Switchback Fair

‘Mr Fip! Mr Fip!’

Charlie Fip ignored the calls and tried to up his pace through the main line of stalls. But his attempts only increased the inertia of the crowds, and at last he gave up and turned round.

‘What do you want, Digsby?’

Digsby Troutwhistle shoved a dictaphone in Fip’s face.

‘Can I ask you your opinion on the Caracas rumours?’

Fip had perfected the art of looking unflappable many years ago, and Troutwhistle’s words passed through him like particularly meek neutrinos.

‘What opinion would you like me to have, Digsby?’

‘Have you authorised a £1m approach from Feria Muy Cerrada of Madrid?’

‘Jack Caracas is not for sale,’ said Fip. ‘He’s still under contract and I think we’re all looking forward to enjoying his unique brand of performance comedy for many years to come.’

‘So it’s not true that you think he’s a talentless moron?’

Fip sighed.

‘Digsby, if Jack Caracas isn’t talented, why would Feria Muy Cerrada of Madrid offer £1m for him?’

‘According to my source in the senate, you suspect it’s because they’re shameless megalomaniacs with all the entertainment taste of a flock of lobotomised seagulls.’

‘Is your source Brother Greenbeard?’

‘I never reveal my sources, Mr Fip.’

‘Because if it is, I’ll be sending him on a one-way mission to our outpost fair in Ulan Bator.’

Flashback!

Deep underground in an abandoned salt mine, Agent Sapphire took her place behind a perfect replica of a Switchback Fair stall. The cavern was otherwise empty. She waited.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision…

‘Nice day today, isn’t it?’

A customer had dropped from the ceiling. Agent Sapphire was ready. Months of training would see her through.

‘Oh, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she replied.

‘I might go down to the stream later, have a little paddle,’ said the customer.

Agent Sapphire executed a perfect double somersault over the stall and pinned the customer to the ground.

‘What do you know about the stream?‘ she barked, slapping the customer repeatedly about the face.

Another figure rushed out of the shadows to intervene.

‘No no no!’ he said. ‘That’s not the way you deal with customers! Cadet Sapphire, report back to barracks. You’re going back to basic training.’

End of flashback!

Deep in the heart of Switchback Fair, Agent Sapphire was setting out a real stall for the first time. She felt calm. Her training had not prepared her for light drizzle, but she felt calm. Deep breaths.

‘That’s summer over for this year then!’

Burt von Jam had wandered over from his own stall.

‘Oh, it’s – I mean, yes, typical, isn’t it?’ said Agent Sapphire, her heart racing.

‘Burt von Jam, pleased to meet you.’

Agent Sapphire gave her false name and they shook hands.

‘I trust you’re settling in without too much trouble,’ said Burt von Jam. ‘Any problems, you call me, OK? And we hold a meeting of the Stall Holders’ Association every Wednesday lunchtime. When it’s nicer weather than today we go down to the stream and have a picnic. Do join us, won’t you – er – are you all right?’

Agent Sapphire was bracing herself against the stall, gasping for air.

‘Picnic – lovely,’ she managed.

‘You look like you could do with a nice bit of jam,’ said Burt von Jam.

‘I’m fully trained to eat jam,’ murmured Agent Sapphire.

‘That’s marvellous!’ said Burt von Jam. ‘I was thinking of instituting a training programme myself. The way the younger generation eat their jam today, with their hoodies on, typing out “I’m eating jam” on Twitter at the same time, I just don’t know what to make of it – ‘

Frank Ashizukai, ninja postman, surveyed the scene. He was charged with a seemingly simple task: deliver a parcel to Dr M. Bayernfels at the Tent of Wonders. But Ashizukai knew better than to take any delivery for granted.

A pigeon landed in front of the tent and started pecking the ground. Was it an ordinary pigeon? Or was it a highly-trained samurai pigeon, in the pay of the local warlord, just waiting for its chance to strike with a blade concealed under its wings? Ashizukai shuddered at the thought of how many times he had faced death in pigeon form.

He continued to watch patiently, hidden behind a stall that sold quality wooden knick knacks for mantelpieces. His hand poised above a replica bird of paradise, carefully chosen for its suitability as a close combat weapon.

Eventually, the pigeon flew off again. Ashizukai kept his eyes on it as it circled over the fair and then turned away towards the village. When it returned, he would be ready.

The coast now clear, he headed stealthily to the entrance of the Tent of Wonders.

‘Dr M. Bayernfels?’ he called.

A small man emerged from the tent.

‘That’s me!’ said Bayernfels cheerfully, but his face dropped when he saw how Ashizukai was dressed. ‘Have you come to kill me?’ he said, resigned.

‘Not today,’ said Ashizukai, handing him his parcel.

‘Oh right,’ said Bayernfels. ‘You’re the new postman! Thanks a lot, I’ve been waiting for weeks for this. Do you want to see what’s inside?’

‘That’s up to you,’ said Ashizukai.

‘You’re not the tiniest bit curious?’ said Bayernfels. ‘This is the Tent of Wonders, after all.’

Ashizukai assessed the potential threat level of the box.

‘Very well,’ he said.

Bayernfels opened the box and beamed with pride.

‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ he said. ‘It’s come all the way from Papua New Guinea. Handmade by a tribe considered lost until three months ago. The crowds are going to go wild for it.’

Ashizukai took a closer look at the Wonder. It was a wooden bird of paradise.

‘Erm … you do know you can get these over at the knick knack stall, don’t you?’ he said. They’ve got a two for a tenner deal on at the moment.’