Pantomime (7 page)

  During the day, the big cats were kept in the freakshow tent to keep them away from the otters and other potentially delicious meals. Several of the cats were asleep, curled together like gigantic kittens.

  The cyrinx stretched, muscles uncoiling beneath her skin. The other cats looked at me with golden eyes. I tried not to make direct eye contact with any of them. I remembered reading somewhere that cats took it as a sign of aggression.

  Then again, I had also heard that they waited for their quarry to look away before pouncing.

  I opened the burlap sack and the rancid smell of the meat made me gag. I was standing too close to the cage; a dark purple paw dashed between the bars and grabbed the bag. Her claws grazed my shirtsleeve, ripping the cheap cloth. I cried out and jumped back. The cyrinx hissed and swiped at the other two cats, who growled but kept their distance. And the purple cat circled around her prize, glaring at me, before ripping through the bag with her claws and burying her muzzle into it to feed.

  Shaking, I checked my arm to find it scratched but not bleeding. But she had taken all of the food. The others stared at me, clearly thinking that I would make a tastier snack than the rotten meat.

  The cook must have been sick of the sight of me when I appeared in his tent for the third time that afternoon.

  "Did Violet take it all?" Cook asked, nodding at my ripped shirt.

  "Aye."

  "Lemme see." He grabbed my sleeve and bared the skin. "Didn't get you. Come to me or Frit if Vi does take a piece of you. Her claws are dirty."

  I thanked him.

  "Keep this meat well back and throw it in. And here's the feed for everyone else. Tym will keep sending you back and forth to keep you busy." He briefly explained what type of food was for which creature. "I'm tired of seeing your face. Off you get." Though the words were harsh, his tone was not.

  I smiled and nodded at him again, and made my way to the tent, burdened with bags and boxes. I fed every animal in the tent, lobbing the meat to the two unfed cats from across the corridor of pens. The freakish animals made my skin crawl. The two-snouted pig ate a bite with the first mouth, and then the second. The fish did not need to be fed at all, going by the tattered remains of skin and bones of the albino floating on the surface of the water. These were creatures on display only because they were malformed. Just as I would be put on display without a second's hesitation if I told the ringmaster what I was.

  Tym only grunted when he told me to feed the rest and I said I already had. But as I turned away to discover who I had to help next, I thought I saw him hide a smile.

 

Because I had finished feeding the animals early, I went to watch the circus practice.

  Dot and Mara balanced on their hands on the swept stone in front of the big top. In unison, they raised their legs so that the tops of their thighs rested on their heads. They stared straight ahead, strangely pensive in their impossible poses. Mara took a few steps forward on her hands. Spiky-haired Dot lowered her legs, stood up, and touched her toes, as if folding herself in half. Her hands lay flat on the ground. Smoothly, she stood and then bent in the opposite direction, again touching her hands to the ground behind her head. She did this several times, back and forth, like a broken doll.

  "She's showing off," Aenea said, who had sidled up to me. "Most contortionists can't bend completely in both directions. Little Dot likes to boast to Mara, who can only bend forward completely."

  Mara stuck out her tongue at Dot and lowered into a split.

  Aenea wandered with me through the circus. She had a sheen of sweat on her brow, the small curls about her face matted to her skin, her cheeks flushed. I focused on the circus performers.

  The fire-eater spat fire into the sand, wisps of smoke rising where the flames extinguished. The Kymri tumblers flipped across the sand, racing each other to see who could reach a boulder first. One of them flipped over the boulder, landing on his feet, arms above his head.

  "It's different from what I'm used to," I said.

  'Of course it is," she replied. "There's nothing like living in a circus. You'll love parts of it, and you'll hate other bits of it."

  "What do you love about it?" I asked.

  "The flying, of course," she said with a smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and looking out at the sea. "The open mouths of the audience as they watch me. The clapping and the cheering. The glitter of the costumes under the glass globes. The smell of almostburnt popcorn. It's marvelous."

  "And what do you hate?"

  She hesitated. "Sometimes moving from place to place is difficult. Living out of a trunk. Sometimes when you come across the normals outside the circus, they're a bit crude, because they have this idea that they know you because they've seen you on stage." She did not seem that upset by any of what she said.

  "More good than bad?"

  She patted my arm. The skin tingled where she had touched. "Yes, far more good than bad. It'll be interesting to see how you do. Don't let me down!" she teased.

  I saluted, though I worried that I would fail her. "I'll do my best, ma'am."

  She threw her head back and laughed – a full, rich laugh, her face split with glee; so unlike the dainty, ladylike laughs reserved for polite company. She flipped along the sand and I tried to follow. I managed a flip, though it was not as graceful as hers.

  "Are you watching the show tonight?" Aenea asked as we walked toward the big top.

  "Of course."

  "I'll look for you in the crowd, then," she said. "I have to get ready."

  I watched her saunter away, envying her easy confidence. She was so different from other girls I had known. She told you what she was thinking; she seemed to know who she was, and what she wanted from life. I was still figuring that out.

  The afternoon had lengthened. The workers were erecting the tents that contained the smaller acts, calling out instructions to each other. In the big top, the clowns applied makeup, plastering each other in white and exaggerating features with their color of choice. The strongman tested his weights before setting them down with a clatter on the stone. Tauro the bull-man sat in the stands next to Juliet the Leopard Lady, rolling a ball idly between his large hands. Karla curried the amber and gold Kymri horse, speaking with Tym. She rested a hand on Tym's shoulder and kissed his cheek, and I realized that they were married, or close enough to it.

  A woman with a solemn face was fiddling with a metal machine as big as a book in her hands. I craned toward her. This must be Frit – the ringmaster's wife. She saw me looking and gestured me over. She was the first person to actively seek my company aside from the aerialists and the white clown.

  "Hello," I said, suddenly shy. I held out my hand. "I'm Micah."

  She gave me a wan smile. Arik had said her face was sour, but to me she looked sad and tired. She had long, mousy hair tucked into a scarf. Small wrinkles outlined her eyes, and she wore no cosmetics. "The whole circus knows who you are, child. We don't get that many new members." Still, she took my hand and squeezed before letting go. "I'm Frit, as you probably know."

  I nodded. "What is that?" I gestured to the bit of machinery in her hands. The square metal box was blue-black, covered with swirls and characters, with several knobs along the top. It was obviously Vestige – leftover technology from the Alders, who disappeared centuries ago.

  "It's the weather machine for the circus. It's acting a little strange," she said.

  I felt disappointed. "So the lightning and the clouds weren't magic?"

  She chuckled. "Depends on what you call magic, I suppose. I don't know how it was made, and I suspect you don't as well. Who's to say they didn't create it with magic?"

  "Is it broken?"

  She shook her head. "I don't think so." She pointed to a knob. "It's not turning properly, so sometimes the lightning doesn't go off. I think it just needs a bit of oil." She massaged some oil into the machine with a rag. The knob twisted easily in her hand. "Should we try it again?" she asked.

  "I think so. Want to make sure it's working properly for the show, right?"

  "Of course," she said knowingly. "It'd never be because a young lad wants to see a storm inside, now would it?"

  "Of course not."

  We shared smiles. I decided I liked her.

  Frit stood up and clapped. "I have to test the weather machine!" she called.

  The clowns, makeup intact, paused in their tumbling and bumbling and lounged against the stands. Karg set down his weights. Tauro ceased rolling his ball and Juliet the Leopard Lady crossed her arms over her chest, her dappled hair falling over one shoulder. Karla and Tym led the horse out of the tent, so the thunder would not frighten it.

  Frit turned the knob on the left. The machine hissed and fog emerged from a small hole in each side. Within moments, the big top was lost in the sweet smoke. I could barely see Frit as she twisted the knob on the right and then the middle. Lightning flashed, blinding us, and the same temporary stars glittered at us before dissipating with the smoke. The clowns, the Leopard Lady, the Bull Man, and the Strong Man all clapped, along with the newest aerialists' apprentice.

 

We all ate dinner quickly, starving after our afternoon of hard work.

  I won three whole spoonfuls of stew from Cook, and the stunted heel of a stale brown loaf. I even managed to nab an apple for dessert. While it was still not as much as I wanted, at least my stomach did not grumble after I had finished.

  Bil was in a good mood that evening. Earlier, he had seemed moody and surly as he barked out orders to his employees. He might have been drunk, judging by the red eyes and the ever-full tankard by his plate. He spoke loudly enough for the entire circus to hear his dinner conversation.

  "Frit, my love, light of my life, saved the circus for us, today," he said, gesturing at her. Two spots of color appeared in Frit's cheeks, but she did not say anything.

  "For what is our circus of magic without our perfect opening of thunder and lightning, eh, I ask you?" he paused. "Nothing, that's what!"

  Some people exchanged dirty looks at this. "Oh aye, we have the most talented performers in all of dear El lada," Bil recovered, "but the
magic
… the magic is what sets us apart from Riley & Batheo's Circus of Mundanities, for all the gold marks in their safe. It's wha' makes the children starry-eyed and begging their parents to come back the next day. The lightning is the key. It… transports 'em.

  "And so I have my dear wife, Frit, to thank for bringing the magic back into the circus, as she brought it back into my life." He slapped his hand over his heart. Behind him, the yellow clown Fedir pantomimed puking. I hid a smile with my hand.

  "A little applause, please, for my fair lady," Bil said, and the whole circus clapped. Bil clasped Frit's hand and made an elaborate bow before kissing her fingers. Frit smiled and acted bashful, playing the part for the audience. But it did not ring true. Her smile was tight, her eyes nervous, and she kept rolling her shoulder. Though it was billed as playful banter, there was more under the surface. Judging by Arik and Aenea's crinkled brows, I was not the only person who thought so.

  Frit made eye contact with me, and my suspicions were confirmed. She looked trapped.

 

from THE APHELION

 

I watched the circus again that night of the Penmoon.

  I sat in the best stand in the house and felt as amazed as I had the previous night. After setting up the props, I knew the secrets to some of the tricks, but it did not matter. Though I had seen the weather machine in operation not an hour before, I still enjoyed seeing it again. Knowing that the fire eaters spat paraffin only made it all the more exciting and dangerous. I knew that when the tumblers first came on the stage they would soon make themselves into a human pyramid. I clapped, though an amused look from Aenea stilled my hands as she bowed at the end, the braid of her hair falling forward and the beads of her costume glinting in the light of the glass globes.

  After the show, I wandered through the carnival again. This time I went to Nina the snake charmer's tent, and I did not have to pay at the door. The audience crowded each other in the tent, smelling of coal dust, grease, and human sweat. A worker switched on a cheap gramophone. Byssian music played – brass and nickel instruments, large drums, and twanging strings. It made me think of sunsets and yellow eyes and deep growls in dark jungles. Nina sidled onto the stage, swathed head to toe in scarves lined in painted wooden beads. I could only see her serpentine eyes, smudged with black and green.

  Nina slid a scarf from her stomach and its wooden beads rattled together. Another scarf slipped, showing intricate henna tattoos along her left arm. Her fingers undulated, beckoning to people in the audience. Mostly men surrounded me, though I saw more women than I had thought I would. Another scarf fell to the floor. The other hennaed arm rippled into view, along with the tail of a bright green snake. The crowd gasped.

  Nina slithered free from her scarves, revealing her face, stained with more tattoos, and black hair in thick braids to her waist. Her stomach was bare, but the rest of her was well-covered. Though erotic, the show was probably very different from what was on offer in Sal and Tila's tent. While over forty, Nina had a beauty that was wise and confident. With her darker skin and hair, I guessed she was half-Elladan and half-Kymri. Her gaze held secrets.