Free Circus of Thieves on the Rampage by William Sutcliffe and David Tazzyman

show was extraordinary, but since circuses are supposed to be extraordinary, you could say that the extraordinariness of the show was in fact rather ordinary. Apart from one thing. One
moment. A moment that for everyone in the audience except Billy was entirely ordinary (in the extraordinary/ordinary way I’ve just explained). It happened towards the end of the act, when
high up in the air above the stage, swinging to and fro with angelic grace, Queenie reached out and grabbed a dangling mirrorball. This was the only movement she made that wasn’t perfectly
smooth. Something about it seemed improvised, unrehearsed, slightly jerky. Queenie only held the mirrorball for a second, but while she had it in her grasp, she moved it into a spotlight and
positioned it at a very deliberate angle.
    What was so deliberate about this angle? Well, it sent a shaft of reflected light downwards, towards one particular seat in the front row, where a girl was sitting. This girl blinked in the
glare and shielded her face, but not too quickly for Billy to recognise her.
    This, Billy knew, was a message – a secret message – intended just for him. How he knew it, he didn’t know, but sometimes we all know things without knowing how we know them,
and this was one of those times.
    ‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ yelled Billy, leaping to his feet. ‘It’s . . .’
    Luckily, just as this moment of pure joy was on the brink of shattering all his inhibitions, Billy remembered who was sitting next to him. With enormous effort, just in time, he silenced
himself, wiped the grin from his features, and sat down.
    ‘It’s what?’ snapped Armitage.
    Billy had to think fast. Armitage could not be allowed to know that Hannah was there. He was in the middle of a revenge rampage, and Hannah was right near the top of Armitage’s list of
People Who Need To Be Taken Down A Peg Or Two. She had diddled him, stitched him up, done him like a kipper, and Armitage did not enjoy being diddled, stitched or kippered, not one little bit. All
diddlers, stitchers and kipperers went straight onto Armitage’s list, and the only way to get off it was to be diddled, stitched or kippered back.
    The last thing Billy wanted to do was to let Armitage know of Hannah’s presence.
    ‘It’s . . . cold,’ said Billy.
    ‘No it isn’t,’ replied Armitage.
    ‘I mean it’s hot.’
    ‘You’re right. Too stingy to put the air conditioning on, probably. Typical. That’s Queenie all over. All mouth and no trousers. All gong and no dinner. All frills and feathers
and fancy fripperies, but no ventilation to keep the punters comfortable. Am I right or am I right?’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Billy. ‘Typical.’
    Billy tutted supportively, but inside he was very much not tutting. In his heart, he was skippling, zooping and jiggiemuffering 33 for joy. Hannah, his
friend and saviour, was there! Right there!
    Unfortunately, so were ten thousand other people. He’d seen her, but now he had to get to her, which might not be so simple.
    ‘Time to go,’ said Armitage, grabbing Billy’s arm and hauling him towards the exit.
    ‘But the show isn’t over!’
    ‘We’re not here to have fun! We’re working!’ said Armitage. ‘Anyway, it’s all hype if you ask me. Boring, in my opinion. Average at best.’
    Together, they sneaked out of the auditorium and headed towards a vantage point concealed behind a thick pillar, from where they had an unobstructed view of the box office. It was from this spot
that Armitage watched, with particular interest, the moment when Reginald Clench left the ticket desk and locked up, before walking towards the stage carrying a tuba, for his part in the finale.
This was Clench’s only self-indulgence. He couldn’t resist claiming just a sliver of the limelight, by providing the
oompah
for the last tune of the show, dressed as a Hawaiian
maiden, floating across the stage on an inflatable palm tree. 34
    When Clench was on stage, who was in the