbing whoever they could get their hands on.

Miles took Little's hand and ran toward the mouth of a narrow alley between the terraces. He stooped to grab his discarded bone on the way, and shoved it into his belt. They ran down the alley, through which angry bulls had once charged, rubbing the walls smooth with their coarse flanks and trampling the earth iron-hard beneath their hooves. At the end of the alley their way was blocked by a tall iron gate, topped with curved spikes.

“It's too high,” said Little.

“Not for you,” said Miles. “You've got wings.”

Little shook her head. “I won't go without you.” She seemed almost surprised to hear herself say this, but before Miles could answer he felt his ankle grabbed by a small hand, and he looked down in surprise to see Henry's head poking out from a small semicircular window in the alley wall, just above ground level.

“Sssssh,” said Henry. “They'll hear you. Get inside!” He disappeared back into the hole, and before Miles could say anything, Little was wriggling in after him. Miles was not sure he would fit, but the pounding footsteps of a heavy man on the terrace above made him drop down and squeeze through the narrow opening, and at the cost of a couple of buttons he was soon crouched in the dank darkness with Little and Henry.

Before long they could see a parade of boots and bare feet passing by the semicircular window. There was a loud clang and the squeal of rusty hinges as the police forced the iron gate open and marched their captives outside and into the waiting vans. The three fugitives huddled in their small cell without daring to whisper.

Some time after all the police boots had passed, and the sound of the departing vans had faded away, they saw the feet of two boys running quietly down
the alley toward the gate. There was a rusty screech as they forced the old gate open slightly, then moments later they heard a man's voice shout, “Two more there, Tom,” and the sound of a brief struggle, then silence.

“They've left sentries,” whispered Henry.

Miles looked about him, but they were in pitch darkness.

“There's no other way out,” whispered Henry. “I checked. There's one door, and it's locked. We'll have to wait till the night.”

Miles put his head in his hands. His felt bruised and numb and his knees ached from crouching. He would have liked to sit down, but the floor felt slimy under his feet. He patted his pocket from force of habit, as though Tangerine might have magically reappeared, but his pocket was empty. He had had enough of waiting.

“Can't we get back out through the bullring?” he asked.

“Too risky,” whispered Henry. “There'll be men on the terraces too, for sure.”

“What's outside the gate?” said Miles.

“Cops,” said Henry.

“Apart from them,” said Miles. “What if we can get past them?”

“I know a way down to the canal,” said Henry after a moment. “There's an old pipe. If we can get from the gate to the pipe without being seen, we might get away.”

Miles felt impatience rising up inside him. “Let's go then,” he said. He poked his head cautiously out through the window. There was no one to be seen in either direction, and he hoisted himself out onto the alley floor. He turned to give Little a hand up, but she was already beside him. He got to his feet and crept along silently to where the gate stood ajar, and peered cautiously through the gap, being careful not to open the noisy gate any farther.

A single police van stood nearby, facing away down the rutted road that circled the bullring. The back doors were locked, and he could see one of the policemen in the cab, pouring himself a steaming drink from a tartan thermos flask.

Miles turned to Henry. “You first,” he whispered.

Henry slipped through the gate, silent as a fox, and ran swiftly through the tall weeds in the opposite direction to where the van was parked, with Miles and Little following close behind.

A large concrete pipe ran half buried among the weeds. A little way along it there was a gaping hole where the concrete was broken, and Henry stuck
his head in to take a look, before dropping down into the pipe. It had not carried water for a long time. There was a layer of dried silt underfoot, and light filtered in through frequent cracks and holes. They moved rapidly and quietly in the dim light, the pipe sloping gently downward. After a couple of minutes they saw a circle of light ahead, which grew steadily larger as they approached. Henry stopped when he reached the end, and peered out cautiously in both directions. The pipe opened onto the canal, which too was almost dry, with just a thin channel of green water meandering along the mud bottom.

“Where are we?” asked Little.

“Gnats territory,” whispered Henry. “I reckon it's safe enough, them being distracted by the cops, but it wouldn't do to get caught here all the same.”

“Why are we going this way?” asked Miles.

“I'm taking you to the fun park,” said Henry. “That's where you want to go, isn't it—to the Palace of Laughter?”

“Yes,” said Miles, “but I thought that was in Stinkers' territory.”

Henry nodded. “It is, but this is the best way from here. If we stick to the canal, it'll take us all the way along to the fun park. Used to be a hole in
the fence there. If it hasn't been closed up you can get through into the park, and once you're in there you're in Stinkers' territory. I owe you that much for takin' on the whole Stinker team for us, but from there you'll be on your own. Fun park's not a place I'd go to for fun, if you see what I mean.”

They dropped from the pipe onto the dried canal bed, and ran along as quickly and soundlessly as they could, keeping close to the stone wall.

“Do you think they'll be all right, the rest of them?” asked Miles as they made their way quickly along the canal bed.

Henry shrugged. “There was lots of cops. More than I ever seen. I reckon someone must've tipped them off.”

“What will happen to the boys they caught?”

“They'll try to put 'em in reform school and grow 'em up. Reform school couldn't hold a Halfhead though, not if he wanted to escape.”

“How will you get back to the boneyard?” asked Little. She never seemed to tire, and her feet left no mark on the soft mud of the canal bed.

“I know lots of ways that others don't,” said Henry. “Been a creeper for nearly two years now, an' Jook says I'm the best he can remember. This whole
town's full of holes, like a big cheese, and I reckon I know most of 'em.”

The canal took a shallow right turn, and the shape of the big wheel came into view ahead. It was strange and still, like a thick spiderweb nailed to the sky by its rusting cars.

“The fun park,” said Henry. He looked nervous. “That big wheel is the Stinkers' HQ. If they catch you, they'll put you right up in the top car for three whole days, no food and nothing to drink but the rain puddles on the floor.” He shivered. “Ignatz says people used to pay money to go up on it in the olden days, but I don't believe that.”

As they trotted along the canal bed, Miles felt his boots grow heavier with the mud they were collecting. His stomach formed into a knot. He slowed to a walk, letting Henry draw ahead. The sky was beginning to cloud over, bringing a cold wind that whistled along the canal. The wheel grew bigger and bigger as they approached, until it seemed to half fill the sky. Its metal spokes were as thick as tree trunks, and the cars squeaked as they swung in the breeze, rust speckling their faded paint like a brown disease.

Through the spokes of the big wheel he could see a strangely shaped hill looming. In the haze it looked like an enormous head, facing away from them over
the outskirts of the city. He remembered the old crow's name for the Palace of Laughter—“Big Laughing Head”—and he knew that this must be the place. It was not as he had pictured it back in Larde, a theater overflowing with laughter and light. Jook had said that anyone who went in would never come out the same, and now that he could see the menacing outline of the place, Miles found it easier to believe.

“That must be the place,” whispered Little. “I don't like the look of it.”

Miles took her hand and squeezed it. “It'll be okay,” he said.

“You don't have to come with me,” said Little. “Silverpoint will know where to look for Tangerine.” She laughed. “Though I'll be in trouble for singing his name out.”

Miles looked at her in surprise. Rain had washed most of the soot from her hair, leaving it dirty white and tangled. She smiled up at him, but her eyes seemed to be searching his face for clues.

“I do strange things, remember?” he said. Little nodded. She looked relieved.

“Ssssh!” whispered Henry, who had stopped in front of them. “This is it,” he said, almost inaudibly. They were right below the corner of the fence that enclosed the fun park now.

Miles could not see any gap. “Where's the way in?” he whispered.

“There's a hole in the fence behind those bushes,” said Henry. “I'll show you which one, then I'm off.” He scanned the length of the fence, a small frown of concentration on his grubby face. There was no one to be seen. “Now,” said Henry. They climbed up onto the canal bank, and Henry crept along the narrow space between the fence and the bushes that grew beside it, until he came to a place where the wire had been cut. He pulled the broken fence outward and wriggled through the gap. Miles and Little waited, holding their breath. Henry turned and beckoned to them from the shelter of a pile of old tires, painted in different colors. “Quick,” he hissed. Little went through next, and Miles followed, squeezing himself with difficulty through the small hole.

Henry crawled around to the other side of the pile of tires. “This is as far as I go,” he whispered. “Stinkers can see the whole park from up in that wheel,” he said, “so you need to keep out of sight.” He pointed to two long rows of old canvas-covered stalls that started near where they crouched, and ran along beneath the wheel toward the looming head. “You can get inside the back of the stalls and
run the whole length of them. If you keep under the canvas you'll be out of sight most of the way, then you'll just have to run across the open space till you get to the Palace of Laughter. I don't know how you'll get in there, 'cause I never heard of anyone who's done it, not even Stinkers.”

“Don't know why you'd want to either,” said a voice behind them. They spun around in unison like startled fish. A boy sat by the gap in the fence, a stem of grass dangling from his lips. What little hair was left on his shaved head was tied up in a topknot, and a black mask was painted across his eyes. He appeared to be on his own. The boy spat out the grass stem and grinned. There was something familiar about him. “Is this a scoutin' party,” he asked, “or is it the whole invasion force?”