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After gathering our supper trays from Gepennio’s wagon, Genevieve and I headed for the wagon circle’s interior. “We’ve got to hurry,” I said, searching the crowd for one particular individual. “Falak or one of his minions will come for us soon.”
“Who are you looking for?”
Having spotted the subject of my query, I inclined my head in her direction. “Her.”
Genevieve squeaked. “The snake charmer? Why?”
“Because I have questions about the animals, and she’s the only member of this circus who uses one of Svieta’s creatures in her act.”
“Why don’t you go straight to the source and ask Svieta?”
“First of all, neither of us speak Svieta’s language. You know a lot, princess, but even you don’t understand a word she says. Talking to her would require involving another person, and I’m not willing to do that, yet. Secondly, Falak behaves as though the foundation of the animals’ abilities is a secret. If that’s true, then it’s Svieta’s secret, too, and she’s probably even less inclined to tell us than Falak would be.”
“Why such a burning need to know?”
I stopped abruptly and shot her a withering glare. “You get to prance around on the back of a docile unicorn. Meanwhile, Falak’s asking me to throw myself in with a man-eater who has already attacked and wounded someone. You think I don’t deserve to have a better understanding of these things before he tosses me into Sher-sah’s den?”
She twisted her lips into a pouty frown. “Well, when you look at it that way....”
Bashaya, in dark robes and a loose scarf draped around her head, looked up as we approached. Seated upon a short, padded stool, she grinned as her snake, Ajej, coiled around her shoulders. The serpent raised its head, peering at us as its long, thin tongue poked out, tasting the air. Closer inspection revealed the fine amount of detail involved in the creature’s construction, down to the copper scales concealing the snake’s individual joints. Those scales made a soft chittering noise as the snake’s body adjusted itself around its master’s neck. Inwardly, I shuddered.
“Hello, Bashaya.” I dipped into a shallow curtsey. “I was wondering if we could join you?” Glancing at Genevieve, I jerked my chin toward the snake charmer in a silent request for translation.
The princess narrowed her eyes. “Roll first.”
I huffed, but readjusted my grip on my dinner tray, balancing it long enough to pluck my dinner roll and deposit it atop Genevieve’s plate of fried bean patties. Satisfied, she nodded and turned to Bashaya. “Pardon...parlez-vous Gallcois?”
The snake charmer bobbed her head. “Oui.”
Genevieve cut her gaze to mine and grumbled something indistinct. “Well, that part was easy.” She raised her voice and bobbed a perfunctory curtsey. “Pouvons-nous asseoir avec vous?”
Bashaya nodded and gestured to the bit of open ground at her feet. “S’il vous plait.”
Following the princess’s lead, I eased to the ground, carefully positioning my dinner in my lap. We had eaten this way for a week, and I’d grown accustomed to dining picnic style. “Tell her I have questions about her snake.”
Dutifully, Genevieve translated my request.
Again, the snake charmer smiled. She uttered a short reply, and the princess interpreted. “She says, ‘most people do’.”
“Does she know Falak has asked us to perform with the animals, as well?”
Genevieve and Bashaya conversed while I pecked at my dinner and waited for the princess to apprise me. Finally, their banter quieted and Genevieve turned to me. “She does know about the trick riding. How could she not? It’s not like anyone was hiding it. But she didn’t know about Falak’s plans for you to perform with Sher-sah.”
“What does she think about it?”
She picked up one of her bean cakes, broke it in half, and nibbled a crispy bit along the edge. “She thinks it’s dangerous.”
I glanced at the snake charmer. “I’m glad we agree.”
“But that you should be alright if you earn the lion’s trust.”
I blinked at Bashaya, my eyes going wide. “Earn Sher-sah’s trust?” The snake charmer bobbed her head as if she understood. She stroked Ajej’s scales, and the snake’s tongue flicked out again. “How does one earn the trust of a mechanical beast?”
That question was the root of the issue that had been gnawing at me from the start. What was the truth of those creatures and how they seemed so vital and alive, and yet were clearly not?
Genevieve and Bashaya talked again, and I listened for any recognizable words despite the failings of my linguistic skills. When they fell silent again, the princess turned to me, and an uneasy look crossed her face. She glanced to the plate in her lap and tore her remaining bean cake into little pieces as she explained Bashaya’s words. “She’s reluctant to risk her place in the circus for a stranger, and giving away the circus’s secrets to outsiders is forbidden. However, she could be convinced to tell us a story we might find useful...for the right price.”
I flicked a quick glance at the snake charmer who had leaned in toward us. She knotted her fingers in her lap, and her snake had gone utterly still. White lines appeared at the edges of her mouth as she pressed her lips together.
“What does she want?” I asked. “I don’t have any money.”
“It’s not what you have so much as what you have access to.”
I furrowed my brow. “Spit it out, princess. What’s she talking about?”
“She says Camilla keeps a chest in the costume wagon. There’s a locked box inside containing a ring with emeralds in it. If we bring her the ring, she’ll tell us what she can.”
My mouth fell open. “She wants us to steal from Camilla?”
The princess shrugged. “Those are her terms.”
I set my dinner tray aside, leaned back, and examined the snake charmer. She returned my stare with her mouth set in a hard line. I didn’t have to ask the princess to translate for me. Bashaya’s expression clearly conveyed obstinacy. She wasn’t going to change her mind. I rubbed my hands over my face and groaned. “It wasn’t supposed to get so complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I was supposed to wash some dishes, mend some clothes, and bide my time until we reached Varynga. Now, suddenly, I’m involved in a lion taming plot that requires me to become a thief.”
The princess chuckled. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
I squinted at her. “Not the words I would use.”
“Evie? Genevieve?” Falak’s voice rang across the clearing, and I flinched, reacting as though I’d been caught in the middle of planning a jewel heist. Oh, that’s right, I am planning a jewel heist—may my ancestors have mercy on my soul. “Isn’t it time for the two of you to get to work?”
I pushed myself to my feet and dusted debris from my rear as I turned to face the ringmaster, who held a coil of colorful rope that appeared to be made of braided ribbons. “We were getting some professional tips from Bashaya.”
He arched a single dark eyebrow and his nostrils flared. “Were you?”
Genevieve, who had risen to stand beside me, nodded. “We also wanted to pet her snake.”
I choked down a burst of laughter and feigned a coughing fit.
Falak narrowed his eyes at me. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret keeping the two of you together.”
“Don’t worry.” I patted the ringmaster’s shoulder as I strode past. “Genevieve is off to prance about on her pretty pony while I spend the evening trying to convince Sher-sah not to separate my head from my shoulders.”
The princess shot me a dirty look at my “prance about” comment, but she followed me away from Bashaya and her slithering companion. Falak fell into step beside us as we crossed the open wagon circle and headed toward the cart giving home to what must have been the world’s fiercest, and most likely only, mechanical lion. At the perimeter of our camp, Genevieve parted from our company. “Excuse me while I go prance about. I’ll try my very best not to break my neck while I’m prancing about. Forgive me if I die from a serious fall while I’m prancing about, upside down at full gallop on a pretend unicorn.” She continued her petulant mutterings as she strode away.
I gave Falak a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll apologize later.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Most performers have fragile egos, and that girl is a natural-born entertainer.”
“But not me?”
He shook his head. “You’re too plainspoken and frank.”
I rolled my eyes toward the heavens and gritted my teeth. Gideon had given my character a nearly identical evaluation not so long ago, and here was Falak, reiterating my shortcomings.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he said as if sensing my irritation. We had reached Sher-sah’s wagon, a colossal affair painted in red with the circus’s logo lettered in gold along the sides. As he had the night before, Falak unlatched a large side door and called for the lion. “Yours may not be the ideal qualities of an entertainer, but I’m sure you’d make a fierce queen.” His words stabbed a raw place in my heart, but I kept my face impassive, expressionless. “But if I can’t teach you how to be a performer, or how to fake it enough to convince our typical audience, I should retire now and go live as a hermit in the mountains.”
His humor softened my ire, and I chuckled. “That’ll never happen.”
“Which part? You being a performer, or me being a hermit?”
“Probably both. But I meant the hermit part. You couldn’t stand to be away from the spotlight. Adoration is your life’s blood, is it not?”
He winked. “Know me so well, already, do you?”
“An educated guess.”
Sher-sah appeared in the wagon’s doorway, and he gave a massive yawn before shaking his head like a cat shaking off drowsiness from a nap. The blades of his mane clinked together like wind chimes, and I couldn’t help smiling. He really was a beautiful beast, even if he could bite me in half in a blink. Holding out my open palm, I let him sniff me. He nuzzled my fingers, and I stroked his sleek jaw.
“Come.” Falak flicked his fingers at the lion. He stepped back, leaving an open space between himself and the wagon. “Sher-sah, come.”
With a subtle whirring and clicking of machinery, the lion shifted. As graceful as any household cat, he leapt from the doorway and landed on the ground with a light touch that belied his immense size and weight. He prowled a circle around me, snuffing, huffing, breathing me in as if learning my scent. After completing a thorough examination, the cat stretched—rear end high, tail extended, head low to the ground. He raised up and dropped his haunches, sitting up, chest puffed out as proudly as any king of the jungle—a thoroughly mechanical jungle made of brass, copper, and iron, of course.
Falak bent low for a bow, stood up, and presented his colorful rope to the lion, who sniffed inquisitively at the ringmaster’s offering.
“Now...” Falak jerked his chin toward me. “Offer him a bow.”
I blinked at him. “Bow to a lion?”
“Don’t offend him. He’s very proud. That’s lesson number one.”
“Don’t offend the lion. Got it.” I crossed my feet, bent my knees, and bowed low enough to scrape my knuckles on the ground. “It’s an honor, King Lion.”
“Don’t get smart. He doesn’t like sarcasm.”
“Lesson two?” I asked.
“Perhaps you should have brought ink and paper so you could take notes.”
I scowled at the ringmaster. “Don’t get smart. I don’t like sarcasm, either.”
“But you don’t have fangs.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” I pointed at Falak’s multicolored cord. “What have you got there?”
“A harness, I hope. If his majesty allows it.” Carefully, Falak twined the ribbons around Sher-sah’s tree-trunk neck below his bristling mane. “He’d never allow a full bridle or a bit, but this is a bit of decorative finery I had Camilla devise. He likes pretty things.”
The lion did, in fact, seem to approve of his new accessory and preened as Sher-sah fastened it in place with a series of loops and knots. Before he handed over the rope, Falak produced another gift, a pair of leather gloves, and presented them to me. “I’m not completely cavalier with your safety, you know. Those should help protect you from any, um, sharp encounters.”
With a thick swallow, I accepted the gloves and Sher-sah’s beribboned leads. Falak stepped back to allow the lion and me room to get acquainted. There, in the open space beyond Sher-sah’s wagon, in the faded distant light of the torches surrounding Genevieve’s riding ring, the lion and I established a loose friendship based on tentative respect. I respected his size and strength, and he respected Falak’s assertion that I was trustworthy, enough so that the massive king of all the circus beasts deigned to let me climb onto his back and sit astride. Standing on all four feet, Sher-sah’s shoulders rose as high as my chin, and when I rode him, my feet dangled several feet above the ground.
I clutched the rope around his neck until my knuckles turned white. “Maybe I should have a saddle, too?”
The ringmaster shook his head, upsetting his little white hat. He grabbed his cap before it slid off and set it in place atop his dark mop of hair. “That will never happen. He’d strip the meat from our bones first.”
I arched a brow. “Too proud?”
“Exactly.” Falak studied me on my perch. He rubbed his chin and squinted. “Have you much experience with bareback riding?”
I huffed. “Of course.” His question flooded my mind with memories of Nonnie, my beloved horse whom I’d had to leave behind when fleeing Inselgrau. As a little girl, I’d often stolen away with her, not bothering to saddle or bridle her first. I would throw a blanket over her back and thread my fingers through her mane, and we’d wander wherever inspiration led her.
Sher-sah’s smooth, polished flesh had little in common with a horse’s hide, however. I shifted my weight, testing my balance. “It’s a bit slippery, but I suppose we can make it work.”
Falak pointed at my costume. “Leather knickers instead of velveteen. That should help your grip. Leather slippers, too. Give your toes some flexibility to grip him when you’re standing.”
“Standing?” I squeaked.
The ringmaster nodded, his brow furrowed in all seriousness. “I think, perhaps, Genevieve’s act will follow yours. As she rides in, you’ll join her for a lap around the ring, and you’ll both perform a serious of synchronized tricks.”
My insides rolled over, and an uneasy cramp took hold of my gut. “You’re insane.”
He shook off his solemnity, flung his arms out wide, and grinned. “No. I’m brilliant. The audiences will go wild.”
“I can’t do this in a week, Falak.”
“You have less than a week.”
“But you said—”
He raised a finger. “It will take us approximately a week to reach Barsava. Part of the time will be spent crossing the Thaulgant Mountains. Even if we stopped and made camp, the passages are narrow and dark. There’s no place to practice. But we won’t stop for the night because it’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll give detailed instructions about the changes in our travel plans as we approach the mountains. Until then, the only thing you should worry about is learning to ride. We’ll start simple and build up. Now, come.” He motioned for me to follow as he strode toward Ynnua’s riding ring. “There’s no time to waste.”
As I watched him walk away, the lion shifted beneath me. He huffed. “I know. I don’t like it either.” His low rumbling sound—not quite a purr, not quite a roar—rolled through his body, vibrating hard enough to rattle my teeth. “He’s very hard to say no to. I’m at his mercy, Sher-sah.”
“Are you coming?” Falak shouted without turning back.
“Look,” I said to my brass companion. “We’ll try it one time. If it’s horrible, we’ll find a way to talk him out of it. I’ll hold him down while you gnaw on his arm or something. What do you say?”
The lion’s sides heaved, and he let out a low grumble. He started forward. I squeaked, nearly tumbling off, but I latched my legs around his ribs and leaned over his shoulders, centering my weight. The lion padded toward the riding ring, and I prayed for a bit of good luck. “Father, give me strength and grace. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll live long enough to find my thunder again.”
***
By the time Falak called a halt to training, my thighs ached from the strain of holding tight to the lion’s back. After releasing Sher-sah for his nighttime guard duty, I hobbled to the costumes wagon and collapsed to the floor. Genevieve lit the oil lamp and eased onto her pallet beside me. “Velveteen knickers were a bad choice, huh?” She tittered. “You were slipping and sliding so much, you polished that lion to a high gloss.”
I groaned. “I need pants made from rubber and glue if I’m going to stay on that beast’s back.”
“It’s ridiculous, trick riding a lion. Falak’s stolen my idea and turned it into a cheap spectacle.”
Despite her snooty tone, I couldn’t disagree. “Maybe when he sees how terrible Sher-sah and I are, he’ll change his mind.”
“You were pretty terrible. An embarrassment, actually.”
I rolled my eyes at her and eased to my side. With a huge groan, I turned the rest of the way over and shoved myself to my knees. After stumbling to my feet, I set my hands on my hips and scanned the room.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“A trunk.” In one corner, a huge steamer with brass latches sat atop a small bureau. A heap of fabric bolts perched in a precarious stack on top of the trunk, and I shifted them to Z’arta’s small fabric-cutting table.
“There’s another one over there.” The princess pointed to a large wooden chest on the floor in the opposite corner, also buried under an avalanche of cloth and notions.
“Well, give it a look, then.”
She snorted but set to work. Moments later she shot to her feet with an excited yelp. “Got it.” She clutched a smaller wooden box to her chest like a trophy and grinned at me. A lock on the front suggested the box held valuable contents, such as an emerald ring. Genevieve curled her fingers around the lid and pried, but it refused to open. “This lock isn’t budging.”
“Then someone got their money’s worth.” I wove through the maze of costumes and fabrics and joined her as she examined the box. “Do you know anything about lock picking?”
She glanced up and gave me a questioning look. “Why would you think I would?”
“You know how to trick ride, and you made your own saddle. Who knows what other nefarious skills you might have acquired?”
“I have other skills. Lock picking isn’t one of them, unfortunately.”
I held a flat palm open toward her. “Give it to me. I have an idea.”
“Oh? Were you a cat burglar in a previous life?”
“Perhaps.” I fluttered my lashes and offered a saccharine smile. “Give it over.”
The princess shrugged and slapped the box in my hand. I took it to Z’arta’s cutting table and set it down. “I need a pick. And a mallet.”
“Those aren’t your standard sewing tools, are they?”
An idea bloomed to life. “The tent wagon. They have mallets for pounding in tent stakes. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
I turned for the door, but Genevieve grabbed my shoulder and tugged me back. “I’ll go with you.”
“You should stay here and make sure no one catches us with that box.”
“What if you run into someone out there and need me to translate?”
Unable to find a reason to disagree, I sighed and motioned for her to follow. After snatching a candle from the table, I lit it and together we crept into the night. Outside, the circus had gone quiet except for a few couples who huddled close to the fire at the center of the wagon ring. Sticking close to the shadows, the princess and I hurried toward the tent cart. When we reached the rear end, I knocked on the door. Moments later one door swung open on creaky hinges. “Hello, Stefan.” I recognized his straggly gray curls and bowler hat. “We need to ask you a favor.”
“Cosa vuoi?” he asked. Flickering light from my little candle emphasized the deep wrinkles in his face when he frowned. I glanced at Genevieve, hoping she’d understood his question.
Apparently, she had because she babbled something and made a gesture I interpreted as her swinging a mallet. Stefan harrumphed but disappeared into the tent wagon’s gloom. A dim light from an oil lamp revealed Stefan was not alone. His helper, Laromé, sat on the floor, holding a fan of playing cards. Another stack of cards lay in a haphazard pile on the floor, and several wooden chits teetered in uneven heaps. Laromé flashed a smile and flicked his fingers in a brief wave. Moments later, Stefan returned, toting a mallet and a slim, pointed bit of iron.
I blinked at Genevieve, surprised at our luck. “This is perfect. What did you tell him?”
“I said my horse had gotten a rock in its shoe, and I needed something to chisel it out.”
Impressed, I patted her shoulder. “Good thinking.”
She grinned. “Tereza may have gotten the looks in our family, but I got most of the brains.”
