The Gift From Beyond
Palimak was circus struck. All his cares, all his troubles, all his toils smashed away by a lightning storm of the senses - color and music and smell and thrilling action crashing here and there and everywhere, all seeming chaos.
His attention, no, his whole being was snatched from one amazement to another, each sight a new experience exploding all that had come before.
But it couldn’t be chaos because everything seemed to have a direction, a goal, a point, a moral, a story with heroes and villains and a beginning and middle and end. It was madness - delicious, soul-satisfying madness - but most of all it was orchestrated madness.
Commanding it all was the circus ringmaster, a fantastic, muscular dwarf with a lion’s skin tossed over his magnificent torso like an ancient hero.
He had an incredible voice that reached everywhere and everyone, booming and intimate at the same time.
At the moment he was lit by a brilliant pool of light. And he was shouting:
“And now, without further ado, we present our star attraction. A wonder of all wonders.
“A gift from the heavens!”
Music blared and the dwarf gestured - hand coming up slowly, dramatically, commanding complete attention. A slowly opening fist, reaching for the heavens, promising entire volumes of mysteries that were about to be revealed. Music somehow sliding under all that anticipation, lifting it higher and higher on a rhythmic out-rushing tide of drums and pipes and strings all running toward the Mother Moon of imagination… and beyond.
And all the while the dwarf was saying, “Only the gods themselves could have created the wonder you are about to see, my friends. A marvel, a mystery, unveiled before your very eyes.
“Look, my friends. Look high above! Look to the heavens themselves!”
As he spoke the music and the gesturing hand crept up to the penultimate point and all eyes were fixed on the dwarf’s fist as it came fully open.
Palimak jumped as cymbals crashed and a shower of sparkling bits burst from the dwarf’s mighty hand, shooting up and up, carrying Palimak and the whole audience with it to the very top of the tent. It hung there for an agonizing moment, swirling and boiling like a troubled, many colored cloud, slowly forming a glittering curtain of suspense. Seemingly held up only up by the building music.
And the dwarf said, “Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, beings of all ages, I present to you the one, the only…”
A skillful pause as the music reached its climax…
And then, in an enormous voice that filled the tented arena:
“Arlain!”
Cymbals crashed and the curtain burst, shattering in every direction.
Palimak, along with the entire audience, gasped as all was revealed and they saw a glorious figure dancing high above them on a wire so thin it was nearly invisible.
And the dwarf roared:
“Arlain!
“She’s half dragon, half woman, my friends! And oh, what a woman she is! A great beauty, a wonder, known in every nook and cranny of Esmir. Thousands, tens of thousands, have been thrilled and fulfilled by her wondrous feats.”
As he spoke fiery bits rained down on the performer and Palimak oohed and ahhed at the sight - a blazing shimmer settling on Arlain like a cloak, setting off her startling body. She was a heady, enthralling sight for everyone, but especially a small boy. For beside the scraps of see-through gossamer Arlain was clothed only in the tiniest of breast coverings, plus the merest scrap of a modesty patch about her loins. The covered part was all too human. The rest of her was just as striking and oddly seductive - an elegant white dragon who breathed fire through pearly fangs and lips, exploding all the particles drifting about her.
Palimak was instantly in love. He could see nothing, feel nothing but the presence of the strangely beautiful Arlain. And amidst all his mental bewilderment one thought leaped out from the rest: She’s just like me! Except she’s half dragon and I’m half demon. Other then the Favorites, Gundara and Gundaree, Palimak had never seen a being quite like himself.
The boy sat between his father and Leiria, hypnotized by Arlain, the audience’s wild applause flowing over him.
He’d never attended a circus before, although he’d often tried to imagine one. The moment he entered the tent - before he’d even seen Arlain - Palimak’s wildest circus imaginings became pale things. Not worth ever thinking about again.
It was a place of giddy lights and wonderful music, a place of mystery where performers did impossible things - flinging themselves across amazing heights, disappearing and appearing in clouds of fantastic smoke, hilariously costumed clowns - six of them - clambering out of a box too small for even one.
There was a turbaned snake charmer whose horn seemed to contain the sounds of all instruments, from strings to drums and pipes. But his snake was even more incredible. It rose six feet above the basket, weaving in time to the music, and it when it turned its head in Palimak’s direction he gasped when he saw a man’s face. Then there was the acrobat clown - a husky, seemingly normal person, except that he had a very small head, which he would continually lose - literally! The head tumbled off his shoulders and into his hands. Then you could see it still attached by a long rubbery neck and the acrobat would pretend to fumble to get it back on, his eyes and mouth contorting into a series of faces, each more comical than the other. Best of all was the master of ceremonies, the dwarf with the muscles of a giant, who spun the tales, leading the audience from one breath-taking act to the next, plus performing in half-a-dozen roles at the same time.
Palimak was stunned by all these amazements. They seemed magical, but yet there was not one bit of real magic being used. Otherwise he would sense it. The whole idea of this illusion without sorcery swept him away to the Land Of The Circus!
The relief of being freed from his normal cares made him feel as light as a balloon rising in clear Kyranian skies. Although he was small, the weight of the world had been heavy on his slender shoulders. He was only trying to do his best but there were so many newly discovered shouldn’ts and oughto’s - with many moral gradients of dark to light in between - that sometimes he thought it was a conspiracy concocted by adults to keep children in their place - whatever that might be.
Here in the circus, however, everyone was equal. On either side of him his father and Leiria were reacting like children, laughing and clapping in glee.
For a moment he became more aware of the audience, looking around and seeing they were all Caluzians, both human and demon, from infant to granny, completely fixed on the performance. This led to him to the realization that there was some other strange kind of magic in the air. The members of the audience all fed on one another’s excitement and joy, becoming a warm, quivering whole reacting as one to the events in the big center ring. It was also the first time he’d seen honest emotion from the Caluzians. What he noticed most, however, was their laughter. He strained hard to think what was different about it. As close as he could get was that it seemed to come from someplace real - a sort of a home for laughter. And this gave shape and form to their laughter instead of the hazy, spell-induced giggles he normally heard.
Thinking this made him suddenly feel very alone, apart from everyone else, examining them, looking at them through the pale, cold glow of his demon side. It was unsettling and his belly lurched. He wanted badly to rejoin them, to be once again part of that warm, quivering mass that made the audience.
Then he saw Arlain and got his wish.
* * *
Safar watched the emotions play across Palimak’s face, grinning in memory of his own first introduction to the art of entertainment. It was long ago and far away, but it was this very same circus. Methydia’s Flying Circus, except they no longer flew and Methydia, alas, was dead.
Even without the wondrous Methydia - who had been not only a great diva, but a powerful witch - the performance was every bit as marvelous as Safar remembered. Arlain was dazzling, witness Palimak’s enchantment. And there was his old mentor, Biner, the massive dwarf, who had taught him everything he knew about showmanship and illusion. And he was pleased to see Elgy and Rabix - the snake charming/music act - were just as skilled as ever. No one would ever guess that it was the snake who was the “brains” behind the act. Poor Rabix had the mind of a mouse, playing his instrument wonderfully, but following Elgy’s commands. Finally, there was Kairo, he of the small detachable head and almost superhuman acrobatic talents.
Safar didn’t know how his friends came to be here, although somehow he wasn’t that surprised. Circus people had a way of showing up in the most amazing places and at the most interesting times.
* * *
Leiria was as entranced as anyone, but she couldn’t help looking over at Safar, trying to imagine him as one of the performers.
It was surprisingly easy. His face was alight, shedding years of care and she could suddenly seem him as a dashing young showman, dressed in tights and a swirling cloak, stealing the hearts of all the women with his magical feats and athletic derring-do.
In the center ring there was a romantic aerial ballet going on, with moody lights and contemplative music.
Music that allowed uneasy memories rise to be examined in a less hurtful light. Bursting pin bubbles of a regret you could savor and enjoy like a rare and effervescent wine. The kind of wine once tasted with a lover. And you remembered its flavor like you remembered the touch of his body.
She imagined Safar, innocent and free. A handsome young performer whose eyes were only on her as he moved from one seductive act to the next.
And she had the dreamy thought: I’d have liked to have known him then. Who knows? Perhaps things would have worked out differently.
Then the music made a sharp change and two clowns rushed out into the center ring.
And Leiria snorted, thinking, Will you be serious, woman! When Safar came into your arms it was to mourn Methydia.
Methydia!
Your first dead rival.
And the damned owner of this circus!
Methydia had not only been Safar’s lover but his teacher as well - as only a skilled older woman can teach a young man.
For a fleeting moment Leiria imagined she was a wise, gray-haired beauty, coiling around a youthful Safar.
Then she laughed aloud at herself. No one noticed. They were too busy howling at the clowns - Arlain chasing Biner about the ring, shooting sheets of fire at the seat of his pants.
Leiria joined in, laughing at Biner’s comic yelps and leaps, letting the circus take her away.
* * *
Palimak stood before his new goddess, blushing and gulping and wishing mightily that he knew a spell to untie his tongue so he could speak.
Arlain looked down at him, a delighted smile lighting her dragon’s face. “My goodneth,” she lisped. “You’re tho handthome! Jutht like Thafar!”
Palimak’s tongue came unstuck. “I’m not really his son,” he said to his instant humiliation and regret. He thought, what a stupid, stupid, thing to say! Not his son! What must she think of me?
They were in the wardrobe tent, a warren of trunks and costumes and circus props, with a long bank of mirrored makeup tables on one side cluttered with cosmetics and paints and colorful masks. Safar and Leiria were at the far end of the tent, surrounded by Biner and the other members of the circus. It was a glad reunion and there was much laughter and drinking and shouted remembrances of shared adventures on the road.
A moment before Palimak had been safely buried in the middle of that chaos, much fussed over by one and all, but it was so noisy and everyone was so excited at seeing his father, he only had to smile and nod in return. If he said something stupid it didn’t matter, because no one could hear him anyway. But then Arlain, who had cooed and gushed over him even more than the others, had drawn him aside “tho we can talk.” He was thrilled, then he was chilled, and when he stood before her - alone with this perfumed goddess at last - and opened his mouth he’d made a complete ass of himself.
Palimak struggled for words to set his mistake right. He said, “I mean, I am his son. But, uh, not his son. I’m kind of like… you know… adopted. I don’t know who my real father is. Or my mother, either.”
As soon as he was done he gave himself a mental kick. Arrgh! That was just as stupid, he thought. If not stupider!
He hung his head and kicked at the tent floor, not having the slightest idea what to do or say next. He just wanted to escape before she started laughing at him.
Arlain saw his distress and sank gracefully down on a wardrobe truck, lovely white tail tucking around her legs as she sat, her eyes now closer to Palimak’s level.
“Tho I gueth we have thomething in common,” she said.
Palimak’s head jolted up. “What?” he asked.
Arlain sighed. “I don’t know who my parenth are either,” she said. “I’m an orphan. Jutht like you.” She shrugged. “I think my father dropped me when he wath changing the netht.”
Palimak forgot his embarrassment. “Were you adopted too?” he asked, feeling very sorry and very protective of her.
“Yeth. But not by very nithe people,” she said. She glanced over at Safar, who was engrossed in a story Elgy, the human-charming snake, was telling. “You’re really lucky to have a father like Thafar.”
Palimak threw his shoulders back, smiling and proud. “He’s the best father any boy could have,” he said. “The best in the whole world!”
“That’th what I always imagined,” Arlain said. “From the firtht time I met him.” She leaned closer, a fellow conspirator. “I had a thecret cruth on him, you know,” she said. “But don’t tell anybody I thaid that. They’ll teathe me. And I don’t like to be teathed.”
Palimak promised he wouldn’t. “I don’t like to be teased, either,” he added with such solemnity that Arlain couldn’t help but giggle again.
This time, however, a bit of smoke puffed from between her lips along with a few flames.
“Oopth!” she said, covering her mouth with a dainty paw. “I’m thorry! Thometimeth I get all exthited and forget I’m a dragon. And I accithidentaly thet thingth on fire! I’m tho clumthy, you wouldn’t believe it! People get tho mad at me!”
Palimak was absolutely charmed by this confession. Arlain suddenly seemed less intimidating. More like an older sister with ordinary foibles, instead of a gorgeous, distant idol.
“I accidentally set my grandmother’s wagon on fire once,” he said, trying to make her feel more comfortable. “You can’t believe how mad she got!” He sighed. “I guess it’s hard for people to understand that you can’t always help it.”
“I uthed to worry about it all the time,” Arlain said. “But now I don’t worry tho much. I wath born thith way! Half one being, half another. Nothing I can do about it. I mean, nobody athked me if I wanted to be born.”
She looked at him, smiling a smile that melted his heart. And then she said, “I thuppoth it’th the thame with you.”
Palimak’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How did you know?” he asked.
Arlain pretended confusion. “Know what, my thweet?”
Palimak ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed, although he didn’t know why. He wanted to speak, but there was a knot in his throat that wouldn’t allow it. He coughed, trying to clear a suddenly constricted throat.
Arlain said, “I’m thorry, I couldn’t hear you,” as if the cough was a statement.
Her voice was so kind Palimak chanced an answer. Head still down, wanting to get it over with in a quick mumble, but forcing himself to make his words clear.
He said, “How did you know that I’m… well… uh… what do you call it… special, I guess… Yeah. Special. Like you.”
He wanted to say more, but his throat constricted. He coughed again, trying to fight past it, but what came out was still badly crippled.
“Except I’m half demon, instead of dragon. How could you tell? I try to be really careful because people get all upset when they find out. And not just human type people. Demons act the same way.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Arlain said. “I jutht thort of guethed. Maybe beingth like uth recognize each other right away.”
She giggled, purposely letting a little smoke and fire leak out. But this time she didn’t say, “oops,” or apologize.
Instead, she said, “Not that you can’t tell thoon ath you meet me,” she said, hand moving gracefully through the air, going from dragon face to lush woman’s body. “I can’t hide who I am,” she said. “It wath written all over me by my mother and father.”
He nodded, but it wasn’t a nod of understanding. It was an abrupt nod, a nod urging her to go on. To explain more. Mind full to bursting with questions, questions, questions. Questions he couldn’t put a name to. Questions he didn’t know he wanted to ask. A whole tangled fishing net of questions suddenly dragged from the depths and needing an answer. All boiling and roiling about, tantalizing silver flashes of questions, but nothing that could be picked out in all that frantic wriggling.
As his mind raced through all these things Arlain was observing him closely with her dragon eyes - wonderful eyes, eyes like an eagle, eyes that could see far and near and everything in between, eyes that could look into your heart.
Palimak desperately wanted to make some meaningful gesture - something that would show Arlain how close in nature and kind he felt to her. But he was only a boy and he hadn’t the words, so in the end he blurted:
“Look at this!” Grinning and holding out a hand, eyes suddenly flaring yellow as claws needled out from his fingers. Then he leaned forward, blew on the claws and his breath became a swirl of colors - a magical imitation of Arlain’s dragonfire - playing it across the claws, turning them this way and that as if in forge. Then there was a slap! as the colors burst and Palimak held up a hand that was quite ordinarily human again.
“See?” he said, a whole flood of meanings intended in that single word.
Arlain blinked - and to Palimak she caught all his meaning in that blink - then she clapped her hands in delight, making his heart leap.
“Oh, my goodneth grathiouth,” she said. “That’th marveloth! You thould be in the circuth!”
Palimak goggled. “Really?” he said. Then, doubtful. “You’re not just saying that to be nice, are you?”
Arlain drew herself up, dignified. “Thirtainly not! I know a born thowman when I see one!”
Then she leaned close and asked, “Would you like me to teach you?”
Palimak’s eyes became very wide and very round. “Sure,” he said, heart drumming, thinking of all the things he had seen at the performance, flipping through the thrilling feats and excitement, picking what he like best.
And he said, shy, “Could I learn how to be a clown?”
* * *
Safar glanced across the tent, smiling, a little drunk at the sight of Arlain and Palimak together. Biner, sloshing drink into their cups, followed his gaze, then back again, understanding and enjoying Safar’s smile.
“Damnedest’ thing ‘bout the circus,” Biner said, “is she always finds her own.” He examined his cup, grinning at memories of old times. “Look at how it was with you,” he said. “Layin’ out in the middle of the desert, mostly dead, then the circus comes along, sees its kindred, and swoops you up. Next thing you know you’re earnin’ your keep wowin’ them at the fairs.”
“It seemed like a miracle at the time,” Safar said, remembering Methydia’s great airship sweeping across the desert toward him. Then he thought of what happened later - all the glorious circus adventures, the applause, the camaraderie, the long nights of loving and learning with Methydia.
And he said, low, “I guess it really was a miracle.”
Across from them Leiria peeled laughter at some jest told by Elgy. The other performers joined in, waving their arms, spilling their wine, completely wrapped up in the party.
Safar looked at Biner. “Speaking of miracles,” he said, “maybe you’d better tell me about this new one before we get too drunk.”
“You mean how we come to be in Caluz?” Biner said.
“Exactly.”
Biner eyed him, owlish, amusement in his eyes. “Some might call it a miracle,” he said, “some might call it a coincidence.” He tapped his head. “Some who thinks they know it all, call it smoke and mirrors.” He made a grand gesture - “Illusion! But no matter how smart they think they are, how sharp-eyed, knowin’ all the tricks, the circus always gets ‘em. Pulls them in. Makes them want to believe so much they ignore the wires even when the lightman’s drunk and you can see the glint plain as day.”
Safar shook his head, amused. He said, “Either I’m really, really, drunk,” he said, “or I’m not drunk enough. But somehow that makes sense.”
Biner sloshed more wine into their cups. “In questions of drunkenness, lad,” he said, “it’s best to figure you ain’t had enough.”
They drank as Biner gathered his thoughts, then he said, “I’ll give you the poster line first.”
He grinned at Safar and said, “Methydia sent us!”
Safar nearly spewed out his drink.
Biner chortled. “Got your attention?”
Safar swallowed hard, wiping the spillover from his chin. And he choked, “Go ahead.”
Ever the showman, Biner said not another word but climbed to his feet, hooking up the wine skin as he rose. He stumped away on his thick, short legs, leading Safar to a room off the main tent. Biner turned up an oil lamp and Safar saw the room was crowded with trunks. They were huge things, heavy with all sorts of circus gear, but Biner pushed them about as if they weighed nothing at all.
When there was enough room he perched on the lid of a vaguely familiar black trunk, covered with leather and bound by thick iron straps. He gestured at a place across from him for Safar to sit, took a slug of wine right out of the skin and passed it to Safar.
“Sad times,” he sighed, “when last we met.”
The sigh stirred bitter memories, carrying Safar back to another tented room where Methydia was laid out on a rough cot dying; Safar and others gathered about her. Outside a whole city was in flames, people weeping and wailing as Iraj’s soldiers led them to their doom. Through the canvas doorway they could see the smoking ruins of the wondrous flying ship that was the heart, body and soul of her circus. All dead and dying now. Methydia clutching his hand and begging him to forgive Iraj, to go with him, saying it was his destiny. That it was for the good of all.
Safar was young, easily moved by death bed appeals, and he’d agreed. There were rare days that he didn’t think that he’d made a grave mistake.
Then he heard Biner speak and he blinked back to the present to hear the dwarf say, “We wasn’t much of a circus after that. Methydia gone. Airship burnt. No spirit in us. So we couldn’t put any into the crowds. Our acts felt flat. No spark, no suspense. All of us just going through the motions.
“Not that we didn’t care, we just couldn’t do anythin’ about it. Worse it got, the harder it got. And pretty soon we were hardly sellin’ any tickets, cause the word had gone out of ahead of us that we weren’t worth seein’.
“We wandered around like that, hittin’ whatever fairs we could. Sometimes workin’ for not much more’n our suppers.”
Biner smiled at Safar, “Not that we were in danger of starvin’, thanks to you. We had that fat purse of gold you gave us. Which is how we got through those times. Hells, maybe we would’ve woke up sooner if we didn’t have that cushion. Maybe it made it easier to mope and moan and feel miserable. So instead of the best circus in all Esmir, we were the saddest.
“After awhile maybe you even start liking being miserable, although you don’t know it.”
Safar nodded. “I’ve felt that way myself,” he said. “It becomes an odd sort of addiction. The emotional version of an opium merchant who loves his wares too well.”
“Ain’t that so?” Biner said. Then, “But one day we woke up. Threw away the pipe and opened our eyes to what was goin’ on around us.
“It was at a performance, last show of the last night at a weevily little fair. You know the kind. Where the folks don’t have much more’n corn dust in their pockets - and that’s wormy.”
Safar smiled. He remembered towns like that when he was in the circus.
“Anyway,” Biner continued, “there wasn’t but maybe twenty people in the house. And they were so bored even some of them were leakin’ away. Then it happened. Right in the middle of the big clown act. Where Arlain’s chasin’ me around the ring, settin’ my britches on fire?
“All of a sudden a kid start’s cryin’. And I mean, really, cryin’! It was the most mournful cryin’ you ever heard in your life. Like the world was endin’ and the kid’s scared and wants its momma but then he suddenly knows, way down deep, that when the world ends so does his momma and that is more than he can bear.
“It stopped me right in my tracks. I’m standin’ there, ass on fire, but all I can see and hear is that kid, clutchin’ at a raggedy woman beside him, bawlin’, ‘Momma! Momma!’ My heart breakin’ with every cry. And I’m not the only one. The whole audience is lookin’ at him and pretty soon they’re leakin’ tears and behind me I hear Arlain say, ‘Poor thing,’ and I know she’s cryin’ too. And so were the others, Elgy and everybody. Like it was a funeral instead of a show.
“Then it hit me.”
“Wait a minute,” Safar said, “last I heard your ass was still on fire.”
Biner laughed. “It sure was,” he said. “And maybe that’s what got me unstuck, because the first thing that hits me is that my behind feels like it’s being grilled for supper. So I put it out. Stuck my butt in a bucket of water like I always do. And there’s a hiss and the steam’s risin’ up around me and I start laughin’ at myself. For the first time in ages I could see myself as a clown again, see in my head what a silly figure I was, squattin’ in the bucket. Which, when you think about, is what most of us are doin’ in real life - squattin’ over our troubles without much of a clue that anythin’ else is happenin’ ‘cause our attention is fixed on our sore asses.
“Then I think, well, we’re all fools goin’ to a fools’ hell, so godsdamn it all!
“Damn everything but the circus!
“So I come up out of my bucket and I see that I’m no lonesome genius, because Arlain and the boys are thinkin’ the same thing. We all smile at each other and I give the high sign and boom! Elgy and Rabix strike up the band and boom! we start all over again. Right from the top. The whole show. But this time we’re playin’ right to the kid.
“Every trick, every laugh-getter aimed for the kid, who’s still cryin’, still callin’ for his momma, but after awhile his cries get quieter, tears goin’ from a river to a trickle, until just when me and Arlain did the pants on fire number again the kid gets to laughin.’ Startin’ with a giggle, then a snicker, then an all out belly laugh that wouldn’t quit.
“The whole audience is with us now, laughin’ along with the kid. Havin’ the time of their lives. Don’t matter what waits for them outside, how bad it might be, how bad it might get, this is the circus. And when you are at the circus you are free and nothin’ can get to you long as the music’s playin’ and the clown’s are clownin’ and Arlain is flyin’ high over your heads, beautiful and makin’ dreams come true in the air.”
Biner’s eyes misted over at the memory. Then he coughed, coming back. “Jump to the chase. We put on one hells of a show. Sent the folks home happy, especially that kid. Just like the old days. Afterwards, we sat up all night and gave each other hells for forgettin’ we were circus people. It’s not a trade, it’s a callin’. Like a holy mission. And the harder the times the more folks need us.
“But most of all we talked about how ashamed Methydia would of been for forgettin’ all that. So the next day we packed up the tents and hit the road again. Playin’ the fairs and festivals like before. But this time we had purpose. This time we had heart. We were a real circus and it made all the difference in the world.”
There was a respectful silence as both men contemplated circus mystique, passing the wineskin back and forth.
Then Biner winked, humor a bright splinter in his eye. “Guess I’ve given you enough of a buildup,” he said. “Maybe I ought to get on to the feature act.”
“I wish you would,” Safar said, dry. “I bought the ticket for the big tease. Which was that Methydia sent you. If that’s not the case, I want my money back.”
“Never fear, my lad,” Biner said. “This is an honest circus. The sucker - I mean, the honored customer -always gets what he pays for.”
He lumbered to his feet, saying in his ringmaster’s voice, “Ladies and Gentleman, lads and lasses of all ages…” hauling the trunk around until it stood out clear in the light, “… I now present to you -“
He stopped in mid cry, hand flourish indicating the trunk. Then he winked again and said, abruptly normal voiced, “Recognize it, lad?”
Light dawned and Safar nodded, excited, “It’s Methydia’s,” he said.
“That’s right, lad,” Biner said, throwing back the top, revealing a bright jumble of costumes and small boxes and jars and packets and glittering bits of this and that. “It’s Methydia’s Amazing Trunk Of Tricks.”
“That’s what she called it,” Safar said, smiling at the memory. “Her Trunk Of Tricks. If you needed to fix your costume, or your act, or even if you were sick, she could always find something in the trunk that did the job.”
Biner started rummaging, tossing things aside, “Arlain came on this about a year or so ago,” he said, talking as he worked. “We’d forgotten all about the thing and it got lost in all our gear. But then one day Arlain had a new idea for her act and she was lookin’ for somethin’ to help her out and while she was diggin’ around she found Methydia’s trunk.
“Well, she figured she was saved, because whatever it was she needed just had to be in this trunk. So she started going through it, just like I’m doing now.”
Biner was near the bottom, sweeping out the last things. Then he turned, gesturing for Safar to come closer, saying, “And then she saw this…”
Safar looked inside. At first he was puzzled: the trunk was empty. Then in the center he saw a scrap of white lace, no bigger than a thumbnail and he automatically reached to brush it aside, but it stuck there, stubborn. He plucked at it, but it remained fast.
“Just give it a bit of a tug, lad,” Biner advised.
So he did, pulling gently, feeling some resistance, then it started to give and he was lifting up a rectangular lid! He goggled at it, realizing it was dangling from the lace, then, wide-eyed, he looked down and saw the hidden compartment he’d revealed. It was about six inches wide and a foot long and lined with thick black velvet. Sitting inside, cushioned by the velvet, was a glass case.
Safar looked up at Biner, hesitant. “Go ahead, lad,” the dwarf said. “Take her out.”
Gently, Safar lifted out the case. As it emerged into the light it glittered and shimmered with color. Begging the eye to look closer and be amazed, so Safar did, heart tap-tapping like a cobbler’s hammers, palms moist with excitement.
When he saw it he gasped like a boy.
“It’s the Airship!” he cried, holding the case out to Biner as if he didn’t know already. “Methydia’s Airship!”
“Sure it is, lad,” Biner said, a big grin lighting his ugly face. “A perfect replica from stem to stern.”
And indeed it was, a wondrous ship with graceful decks dangling beneath two marvelous balloons that made it a creature of the air, rather than the sea. All in perfect scale down to the copper burners that in real life provided the lifting power.
The lead balloon bore Methydia’s beauteous face, with huge exotic eyes and sensuous lips. Beneath it was the legend: “Methydia’s Flying Circus Of Miracles!”
“It’s so real,” Safar breathed, “I feel as if I’m on it.”
“There’s more, lad,” Biner said. “You still ain’t seen the whole show. Not by half!”
He pointed at the chest. “There’s somethin’ else in that compartment. Somethin’ you missed.”
Safar glanced where he was pointing and saw a small roll of white parchment with a blue ribbon tied around the middle and creased where the edge of the case had rested. He handed Biner the glass case and lifted out the scroll. He slid the ribbon off and as he unrolled the message he could smell Methydia’s perfume floating up from the parchment. It made it seem as if she had suddenly entered the room and all he had to do was turn around and see her warm smile. Then the scroll was fully open, revealing a simple message written in Methydia’s elegant, flowing hand:
“To Safar
My heart, my love
My life
Methydia”
“When we saw that,” Biner said, “we knew the ship wasn’t just a pretty model.”
Safar raised his head, dazed. “What?”
“The airship, lad,” Biner said. “It’s not a toy! It’s real, lad! It’s real!”
* * *