Consuming fascination and fastidious revulsion are but the same emotion travelling under different guise. By their aid will the benches of your theatre be filled. And by their whim will the mob drive you from your pitch under a rain of firebrands and rotting fruit.
The Bullet-Catcher’s Handbook
The two agents sat on the opposite side of the large carriage from us, both still wearing their hats. Farthing’s arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. The other man was examining the list of names and occupations. His swordstick leaned against the seat next to him.
“Sam is short for Samuel?” he asked, not looking up from the paper.
I gave Tinker’s arm a squeeze. In all the upset, I feared he might have forgotten the name he’d chosen for himself.
“Just Sam,” said Tinker.
“When did you join this...” he hesitated, as if searching for the correct designation, “...this circus?”
“Summer.”
“And where are your parents?”
“Ain’t got none.”
“Your guardian, then?”
The boy shook his head.
“Then you should be in an orphanage. What town do you come from?”
“This is his home,” I said.
“The purpose of an orphanage is to raise orphans. The purpose of a circus...” He faltered, as if voicing his thought might render the idea yet more distasteful. “I hardly need to elaborate on the implications for his moral education if he remains exposed to all of this... this burlesque cabaret.”
“All this what?” I asked, indignation making me sound more waspish than was seemly, or indeed safe.
“Thievery and dwarves,” he said, as if the words belonged together. As if they made his argument unanswerable.
Indignation rose in my throat like bile. When all people acted within the bounds of approved moderation, would the Patent Office then be satisfied? Would the human character one day require a patent mark and all those that fell beyond their narrow approval be stored away in warehouse prisons like so many unseemly machines?
“I would rather be born a dwarf than cut a man with a sword for no just reason!”
“Don’t take that tone. I am an agent of the Patent Office!”
“I’ll look after the boy,” I said. “Put me down on your list as his guardian if you will.”
“We’re behind schedule,” said John Farthing. “Orphans aren’t our business today.”
Both agents were staring at me now. Farthing with what could have been irritation, the other man with evident anger. I felt a blush rising in my cheeks. Looking down, I saw the mud that caked my blouse. Fouled straw from beneath the beast wagon had become caught in the fabric of my skirt. My impulsive words seemed suddenly ridiculous.
“From this offer of guardianship, I gather you regard yourself to be of good character,” said Farthing’s companion. His gaze returned to the list of names. “Elizabeth Brown. Your age is?”
“Twenty.”
“Your home?”
“Here. This circus.”
“Your real home, please?”
“This is my real home,” I said.
I braced myself for Farthing’s contradiction, but he remained silent. His mouth had thinned to a pale line and he seemed to be avoiding my gaze. Either he was playing a different game from his colleague, or this was a charade which they had devised together. Surely they could not believe that a game of “hard man soft man” would win my trust and that I would simply confess my secrets when Farthing next had me on my own.
“How long have you been here?”
“I was born in the circus, if that is what you mean.”
From within the folds of his cloak, the agent produced what I took to be a silver and gold cigarette case. But when he snapped it open, I saw it to be the hinged frame for two miniature portraits. Each picture showed the same young man. In one he stood face forward. The other showed his profile.
“Have you seen this man?”
For a moment I stared, amazed by the object held before me. A scroll of inlaid lapis lazuli curled around the outside of the frame. Here and there diamonds caught the light. But it was the pictures of the young man that rendered me unable to speak. So fine was the brush work that it seemed more like a real person than a painting. And what a face – the chin finely sculpted yet strong, the cheekbones high, the eyes like sapphires. He was clean shaven, contrary to the prevailing fashion.
The Republic’s austere guardians had power and money, no doubt. But they would never display it so conspicuously. Only an aristocrat of the Kingdom would have both the means and the appetite to flaunt their wealth with such a trinket. A lifetime of labour from a working man might not earn sufficient money to pay for such a thing. It was surely the picture of the Duchess’s brother, of which she had spoken.
I knew that the Patent Office could seize property. But in taking an object of great value from a person of influence, they had demonstrated their power with shocking clarity.
The agent lowered the picture. “Well?”
I could sense Tinker’s anxiety through the tightening of his grip on my arm.
“It’s a pretty picture,” I said. “Who did you take it from?”
“It’s not your place to ask questions.”
“I should like to meet him,” I said. “He’s a handsome man.”
“We’re wasting our time.” The agent folded the case closed with a sharp click. “You boy,” he said. “Come with me.”
No sooner had the carriage door closed than John Farthing was on the edge of his seat and whispering at me. “Don’t you understand? I can’t protect you.”
“Why would you want to?”
“Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “You’re on the watch list. You’ll be taken if your identity’s discovered. Tell me what you know and I’ll try to keep your name hidden.”
“I know you’re searching for the man in the picture,” I said. “He must’ve been here, else why would you be? And coming in force tells me that he must be in possession of some device you think unseemly.”
“Don’t play games. Where’s he gone? And where’s the device?”
I folded my arms and pressed my lips together, mirroring his position of a few moments before. I should have been scared. But for some reason the only emotion I could feel was fury. This man who had pretended to be so charming on our first meeting – how could he think he would fool me again against all the evidence? Perhaps I was angry with myself for having been so completely taken in.
Seconds passed as we stared each other down. It was Farthing who broke.
“Was the warning I gave not sufficient?” he said. “I know it’s for your brother that you do these things. But the Patent Office is blind to sentiment. It can’t afford to see the person – only the action. I might think of you in a positive light. But the law can’t know the difference between your neck and the neck of an anarchist.”
“How do you think of me then?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Maybe I am an anarchist.”
“If you knew the forces at work in the world, you’d not joke so.”
“Don’t mistake this for humour!”
“There are people who’d have the Gas-Lit Empire come crashing down. If they could.”
“I’m flattered you think me so dangerous.”
“I don’t!” He bunched his fists, as though he was the one who had the right to feel anger. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said.
“Are you indeed? I’m presented with two agents, bad and good. It’s the oldest trick of interrogation! You suppose me so dim-witted?”
“By all the codes of office, I should deliver you for prosecution.”
“Then tell me why you haven’t.”
“A feeling.”
“Feelings are permitted?”
He sat back and looked down at the floor of the carriage, his expression strained. “Now you make a joke of me. But there’s something about you. I can’t rid myself of the hope that you might be redeemed–”
“Redeemed!”
“–and that the Patent Office might benefit more by your freedom than your punishment.”
“The Patent Office! You can’t know how much I hate it.”
“Why must you take all my attempts at generosity and throw them back in my face? I’d see you set free. But you push me. You provoke. As if you want me to be a tyrant. And the last thought on your mind as you’re led to the gallows will be self-righteous conceit believing all your prejudices proved true!”
I un-gritted my teeth to speak. “I need no more proof of tyranny.”
“Our only desire is the wellbeing of the common man.”
“I am not a man.”
“Of that,” he said, “I’m well aware.”