“Alright everyone, listen up!” Irvine Stoker, ringmaster of Stoker Circus called to his troupe who had gathered inside their Big Top tent set up in Allford, just outside their carnival. “It’s that time of year again. The best time of the year. It’s garden party season and that means billionaire bunce! First up we have Beckingridge Manor. We just need a small troupe so who’s going to make the cut?”
His brother’s, Valdrick and Felix were on either side of him. Felix seemed to be making his own assessments and completely disregarding anything his brother was saying. Val was wondering how it came to be that Irvine was making the calls when he was the eldest and it was rightfully his place. Irvine scrutinised his performers closely.
“Word is, Ernie Beckingridge loves clowns so Olga and Cyril, you guys are in.”
“Yey!” Olga and Cyril clutched each other and leapt up and down with excitement.
Continuing to pick his crew Irvine said, “we need a good headlining act. We need a real showstopper. We need something people are going to really want to throw bunce at.”
The trapeezy easy’s, Errol and Ethel, stood side by side, an arm around each other’s shoulders, with expectant looks on their faces. They had been headlining Stoker acts for a while, they were real Big Top sensations.
“Easys?” said Irivine.
“Yeah …” they grinned.
“You’re out.”
Their expressions fell. “What? Why?”
Irvine folded their arms and raised his eyebrows. “Because you’re always up there, swinging around, showing off. Quite frankly you make the rest of us look bad. Until you’re ready to be team players you’re out.”
Val took over. “Besides. We heard you’ve been taking sponsorships elsewhere.”
Both Easys scowled and lowered their heads.
Irvine was pulled back as Gretel climbed up his back. He threw her from his shoulder, landing her on the Big Top floor with a hiss.
“Not you, Gretel. We will not be taking any freaks. George Beckingridge is freak enough. That means you’re out too Heidi.”
Lizard woman Heidi, who also happened to be Irvine’s wife rasped her fork tongue at him causing him to step back and push Val forward.
“You’re doing it all wrong!” cried an old man in a wheelchair watching on.
Irvine rolled his eyes. Felix was still focused on his own plans.
It was Val that called back. “No one asked you, Hanz.”
Hanz Stoker grumbled something under his breath, adjusting the blanket over his lap. The only reason he had come down to Allford was because he knew it was garden party season and he suddenly felt the need to spend some time with his family. The nurses obliged. His nephews dismissed him so he continued to observe.
Felix finally spoke up, “what about some animal acts? The animal acts are great for garden parties.”
Both Irvine and Val looked to their little brother.
“We have lion tamer without a lion, the doves were put into the hat last year and they haven’t been seen since and the donkeys completely refuse to do dressage,” explained Irvine impatiently.
“Then we get proper dressage horses,” was Felix’s suggestion.
Val looked at him like he had spoken a different language. Irvine looked like he wanted to slap him.
“Are you going to talk to the Stanis and get us some of those golden horses? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to pinch from a bloody Stani? You want to try and steal a golden horse from under them, grow up Felix,” Irvine griped.
Felix shook his head. Then he gave it some more thought. “Why are you the one making the decisions when Val is the eldest?”
Val turned to Irvine. “That’s a good point. Who put you in charge?”
Never one to be backed into a corner, Irvine looked between his brothers and said, “because, Adrien, our dear father, said to me, he said, ‘Irvine, my most goodest boy. When I’m gone all of this will be yours’ he was indicating the circus. ‘I want you to take charge of everything. Valdrick doesn’t have the head for it and Felix just drools a lot – you were a baby at the time. That’s what he said.”
“No he didn’t!” Hanz called from his wheelchair.
Irvine turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you just full of opinions no one asked for.”
“Adrien did not say that,” Hanz maintained.
“And that’s your opinion.”
“I’ll take the headlining spot,” Felix stated with confidence. “My act always goes down well.”
“Knives? Throwing knives at Beckingridge manor with Elizabeth around?” Val put to him. “Actually that might not be such a bad idea. Elizabeth gets a knife to the skull one of the other Beckingridges are bound to give us a huge tip.”
“Good point,” Irvine agreed. “You do have some good ideas every now and again Val.”
“That’s not a good idea,” the youngest brother corrected.
Irvine placed his hands on his hips and stuck his chin out. “I know your game. You are just trying to push us out. Can you believe that Val? Our own brother is trying to push us out.”
Maintaining eye contact with Irvine, Felix said, “we could use a juggling act too. those are always great for garden parties.”
Val beamed. He wrapped an arm around Felix. Now the both of them were assessing Irvine. Irvine was aghast. “Fine! Fine! You want to play favourites? Then let’s play favourites.”
“You’re doing it all wrong!” Hanz called from his wheelchair again. “The Beckingridges are old money. If you want to impress them you need a an old school act.”
“Is that you then Hanz?” Val asked, his tones dripping with sarcasm. “You can barely walk the length of yourself and you expect to climb up on your stilts?”
Hanz grumbled again and waved them off with a sneer.
“We can use juggling, knives and whatever it is that Irvine does,” Felix suggested. “We split the takings between us. If we do a good job we can make enough off the Beckingridge’s to see us through the winter.”
“Share?” Val and Irvine asked together. Irvine felt a little bile in the throat at the idea. Then they hesitantly agreed.
“Sure, Felix. We’ll share.”
Neither had any intention of sharing which I’m sure you can gather by now, dear readers. That was why the morning of the garden party at Beckingridge Manor Irvine slipped away an hour before the agreed departure time. At least he tried to. He climbed into his car – a red and blue Cooper named Smiler – and gave himself a mental pat on the back that he would be at the Manor first.
‘Leave it all to me. You just come and see me for payment, Mr Beckingridge. Do you want some personal clown lessons? I could teach you a few things for a moderate fee.’
Irvine sure had it all worked out. He started the car and made to drive off when Val sat up from the back seat where he had stowed away.
Irvine gave a cry of fright. “What the Hell are you doing back there!?”
“I knew you’d do the dirty. I can’t even trust my own brother,” Val complained.
“Why didn’t you just take the car?”
“I was going to then I saw you coming so I hid in the back.”
“Fine. Let’s just get out of here before we have to share with Felix too.”
Clang! Something landed on the roof, or someone. Irvine slammed on the brakes and Felix popped his head down to the front passenger window. With a knife in hand he tapped it against the glass.
TINK. TINK. TINK.
“Let me in Irvine,” Felix demanded.
“You’re too late,” Irvine replied.
The youngest brother warned, “you’re going to have to bloody carry me all the way to Filton one way or another.”
Irvine grinned as he put his foot to the floor. “Then I hope you have a good grip!”
They sped off and Felix made the travel hanging on. Irvine assumed he would have shaken him off as they took the city bypass. Felix was determined though. Val opened his window when they reached the outskirts of Main. Felix reached in and grabbed him by the throat so he whacked him off and closed the window again.
When they reached Beckingride manor Felix found himself with a head start when Irvine slammed on the breaks and Felix finally came flying off the car. He fell into a roll, back onto his feet and darted towards the manor gates. Irvine leapt like a gazelle close behind him. Irvine tackled Felix to the ground and Val gained the lead. The three tried to trip each other, hair was snatched, jackets were pulled off, knives prodded backsides, juggling pins were crashed over heads. The brothers shouldered each other and Val managed to be the one to ring the bell.
A man in a finely tailored suit answered to them. “Can I help you gentlemen?” asked he.
The clownish trio were busy trying to correct themselves and hold the others at bay. Irvine spoke on their behalf. “We’re the entertainment for the garden party,” he explained. “We’re the Stokers.”
“Are you?” asked the greeter.
Felix took note of the man. He wore a red cravat. His straggly, thinning grey hair had been combed. Even his bushy eyebrows had been tidied.
“Hanz!?”
“Old school, boys. Old school. This is a closed party. No riff raff allowed,” Hanz grinned and the door was slammed closed on them.
We may ring in new years but some things are best to be remembered. Like, for instance, when a billionaire is hosting a garden party you can fight over who gets to be the entertainment or you can have lived long enough to know to go straight to the money man himself.
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