Justin Fisher - Ned’s Circus of Marvels

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2016

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Text © Justin Fisher 2016

Cover illustration © Manuel Šumberac

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Justin Fisher asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008124526

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008124533

Version: 2016-05-24

For C, the glue that binds my pages

And for L, G and L, my tiny pots of Ink

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1. A Birthday Wish

Chapter 2. Surprise

Chapter 3. The Greatest Show on Earth

Chapter 4. Kitty

Chapter 5. Lots & Lots of Marvels

Chapter 6. Whiskers

Chapter 7. The Present

Chapter 8. The Flying Circus

Chapter 9. Collision Course

Chapter 10. Mystero the Magnificent

Chapter 11. Behind the Veil

Chapter 12. Inside the Box

Chapter 13. Face-off

Chapter 14. Darklings

Chapter 15. Something in the Smoke

Chapter 16. A Prisoner

Chapter 17. Secrets and Lies

Chapter 18. Awakenings

Chapter 19. The Truth

Chapter 20. The Amplification-Engine

Chapter 21. French Steel

Chapter 22. A Single Grain of Sand

Chapter 23. Oublier and Co

Chapter 24. So Jump!

Chapter 25. Something in the Mirror

Chapter 26. Mr Sar-adin

Chapter 27. Edelweiss

Chapter 28. St Clotilde’s

Chapter 29. Mother’s Day

Chapter 30. Farewell

Chapter 31. Theron’s Keep

Chapter 32. Falling Star

Chapter 33. The Show Must Go On

Chapter 34. On Your Marks, Get Set …

Chapter 35. Annapurna

Chapter 36. Cold-hearted

Chapter 37. The Source

Chapter 38. The Final Curtain

Chapter 39. To Mend a Broken Heart

Chapter 40. Home

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Read on for a sneak preview …

About the Author

About the Publisher

The building work at Battersea Power Station had been abandoned without warning. ‘SITE UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT’ billboards had been hurriedly put up years ago, with a small logo stamped across their tops, ‘OUBLIER AND CO’. The army of cranes, bulldozers and diggers lay silenced, their only visitors an occasional seagull and deepening bouts of rust. It was late and London was asleep. As always, the River Thames flowed quietly by, disturbed only by the odd houseboat and the occasional taxi making a final drop off before heading home.

It started as it usually did. Deep in the bowels of the old power station, the air began to move. Behind a half-cracked mirror, water pipes trembled, inexplicably flowing backwards, inexplicably flowing at all. If anything could have lived down there, which it couldn’t, it would have run. Only the building’s four vast chimneys could see how the shadows turned and twisted, before revealing a mud-splattered, silver-haired nun.

Sister Clementine was tired, tired of running, tired of always being afraid. Ever since she’d agreed to carry the message, they’d had her scent. No matter how well she’d hidden, no matter what tricks she’d used, they’d always found her. Her chest was tight and her legs ached from the chase. She had to think fast; any minute now and they’d be on her. She couldn’t outrun them, especially not the little one. By the time she made it to the fence, they’d have her, and if they had her, there was no hope of keeping quiet. No one ever kept quiet.

Looking out towards the river, she saw a sliver of hope. If she could make the crane in time, she might get high enough to go unnoticed. She climbed the ladder quickly and quietly, her robes perfect cover under the pitch-black sky.

But Sister Clementine did not go unnoticed. Finally at the crane’s arm she slowed enough to hear them. The same two men that had tracked her since the beginning, one short and barrel-chested, the other impossibly tall. They were studying their new surroundings carefully. The shorter man sniffed at the air’s unique aroma, while the tall man’s pin-sharp eyes scanned the horizon. Their kind might usually have been nervous, afraid even of being on land owned by Oublier and Co. But not these men. It was not their job to fear, but to be feared. They were the things that went bump in the night.

In no time they had zeroed in on their target. They moved fast, the tall one climbing with all the skill of a spider while the other charged with the excitable brute strength of a predator nearing its prey.

Sister Clementine moved further down the crane arm as her assailants reached the top.

“Gimme the co-ordinates, Clementine. Jus’ two sets o’ numbers and you go free,” said the tall man, in a thick American accent.

Clementine’s foot slipped, finding only air instead of metal. There was nowhere else to run. The tall American pulled a revolver from his hip, aiming it squarely at the woman’s head.

“Don’t kill her, just wound her; she’s worth nothing if she can’t talk,” snarled the barrel, edging down the crane’s arm towards her.

The nun looked down at the void of black, before closing her eyes for one last prayer.

“He wants the child, Clementine,” said the American.

But the nun’s mind was already made up.

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love …”

Where there is darkness, joy …”

“WHERE IS SHE?” barked the barrel, almost upon her now.

Sister Clementine opened her eyes and smiled.

“Go to hell.”

She stretched out her arms like wings and pushed hard on the crane beneath her, launching herself into the air. There was no hard crunch of concrete below, only a splash as she landed in the River Thames’s waters. The tall American waited, peering into the darkness, before firing a single perfect round.

“Did you get her?” asked the barrel.

“Have I eva missed?”

“Hinks?” said Mr Wilkinson.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well done. A plus. Johnston?”