Miss Finch pointed out, quietly, that in addition to the danger of parasites, it was also the case that bluefin tuna, swordfish, and Chilean sea bass were all being overfished and could soon be rendered extinct, since they were not reproducing fast enough to catch up.
The Third Room
went up for a long way into the darkness. The original ceiling had been removed at some time in the past, and the new ceiling was the roof of the empty warehouse far above us. The room buzzed at the corners of vision with the blue-purple of ultraviolet light. Teeth and shirts and flecks of lint began to glow in the darkness. A low, throbbing music began. We looked up to see, high above us, a skeleton, an alien, a werewolf, and an angel. Their costumes fluoresced in the UV, and they glowed like old dreams high above us, on trapezes. They swung back and forth, in time with the music, and then, as one, they let go and tumbled down toward us.
We gasped, but before they reached us they bounced on the air, and rose up again, like yo-yos, and clambered back on their trapezes. We realized that they were attached to the roof by rubber cords, invisible in the darkness, and they bounced and dove and swam through the air above us while we clapped and gasped and watched them in happy silence.
The Fourth Room
was little more than a corridor: the ceiling was low, and the ringmaster strutted into the audience and picked two people out of the crowd-the stocky woman and a tall black man wearing a sheepskin coat and tan gloves-pulling them up in front of us. He announced that he would be demonstrating his hypnotic powers. He made a couple of passes in the air and rejected the stocky woman. Then he asked the man to step up onto a box.
“It’s a setup,” muttered Jane. “He’s a plant.”
A guillotine was wheeled on. The ringmaster cut a watermelon in half, to demonstrate how sharp the blade was. Then he made the man put his hand under the guillotine, and dropped the blade. The gloved hand dropped into the basket, and blood spurted from the open cuff.
Miss Finch squeaked.
Then the man picked his hand out of the basket and chased the Ringmaster around us, while the Benny Hill Show music played.
“Artificial hand,” said Jonathan.
“I saw it coming,” said Jane.
Miss Finch blew her nose into a tissue. “I think it’s all in very questionable taste,” she said. Then they led us to
The Fifth Room
and all the lights went on. There was a makeshift wooden table along one wall, with a young bald man selling beer and orange juice and bottles of water, and signs showed the way to the toilets in the room next door. Jane went to get the drinks, and Jonathan went to use the toilets, which left me to make awkward conversation with Miss Finch.
“So,” I said, “I understand you’ve not been back in England long.”
“I’ve been in Komodo,” she told me. “Studying the dragons. Do you know why they grew so big?”
“Er…”
“They adapted to prey upon the pygmy elephants.”
“There were pygmy elephants?” I was interested. This was much more fun than being lectured on sushi flukes.
“Oh yes. It’s basic island biogeology-animals will naturally tend toward either gigantism or pygmyism. There are equations, you see…” As Miss Finch talked her face became more animated, and I found myself warming to her as she explained why and how some animals grew while others shrank.
Jane brought us our drinks; Jonathan came back from the toilet, cheered and bemused by having been asked to sign an autograph while he was pissing.
“Tell me,” said Jane, “I’ve been reading a lot of cryptozoological journals for the next of the Guides to the Unexplained I’m doing. As a biologist-”
“Biogeologist,” interjected Miss Finch.
“Yes. What do you think the chances are of prehistoric animals being alive today, in secret, unknown to science?”
“It’s very unlikely,” said Miss Finch, as if she were telling us off. “There is, at any rate, no ‘Lost World’ off on some island, filled with mammoths and Smilodons and aepyornis…”
“Sounds a bit rude,” said Jonathan. “A what?”
“Aepyornis. A giant flightless prehistoric bird,” said Jane.
“I knew that really,” he told her.
“Although of course, they’re not prehistoric,” said Miss Finch. “The last aepyornises were killed off by Portuguese sailors on Madagascar about three hundred years ago. And there are fairly reliable accounts of a pygmy mammoth being presented at the Russian court in the sixteenth century, and a band of something which from the descriptions we have were almost definitely some kind of saber-tooth-the Smilodon-brought in from North Africa by Vespasian to die in the circus. So these things aren’t all prehistoric. Often, they’re historic.”
“I wonder what the point of the saber teeth would be,” I said. “You’d think they’d get in the way.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Finch. “Smilodon was a most efficient hunter. Must have been-the saber teeth are repeated a number of times in the fossil record. I wish with all my heart that there were some left today. But there aren’t. We know the world too well.”
“It’s a big place,” said Jane, doubtfully, and then the lights were flickered on and off, and a ghastly, disembodied voice told us to walk into the next room, that the latter half of the show was not for the faint of heart, and that later tonight, for one night only, the Theater of Night’s Dreaming would be proud to present the Cabinet of Wishes Fulfill’d.
We threw away our plastic glasses, and we shuffled into
The Sixth Room
“Presenting,” announced the ringmaster, “The Painmaker!”
The spotlight swung up to reveal an abnormally thin young man in bathing trunks, hanging from hooks through his nipples. Two of the punk girls helped him down to the ground, and handed him his props. He hammered a six-inch nail into his nose, lifted weights with a piercing through his tongue, put several ferrets into his bathing trunks, and, for his final trick, allowed the taller of the punk girls to use his stomach as a dartboard for accurately flung hypodermic needles.
“Wasn’t he on the show, years ago?” asked Jane.
“Yeah,” said Jonathan. “Really nice guy. He lit a firework held in his teeth.”
“I thought you said there were no animals,” said Miss Finch. “How do you think those poor ferrets feel about being stuffed into that young man’s nether regions?”
“I suppose it depends mostly on whether they’re boy ferrets or girl ferrets,” said Jonathan, cheerfully.
The Seventh Room
contained a rock-and-roll comedy act, with some clumsy slapstick. A nun’s breasts were revealed, and the hunchback lost his trousers.
The Eighth Room
was dark. We waited in the darkness for something to happen. I wanted to sit down. My legs ached, I was tired and cold, and I’d had enough.
Then someone started to shine a light at us. We blinked and squinted and covered our eyes.
“Tonight,” an odd voice said, cracked and dusty. Not the ringmaster, I was sure of that. “Tonight, one of you shall get a wish. One of you will gain all that you desire, in the Cabinet of Wishes Fulfill’d. Who shall it be?”
“Ooh. At a guess, another plant in the audience,” I whispered, remembering the one-handed man in the fourth room.
“Shush,” said Jane.
“Who will it be? You sir? You madam?” A figure came out of the darkness and shambled toward us. It was hard to see him properly, for he held a portable spotlight. I wondered if he were wearing some kind of ape costume, for his outline seemed inhuman, and he moved as gorillas move. Perhaps it was the man who played the Creature. “Who shall it be, eh?” We squinted at him, edged out of his way.
And then he pounced. “Aha! I think we have our volunteer,” he said, leaping over the rope barrier that
