“Mornin’, dear!” Anita, the circus dwarf, called from the door of her trailer. “Ain’t you supposed to be off to see the doctor with all the rest?”
Lizzie yawned and stretched. For a moment, she was confused. She wasn’t ill — why would she need to see the doctor? Then suddenly she remembered: it was vaccination day. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Time you was in the show tent, my girl. That’s where the others are meeting before setting off for the doctor’s house,” Anita said. “Hey, you’re not worried about the needle, are you? Don’t be. It’s over in a jiff.”
“I’m trying not to think about it,” Lizzie said. “I’m just looking forward to visiting JoJo.”
“Good girl. Here, I’ve got something for you to give him.” Anita handed her a little tin, tied with a bright golden bow. “Peppermint creams,” she explained. “He loves ’em. And if the doctor says he can’t have ’em yet, then stick ’em by his bed for him to enjoy when he’s better.”
Mario, the circus giant, stopped Lizzie on her way out. “You taking those up to JoJo?” he asked. “Can you give him this from me too?”
“A book?” Lizzie said. The cover read The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman.
“It’s the funniest thing I ever read,” said Mario. “I don’t want JoJo getting gloomy up there by himself. That wouldn’t be right.”
“I agree,” said Lizzie with a firm nod. Nothing’s worse than a sad clown, she thought.
As she turned to go, Lizzie saw the Amazon Queen and Dru’s father, Pierre, coming toward her. Both of them were carrying little bundles. “Are those for JoJo, by any chance?” she asked with a grin.
By the time Lizzie reached the show tent, she’d been given so many presents for the sick clown that Hari had to find her a spare sack to carry them all in.
“I feel like Father Christmas!” Lizzie said with a laugh. “Everyone loves JoJo, don’t they?”
“All one big family at Fitzy’s,” Hari said, quoting one of the ringmaster’s favorite sayings.
It’s true, though, Lizzie thought. JoJo’s blood relatives were all far away in Newcastle, but he wasn’t alone. Everyone in the extended family of the circus was rallying around to help him. She felt proud to be a part of it as she hefted the heavy sack onto her shoulder and started walking with the others, down the country lane to Dr. Gladwell’s house.
* * *
Dr. Gladwell welcomed the small crowd of circus people into his home. “Now, you may have heard a whole load of silly nonsense about the evils of vaccination,” he began, “but it’s a perfectly harmless process. All we do is give you a dose of weak germs, so your body learns how to fight the strong germs of smallpox.”
“Do you have to use a needle?” asked Collette. She looked pale and faint.
“I’m afraid so, young lady. The vaccine has to go into your blood, so — pop!”
Collette clutched at her brother’s arm. “Dru, je vais vomir.”
Malachy strolled up to the doctor and tugged his sleeve up. “Go on, Doc. You can do me first.”
“Brave lad,” Dr. Gladwell said. “Well done.”
Lizzie was impressed and even more so when the syringe came out. Malachy’s bold smile didn’t even flicker. The syringe looked like a miniature brass cannon with a needle like a giant insect’s sting.
It took only a few seconds. “There! All done.” Dr. Gladwell cleaned the needle, then patted Malachy on the back. “Off you go. Now, Lizzie?” he said, motioning her forward.
Lizzie flinched as the needle went in. When it was her turn, Collette rolled her eyes and sank into a chair, her hand pressed to her forehead. What a drama queen, Lizzie thought.
“Splendid,” said the doctor. “Brave souls all.”
“Can we visit JoJo now, please?” Lizzie immediately asked.
“I’m afraid he’s asleep,” said the doctor. “Now, who’s next?”
Lizzie and Malachy glanced at one another. While the doctor’s back was turned, they quietly slipped out into the hallway.
“He didn’t say no, did he?” Lizzie whispered.
“Let’s give JoJo the presents anyway,” said Malachy. “It’ll be nice for him to wake up to, won’t it? Seeing all that stuff.”
“So where is he?” Lizzie asked.
Malachy peered upstairs. “Probably in one of the bedrooms.”
They crept upstairs, feeling like thieves. The hallway smelled of beeswax from the candles and the polish, but there was a strange chemical smell too. It turned Lizzie’s stomach. “What’s that smell?” she said.
“I dunno,” Malachy replied. “Carbolic soap, I think.”
It’s not carbolic, Lizzie thought. I’ve smelled carbolic a thousand times, when Pa was making fake sores on his arms and legs with soap and vinegar. It’s something worse. But she said nothing.
The upstairs hallway lay before them with doors all along it. One had a rolling cart outside with a white enamel basin and a jug of water on it. Another syringe, every bit as fearsome as the one the doctor had used on Malachy, rested in the basin. There was blood on its tip.
“This must be his room.” Gently, so as not to wake him, Lizzie pushed open the door. To her surprise, a low moan came from inside. “JoJo?” she said. “Oh, no!”
The clown was barely recognizable. Weeping sores covered his face. Lizzie’s horror only grew when she saw there were white lumps on his tongue. She dumped the sack of presents on a nearby table and hurried to his bedside.
“How could he be so much worse?” Malachy said, shocked.
“They’re killin’ me,” JoJo groaned. “Stabbing me all over like . . . Julius Caesar.”
“He’s not making any sense,” Lizzie said. “JoJo, it’s us! Lizzie and Malachy! Can you hear me?”
“Lizzie?” JoJo’s eyes opened wide. He looked terrified. “She mustn’t come here. Tell her to stay away.”
“I am Lizzie,” she said, trying not to cry. “Your friend.”
“They’re trying to kill me with their needles!” JoJo spluttered, then fell back against the pillow. Just as Lizzie was about to shake him, he heaved a huge rattling breath.
“What are you doing in here?” a voice snapped. “Get out!”
Lizzie turned and saw Mrs. Crowe standing in the doorway with a syringe in her hand. She was grasping it like a dagger.
“What’s happened to him?” Lizzie demanded.
“The patient is delirious,” Mrs. Crowe said. “He needs to rest, or he’ll never recover.”
“But we—” Lizzie started to say.
“Out!” The housekeeper flung out a thick arm, pointing them back down the stairs.
Lizzie waited until they were safely out of the house before saying anything. “I don’t trust that old woman,” she muttered. “She’s a nasty piece of work.”
“She’s trying to help JoJo get better, though,” Malachy said, but he didn’t sound too certain.
“That might be true,” Lizzie said. “Still, I wish someone else was helping look after him. Someone kind like Dr. Gladwell, instead of that crabby old cow. I don’t trust her.”
* * *
As the circus people began to filter out of the house, fresh bandages on their arms, Malachy casually took Lizzie aside. “Fancy a stroll along the water?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Lizzie said, knowing exactly why he’d offered. They needed to make a plan.
“See you back at the site!” Malachy waved to the others as he and Lizzie headed for the Grand Union Canal. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “We have to catch those grave robbers red-handed.”
“Shouldn’t we get proof first?” Lizzie said. “I mean, we don’t know if it is grave robbers yet. Not for certain.”
“What proof do you want?” Malachy asked. “Open graves? Dead people with no jewelery?”
Lizzie thought for a moment. “I left some flowers on Becky’s father’s grave. If those flowers aren’t there tonight, it means someone’s been there and dug it up.”
“That’s only one grave!” Malachy said, with a disbelieving laugh. “What about all the thousands of others?”
“That’s the one we need to check,” Lizzie insisted.
“Why?” Malachy asked.
“Because his spirit’s not at rest,” Lizzie replied.
Malachy shuddered. “I forgot you’re talking to ghosts now. Remind me not to laugh at Ma Sullivan again.”
Lizzie peered into the distance. Two men dressed in the rough overcoats and heavy boots of canal workers were standing near the water. They looked alike enough to be brothers, though one was clearly older.
At first Lizzie thought someone had fallen in, because a shape was slowly sinking out of sight below the water. But then she realized the men weren’t helping. Instead, one of them was keeping lookout while the other one fumbled with a sack.
“Do those two look suspicious to you?” she asked Malachy.
“Very,” Malachy agreed.
Lizzie slowed down.
“No, don’t stop, keep walking!” Malachy hissed. “Pretend we haven’t noticed them.”
The man with the sack, the older of the two, held it over the canal and shook it out. A few articles of clothing fell in. Clearly they weren’t sinking quickly enough for his satisfaction, because he sat down on the side and poked them under the surface of the water with his foot.
Just then, the lookout noticed Lizzie and Malachy approaching. He nudged his companion, who turned to look, then hastily hid the sack behind his back. The lookout folded his arms and glared at them.
We’re just two kids walking by a canal, Lizzie thought. What are you going to do, eh?
The man with the sack quickly fished a bright metallic object out of it and threw it in the muddy water. The object caught the sun as it sank, making a warm flash of gold.
“Did you see what that was?” Malachy whispered.
Lizzie stared at the ripples. She was almost positive that it was a horse brass. In fact, she thought, I’d swear to it.
They were only a few yards away from the two men now. Both men stood their ground, blocking the path. The younger one had his arms folded across his chest, while the older man slowly rolled up his sleeves to reveal thick, hairy arms.
“Morning,” Lizzie said.
The men didn’t reply.
“What are you doing?” she persisted.
“Mindin’ our own business,” said the younger one. “Why don’t you do the same?”
“Get lost,” added the other.
Lizzie wasn’t having that. “I saw you. You were chucking things in the canal. What were you doing that for?”
“That’s for me to know and you to wonder about, you little brat,” sneered the lookout. “You keep asking questions, you’ll feel the back of my hand.”
“That’s no way to speak to a lady,” Malachy said. “You need a lesson in manners.”
“Lady!” Both men laughed. “That ain’t no lady. Your girl’s a grubby little ragamuffin.”
“She’s not my girl. And you take that back right now.” Malachy’s fingers tightened on his stick. He was white with anger. Lizzie knew, in that moment, that Malachy would attack both of them without any care for his own safety.
“That was a horse brass you threw in the canal, wasn’t it?” Lizzie stepped toward the man who had the sack to show him she wasn’t afraid.
“I don’t have to tell you nothing!” the man snapped.
“Where did you get it?” Lizzie asked.
“Come on,” the lookout said. “These two are trouble.” He tugged his companion’s arm and tried to leave.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Lizzie saw the sack wasn’t quite empty. “Open up that sack. Show us what’s in it.”
“Not likely,” the man growled. “I said, come on!”
“Give it here!” Lizzie yelled, grabbing hold of the sack with both hands.
The man ripped the sack away and gave her a hard shove. Lizzie staggered back a few steps. Her arms windmilled for a second as she struggled to regain her balance, then she fell backward, and the freezing cold water of the Grand Union Canal engulfed her.
Everything was muffled and echoey under the water. She heard Malachy screaming her name, but it sounded like the distant tolling of a bell. She gasped, but instead of air, a mouthful of filthy canal water filled her mouth.
I’m going to drown, Lizzie thought.
Panic siezed her. Gagging and choking, she kicked and flailed her arms. Children from Rat’s Castle didn’t learn how to swim, and Lizzie was no exception. By sheer good fortune, her head broke the water and she managed to draw a lungful of air. Malachy was there, holding out his stick, yelling for her to grab hold of it.
Even as she floundered, Lizzie knew she had to keep track of the two men. She saw them running away down the path, the sack bouncing on the man’s shoulder.
She tried to yell to Malachy but started to sink again. Stinking green water washed into her mouth and nose. Before she could stop herself, she’d breathed it in and felt herself going under . . .