Chapter 14

Cordelia heard the roar of applause within the tent, and the tinny rise and fall of horn music. The circus had begun, and she and Gregory were left outside, among the pastry peddlers and candy sellers, among the trampled hay and the discarded waste of the crowd.

The square was empty now, except for the cart-pushers and market stalls and a dozen raggedy children, barefoot and filthy-faced, who swarmed the streetlamps, straining for a glimpse of the action inside the tent, and trying to pocket food from the stalls when no one was looking.

“We need to get into that tent,” Cordelia said. But no sooner had she taken two steps toward the entrance than the oversize men, Tomaseo and Alonzo, reached for identical leather whips hooked to their belts. Cabal let out a squeak of fear and Icky ducked behind Gregory’s leg.

“It’s no use, Cordelia,” Gregory said, raising his voice so he could easily be heard by the two giants. At the same time, he gave her a wink. “We’ll never get into the circus without a ticket. We might as well give up.”

Cordelia, catching on, heaved a sigh. “You’re right,” she said loudly. “I guess we’ll just head home.”

They turned around with exaggerated care and began to move off in the direction of the train station. Cordelia, feeling the eyes of the two giants on the back of her neck, was careful to hang her head and look disappointed. Gregory walked with as much dignity as he could muster, considering the fact that he had a filch clinging to his lower leg.

At the first opportunity, however, they hid behind a fruit stand.

“We’ll have to circle around,” Gregory said, prying Icky from his leg with difficulty. “Maybe there’s a way to sneak into the tent through the back.”

Cordelia stretched onto her tiptoes, ignoring the rows of pears glistening like jewels on their cloth beds, candied apples shining with caramel drizzle, the smell of fresh-brewed cider, and the terrible whining of her stomach. She spotted a narrow path through the maze of carts and food stalls. If they were careful, they could circle around the tent and stay completely out of sight of the beastly men guarding its entrance. And maybe Gregory was right. Maybe there was another way in.

Cordelia turned to him. But before she could open her mouth, a loud scream made her jump.

“Thief! Scandal! Villainy! Murder!”

An old woman with a nose like a fishhook and a very large wart trembling in the middle of her forehead stepped out from behind the towering stacks of candied apples, wielding her broom like a sword.

“Get away from my apples, you miserable little monsters!” Swoosh. She struck out with her broom. Cordelia ducked to avoid getting a face full of bristles. “Keep your sticky paws where they belong!” Swoosh. She aimed another blow in Cordelia’s direction. Cordelia rolled aside as the broom thudded to the ground not an inch from her stomach, releasing a cloud of dirt.

“This way, Cordelia!” Gregory hooked a hand in her collar and dragged her forward as the old woman continued hopping and waving her broom, shrieking insults in their direction.

Cordelia and Gregory ducked under the enormous body of a glossy Clydesdale and snuck around a vendor roasting chestnuts over an open flame. Safely distanced from the old woman and her stiff-bristled broom, they slowed to a trot, scanning the purple tent for entrances or gaps in the stitching where the panels were bound together. They might, Cordelia thought, sneak under the tent—it was lashed to a stake in the ground every few feet, leaving plenty of loose fabric between tethers—if it weren’t for the guards stationed at every entrance, all of them equally as large as Tomaseo and Alonzo. Perhaps, Cordelia thought, they came from the same family of giants?

On the west side of Union Square, the street had been closed down to accommodate an overflow of props, wagons, trunks, and performers’ trailers. Gregory and Cordelia ignored the temporary fence that had been erected around it, and vaulted easily into the jumble of old costume racks, rusted washbasins, and empty cages.

Almost immediately, they heard the shrill of a woman’s voice and ducked behind a painted wagon. A dozen feet away, a bearded lady was combing and braiding her hair, singing absentmindedly, and missing nearly every note. A man roughly Cordelia’s height was standing in a barrel full of water, wearing nothing but a child’s bathing suit, washing himself, seemingly oblivious to the cold. Two acrobats dressed in spandex costumes were practicing their routine. A sword-swallower was massaging his jaw muscles, a sword staked next to him in the dirt.

And just behind him, a vertical sweep of light pushing between tent panels marked an unguarded entrance to the circus.

“What do we do now?” Gregory whispered. “You think we can get past them?”

Cordelia shook her head. “We can’t,” she said. “I can. You’re going to cause a distraction.” Her stomach gave a nervous lurch. But they had come this far. She had to be brave.

“Uh-uh, no way.” Gregory shook his head so emphatically, his hat nearly slipped off his head. He righted it quickly. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Please, Gregory,” Cordelia said. She didn’t want to confess that she also didn’t want to venture into the tent alone. “It’s the only way.”

Left and right went the hat while Gregory debated. “Fine,” he said at last. “If you say so. You want me to dance a jig? Start a riot? Juggle sausage links?”

“Easier,” she said. “All you have to do is light a fire.” Cordelia cracked a smile for the first time in what felt like ages, reached into her pocket, and passed Gregory the dragon. Gregory took Icky, too, but insisted that Cabal stay with Cordelia “for protection,” and even though the zuppy’s attacks resulted only in enthusiastic and aggressive face-licking, Cordelia didn’t protest.

With a quick look in either direction, Gregory eased into the open and Cordelia quickly lost sight of him. She stayed where she was, concealed behind the painted wagon, and waited. Every so often, she heard an appreciative roar from the crowd. She wondered whether her growrks were being forced to turn somersaults, whether her pixies were dressed up in costumes to make them look like fairies—an absurd idea, and one she knew the pixies would detest, since they despised their fairy cousins and made a point of cannibalizing them whenever they could.

She thought of wild living things kept in cages, and the ugly letter her mother had received. She thought of Henry Haddock, and the man whose belongings he’d shaken into the mud. And for a second she wished she could simply will herself back home, and shut the doors forever on the world and its fears and cruelty.

But she couldn’t. Her father needed her. The monsters needed her—to save them all from the real monsters.

Even though the wind had picked up, carrying with it the promise of snow, Cordelia was sweating. Her thighs had begun to cramp. She felt like she’d been crouching forever. She shifted a little, trying to give her legs some relief, scanning the market for signs that Gregory was carrying out the plan. So far, nothing.

“Come on, Gregory,” she muttered. If he didn’t hurry, she would lose her chance.

Then she spotted it: a fine thread of smoke unspooling a short distance away between the trees. At first it was no wider than a finger. Then it was a black branch, growing quickly to the sky, and suddenly there was an eruption of shouting, the drumming of footsteps, and overlapping cries of “Fire, fire!” Cordelia said a quick prayer that Gregory had successfully escaped—otherwise, he’d be trampled by the crowd.

“Ready, Cabal?” she whispered. Cabal was rigid, tense, ready to run. All the performers rushed to give aid. The man toweling off in the bathing suit began hauling the barrel full of his old bathwater in the direction of the flames. The bearded lady trotted over to help him. The acrobats shouted competing advice, until the sword-swallower threatened to skewer them both if they didn’t stop squawking.

The tent was left momentarily unguarded.

“Now!” Cordelia said. Instantly, she was up and running, staying as low as she could, while Cabal darted beside her, kicking up miniature clouds of dirt. Her heart was pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear anything, not the continued sounds of shouting, not the crackle of fire. At any second, she expected to feel a thick hand on her back. She expected the terrible tattooed men to appear before her, for someone to shout and command her to stop.

She was almost there. She was so frightened she could hardly breathe. Any second now she would be caught, she would be thrown into a cage beside the growrk.

But then she was at the tent, and no one had cried out, and no one had stopped her.

Cordelia risked one glance behind her. Gregory had done his job to perfection. A hastily collected pile of straw and old newspaper was burning cheerily, and a crowd had gathered to try and put it out. Now the sword-swallower was trying to extinguish the flames with an old blanket but had only succeeded in stoking them higher. The bearded lady had somehow managed to overturn the barrel of water onto both acrobats.

No one was looking in Cordelia’s direction at all.

Quickly, with no further hesitation, she lifted the tent flap and slipped into the circus.