Nanny Piggins and the Rival Ringmaster (19 page)

‘Too risky,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘She may be trying to recruit ballet-dancing lampshades. We’d better just go down to the library and see if there are any newspaper articles about her.’

So Nanny Piggins, Boris, Rosalind and the children spent the day at the city library, combing through articles, trying to find out more about this
mysterious woman who was determined to crush their beloved circus. It was slow and boring work reeling through the microfiche files only to read review after review gushing about the Cirque de Soul’s revolutionary new style of performance.

‘If I have to read one more article that praises Madame Saváge for transforming circus to the level of art, I think I am going to vomit,’ announced Nanny Piggins.

But the microfiche machine was saved from that unfortunate fate by Michael bursting into the room, brandishing a green certificate.

‘I’ve found it! I’ve got her dark secret!’ yelled Michael.

Several minutes later, after the head librarian had forced them all to write letters of apology for raising their voices in a public library, Michael was finally able to explain what he had found. ‘I went to the public records counter to see if they had any information,’ said Michael.

‘What did you find?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘Is she an illegal immigrant? Is she wanted for murder? Has she been selling popcorn without a vendor’s licence?’

‘Much more shocking than that,’ said Michael. ‘On the eighth of December twenty-one years
ago Mademoiselle Amelie Madeleine Saváge got married!’

‘But that’s lovely,’ said Boris, his eyes beginning to mist. ‘I just adore weddings.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Who did she get married to?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Michael. ‘According to this certificate Mademoiselle Saváge married Mr T. Ringmaster.’

They all gasped so loudly they were immediately thrown out of the library.

Two minutes later they were standing on the public footpath, still dumbstruck by this revelation.

‘I can’t believe that Madame Saváge and the Ringmaster were married,’ marvelled Boris.

‘Yuck,’ said Rosalind. ‘Imagine having to kiss a man with that much grease in his moustache.’

‘But now we do know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘it all makes complete sense.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Boris. ‘How can marrying the Ringmaster make sense?’

‘It makes sense of why Madame Saváge is so determined to destroy the circus,’ said Nanny
Piggins. ‘Having been married to such a dastardly man, naturally she would be scarred for life and stop at nothing for revenge.’

‘Then how are we going to rescue all our friends,’ sobbed Boris.

‘It is going to be a lot harder than I thought,’ admitted Nanny Piggins. ‘But fortunately I am the world’s most glamorous flying pig, so I’m sure I’ll think of something.’

‘Let’s go!’ declared Nanny Piggins (or Ringmaster Piggins as she was starting to think of herself).

Nanny Piggins, Boris, the children, Rosalind and Esmeralda piled into Mr Green’s Rolls-Royce. Then Esmeralda got off again because it was not going to go anywhere with an African elephant sitting on the bonnet, and so with Esmeralda jogging behind they made their way over to the Cirque de Soul to rescue their friends.

When they arrived they were immediately daunted. The Cirque de Soul did not look anything like their own circus. Everything was clean and new and state of the art. Instead of a Big Top (great big tent) there was a Dome de Delight (great big dome). Instead of hot-dog stands and fairy-floss sellers there were organic wrap stands and cappuccino vendors. And there was no Freak Show Alley at all.

‘Where do the bearded ladies and fat ladies perform?’ asked Boris.

‘They don’t,’ said Rosalind. ‘This circus doesn’t have freaks.’

‘That sounds jolly unfair,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I thought there were equal opportunity laws protecting that sort of thing.’

‘They just protect disabled people, women and ethnic minorities,’ explained Rosalind. ‘They don’t protect people who specialise in scaring the living daylights out of small children.’

They had not walked far across the Cirque de Soul’s grounds when a group of people burst out of the Dome de Delight and ran at them.

‘We’re under attack!’ warned Nanny Piggins. But on this occasion she was wrong. The group of people leapt at Nanny Piggins, hugging her. It was her old friends from the circus.

‘Oh Nanny Piggins, thank goodness you’re here,’ exclaimed Alistair the knife-thrower. ‘Have you come to rescue us?’

‘Please say you have!’ pleaded Michelle the fat lady.

Not that Nanny Piggins could, at that moment, respond because Michelle was sitting on her chest.

After they had all hugged several times, and everyone was back on their feet and had dusted off their designer outfits, Nanny Piggins started asking questions. ‘So what’s going on here? I thought you wanted to come and work for the Cirque de Soul. Do you
all
want to be rescued?’

‘Yes please!’ chorused all Nanny Piggins’ old circus friends.

‘But this looks like a lovely circus. Everything is so clean and modern,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Are you sure you’re not happier here?’

‘Oh Sarah, it’s horrible,’ wailed Cedric the tightrope walker. ‘They won’t let any of us perform. She says my tightrope walking is not up to European standards, and that until I improve I have to sell braised tofu at the concession stand.’

‘They don’t have clowns at all,’ cried Robert the clown. ‘They say we’re too silly. Can you believe it?! How can a clown be
too
silly?’

‘And during the show they only play classical music!’ said Alistair the knife-thrower.

‘No!’ gasped Nanny Piggins. ‘But surely it puts the audience to sleep.’

‘Madam Saváge doesn’t care,’ said Alistair. ‘She says it’s more important to be artistic than to be entertaining. That way she can get great big government grants and charge five times as much for tickets.’

‘But that contradicts everything a circus stands for!’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘And they say that … that … that –’ Michelle was getting very upset as she spoke – ‘I’m too fat.’

Nanny Piggins did not know what to say. There was no denying that Michelle was fat. She was a fat lady.

‘But that’s your job,’ Nanny Piggins reminded her gently.

‘They say they don’t want a fat lady,’ wailed Michelle. ‘If I’m going to work here I have to lose 300 kilograms and become a sword swallower.’ Michelle sobbed. ‘And I’m much better at swallowing cakes.’

Nanny Piggins bristled. ‘But that’s dreadful. To let talent like yours go to waste is a crime.’

‘That’s what I said,’ agreed Michelle, ‘but Madame Saváge said I had no choice because I’d signed a despicable 50-year contract.’

‘Madame Saváge is obviously dangerously unhinged. Take me to her and I shall resolve this at once,’ declared Nanny Piggins.

‘I’m right here,’ said a steely voice behind them.

They all spun round to see Madame Saváge herself. Nanny Piggins almost flinched away because, even though Madame Saváge was unusually short at four foot ten and spectacularly beautiful with long wavy red hair, there was something frightening about her. Perhaps it was the large bull whip she kept coiled and hanging at her waist. Or perhaps it was the evil glint in her eye. Nanny Piggins, however, knew it was important to stand up to bullies so she stepped towards Madame Saváge and declared her purpose. ‘Hello, I am Nanny Piggins,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘and I am here to rescue my friends from the misery in which you have imprisoned them.’

‘You can’t,’ said Madame Saváge. ‘I have them all signed up to despicable 50-year contracts.’

‘Why do you even want them if you are not going to use any of their talents?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘Because that is what I do,’ said Madame Saváge. ‘I destroy my competition. I crush any circus I come
across by stealing all their staff and forcing them to live up to my insanely high standards, thereby demoralising them and making them miserable.’

‘I never would have thought it,’ whispered Boris. ‘She’s just as wicked as our Ringmaster.’

‘We know about your past,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘We know you were married to the Ringmaster and that must have been traumatic for you. But don’t take it out on these innocent freaks, acrobats and clowns. We can help you overcome your difficult past. We can find you a top notch trauma counsellor, or a top notch baker, whichever you find most therapeutic.’

‘Hah,’ scoffed Madame Saváge. ‘You assume that my marriage to T. R. changed me into the sociopath you see before you. But has it never occurred to you that perhaps the Ringmaster was a perfectly nice young man and it was his marriage to me that transformed him into an evil villain?’

‘It can’t be,’ gasped Boris. ‘She’s
more
wicked than our Ringmaster!’

‘That’s right!’ exclaimed Madame Saváge. ‘I only married him for his fire-breathing armadillos. As soon as I had them I walked out.’

‘But we know the Ringmaster did wicked things when he was at school,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Mere amateur theatrics!’ declared Madame Saváge. ‘It was I who taught him how to kidnap people using sacks, train them in obscure circus techniques, then trick them into signing despicable 50-year binding contracts.’

‘But he said you stole the despicable 50-year contract from him,’ protested Boris.

‘Hah!’ said Madame Saváge. ‘And he learnt how to lie like that from me too.’

‘You totally corrupted him!’ accused Nanny Piggins. ‘The Ringmaster might have been a run-of-the-mill manipulative bully if it weren’t for you.’

‘And now I get my chance to finally finish him off by destroying his circus,’ said Madame Saváge gleefully. ‘I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for decades.’

‘Well, you haven’t done that yet, have you?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘So you’re not quite the evil villain you think you are.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Madame Saváge.

‘You’ve only got half his circus performers,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’ve got the other half, including the world’s most beautiful bearded lady, the world’s best ballet-dancing bear, the world’s furthermost spitting camel and of course me, the world’s best flying pig.’

From the way Madame Saváge glowered they could tell she was coveting them.

‘And I am prepared to offer them all to you, including myself and these three children, in a wager,’ declared Nanny Piggins.

‘What?!’ exploded all the circus performers, Derrick, Samantha and Michael.

‘Shhh,’ said Nanny Piggins, then she turned back to Madam Saváge. ‘I challenge you to a duel of circus skill. You and I going head-to-head in five circus disciplines in front of a live crowd. The winner takes all.’

Madame Saváge smiled and held out her hand. ‘I agree to it all.’

They shook on it.

Madame Saváge walked back to the Dome de Delight. The circus performers groaned.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘You don’t know what Madame Saváge’s circus speciality is, do you?’ asked Rosalind.

‘No,’ admitted Nanny Piggins. ‘What is it? Acrobatics? Elephant riding? Lion taming?’

‘She is known as Madame Saváge – Mistress of all Circus Techniques,’ explained Rosalind.

‘Oh dear,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Yes, it probably would have been better if I had known that ahead of the negotiation.’

‘We’re all doomed,’ wailed Boris.

Several of the circus performers started to sob.

‘Snap out of it!’ ordered Nanny Piggins. ‘Are you forgetting who I am? I am Nanny Piggins, the world’s greatest flying pig. I’m sure this will work out. Everything I do usually does.’

‘But Nanny Piggins,’ said Samantha. ‘She is a master of all circus techniques and you don’t even have opposable thumbs.’

‘It will be fine on the night,’ said Nanny Piggins confidently. The dejected circus performers watched as she strode back towards the Rolls-Royce.

‘Nanny Piggins is beginning to sound more and more like the real Ringmaster,’ said Rosalind glumly.

In the lead up to the duel, Nanny Piggins spent all three days practising (eating chocolate). In Nanny Piggins’ opinion, to actually practise circus skills would be cheating and against the spirit of the duel. Madam Saváge, however, had no such qualms. She spent eighteen hours a day refining her techniques and building up her already impressive core body strength.

Emissaries from both camps had finally decided the terms of the duel. Nanny Piggins and Madame Saváge would compete in five disciplines. They got to pick two each. Nanny Piggins chose lion taming and, obviously, being blasted out of a cannon. Madame Saváge chose tightrope walking and juggling. And they both agreed to trapeze because it is spectacular and both women enjoyed showing off.

The big night finally arrived. The stands for the audience, the floodlights and the high-wire rigging had been set up in a huge empty field. Neither side trusted the other to hold the competition in their own tent. (They rightly guessed that their opponent would set up trick wires and trapdoors to give themselves an advantage.)

‘Are you sure you still want to do this, Nanny Piggins?’ asked Samantha.

‘It’s not too late to just run away,’ suggested Boris. ‘We could always sneak back and kidnap the others later.’

‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You know how I enjoy putting nasty people in their place. Especially nasty people who have been mean enough to imprison my friends and force them to sell corn on the cob.’ Nanny Piggins shuddered at the thought. ‘This woman is clearly dangerous and needs to be
stopped. And if dazzling tens of thousands of people with my superior circus skills is the way to do it, then that’s just an added bonus for me.’

‘So you’re sure your circus skills
are
superior?’ asked Michael. ‘Madame Saváge looks pretty athletic.’

‘Circus tricks have very little to do with athleticism,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘and a great deal to do with talent. I know all the teachers and coaches you ever have will tell you the exact opposite – that
to be the best you just need to work hard
. But in some instances that is just not true. In some instances you just need to be born better than everyone else. And I’m proud to say in that regard I’m very lucky. I’m a pig for a start. And everyone knows that pigs are far superior athletes to humans.’

‘Really?’ asked Derrick.

‘Oh yes,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Madame Saváge would have to practise for tens of thousands of hours, year after year, to be even half as good as I am naturally.’

(Unfortunately for Nanny Piggins, as she would soon discover, Madame Saváge actually had practised for tens of thousands of hours, year after year.)

Tightrope walking was the first event of the night and Nanny Piggins was to start. Having completed her warm-up exercises (eating several cakes), she made her way into the arena.

She had on a new purple leotard, which she had glamorised for the occasion by adding three dozen peacock feathers in a fan around her bottom. The crowd clapped and cheered as she climbed the rigging up to the tightrope platform. When she got there she waved to the audience and blew kisses. Then they grew silent as she turned and concentrated her mind in anticipation of stepping onto the tightrope.

The children had seen Nanny Piggins walk along a ridge pole and the top of a paling fence before. But they had never seen her walk a proper tightrope, suspended twenty metres above the ground (and with no safety net because the Ringmaster had sold it before he was imprisoned). The only safety precaution was Boris running back and forth to catch Nanny Piggins, should she fall.

Nanny Piggins took one tentative step onto the tightrope, then stopped. Her legs wobbled. She seemed nervous. But then she looked over at the audience and winked. A huge grin spread across her face. She proceeded to dance back and forth across
the tightrope like a ballet dancer. She moved with all the grace and freedom she did on the ground.

Nanny Piggins did all the standard tightrope tricks. She bent down, she went backwards, forwards again, she did a forward roll, and she even stood on her head and walked along using her front trotters for a while (giving the whole audience a spectacular view of her hot pink underpants).