Broken People (6 page)

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

“But you let it be implied …”

It wasn’t a question so Dale grinned. “I
might have.”

“Well, then …” Aurore folded the cloth and
placed it in a box with complicated engravings on the sides. She
left the table and took the box to a safe in the wall opposite the
window. Several boxes and books were stored inside, and she added
it to the pile. She didn’t lock it. “Since, apparently, we’re
business partners in this adventure, it’s time we discuss the terms
of our partnership.”

Dale had been expecting this. He’d been in
the city long enough to know one didn’t get free favors from the
Golden Lady. However, she did have a reputation of being fair.

“Shall we do lunch?” As soon as the words
left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. They weren’t
pals. They weren’t even associates. If she did him a favor, she
would own his ass until he paid her back. It would be interesting
to see what she wanted from him.

“Don’t get cute with me, Mr. Armstrong. I’m
not in the mood.” Aurore tilted her head, frowning. “Actually, just
so you know, you’ll discover I’m never in the mood.”

“Fine. Stop stalling then,” Dale said. “What
did the circus people say?”

Aurore’s lips turned into a straight, thin
line, obviously not liking to be interrogated. “They ran into a
problem. They didn’t go into details, but I imagine it’s something
serious enough to prevent them from meeting the deadline. They want
to see you.”

As Dale turned towards the door, she said,
“Not so fast. The fair doesn’t open until five, and you’ll want to
take a close look at the action, so no need to go before
seven.”

“They already gave me a tour,” Dale said,
distracted. He hadn’t put much faith in Rake and Spinner fixing
Cole, but hearing it out loud was a disappointment because it made
things final.

“Yes, but was it open for business?” Aurore
arched an eyebrow. “I heard people say the most interesting things
happen at the circus when it’s closed, but what I was suggesting
was to pay attention to the main attractions. You might get …
inspired.” A glint of mischief lit her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind,” Dale said,
though he didn’t see how that could be of any help. “May I go now?”
A hint of a mocking grin curled up the corners of his lips. Like a
dog on a leash, he was testing his boundaries.

“No.” Aurore’s voice went back to being
business-like. “Since you’ve been around for a while, and it
doesn’t look like you have much else to do with your time, I want
you to do something for me. I need a bouncer in a club on Klariska
Street. It’s something you should be able to handle. No guns,
though. Just basic brawling work.”

“You want me to run your club?” That would
be such a waste of his skills, but maybe she wasn’t aware of the
full extent of them, though little seemed to escape her.

“I never said it was
my
club.” Aurore
put on a thin smile. “Something fishy is going in there that is
affecting my business in the area. I want you to find out what it
is. They have an opening since one of their bouncers was
hospitalized last night. You’ll get the job. All you have to do is
go and ask.”

Dale looked the Golden Lady up and down. She
held his gaze, apparently not offended by his inquisitive stare. It
didn’t sound like a job offer, and she wasn’t asking. She was
waiting for him to say “Yes”.

“You don’t
need
a bouncer, do you?”
Dale asked. She wasn’t hard to read, not the part she let him see
anyway.

“No.” Aurore stepped back behind the desk
and rested her hands on the back of the chair. “But you’re an
unknown variable to me, and I don’t like wildcards in my city. So I
intend to keep you close until your business here is done. Any
thoughts?”

Dale shook his head. He had plenty of
thoughts, but nothing he wanted to share. Antagonizing the Golden
Lady while Cole wasn’t out of the woods yet was not a smart thing
to do.

“The club is called Black & White.”
Aurore handed him a plastic business card with his name written on
it. “Don’t try to use it anywhere else. It won’t work.”

“I’ll take a look.” Dale slipped the plastic
rectangle into his pocket. He didn’t ask for permission when he
turned towards the door.

“What drives you, Mr. Armstrong? You didn’t
give the stones a second glance, so it’s not money. What is
it?”

He wished it was an easy answer, but it had
been so long. “I don’t remember.”

“Welcome to The Nightingale Circus!” a voice
boomed from the speakers. “Clowns, acrobats, gymnasts … We have it
all! Wild beasts, as well! But that is not what you came for, is
it? You came to listen to the Nightingale sing! So don’t be shy and
come inside! The Nightingale is waiting to take flight!”

The oversized poster propped near the gate
announced The Nightingale Circus and its main attractions: the
Nightingale, covered in sunshine; the Swan with her delicate
feathers; and the Firebird bursting into flames. Then came the
aerialist team constantly on the move, and the Blade Masters,
throwing knives at each other. At the bottom of the poster was the
magician in a pale blue light, and the silver flash of the Rocket
Girl.

Dale took a look at the poster and handed
two coins to the woman standing in the entrance booth, in exchange
for what passed as a ticket. The golden foil cut in the shape of a
mask was no bigger than his palm, and was obviously not intended to
be used as one. When the token exchanged hands, a flashy sign came
to life, alerting the visitors to return the masks before leaving.
The rumor in town was whoever entered without a pass disappeared,
never to be found again.

The woman smiled, colors swirling on her
cheeks and around her eyes as she nodded for him to pass through
the gate. Like all of the other circus employees, she wore a mask
that seemed to be painted directly on her skin.

Instead of resisting, Dale let the visitor
flow guide his path. Food stands alternated with souvenir and game
stands, the vendors wearing the same bright orange on their faces,
although no two masks were alike. Here and there, small tents broke
the uniformity, and people paid extra to be let in by the
mauve-faced owners. The rides had been installed on the north side:
the big wheel, rollercoaster, the house of horrors, and a few other
minor attractions were all grouped together for those less faint at
heart.

Rocket Girl’s special arena included her
giant cannon. Each time, she flew high, did two or three flips, and
landed effortlessly. Fireworks shot from her shoulders as she
pumped her robot metal fist, and the crowd cheered.

Loud music fell from above while bright
spotlights turned the night into day. The power used to run the
circus for one evening could serve a small town, but the visitors
were too taken by the sights and sounds to wonder where the circus
got all that power.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Dale discarded
the thought.

In the middle of it all, between the yellow
cord and the train cars, reigned the three-story circus tent. Blue
and yellow stripes spread down from the top of the pointed roof,
widening at the base. Despite the dirty and discolored canvas, the
tent never failed to impress with its size and sheer presence, like
a battered, but dignified old ship.

From elevated platforms, dancers dressed in
flames and sunlight waved at people to go inside while men on
stilts patrolled the area in front of the tent’s entrance. In
between announcements, fanfare music blasted loudly, making it hard
for the dancers to keep the beat.

Now and then, customers grumbled because the
entrance fee for the main attractions was higher than a night out
in the city. It came with a complimentary light bulb the size of a
child’s fist, which didn’t have to be returned. Grumbles or not,
everyone paid. The shows were getting better every year, those who
saw them agreed on that if nothing else, and those two hours were
the highlights of the season before the bleak winter came.

Dale caught bits and pieces while walking
through the crowd. The kids let out happy giggles, and the adults
buzzed with excitement. The stilt men waved, smiling widely, and
one of them stopped in front of Dale. He bent at the waist, as if
to get a better look at him, and pointed commandingly at the big
tent.
In you go.

Two mimes with happy faces appeared on
either side of him and escorted him to the entrance, thrusting a
light bulb into his hand. Their grip was stronger than necessary
and put him on guard. The mimes had felt his weapons when they
grabbed him. Could they take him for an unhappy customer, the kind
who showed up on the other side of the tracks? They didn’t seem too
concerned with the security—not counting the occasional man whose
face was covered in pieces of obsidian.

He didn’t hurry to find a seat in one of the
front rows but climbed on the high bleachers, remaining close to
the busy aisle. An arena this size took up to twenty minutes to
fill. Then the lights slowly dimmed until it became pitch black.
Dale fought the uneasy, claustrophobic feeling, but the kids in the
arena weren’t as successful. Several began to cry, and a few
sniffles echoed in the darkness. Those turned into gasps of awe
when the light bulbs in their hands came to life.

As if following a command, everyone held the
light bulbs up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The
Nightingale Circus,” a shapeless voice spoke clearly, though not
shouting. “Let the magic begin!”

A spotlight aimed high above the center of
the arena focused on a silhouette walking suspended in the air. As
the circle of light increased its diameter and more spotlights were
turned on, a red spot that followed the man’s steps became visible.
In a flash, red, phosphorescent light spread along the rope
attached to two tall poles planted on opposite sides of the
arena.

The acrobat continued his ballet until a
flying shape snatched the man off his rope and flew away with him.
Two aerialists fought over their prey, then three, then four. The
audience gasped each time the aerialists tossed him in the air.

To an untrained eye, the moves might have
seemed random, but Dale easily identified the pattern. Someone with
basic physics knowledge, like himself, could visualize the magnetic
fields and predict when they would go on and off based on the way
the limbs clasped together. The awareness removed the magic from
the performance, but it was still an impressive act.

The lights came flashing back on, basking
the aerialist ensemble in an array of colors that made their golden
costumes and masks glow. The only white spots left on their faces
were their teeth when they smiled. Dale couldn’t remember the last
time he had felt this way. He slipped the light bulb back into his
pocket. Its light had long since died.

Other acts followed. The mean tricks by the
clowns made the kids laugh. Among them, only Jacko turned out to be
a decent juggler. Dogs, monkeys, and egrets chased them off the
stage. The contortionists were only slightly better than the
clowns. All in green, they curled and leaped like alien frogs.

The act that allowed them a peek behind the
curtain unexpectedly came with a pretty ballerina. While following
a swarm of butterflies, she danced her way around the stage in her
white tutu. The music accompanying her had vocals as enchanting as
the dance. Dale guessed this was the famous Nightingale singing.
Her voice was hypnotic, and it put people in a trance.

It didn’t work on a pair of clowns who came
on stage as if out for a walk and, seeing the ballerina, started
harassing her. She managed to escape them for a while, but one of
the clowns eventually opened a panel in her chest—those in the
front rows got a good look at the pump and loose wires inside—and,
shoving his hand into the cavity, turned off a switch. The poor
ballerina froze in mid-spin, standing on the tip of her ballet
shoe, both arms and one leg raised high in the air. The trick
worthy of the house of horrors had the audience gasping while the
clowns laughed like madmen.

The location of the frozen ballerina became
an impediment for the next number so, when the gymnasts took the
stage, one of them picked her up and moved her to the side. For the
next six minutes, Dale found himself paying more attention to her
than the gymnasts. Sure, they were fine in their skin-tight
costumes, with emphasis put on muscles, but the idea the audience
had already discarded kept nagging Dale. Was the ballerina real or
not? She stood like a statue, and while the mask hid any possible
blush, her muscles strained, and a vein pulsed along her throat. If
she wasn’t real, kudos to the master who’d made her.

The gymnasts jumped off, destroying the
human pyramid, and took their bows. The enthusiastic applause that
followed failed to keep them on the stage. They didn’t do
encores.

Nicholas le Fleuriste, as the announcer
introduced him, brought out his trunk of tricks. He took off his
white gloves and picked up a wand, then stopped with a grim
expression, looking at the human decoration on the set. Shaking his
head, he strode up to the ballerina and flipped the switch back on.
He barely had time to close the panel on her chest before she
finished her pirouette and danced away, leaving the magician with
an outstretched hand holding a red rose.

Dale sank low in his seat. He didn’t care
for the magic tricks. However, the blue light the magician had made
appear when he struck his hand inside the woman’s chest was not for
show. Dale had seen it before in less peaceful circumstances.
Telechargers had fought giant robots on the battlefield for years,
and kept dying because of it. The memory got him thinking, and his
thoughts drifted for a while. The presence of a telecharger changed
things.