Elwood Molly - Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible

Contents

Advance Praise

As an author, theres a moment when noble emotions such as admiration and respect for a fellow scribe cross over into outright, green-eyed jealousy. And, about midway through reading Molly Elwoods page-turning novel, Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible , my appreciation for her quirky, breezy style quickly gave way to wanton prose
envy of the worst kind. Elwood leads you, circuitously, to the inevitable big showdown at the Big Top. Im a better person for every mile spent with Spartacus on his darkly comic road trip.

- Dale E. Basye, author of the series, Heck, Where the Bad Kids Go

An eccentric kidnapped mother, a malefic circus, and more evil clowns than on a clear Halloween night. Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible is fast and furiously fun.

- Gary Ghislain, author of How I Stole Johnny Depps Alien Girlfriend and The Goolz Next Door series

I couldnt put it down. Literally. Never pick up a book while eating a caramel apple. But if you are going to be stuck with the book for a few days, I advise you make it Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible .

- Gerry Swallow, author of Blue in the Face: A Story of Risk, Rhyme, and Rebellion

Copyright 2018 by Molly Elwood

Published in 2018 by Fitzroy Books, an imprint of

Regal House Publishing, LLC

Raleigh 27612

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN -13: 978-0-9988398-7-5

ISBN -13 (hardcover): 978-1-947548-41-1

ISBN -13 (epub): 978-0-9988398-6-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017959220

Interior design by Lafayette & Greene

Cover art and design 2018 by Lafayette & Greene

lafayetteandgreene.com

Fitzroy Books

www.fitzroybooks.com

Regal House Publishing, LLC

https://regalhousepublishing.com

Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible

Molly Elwood

Fitzroy Books

For Zachary: I wouldnt trade you

for all the rat-watching in Paris.

Prologue

T here are probably hundreds of things Im afraid of. Heights. Girls. Scorpions. Motorcycles.

My older brother.

But clowns? Id never been scared of clowns. Not even after Id heard of Bartholomews World-Renowned Circus of The Incredible.

However.

Being chased by a mob of angry, grinning clowns? Yeah, that can change everything.

These particular clownstheyre dressed like cops. Theyre wearing flat-topped cop hats with blue wigs, and dark navy uniforms that blend into one another. Theyre waving fake billy clubs and carrying fake guns.

At leastI hope theyre fake.

And its not like Im somewhere normal where I can make a break for the nearest exit. (Then again, its not like clown cops are ever anywhere normal.) Im in the big top at Bartholomews Circus, a.k.a The Incredible , in front of a sold-out show. Im perched at the tippy top of a scaffold that rises like a five-story building over the main ringand Bartholomews clowns are closing in.

To the left and right of me, matching clown cops swarm the scaffold, identical red smiles painted across identical white faces. I try to tell myself that they wouldnt hurt me in front of an audience. But then again, Bartholomew is crafty; maybe he could play it all off as part of the show.

Its just fake blood, ladies and gentlemen, Bartholomew would say.

The thought makes me shiver.

I know I only have a few moments before theyll be up here with me, but I can hardly think. Theres so much chaos.

The orchestra is playing a manic, galloping version of Stars and Stripes Forever, all blatting horns and screaming piccolos. Spotlights rake the tent and drive the audience to cheer wildly. And every single performer is out and parading across the ringmime-faced muscle men on unicycles, wiry contortionists, these creepy, spindly-legged skeleton guys.

Its like theyre making a huge distraction to keep the audience from thinking about whatever Im doing.

But really, I have no idea what Im doing. Its not like this was part of my plan.

I can see only one way out: I can jump down to the diving board, ten feet below me.

Ten feet isnt that far, is it?

But that isnt a long-term solution. Even if I get to the diving board (because falling off is a definite possibility), Im still stuck on a diving board . Ill have to get down the ladder before anyone climbs up (which seems impossible), or Ill have to jump into the diving pool. And from this height, the pool looks like a thimble of water.

And stillonce Im in that pool, its not like Im in the clear. Not by a long shot.

Next to the pool, in the center of it all, is the ringmaster. Bartholomew himself. Hes standing silent and straight and still in his black suit and too-tall top hat. His dark-gloved hand shades his eyes from the glare of the house lights as he watches his goons clamber up the metal scaffold towards me. His half-man, half-shark sidekick is pacing beside him, gnashing his knife-sharp teeth. I have the passing thought that I might throw up.

One more glance at the advancing clowns and I know I cant stay where I am.

I drop to my stomach and swing my feet over the edge. The crowd, which has been gawking at the clowns marching across the stage like a line of ants, catches sight of me and realizes what Im about to do.

Ooh! they gasp, loudly enough to be heard over the orchestra.

No kidding, I think to myself. Ive never been so high off the ground before, and here I am, about to blindly lower myself off this fifty-foot high metal walkway, butt-first.

Dont look down. And dont think about death.

I scoot my torso off the edge until Im at the point of no return, where Im more in the air than I am on the ledge, legs hanging. I know Im right above the diving boardall I have to do is let go, and Ill land right on it.

Just let go, I tell myself, but my hands dont listen. They keep gripping the scaffold. My fingers immediately ache.

In front of me, the clown cops emerge onto the scaffold landing. Theyre just a few feet away, laughing. Theyre so close, I swear I see one wink at me.

And thats when I panic, steal a glance down, and lose my grip.

And I fall.

For the brief moment Im in the air, the music cuts. The audiences gasp drowns out my own.

Amazingly, I dont die. Instead, I land on the diving board to wild applause, the cymbals crashing in triumph. The wide board vibrates beneath me and I cling to it.

Go, Spartacus, go! someone in the audience shouts.

Morons. Theyre all morons.

And yet Im still alive.

The orchestra picks up again, right where it had left off.

Shaking, I scramble to my feet and look up where Id been just a few seconds before. The clown cops are up there, shaking their oversized, fake billy clubs at me. Scowling. Taunting.

With no time to think, I lunge for the ladder. And thats the moment a new batch of clowns bursts out from behind the stage curtains.

Thats when I realize: Bartholomew always has more clowns.

These new ones start scaling each side of the high-dives free-standing ladder, two-by-two. Im about to be cornered againand this time, theres just the one way down.

No way am I jumping , I tell myself. There has to be another way . I turn desperately to the audience. Maybe theyve figured out this isnt a game.

Please! Im not part of the circus! I shout, waving my arms. This is real!