"He used to be. Now he's our strong man."
"Why would he care if Spellsinger Slim left a wand in his bed?"
"Because Slim left Mrs. Backbreaker there too." Marvin shook his head. "Poor Slim. I still miss him."
"Does anyone around here ever think of anything besides sex?" asked Mallory.
"At least twice a day I think of eating."
Mallory walked to the door. "I've heard enough for one morning," he said. "I may want to speak to you again. Tell the troops to let me pass next time."
"They let you pass this time," noted Marvin. "Your cat did terrible things to their self-confidence."
"Just tell them," repeated Mallory. "Next time she may do terrible things to their bodies."
"Where are we going now?" asked Felina as they left the locker room.
"To find Winnifred and see if she had any better luck than we did."
They began walking toward the arena. Along the way they passed Madame Nadine again.
"Hey, Buddy," she said, not looking up at him, "for a dollar the all-seeing all-knowing Madame Nadine will name three rock stars who haven't been busted on drug charges in the past year. Well, two anyway."
Mallory just walked past her without a word, and a moment later entered the arena. He had to step aside while a pair of eight-ton dragons pulled a chariot filled with scantily-clad warrior women back to the dressing area, then spotted Winnifred speaking with a man who stood inside a large cage containing half a dozen gorgons. He held a whip in one hand and a chair in the other, but the gorgons, gathered on the far side of the cage, looked half-asleep.
"Yes," he was saying, "they had a restless night, what with all that crying and carrying on."
"The poor dears," said Winnifred. "By the way, I'd feed the one on the left a little extra meat each morning. I think he's showing the early stages of pellagra."
"Do gorgons
get
pellagra?"
"Oh, yes," she assured him. "Gorgons can get pellagra, mumps, measles, any number of diseases. Although," she added thoughtfully, "I've never known one to come down with
chracksmir
."
"Chracksmir?"
repeated the man nervously. "What is that?"
"It's a relatively rare disease that causes serious softening of the bill in the Three-Toed Blue-Eyed Central African Woodpecker." Winnifred paused thoughtfully. "No, I've never known a gorgon to come down with it." She stared at the gorgon in question. "I still remember his mother," she continued. "She was a handful. There were times I thought I'd never get her back to the States in one piece."
"How did you manage?"
"I set up a turntable just outside her cage on the boat and played a Rolling Stones record."
"And that soothed the savage breast?"
"No," said Winnifred. "It practically drove her berserk. I told her if she misbehaved again I'd play it for a whole day." She smiled. "You couldn't have asked for a better-mannered gorgon from that moment forward."
The man laughed. "I'll keep that in mind the next time one of the krakens starts getting delusions of grandeur." He turned to Mallory. "Are you waiting to see me?"
Mallory shook his head. "Her," he said, nodding toward Winnifred.
"John Justin," said Winnifred, "I'd like to you to meet an old friend—Sam Ramar."
"Of the jungle?" asked Mallory.
"How did you know?" replied Ramar.
"A shot in the dark."
One of the gorgons suddenly began roaring.
"Watch your tongue, Mr. Mallory!" said Ramar sternly.
"What did I say?"
"One of his brothers was killed by"—Ramar lowered his voice to a whisper—"a shot in the dark."
"I apologize."
"Not to
me
," said Ramar. "To
him
."
"You're kidding, right?" said Mallory.
"Am I smiling?"
Mallory shrugged and turned to the gorgon. "I'm sorry."
"Now walk over and let him smell the back of your hand," said Ramar.
"Some other time."
"You'll never be an animal trainer at this rate," said Ramar.
"I suppose I can learn to live with that," replied Mallory. He turned to Winnifred. "Learn anything?"
"Yes, John Justin," she said. "Thank you for your help, Ramar." She began walking toward the box seats, where they couldn't be overheard.
"Well?"
"All the animals in the circus are on edge," she said.
"Why?" asked Mallory. "Are the crowds making them nervous?"
"That's the interesting part," said Winnifred. "It's not the crowds, it's not the venue, it's not even the food." She paused. "They're not getting any sleep at night."
"I heard Ramar mention something about crying?"
"That's right. Evidently almost every woman in the circus is crying her heart out every night and keeping the animals awake."
"Let me guess," said Mallory dryly. "They miss our clients."
"Yes," said Winnifred. "But here's the interesting part, John Justin: the animals haven't had a good night's sleep for the past month."
Mallory frowned. "That doesn't add up," he said. "Micro and Macro only started shrinking and growing two weeks ago, so why should all the women be crying for a month?"
"I don't know," answered Winnifred. "But once we find out, I think we'll be well on the road to cracking the case."
"Hey, fella!" said a loud voice. "Either put your damned cat on a leash or get her out of here!"
Mallory turned and found himself confronting a bald, red-faced man. "What's the problem?" he asked.
"I've got a seal and walrus act," said the man angrily. "And every time I toss one of them a fish as a reward, your cat catches it and eats it. Now they've gone on strike—no fish, no performance."
"All right, keep your shirt on," said Mallory, walking over to where Felina was crouching, waiting to spring through the air when the next fish was thrown to a seal. He grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away, while she hissed at him and displayed her claws. "You touch me with those and I'll pull 'em out one by one!" he snapped.
"Without anesthetic?" said Felina. "What kind of fiend are you?"
"An angry one," said Mallory. "Now come with me before I really lose my temper."
He began leading her back to Winnifred when he suddenly realized that a hush had fallen across the entire area. The hustle and bustle had stopped, and he could have heard a pin drop at twenty paces. Gradually he became aware that all heads had turned to the north end of the arena, where the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was preparing to practice her bareback routine atop a chestnut centaur.
"Close your mouth, John Justin," said Winnifred. "You never know what might fly into it at a circus."
"Do you see her?" whispered an awestruck Mallory. "She makes Sophia Loren look like a boy! She's like . . . like jelly on springs!"
"Don't be vulgar," said Winnifred.
"I'm not being vulgar, I'm being honest," said Mallory. "I've never seen anything like her. She's enough to make an atheist believe in God."
"I don't think I want to hear any more of this, John Justin. I'd like to continue respecting my partner."
Mallory suddenly shook his head vigorously, as if to clear it. "Don't go disrespecting your partner too soon," he said. "I think he just solved the case."
Winnifred looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Look around you," he said. "Every man in the arena is looking at her the same way I was. Hell, if you're a man and alive you can't help but look at her that way."
"I assume you are making your way laboriously to the point?"
"Micro and Macro went to bed with anything that twitched, right?"
"Poor choice of words, but yes," said Winnifred.
"They spread themselves around, so everyone seemed content," continued Mallory. "Or at least, none of their ladyfriends made any waves." He smiled. "But I'll bet you four thousand dollars that
she
started working here a month ago, and once our boys saw her, there were suddenly a lot of lonely ladies in the circus. Lonely, unhappy—and maybe vengeful."
"That presupposes that they actually were able to . . . to . . ." Winnifred searched for an inoffensive word.
"To score with her?" suggested Mallory. "There's an easy way to find out."
"I agree," said Winnifred. "Let's go ask her."
"
I'll
ask her," said Mallory. "You watch the cat."
"But—"
"It'll be good for me to practice some self-restraint."
"You're not getting off to a very good start," noted Winnifred.
Mallory never took his eyes off the girl. "Just look at her bouncing up and down on that centaur!"
"If you make a comment about how she could bounce up and down like that on you, I'm dissolving our partnership," said Winnifred distastefully.
"I'd never say something like that to you," said Mallory. Then: "But I can think it, can't I?"
"Just go and ask her what you have to ask."
"Right," said Mallory, starting to walk across the arena. When he came to the ring where the centaur was cantering in a circle, he stopped and stood there, admiring the sight.
After a few moments he became aware of a sudden sharp pain in his shin and realized that Felina had just kicked him.
"Goddammit!" he bellowed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Winnifred sent me over to make sure you were still alive," answered the cat-girl pleasantly. "I'll go tell her you are."
Felina returned to Winnifred as the centaur, startled by Mallory's yell, came to a stop. The girl jumped lightly to the ground before fifty sets of appreciative male eyes, and Mallory walked up to her.
"Excuse me," he said. "I wonder if I might have a word with you."
"All right," she said in the most melodic voice he'd ever heard. "But I should tell you up front that I'm not a doctor."
"I never thought you were," said Mallory, surprised.
"Oh," she said. "I thought you wanted to consult with me about your palsy."
"I don't have any palsy."
"I wouldn't bet on that," she said dubiously. "You're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm just chilly," he lied.
She flashed him a smile. "I've very glad to hear it."
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is John Justin Mallory."
"What a strong, masculine name," she said. Mallory resisted the urge to bay at the moon, which he was sure wasn't out at eleven in the morning. "And I am Circe." She extended her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
He took her hand and had to remind himself that it was attached to the rest of her and that sooner or later he'd have to let go of it, much as he hated the thought.
"How long have you been with Ringling and Bailey circus?" he asked.
"Five weeks next Wednesday," she said. "Why?"
"Just a routine question," he said, wondering how his throat could become so dry in such a short time. "I'm a detective."
"Like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe?"
"More like John Justin Mallory," he answered. "My clients are Micro and Macro. I believe you know them?"
"Yes, I do," replied Circe. "Such sweet boys. I was wondering what had happened to them. Have they left the show?"
"Temporarily," said Mallory. "I'm afraid I have to ask you a rather delicate question, ma'am," he continued uneasily.
"Circe."
"Circe," he repeated. "This is a little awkward. Did you ever . . . I mean, did they . . . that is . . . ?"
"You want to know if I ever slept with them?" she asked pleasantly.
"Yes."
"They were very unique, you know," she said. "The world's tallest giant and the world's smallest midget. And they had a wonderful sense of humor. Also, no one could mix a drink like Macro. And you should have heard Micro play the nose-flute!"
"I'm sure that's all true," said Mallory. "But I need to know if you—"
"They were very attractive," said Circe.
"So you
did
sleep with them?"
"I went to bed with them," she said. "I don't think sleeping was ever on the agenda," she added with a giggle.
"Was this a one-night stand, or did you—"
"Oh, eight or ten times a day once we got to know one another."
"Eight or ten times a day?" he repeated, trying not to look shocked.
"They had a lot of spare time," she explained with a smile. "They didn't have to rehearse being tall or being short." She paused. "Do you have any other questions?"
"No," said Mallory. "Thank you, Circe. You've been a great help."
"I really miss them. Do you think they'll be coming back soon?"
"It's a possibility," he replied. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you. You can go back to rehearsing."
"Mr. Mallory?"
"Yes?"
"May I have my hand back now?"
"Eight or ten times a
day
?" said Winnifred. "The mind boggles!" Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder if she's lying. I hope she is. I hate to think of anyone having so much fun while we're out risking life and limb."
"Somebody's been lying, all right," said Mallory with conviction, "but it isn't her."
"What now?" asked Winnifred.
"Now we confront the real culprit, and then we figure out what to do about it."
He headed off toward the locker room, followed by Winnifred and Felina.
"Guess your social security number, blood pressure, and outstanding back taxes for a dollar?" offered Madame Nadine as he passed her.
He ignored her and continued walking. When he arrived the four guards were there waiting for him.
"Go right in," said Harry the goblin with an evil grin.
"He's waiting for you," said the elf nastily.
"I hope you have a nice cemetery plot picked out," added the troll.
"He didn't say anything about the fat broad, though," said the leprechaun. "Maybe we'll just have a little fun with her."
Suddenly he was looking down the barrel of a .45 Magnum.
"You're a cute little fellow," said Winnifred, her finger on the trigger. "I wonder how you'd look stuffed and mounted in my den?"
"You don't want me!" said the leprechaun. "You want my brother! He's much better-looking! You could stand him on his head and grow flowers out of his nostrils."