Circus of Thieves and the Raffle of Doom by William Sutcliffe Page A

so.’
    ‘Are we going to crash?’
    ‘I’m not sure. There’s a tree!’
    ‘Go round it.’
    ‘Round it. OK. Yes. Good idea.’
    She wrenched the wheel. The lorry changed direction. It worked!
    The tree glided soundlessly past the passenger window, unaware of how close it had come to being next year’s firewood.
    ‘We did it!’ Hannah whooped.
    ‘You mean we’re there?’
    ‘No, but I missed the tree.’
    ‘Great. Well done,’ said Billy, trying to sound encouraging, though his confidence in Hannah’s driving had begun to waver. “Do you want second gear?”
    ‘No! No. First is good. When I say brake, brake.’
    ‘OK. Was that you saying it?’
    ‘No. That was me saying what it would sound like when I do say it.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘BRAKE!’
    ‘Now?’
    ‘YES! BRAKEBRAKEBRAKE!’
    Wedging his back against the seat, Billy jammed both feet into the brake pedal. With a loud, disapproving sigh, the truck jerked to a stop. Hannah momentarily floated into the air, until her
legs thumped into the steering wheel, and she flopped back down again.
    ‘Are we there?’ said Billy.
    ‘Yup. Mission accomplished.’
    Billy stood up and looked out of the windscreen. They were in the right place, directly in front of the big top. His face was glistening with sweat.
    ‘I quite enjoyed that,’ said Hannah.
    ‘Well, I’m glad one of us did,’ replied Billy. ‘Now follow me.’
    Billy opened the driver door and jumped down.
    It was a long drop, but Hannah didn’t want to look feeble, so she ignored the step and jumped too. While she was in mid-air, her stomach rose up, said hello to her throat, then plunged
back down again as she landed. She tried to act as if the three somersaults she did after landing were deliberate, but Billy wasn’t even looking. He had rushed to the back of the lorry, where
he was climbing a row of curved metal rungs up onto the roof. Hannah took a moment to undizzy herself after the accidental triple somersault, then followed behind.
    As soon as she was on top of the lorry, Billy beckoned her over and pointed at a large rusty clip. ‘When I say, “Go!” lift this lever, and the side of the lorry will drop down.
OK?’
    ‘OK. But can it be my turn to say go?’
    ‘Do you know when to do it?’
    ‘Of course I do. It was my plan, remember?’
    ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, boss.’
    ‘And don’t call me boss.’
    ‘Sorry not-boss.’
    ‘And stop saying sorry.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Here they come!’
    Billy crawled as fast as he could to a similar looking clip at the other end of the roof. They both crouched, hiding from view, gripping the metal levers. In that position, silent and still,
they waited.

The worst thing Armitage had ever seen
    A RMITAGE , hurrying back to the Big Top for the grand finale, sensed immediately that something was up. His lorry – his baby,
his best friend, his pride and joy – had moved! Nobody, but nobody, drove that truck except him. Just the thought of anyone else sitting in that seat operating those controls made his eyes
squint, his toes squabble, his heart squerch, his liver squeak, his kidneys squelch and his intestines squit. He did not let other people drive his truck. Not ever. Never.
    All successful criminals are both reckless and cautious. Despite the symphony of squiffy sensations rampaging through his body, Armitage sensed this was a moment for caution. If there were
police around, he had to make sure he didn’t bump into them, dressed in his burglarising costume, while carrying the contents of a post office safe. You don’t need a law degree to
understand why this would be a bad idea. 34

    He dodged into a nearby thicket. In amongst a tangle of branches he located the leafiest bush and stashed the bag of swag. Lifting up armfuls of dead leaves and tossing them over the swag bag,
he quickly managed to conceal the hiding place. He’d be able to come back for it as soon as the coast was clear. Nobody would find the bag here unless they were