| |
Undetected, unscathed, and without further interference from Le Poing Fermé, Adaleiz and I reached the periphery of Le Cirque de Merveilles Mécanique in time to witness a small group of laborers disassembling the main tent. In the light of a circle of lanterns and blazing torches, they removed the exterior skirting, folding the massive swath of striped fabric as they untied it from its frame. Besides the workers and a few performers strolling to and from their wagons, the field was empty. The circus’s spectators had departed long ago, and only the detritus from their visit—ticket stubs, wrinkled handbills, spilled popcorn, and confetti—swirled about like tiny circus tumbleweeds.
A sudden gust of wind grabbed a loose fold of fabric and ripped it away as the workers reached to untie the next section. The tent whipped and snapped. A tall, slim figure darted in, shouting commands as he grabbed the loose ends. Falak, in his jodhpurs and white shirt, strained to keep the striped bundle under control as the winds lashed at him. More men fell in beside him, grabbing armfuls of the loose skirting as fast as the wind could unspool it.
Falak cried out in a foreign tongue—an obvious curse. I slid from Adaleiz’s saddle and, after tying her reins around the spoke of a massive wagon wheel, strode to his side and grabbed a bundle of skirting, balling it in my arms. “Brauchst du hilfe?” I asked. Can I help?
Falak flinched and gaped at me. “Evie? What’re you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see a man about a job.”
He arched a single black eyebrow. “A job?”
“I thought perhaps you could use a laborer.” I grinned, flashing my teeth and batting my lashes. “I’m good at laundry. Okay, at darning. I can wash dishes, too.”
He snorted and shoved his bundle of red and white stripes into my arms. “Keep this off the ground.”
Another gust of wind grabbed the tent skirting and blew it out like a sail, sudden and strong, nearly jerking me off my feet. I stumbled and grunted, but managed to keep myself upright. “What should I do with this?”
“Follow me.” He grabbed a loose corner beside me. “Stretch it out. Get it flat. We can’t fold it up with wrinkles.”
Working together, following Falak’s terse commands, the men and I stretched the tent material wide across the field, holding it taut despite the wind’s efforts to rip it from our grasp. Slowly, beginning from the skirting’s free edge, Falak and another man flipped and tucked the fabric in a series of precise folds. I gritted my teeth, and my arms strained from the effort of holding the heavy canvas off the ground while they worked their way toward me.
Falak met my gaze and nodded. I let go, and he folded the skirting, taking up the section I’d been preserving. My arm muscles sang in relief, and I stepped back, watching as the men continued their careful routine. The wind still ripped and roared around us, and the temperature dropped. Humidity flooded the air, promising rain.
“Hurry,” Falak said, panting. “Let’s get this in the wagon before the rain comes. You all know this routine. Move it along, my friends. Move it along.”
A man half Falaks’s height, but twice his width, stepped up and nudged his shoulder. He grunted out something I couldn’t understand, but Falak nodded, handed his section of the huge canvas to him, and turned away. He motioned to me. “Come Evie, let’s see if you really mean what you said when you asked for a job.”
I hurried to his side, jogging to keep up as he strode toward the mechanical animal menagerie. Say that three times fast without getting your tongue tied.
Falak untied the tent skirting’s first section, and I rushed to help without waiting for instruction. The menagerie’s enclosure was a fraction of the size of the main tent, and we managed to unhook and fold all the material by ourselves.
“Where are the animals?” I asked as we stripped away the last canvas panel.
“Already in their wagons.” He waved toward the train of carts lining the edge of the field. They rattled, hiccupped, and burped black smoke in a way that seemed restless—like thoroughbreds at the gates before the start of a race. A million questions crawled over my tongue, but I swallowed them. Ask questions later, after you’ve proven you deserve a job. After you’ve disappeared into the obscurity of a nameless laborer again. After you’re certain you’ve escaped Jackie Faercourt and his vile sycophants.
After Falak had baled the tent fabric to his precise specifications, he slipped several lengths of slim rope from his pockets and wound them around our bundle to keep it from unfolding. His fingers moved nimbly despite the gloves he still wore. He pointed at a wagon near the end of the train—a dark-gray cart lacking the gilt and polish of its cohorts. “Take it to that one. Stefan’s there. He’ll load it inside.”
I nodded, gritted my teeth, and hefted the heavy bundle over my shoulders. My knees creaked and wobbled, nearly buckling under the weight. Falak squinted at me, as if waiting for me to complain or object. I bit my lip and staggered onward, intent on proving him wrong. “Wait,” he barked after I’d wobbled forward several steps. “I can’t believe you thought you’d make it all the way across that field carrying that load on your own.”
“I was going to try.”
“I see that.” He snorted, and the weight on my shoulders eased as he took a share of my burden, and together we started toward the wagon. “I only wanted to see what you’d say.”
“I would say I was serious about my request.” I’d probably wake up sore and stiff in the morning after so much straining and lifting, but if I were sore and stiff and safely on the road to Varynga, I’d happily accept aching muscles as the price of my escape. “I need a job.”
“You’re running away,” he said, not asking a question. “What about your companion, the big one who came to collect you yesterday?”
“I’m not running away.”
“No?”
We reached the wagon train, and an older man with a silver mustache that matched the curls straggling from beneath his bowler hat took my end of the tent roll. He grunted, and together he and Falak hefted it into the dark wagon. Falak brushed his gloves across his thighs and waved for me to follow him back to the remnants of the circus.
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“We operate on a tight schedule here. It’s our purpose to entertain, even more than that, to make money. We don’t exist as an escape for those evading creditors, or jilted lovers.”
“I already told you Gideon’s not my lover.”
Falak rolled his eyes. “Somebody should tell him that. When he looks at you, there’s possession in his eyes.”
I pursed my lips and huffed. “I’m not running away from him, believe me.” Arguing about what he did or did not see in Gideon’s eyes would sidetrack our conversation, which maybe he intended, but I wouldn’t let him distract me so easily. “I’m going to look for the Fantazikes myself, and travelling with you is the best means I can think of. It’s not safe for a young woman to be on the road alone, and I don’t have money to spare for trains or coaches.”
In the center of what had been the circus ground’s main thoroughfare, Falak stopped, folded his arms over his chest, and squinted at me. His little cap sat at a slight angle, giving him a jaunty look. “I gave you my word that I’d give the Fantazikes your message if I crossed their path.”
“It’s the ‘if’ part that worries me.” I set my hands on my hips and raised my chin, pitting my obstinacy against his stubbornness like two rams pawing in the dirt as they contemplated butting horns. “What if you don’t cross their path? You couldn’t be expected to go out of the way to reach them, but I could. I will. I just need help getting closer to them.”
He rocked back on his heels, and an ironic smile played across his lips. “And you’re certain they’re in Varynga.”
I nodded.
“It’ll take us many weeks to get there. They could have moved on by then.”
Falak, I noticed, hadn’t rejected my offer outright, and it sounded as though he was contemplating accepting my request. “But I could find their trail and follow it. Right now, I barely have even that much.”
His playful smile hardened. “Why is this so important? Tell me one truth about yourself, Evie. Give me one secret, and I’ll give you a job. An important one, and don’t lie to me. I’m very good at sensing lies.”
I blinked at him. “A secret?”
“Tell me why you are so desperate to find the Fantazikes.”
“They owe me a favor.”
“What favor?”
I narrowed my eyes and bit my lip. In the few months since I’d fled my home on Inselgrau, I’d learned much about the dangers of trusting, of revealing too much, of letting down my guard. Falak had asked a high price from me, but desperation was the forbearer of boldness and taking risks. How else was I going to flee Prigha and find the Fantazikes? When opportunity knocks, my father used to say, don’t tell it to come back later.
“They’ve promised to help me learn the ways of the skies,” I said.
His posture tensed, and he cocked his head to the side. “And why should you want to know such a thing?”
“Because...” I swallowed. “Because I am the Lady of Thunder, the Crown Princess of Inselgrau, and the storms have abandoned me. I’m hoping the Fantazikes can help me restore my powers.” It was better to admit the thunder had forsaken me than explain a cabal of evil Magicians had somehow managed to raise a barrier between me and my powers. I had better sense than to mention Le Poing Fermé’s extreme interest in me while attempting to convince Falak he should take the risk of giving me a job. If he knew powerful Magicians were after me, he’d certainly never let me travel with him.
His dark eyes glittered. For a moment, I thought he was going to tell me to leave, but a choking noise squeaked from his throat. The choking turned into a coughing fit, then into laughter. He bowed over, arms hugging his stomach, as he guffawed. Laughter quaked through him, shaking his entire body, and he caught his little hat before it tumbled off. “Lady...” He paused and gasped. “Lady of Thunder.” He laughed again. “Never was I expecting to hear that.”
I folded my arms across my chest, leaned back, and tapped my toe, waiting for him to recover. He straightened, wiped his eyes, and smoothed his shirt, momentarily relieving the wrinkles. “You don’t believe me?” I asked, grimacing. “Of all the things to lie about—”
He waved me off. “I believe you. Oh, I believe you very much. I knew you were more than you appeared.”
“So, why were you laughing at me?”
“The daughter of an elemental god from an ancient lineage is begging for a job from me, the son of a circus owner from lineage of performers, tricksters, and conjurers. It is too ridiculous.” He shook his head again and scrubbed his eyes. “I should tell you to go, I think. There’s only trouble to come from one such as you.”
“But...?” Like the first tentative bubble in a pot of warming water, hope rose in my heart.
“But to have the favor of a goddess, and to have her in my debt, it’s too much temptation to resist.”
I blinked at him, offering a hesitant smile. “So, you’ll let me come with you? Me and my horse.”
“You won’t be treated as a princess. I expect you to work as hard as everyone else and earn your keep. I won’t feed your horse, though. We don’t have the provisions for it.”
“I’d prefer the others not know my identity, anyway. And I’ll worry about my horse.” I’d taken several bags of feed from the stables before leaving the castle. It would have to be enough to get us started.
“If you bring trouble, I can’t promise you’ll be allowed to stay.”
“No trouble, I promise. I’ll leave before that happens.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a promise you made to your companion? Is that why you’re here without him? You were fleeing before you brought him trouble?”
I clamped down on my emotions and blanked my face before he saw my pain and realized how close he’d come to guessing the truth. Except that, for Gideon, I hadn’t left in time to save him from misfortune. “Something like that.”
Falak snorted. “Something like that.” He turned and jerked his chin toward the animal menagerie tent, which was nothing more than an empty wooden frame now that the other workers had removed the canvas from its peaked roof. “Come, let’s get the rest of this packed away. Then, I’ll introduce you to Z’arta.”
“Z’arta?” I followed him to a wooden pole forming one corner of the tent frame. Another young man appeared at Falak’s side and handed him a shovel. Falak passed the shovel to me. I tried not to cringe.
“She is Camilla’s assistant and oversees the costumes. She’ll put you to work. I hope you’re as capable with needle and thread as you say.”
“I know needles plenty.” I pointed at the shovel. “But I’m not sure what you want me to do with this.”
Falak grinned, although nothing humorous showed in his smile. “Those tent poles are buried deep. Dig quickly enough and you might get them loose before the rain comes.”
I did not get them loose before the rain came.
One of the laborers who had helped with the folding of the main tent took pity on me as I worked in the mud, hands aching, feet sodden. If not for my Thunder Cloak, I might have melted away like sugar under the deluge. We extracted the menagerie’s wooden frame and carried the heavy timbers to Stefan, who stowed them in the wagon along with the stacks of striped fabric.
We worked by dim lantern light and the occasional burst of lightning. I ached for the storm, longed to feel it, connect to it through my own personal brand of magic, but Le Poing Fermé’s spell-work held fast, and I dared not strain against it for fear that those Magicians might sense my presence and track my location.
Around us the circus slowly collapsed, disappearing into the wagons piece by piece. When the last bits of rigging had been packed away, Falak found me huddled in the rear of the tent wagon with Stefan and Laromé, the man who helped me remove the menagerie’s tent poles.
“Come,” Falak said without preamble. “I’ve seen to your horse. Svieta has made room for her in one of the menagerie wagons. You can make a pallet in the costume wagon. Z’arta will have plenty for you to do tomorrow, no doubt.”
I followed him to a cart parked near the front of the procession. Silver millwork adorned the corners and roofline of the violet wagon, but no painted sign or murals indicated what I should expect to find inside. He fished a keyring from his pocket and unlocked a small door in the wagon’s rear. Inside, a taper burned on a worktable stacked high with scraps and trim of every imaginable color and texture. Buttons and beads spilled over the table’s surface in a haphazard array.
“Sleep here?” I threw my hands out at my sides in a gesture that encompassed the racks of clothing and bolts of fabric. “There’s barely room.”
Falak pointed at the floor where a pair of folded quilts awaited me. “There’s room.”
I sighed. “Better than the floor of a slave ship, I guess.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Kneeling, I reached for the blankets. “Thank you for this, Falak. I won’t forget your kindness.”
He snorted. “Don’t thank me. All I ask is that you don’t make me regret my decision.”
“I’ll try my best.”
He swiped off his cap and held it over his heart before executing a quick, shallow bow. “Good night, Lady of Thunder.”
I settled on the blankets and reached for my sodden laces. “Good night, ringmaster.”
He flashed a crooked smile. “You figured it out.”
“It wasn’t hard.” I removed one soggy boot, and my toes rejoiced. “You might be the son of tricksters and performers, but you lead like a king. I also suspect you have more secrets than just that one.” I studied his gloved hands again. The way he always wore them suggested he had a need to keep something hidden. Perhaps he had scars or a birth defect. “I suspect someday you will owe me a favor, and I’ll ask for a secret as payment, the way you’ve done with me.”
He cocked his head and winked. “Perhaps.” His chuckles echoed through the wagon as he left, shutting the door behind him.
I finished undressing, removing my sodden clothing, all but my underthings, which had remained mostly dry thanks to my Thunder Cloak. After rolling myself in the quilts like a sausage in pastry dough, I curled on my side and closed my eyes. Images of Gideon’s crumpled and singed body swelled up from my memories. Instead of pushing the vision away, I held tight to it, reminding myself of my reasons for running. The image of Otokar and his assistants hauling Gideon’s unconscious figure into the castle compelled me. I would find the Fantazikes, or the Council of Magic, or whatever it took to reclaim my powers, and neither I nor anyone I cared about would suffer the consequences of my failings again.
