Money for the Circus 16

The soup is familiar. Orange and glutinous, Marcus recognises Aldi's knock-off Heinz Tomato soup when he sees it. Gran claims Heinz make it for them. "Stands to reason" she says, "Aren't they both German companies". Maybe that should be "Gran used to claim", Marcus thinks. He hopes not. Everyone has soup in front of them. None of it looks like Marcus's orange gloop. Immediately to his left is something fishy, On his right is something thin and watery. And that's not even their soup. Ha! Ha! Marcus feels bad - even though he didn't actually laugh out loud. The person on Marcus's left must have some really bad skin disease. He does have very scaly skin. And as for the person to his right. She is very thin indeed. She is weeping. Not sobbing, weeping. And sweating.., Marcus hopes she is not leaking from anywhere … unpleasant. 

The Prof uses his ringmaster voice from the other end of the table, 

"Vee meet and eat, vot-everr iss sweet.

Marcus looks at the other eleven people sitting around the table. Two people are sitting very close together indeed, Marcus knows a name for them, but it's one of those phrases Gran says "I know I shouldn't say this but", before she says it anyway. They are immediately to Scaly Skin's left. To the right of Wishy Washy is a man sitting bolt upright with his arms folded. He is clearly asleep, as he is snoring even louder than Gran ever has.  Marcus counts two clowns, a bearded lady, two very small people and a troupe of what must be acrobats, as they are all using their chairs as a support for various head – and handstands. 

The Prof bellows "EAT!" from the far end of the table.  
The acrobats fall off their chairs. Marcus spills a little soup on a once-white tablecloth. It was too hot anyway. Who serves something too hot to put in your mouth? Before anyone at all has finished, Daitya, who has been standing beside a long piece of furniture behind the barber's chair, claps his hands and three monkeys arrive. Actual monkeys, with those silly short jackets the waiters wear on old tele programmes, like the one where that man with the odd moustache solves weird murders. Even though no-one has finished whatever kind of soup they have, the monkeys take away all of the plates! Marcus thinks this is the best thing he's ever seen.  He hopes the next course is better than the soup. 
It isn't. Although at least everyone is served with the same dish. Snails. Marcus has never eaten snails. He watches others round the table. Most pick up the odd looking tongs. Marcus doesn't bother, as he spots one of his snails moving across his plate. The canvas overhead is an inner layer attached by ropes and complicated knots, it is not the stripey material of the big top. No, it's  a bit that big piece of cloth that's been on the news for a week. The one about the battle and the king who gets shot in the eye or not, depending, as the woman off the tele said. Anyway, Marcus has a good look at the canvas and spots a figure looking very like the Prof on a horse blowing one of those long trumpet-ty things with a bit of cloth hanging down from it. There's some old-timey writing on it. Marcus has a good squint at it. 

"Eat your dinner!" it says.