THE LIE AND THE TIGHTWIRE
Friday morning, still weary from the events of the night before, Marion made her way down to the cafeteria for breakfast. It was immediately obvious that news of the upcoming Circus Ball had caused a mix of excitement and confusion throughout the agency. It was also obvious, from the notice hanging at the end of the Grand Corridor, that preparation for the event would take precedence over everything else that day—all training, work sessions and general goings-on had been canceled for the morning and afternoon, and anyone who planned to attend the ball was encouraged to remain in their offices, the cafeteria or the common room until seven o’clock.
Nearly every staff member and head of department could be seen charging through the corridors toward the ballroom or the kitchens in a panicked hurry to get everything done before the end of the day. By the time Marion had reached the common room, she’d passed at least ten staff members all with the same frazzled look on their faces, boxes of lights, silk banners, crockery, cutlery, tablecloths and all manner of curious decorations clutched to their chests. Harry and the kitchen staff were similarly occupied, and all through the day a cacophony of aromas—charred meat, mixed spice, fresh bread—filled the upper-level corridors and chambers.
Yet the charged, almost dizzying atmosphere only added to Marion’s swiftly growing unease. She paced her room as she counted the hours to lunchtime when, if Kenny kept his word, they were due to meet.
But lunch came and went without any sign of him and Marion was left anxious, alone, frustrated. She crossed the corridor to the common room. The fire had been lit and the central oak table—designed for general meetings and discussions, but which was mostly used for playing cards and board games—was littered with half-drunk bottles of liquor and dying cigarette butts, evidence of a lazy afternoon off. But where had everyone gone?
She lingered by the fire, her thoughts stagnant, unable to move past the vile discovery she’d made in the tunnels beyond the Border, and what it all meant. Why was a World War II chemical weaponry experiment being brought back to life here at Miss Brickett’s?
A sound filled the silence. A low and rattling hiss.
A fractured shadow, long and twisted, was cast across the room. And then she knew.
Clink—schlik, schlik—clink.
The room’s chandelier, a teardrop crystal that hung from the ceiling, flickered as a line of silver scales moved across the threshold. The snake she’d seen in the corridors beyond the Border, now more difficult to see than ever, glimmered only when it fell directly under the ceiling light—right at the foot of the couch.
Clink—schlik, schlik—clink.
“His name is Toby,” Mr. Nicholas said menacingly as he appeared in the doorway. He took a few steps forward; the snake slithered to his feet.
A cold sweat beaded on Marion’s upper lip.
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Professor Bal, such a genius, but sometimes he needs a little push.” He settled down at the table. “His designs have been somewhat bland of late. But I had a word with him, you see.” He grinned, looking down at the sleeping serpent, then up at Marion.
Marion sat quite still, trying to calm the thundering in her chest, slow her rapid breath.
“Nancy has put me in charge while she’s away, to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior.”
Marion finally managed to thaw herself from the clutches of whatever icy terror had come over her. “Then I suggest you look elsewhere.”
The grin on Mr. Nicholas’s face grew more twisted. He flicked open his pocket watch.
Toby stirred.
“Toby has been patrolling the tunnels beyond the Border for some time, just as an extra precaution. His tongue is designed to detect and record human movement. As soon as it does, cameras in his eyes switch on and I am alerted.” He paused. “But perhaps you already knew that?”
“How could I?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Now now, Miss Lane. Please don’t lie.” He straightened up. “There was someone down in those tunnels on Tuesday last week, just before Mr. Eston’s apparent tumble down the stairs. Toby sensed it, only it was too dark for the cameras to make out who it was.”
Marion felt a wave of nausea come over her. The common room was hardly ever empty during the day for longer than five minutes. Where, now, was everyone?
“I know it was one or all three of you, Miss Lane. You, Mr. Eston and Mr. Hobb,” he said, flicking a notch on his pocket watch.
Toby, now completely solid and clearly visible, shivered—a lightning-fast ripple traveled up from his tail to his head. He shifted, then reared up. But Marion stood her ground. She knew from Nancy and Gillroth’s conversation after Frank’s trial that Nicholas was bluffing. His snake had detected movement, but it hadn’t picked up anything that looked like a human being. Nicholas might have his assumptions, but he had no proof.
“One more mistake, from any of you. One more and you’re out. I hope we—” he gestured to Toby, then himself “—make ourselves clear.” He grinned, nodded and turned to leave. Toby slinked out after him.
Marion stared blankly through the bookshop window as the last rays of pale, weak sunlight set beyond a milky sky. After her encounter with Toby and Mr. Nicholas, she’d felt desperate to remove herself from the oppressive, suffocating atmosphere of Miss Brickett’s and had made her way to the lift and through the trapdoor, where she planned to remain until the Circus Ball commenced.
She realized now, as she strolled around the cramped shop, how much she’d missed the comfort of its untidy shelves, its snug lighting, the familiar scent of old paper that saturated the air. There was something about the ordinariness of the place that she craved: the misplaced books, the unfiled stacks of paper, so acutely contrasting to the world for which it was a porthole, a bridge.
When first she’d set foot inside the bookshop, that evening late in December, she’d felt somewhat let down by its lackluster appearance. Now she realized how significant this unpretentious facade was, not just as a defense against public intrusion and curiosity, but as a reminder that sometimes the extraordinary existed just below the surface of the ordinary. The bookshop was a link to the outside world, to stability and normality, and a portal into the mysterious and intoxicating world of Inquiry.
She picked a book from the shelves—Little Women, her childhood favorite—and sank to the floor, resting her head against the butler’s desk, overcome by that familiar deep and hollow ache of loneliness. The past two weeks had been a blur of happenings, of dread and fear, but also of purpose. She’d been so consumed with uncovering first the root of Bill and David’s discord, then the truth behind Michelle White’s murder. But now that she’d been forced to take a break from the investigation, the loneliness returned. Perhaps worse than ever.
She pressed her knuckles into her temples and breathed. Long and deep. Slow and deliberate.
The trapdoor creaked open behind her.
“Thought I’d find you here.” Jessica clambered through the hole, ungainly and out of breath. “The girls and I are getting ready in Rakes’s room. For the circus,” she added when Marion failed to reply. “She’s arranged everything for us—wine, music. Rather out of character for her but I suppose she’s just trying to get into the spirit, raise morale as everyone’s been saying. Thought you might like to join?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She hesitated.
Jessica looked at the book in Marion’s hand. She would be making some analysis about the choice. And it would probably be accurate. “I love that one, too.”
“Mum and I used to read it together. Always at Christmas.” She held back the burn in her chest. She didn’t want to cry.
“I did the same, though not with my mother. I believe she thought it might give me the wrong sort of aspirations.” She sighed as if remembering something. “One might argue she was right.” Marion was struck with a spasm of guilt. Jessica was an observer, a listener. And she was always there to provide comfort, if not advice. She didn’t expect much in return, though that was no excuse. Even the listeners liked to be heard. But Marion had been so consumed with her own troubles lately, she wondered how much of Jessica’s life she’d missed. She’d have to dive right in. “How’s Roger? Anything happening there?”
Jessica chewed her lip. “Oh...he’s... We’ve seen each other again.”
“And? What’s he like?”
“Delicious,” she laughed. “But that’s all. Really, he’s quite dull. I’ll have to put an end to it.”
“Probably for the best. Work and love seldom go together.” She wasn’t ever going to admit it, but she thought of Kenny Hugo as she said this.
Jessica looked around the shop in contemplation. “You know, I’ve always thought we should hold a book club up here. Just for employees, of course. Once a month or something. What do think?”
“I’d love that. Might have to sit on the street, though. It’s a bit compact in here.”
They laughed.
Jessica offered her hand and pulled Marion to her feet. “I’ve seen how distracted you’ve been lately.” She looked at her, through her. “I don’t know what’s going on, Mari, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know that I, us...even Amanda, believe it or not, we’ve noticed. And we’re here for you.” She squeezed Marion’s hand. “Now come on, I think tonight is just what everyone needs.”
Marion’s eyes swelled with tears, not from sadness but gratitude. She watched as Jessica studied her face, looking at what lay behind her silence, and for a moment she wished she could say more, explain her reticence, the reason she’d been so distant and distracted.
“As I said,” Jessica added, “you don’t need to explain.”
They hugged, and the tension in Marion’s chest eased. “Thank you, Jess. Really. And you’re right. I think tonight will be fun.”
They arrived at Aida Rakes’s room in the residence quarters to a clamoring of excited voices as Amanda and several second and third years gathered around the only mirror, admiring their silks and pearls. All furniture had been shoved to the perimeter of the room, creating a large open center in which one dressing table stood, now layered with petticoats and an assortment of makeup, brushes and bottles of hair spray.
After collecting her things from her room, Marion changed into the only gown she owned and one she hoped no one would remember she’d worn before—a light gray chiffon sheath dress dripping with worn and cracked glass beads. With Jessica’s help, she fixed her hair into a cascade of tight curls, applied lavish amounts of cream foundation, blush and blazing red lipstick.
“All right, ladies,” Maud said, dressed in a bright blue rayon suit (much to Amanda’s distaste) and carrying a large black satchel, “let’s get some bloody vibe going.” She opened the satchel and pulled out a collection of liquor—wine, whiskey, sherry and an arrangement of ciders. “Courtesy of Harry and the library bar. No need to mention it to Rakes...” She surveyed the room. “Where is she, by the way?”
“He gave you all that?” Jessica asked skeptically, ignoring the question.
“Not exactly, but what he doesn’t know...” Her face illuminated, delighted perhaps more at the horror on Jessica’s than the bounty she’d plundered from the bar. “Relax, Jess. We’re here to celebrate.” She slung an arm over Marion. “Right, Mari?”
“Exactly right,” Marion said, grinning. She poured them each a glass of wine, turned up the volume on the wireless and relaxed, just for a moment forgetting the dread churning her insides—Frank’s fate, the agency’s, her own.
Once dressed and well-liquored, the women made their way across the corridor to the common room where the rest of the apprentices had gathered, dressed in varying degrees of formality, trailed by clouds of perfume, cologne, hair spray and excitement.
Bill—dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo and sky-blue bow tie—lowered himself awkwardly into a chair next to Marion at the central table. He regarded her outfit with something of a bemused expression. “You look...nice.”
Marion smiled, smoothing her gown across her thighs. “Thanks. You, too.” He really did, despite the oversize tuxedo. Though tousled and certainly in need of a trim, his black hair gleamed against his pale milk skin and overall he exuded a ruffled, unintentional charm.
“Any news on the bomb factory?”
“Bill! Keep your voice down!” She checked they hadn’t been overheard, but thanks to the gramophone blaring Johnny Cash, no one appeared to have noticed. “And no,” she said. “I was supposed to meet with Kenny this afternoon but he didn’t show.”
Bill poured them each a glass of wine. “On that note, I’ve been thinking. You’re convinced White’s killer is the person who’s been recreating the—” he lowered his voice “—bomb.”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Okay, but doesn’t that mean the killer must have had the map at some point? I mean, that’s why White was worried in the first place, right?”
“Yes. And I know what you’re going to say. Only you, David, Ned and a High Council member ever had the map, according to rumor at least. So the killer must be one of them. But it’s obviously not you, and David never had the map and monocle at the same time so it seems unlikely it was him. Ned is long gone. Which leaves—”
Bill took a sip of wine. “The High Council member? Gillroth?”
“Thing is,” Marion said, “it’s not a watertight theory, is it? First, we don’t know if the rumors about who had the map and who didn’t are true, or comprehensive. And second, two or more people could have been working together. Like we are. I mean, you wouldn’t need the map to find the laboratory if I showed you where the break room entrance was.”
“So that doesn’t help us at all, then.” He lapsed into contemplation for a few moments. “Oh, and by the way. I’ve some bad news.” He angled his chin toward the door.
“Can it wait? I really just need a few hours...” She trailed off, following Bill’s gaze to the common room entrance and David Eston, who’d appeared at the threshold in a wheelchair.
“He was discharged last night,” Bill whispered. “We’ve had a little catch-up, don’t worry. I explained that the map went missing in the tunnels and if he wants to go looking for it again, he’ll have to do so alone.”
“And? He bought it?”
Bill shrugged. “Probably not, but he seems frightened, to be honest. I think what happened to him down there was a big shock. I don’t think he wants anything more to do with the map or the tunnels. At least for the time being.”
Marion watched as David wheeled himself toward the table—a look of cold detachment on his face. She wasn’t quite as convinced as Bill that David was the type of person to let anything go, especially not something he’d pursued so fervently, something so personal. Even still, she pushed the notion to the back of her mind. Tonight, she was determined to enjoy herself.
“Everyone going tonight?” Jessica asked the group at large as she set up a game of Miss Brickett’s Cluedo.
Preston ground out his cigarette. “I’m definitely going. Bound to be some drama that won’t be worth missing.”
“I think it’s a good idea. Raise morale a bit,” Jessica contested with a slightly more forced smile.
“A pay rise would raise my morale, not a damn circus,” Amanda said.
“Come now,” Maud slurred (by Marion’s count, she was on drink number four). “Let’s just relax. It’s like Jess said—” she paused to finish her drink “—we all need some fun. Can’t hurt to forget the shit what’s been going on lately and...get a little boozed.”
“That’s not exactly what I—” Jessica began, interrupted by David, who smirked and raised his glass in a toast.
“I agree. Waste of money, but hey, to raising morale.” His eyes drifted to Bill and Marion. “And to forgetting.”
The group raised their glasses in unison.
“To morale,” Maud offered.
“To morale,” the group chimed.
Jessica handed out the Cluedo tokens and cards. “Amanda, you’re Archibald Horrib. Bill, you’re Master Spike. Preston, you’re Porter Lynn. David, you’re Madame Mey. Maud, you’re Dr. Evans, and Mari and I will be Professor Govender.”
In the center of the board, which was intricately painted with a map of the agency, there was a simple black square and, inside the square, a scrawled message in silver ink: Who killed Lady Mill?
Preston leaned across the board, placing a tiny wooden figurine in the ballroom. “Horrib in the ballroom with a—” He looked at Jessica. “Where’re the weapons?”
“Ah, sorry.” Jessica placed a pile of tiny clockwork murder weapons—movable miniature versions of agency gadgets, in the center of the board—a Time Lighter that emitted tiny clouds of hot steam, a fierce-looking gargoyle that resembled the one on the Workshop door, a cigar case filled with poison darts, a writhing reel of Twister Rope, a halothane ball and a silver dagger.
“Horrib in the ballroom,” Preston repeated, “with the Twister Rope.” He placed the tiny reel of rope on the board; it immediately turned itself into a firm knot. “What a bloody awful way to go.”
“Not as bad as this,” Maud chimed in, examining the gargoyle at eye level.
Preston shook his head. “I’ve never understood how that’s supposed to kill anyone.”
“It could fall on you. Cracked skull?” Maud provided.
“Nah,” Preston said, “heart attack, I reckon. It’ll scare you to death...”
Thus a debate on the particular mechanics of death-by-gargoyle ensued. Taking his chance at the otherwise distracted table, Bill leaned into Marion and whispered, “Mari, I think we need to discuss this Kenny Hugo character.”
Marion flipped her cards through fingers. “Discuss?” Frustration stirred inside her. She was put out by Kenny’s absence through the day. And now she was annoyed Bill had anything to say about it.
“I’m not sure we should trust him.”
“We’ve been through this, Bill. We have no choice.”
“He’s keeping something from us. I mean, where’s he been all day?”
Marion shrugged, but said nothing.
“I’m just saying,” he went on, speaking more delicately, “don’t believe everything he says just because he’s got great hair.”
Marion glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Fortunately for Bill, he didn’t have to answer as his turn came up next. He rolled the dice. “Madame Mey in the Workshop with a poison dart.”
The game moved swiftly from there, ending as Maud called the correct combination of Master Pike in the library with a Time Lighter and Marion and Bill’s discussion on Kenny Hugo was forced to a close. At ten minutes to seven, the group packed up, finished their drinks and left the common room together.
Every inch of the ballroom’s pale marble walls and ceiling had been covered with black silk banners, embellished with thousands of white crystal studs, creating an illusion of a clear and star-filled sky. The air was a cauldron of incense, butter, caramel and humidity, illuminated only by the glow of five tall lanterns and their soft gray light. A circular stage had been erected in the center, encapsulating a tented ring. Inside the ring, an array of black and silver boxes lay scattered across the floor. Two tall poles stood at opposing sides and held up a tightwire that hung six feet from the floor.
When Marion looked closer, she noticed Professor Bal and his assistant crouched behind the stage, apparently wrestling with something long and of gleaming silver. A coil of Twister Rope, she suspected, though what purpose it might have at a circus she had no idea. Tentatively, she traversed the perimeter of the ballroom, surveying the expressions of the staff members and employees she passed, subtle looks of bewilderment as they, too, examined the opulently adorned room.
She arrived at a line of chairs erected near the buffet table, covered with silver platters layered with steaming cuts of beef and pork, roast vegetables, mounds of bread and rivers of gravy.
“Blimey,” Bill said as he, too, arrived at the buffet table. “Harry’s outdone himself tonight. Reckon we can help ourselves?”
She ignored him.
Bill sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said about Hugo. Rude, I know. I was just trying to...” He inhaled deeply. “I think we should be cautious.” He held up his hand as Marion opened her mouth to protest. “But please, let’s leave it for now. Okay? Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight.” He smiled pleadingly, raising the gravy boat, as if making a toast. “To morale?”
Bill’s comment had stung. She didn’t trust Kenny because she wanted to, and certainly not because he had good hair—for heaven’s sake. But she didn’t have the energy to argue, or explain (again) exactly why they had no choice but to believe he was on their side. Tonight was a time for celebration. A time to forget. She smiled. “To morale.”
Satisfied with their reconciliation, Bill served himself a plate of roast, an assortment of vegetables and a few slices of bread, all smothered in gravy. “I overheard some of the senior Inquirers talking this afternoon,” he said as he popped a potato into his mouth. “Apparently the High Council planned this as a surprise for the staff but now the Inquirers think there’s something fishy about it all.”
“The circus?”
Bill nodded, his mouth stuffed. He swallowed, then went on. “I didn’t catch why, just that they think it’s odd.”
“Well, so do I. Nancy’s away and all of sudden we’re having the most extravagant event of the year. Do you know who’s idea it was?”
“I just told you, the High Council.”
“But who’s at the helm, who’s organizing it?”
Bill shrugged; he didn’t seem to care.
And while something about the event still tapped away at Marion’s subconscious, as the ballroom filled with guests, the lights dimmed, and the air swelled—luxurious, thick, warm—she felt her nerves unravel. Tension slipped from her muscles like water, worries from her mind like silk, and soon she’d melted into her chair, lost in the collective and feverish enthusiasm until, just like everybody else, she could hardly wait for the show to begin.
“They’re handing these out at the entrance, got us one each,” Bill said as he finished his meal. He was holding two brass squares that Marion immediately recognized as Trick Locks, similar to the gadget she’d encountered latched to the bookshop door the day of her recruitment. “No cheating this time, okay?” he chided, passing her one.
“God, I’m useless at these things.” She examined the device. Carved into its superior surface was a line of four symbols: a key, a feather, an arrow pointing skyward and two horizontal lines so close to one another that at first glance they appeared to be connected.
Bill handed her a slip of paper. “Came with this—a riddle, I presume. Apparently Amanda’s already opened hers. Surprised?”
Marion laughed. “She’s probably hoping it’ll get her another promotion.” She read the riddle out loud. “When darkness falls, the lock will open.” She frowned. “Any ideas?”
“Well, it’s a sequence. I suppose we’re to press the symbols in the correct order and the lock will open. When darkness falls the lock will open. A key, a feather, an arrow, two lines...” He trailed off and Marion’s attention wandered from the Trick Lock and back to the stage where Professor Bal was now conversing with Gillroth and several other senior staff members. Occasionally, Professor Bal would turn to survey the crowd, and although Marion couldn’t be sure, his expression now seemed more tentative than excited.
“Opposites!” Bill called out.
“What?”
“The answer to the riddle,” he explained. “Opposites in order. What’s the opposite of darkness?”
“Light?” She stared at the symbols again. There was nothing that resembled a light but... “Feather! The opposite of darkness is light, light as a feather.”
Bill nodded and pressed the corresponding symbol. “Okay...and the opposite of falls?”
“Wait, I’ve got it,” Marion said, jumping several steps ahead. She pressed the symbols in the order she’d just worked out: a feather, the upward facing arrow (up, the opposite of falls), the key (unlock, the opposite of lock) and finally the two lines that were so close together they almost touched (close...the opposite of open).
She was right.
The Trick Lock clicked open, revealing three tokens. She passed them to Bill. “And these are?”
“Blimey,” he said, repeating the sequence and opening his own. “Beer tokens. Might have been easier to get my wallet out.” He collected the tokens and made his way to the drinks table, returning shortly after with a tray of six pints.
“I’m not drinking all that,” Marion said.
Bill frowned. “It’s free, and it’s all they’re serving.” He pushed a pint into her hand and took a sip from his own. “Huh...that’s odd.”
“What?”
He held his pint at eye level, examining it. “Tastes off.”
Marion took a sip. She had no idea what off beer tasted like, though the liquid in her mouth was bitter and flat. “I suppose.”
Bill opened his mouth, perhaps to discuss the matter further, but stopped when the ballroom lights flickered off and everything went black.
The starlit walls and ceiling gleamed. A drone of murmurs came from the crowd and then, all at once—silence. The air buzzed, whirled, hissed and finally began to rattle with the slow drum of a circus march. A red-tinged cloud of smoke rose from the center of the ring, and as it lifted, Professor Bal appeared, dressed all in white.
“Welcome to the first annual Circus Ball,” the professor announced to the crowd; his voice wavered. There was a slow applause. Then, from somewhere in the shadows behind the stage, Edgar Swindlehurst appeared. He stepped slowly into the light, and as he did, Marion noticed a glistening gray eagle perched on his arm. The professor and he looked at one another, an exchange of words was had and the eagle took flight, swooping across the room, pouring a rain of silver sparks from its wings that drifted down through the air, dying out just before they collided with the heads of the now completely enthralled crowd.
“That thing,” Marion said to Bill, taking her third sip of beer, “that...”
“What?”
Marion rubbed her lips. They had begun to tingle. “That eagle. It’s gray.”
Bill looked confused. He cast his eyes upward, at the thing swooping above his head. “Yeah...yeah, it is.”
Marion opened her mouth, though whatever point she’d been trying to make left her as swiftly as it had arrived. She looked back at the stage, behind it and into the darkness of the alcove from which the eagle had appeared. Swindlehurst moved back into the shadows, his outline now barely visible. Marion’s insides twisted and pulled, her head swirled, her breath grew thick and hot.
Professor Bal drew a loudspeaker to his mouth. “Let the show begin!” he roared, prompting the crowd to break into a thunderous applause.
Marion felt her vision cloud over, not so that she couldn’t see, but as if a soft mist had surrounded her. Bill, too, looked as if he were lost in some pleasant dream, his mouth slightly open and his eyes fixed, unmoving, on the show before him.
Two blond men stepped into the ring next, removing a white silk covering from the large wooden cart they pushed in front of them. Each man took one step backward so that they came to stand on either side of the cart. In absolute unison they reached one arm into the cart and pulled out a wide red sheet of silk. Together they twirled around themselves and behind the sheet, appearing again moments later many feet taller. The men in stilts, their heads dusting the ceiling, then began to juggle. Marion fumbled for Bill’s hand as she realized the things the two men were juggling with were not balls but rather five light orbs each. This time, for a reason Marion was too tired or drunk to understand, the crowd clapped a little less enthusiastically.
Bill slumped in his seat, apparently on the verge of sleep as the two men (still on stilts) clapped their hands. Instantly, something from inside the cart began to sizzle, followed by a high whistle. From deep within the cart, red and green sparks burst into the air, hit the ceiling, then floated down and onto the crowd. Marion caught one between her fingers; it burned her skin for a fraction of a second, then turned to green-red dust.
It hadn’t occurred to Marion that the spectacular display unfolding in front of her was having the very effect it had been designed to. The lights and sounds—the shimmering eagle, the acrobatics, the fireworks—had mesmerized her. There was nothing she, or anyone else in the room, could do to tear their eyes from the dazzling extravaganza. Except for, it turned out, a man who was already quite used to bright colors and flashy things.