A Circus of Ink

by Lauren Palphreyman

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elle

  I’m lying down on something hard. There’s a murmuring sound, but it’s faraway. The air smells forgotten and familiar. Dreams ebb through my mind, and they’re warm and safe. I cling onto them because when they abandon me, I know I won’t like what is left in their place.

  But I have to come back. I have to face it.

  It flashes behind my eyelids. Blotters. Guns. Ink splattering the trailers. Bullets raining down. Screaming. Crying. Dead bodies littering the floor.

  You did this, Sylvia is saying. You did this.

  She’s right.

  I created the tornado. But I couldn’t save them all.

  Someone moves by my feet, and I open my eyes.

  ‘Jay?’ I cough as dust scratches the back of my throat.

  ‘She wakes and her first thought is of the Blotter . . .’

  It’s Sylvia. I sit up.

  I’m in the backstage area of the Circus tent, amongst the musty clothes racks and old wooden chests. People are crying and whispering outside. Sylvia sits on a chair at end of the table I’m lying on. She absently pulls her cane between her fingers.

  I bite my lip, tasting salt and dust and the metallic tang of blood. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s assisting Raven with something for me.’

  I hide my surprise that he’s helping. I don’t want her to discover how little I know about the Blotter I brought into her settlement.

  ‘The children . . .?’ I ask.

  ‘All safe.’ Her expression is unreadable, but relief crashes over me. ‘Thanks to your Blotter, apparently.’

  I raise my eyebrows, this time failing to hide my shock, and Sylvia chuckles. ‘The world’s turned upside down, hasn’t it, sweetie? Blotters helping kids, Creators finding out all about our secret hideout, and you . . .’

  ‘How many people?’

  She takes off her hat and looks down at the rim. ‘Sixteen dead at last count. The bodies are being lined up outside.’

  The hollowness in my chest fills with darkness. Sixteen people. Dead.

  I couldn’t save them.

  I led the Blotters here.

  I did this.

  ‘Who?’ I say.

  Sylvia reels off a list of names. I bring my knees to my chest and rub my face with both hands. There’s grit on my face and it scrapes my skin. The pain feels good. It feels like something. Something to compete with the darkness.

  When I look up again, Sylvia is watching me.

  ‘They came here to find you, sweetie—the Blotters. Just like I said.’

  ‘You can’t make me feel worse than I already do.’ My words sound empty. ‘If that’s why you’re here, then you may as well go.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m here.’ Her body deflates. ‘I’m here to tell you it’s not your fault.’

  ‘You said—’

  ‘I know what I said, sweetie. I blamed you for leaving and coming back. I blamed your Blotter for bringing them here. I blamed myself for not being able to protect my own people—’ Her voice breaks, and she pinches the bridge of her nose to compose herself. ‘But who killed those sixteen people? Maybe we have a part to play in it, but I didn’t pull the trigger. Neither did the Blotter. Neither did you. We’re all on borrowed time here and who is to blame for that?’

  ‘The Creators.’

  She inclines her head. ‘What you did out there . . . I’ve seen your little tricks in the Circus. But I’ve never seen you do anything like that before. It was . . . it was extraordinary.’ She exhales. ‘It’s not enough. And yet . . .’

  I lean forwards slightly. ‘It’s our only option.’

  ‘I’m willing to hear you out, sweetie,’ she says. ‘I’m not promising anything. But if you have a plan, I will hear it. We’re all on borrowed time, and it seems the clock is finally catching up with us. If the End really is coming, and the Creators know we’re here now, we don’t stand much of a chance, do we?’

  There are voices outside, and we both look at the entrance flap.

  ‘Are you kidding? A Blotter standard Stet Rifle is a far superior gun to that piece of shit. No wonder you went and got yourself shot.’

  ‘Fuck you, Blotter.’ Raven ducks into the backstage area, supporting herself with a makeshift crutch. She’s closely followed by Jay. He has a Blotter’s body slung over his shoulders. When he sees me, he halts.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  His arms are caked in dirt and ink, and there’s a tear in his dusty vest exposing the ridges of his torso. His bullet wound from last week is almost healed, but it must still be bothering him because he’s carrying most of the weight of the corpse with his other arm.

  ‘I’m awake,’ I say.

  He chews his bottom lip. ‘I wanted to stay . . . here . . . with you . . . But I didn’t know when you were going to wake up. And Raven said . . . well . . . she wanted me to help with getting a Blotter body . . . so . . .’

  He shifts slightly, and I smile despite the situation. I haven’t seen him like this before. He’s nervous, and it seems strange for someone his size.

  ‘Yes, yes, very sweet. The Twist and the Blotter.’ Sylvia waves her hand dismissively before I can reply. She nods at the dead body. ‘Put him on the table.’ She slips the hat back onto her head and rises from her chair, offering it to Raven who slumps into it and starts to massage the top of her leg.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Got shot. Hurts like a bitch. But yeah. You?’

  I nod even though I’m not and she isn’t either. As Jay drops the tattooed corpse onto the table, I slide onto the floor.

  He catches my eye. ‘What you did out there . . . That was fucking amazing.’

  ‘Sylvia said you saved the kids.’

  He runs his hand over the back of his neck. ‘Yeah. I saved Raven too.’

  ‘What? Shut the fuck up,’ says Raven.

  Jay’s cool blue eyes don’t move from mine, but the corner of his lip twitches.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted a dead Blotter,’ says Sylvia.

  ‘Not really,’ says Jay.

  ‘You want to see if it was written,’ I say quietly.

  She inclines her head. ‘This place was supposed to exist beyond the reach of the Creators. We’ve never been bothered here before. So the question is, what changed? Or was it always written that on this day, they would find us? I want to know how far outside the One True Story we’re operating here. I want to know if this was predetermined, or if tonight, we were all a part of a huge twist—a mass deviation from what should have happened.’ She nods at Jay. ‘That’s where you come in, Blotter.’

  His shoulders tense. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘You have tattoos covering your skin, sweetie. They map out your life. They tell you what to do, right?’

  ‘Yeah. So?’

  ‘I want to know if this was written, and I want to know if they expected Elle to kill them,’ she says. ‘Can you read the tattoos on this Blotter’s skin?’

  ‘I don’t need to. If they were here, it was written. Blotters don’t deviate.’ He swallows. ‘But they didn’t know this was their Ending.’

  ‘How do you know?’ says Sylvia.

  ‘I shot this guy. He hesitated. Blotters don’t hesitate.’ He’s speaking to Sylvia, but he’s looking at me. ‘The guy whose neck I snapped, he was surprised. Blotter’s don’t get surprised. They didn’t know they were going to die.’

  I look at the body. The man’s face is covered in ink, and there’s a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. It’s hard to determine his age, but from his physique, he must be in his early twenties.

  ‘If it were written on his skin that he’d come here and kill all those people, the Creators must have known we were here all along,’ says Sylvia, her brow crumpled.

  ‘No,’ says Jay.

  We all turn to him. He’s looking at the corpse again.

  ‘No?’ says Sylvia.

 
He runs a hand over his mouth and takes a deep breath.

  ‘Well? Come on. Spit it out, Bl—’

  I raise my hand, shushing Sylvia.

  His biceps are hard, and he curls and uncurls his fist at his side. It reminds me of the moment when he had his meltdown in his bedsit, when he was trying to decide if he should kill me or defy the Creators. Whatever he wants to say, he clearly sees it as crossing some kind of Blotter line. Which means it’s important.

  ‘Jay,’ I say gently. ‘What is it?’

  He exhales and meets my eye. ‘They change sometimes. The tattoos.’

  A spark of hope or triumph or something ignites inside me as Raven frowns.

  ‘The Book of Truth says everything is already written,’ she says.

  ‘I know what it says,’ snaps Jay. ‘But I’m telling you, the tattoos change sometimes.’

  He looks at the body, then he points at a tattoo depicting twelve concentric circles on the Blotter’s arm. There’s a small triangle inked beside it. ‘There. That’s the Circus. That’s what told him to come here. And it’s new.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ says Sylvia.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How?’

  He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Then he wipes away the dust caked onto his right forearm and shows me it. He has the same tattoo, only there’s no triangle on the edge of his.

  ‘All Blotters have this marking.’

  I reach over the table and run my thumb along it. ‘What does it mean?’

  He pulls his arm back and puts his hand in his pocket. ‘A map.’

  ‘So the Creators don’t know everything,’ I say. ‘They make changes to the One True Story.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Jay.

  ‘It doesn’t matter? Of course it matters!’ I say. ‘It means not everything is predetermined. It means we can change things. It means their story for us didn’t go the way they planned, so they’re being forced to react.’

  ‘It means we need to get the fuck out of here before they come back,’ says Raven. ‘That’s what it means.’

  ‘No arguments there, honey,’ says Sylvia. ‘The Blotters drove to the Edge in their vans. Maggie’s gone to see what we can salvage alongside her mobile library.’

  Some of the tension in Jay’s shoulders seems to release. I suppose he is pleased to be leaving this place. He’s made no pretence he hates it here amongst the stories and people who do not worship his Creators.

  But then he shakes his head. ‘Where the fuck are you going to go? There’s nowhere.’

  ‘Thanks for that input, sweetie. Very helpful,’ says Sylvia. ‘But I have it under control. We’ll follow the Edge, find a place to set up camp farther along.’ She looks at me. ‘I don’t think it’s us they’re really looking for though.’

  ‘You want us to leave.’

  She inclines her head. ‘But I said I’d hear you out. So tell me, sweetie, how do we fit into this plan of yours?’

  ‘I need some help planting the seeds,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’

  She laughs a joyless laugh. ‘That’s all, is it, honey?’

  ‘In Draft One, it took me a month for the story about the hurricane to spread enough for people to believe it. I need some help as we move through the other Drafts. The more people spreading my stories, the quicker and more powerful they’ll be.’ I hold her gaze, trying to show her with my eyes how sure I am of this. ‘I can do this, Sylvia.’

  Sylvia breathes out sharply, leaning on her cane. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something stupid on behalf of your family, I suppose.’

  A flower of hope blooms in my chest. ‘You’ll help?’

  ‘If the End is coming, we need to stop these bastards before they kill us all, don’t we?’ She sighs. ‘There’s a library in Draft Four. I don’t know how long the Circus can hide out here along the Edge of the World, but the library could be a good new base for us. Stories grow faster in places where there are books. We’ll recruit some volunteers. We’ll take different routes through the Drafts, and I suppose we could plant some of your seeds along the way—if you can persuade some people to do it. I won’t force anyone.’ She arches an eyebrow. ‘We’re planting a new story about revolution, I presume?’

  Jay tenses, and I smile. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know your way through the Drafts, Blotter?’

  He folds his arms. ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Good,’ says Sylvia. ‘You will escort Elle. By the Black Sea Bridge, there’s a square—Creator Michael’s. The library is close by. You can get her there?’

  Jay inclines his head.

  Sylvia puts two fingers into her mouth and whistles.

  One of the Darlings, Rami, gracefully ducks through the entrance flap. He spent his childhood in Draft Seven as a pickpocket before joining a travelling crew of actors and crossing the wastelands with them. When they were killed, he made his way to the Circus. We have a bit of a history together even though it never led to anything serious, and he gives me a lopsided smile, creating dimples in his cheeks. Jay’s eyes narrow on him. Rami turns to Sylvia.

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Can you put this’—she clicks her fingers at the dead body on the table—‘with the others, sweetie?’

  He nods and slings the body over his shoulder, although he does it with less ease than Jay. Then he flashes me another smile before heading out into the mist.

  Sylvia sighs. ‘Let’s honour the dead. Then we need to get going before more Blotters come.’ Her jaw sets, and she walks to the doorway leading into the auditorium. Her shoulders stiffen as if she’s bracing herself for something. ‘Elle, there’s one more thing you should know. The story you’ve been growing, our story, about the Circus at the Edge of the World being a refuge for people like us . . .’ She lifts the flap with her cane.

  The inside of the auditorium is dark. It’s gone. The story has died. Of course it has. Because I couldn’t protect them.

  There’s a lump in the back of my throat, and I swallow, pushing it down. ‘We’ll create a new one.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she says.

  Sylvia and Raven exit the tent, leaving Jay and I alone.

  The air feels heavy. We haven’t been properly alone since that night in the Circus. A Twist and a Blotter—two enemies—kissing. I wonder if it has ever happened before. I wonder if it will ever happen again.

  He stares at me, arms folded across his chest. Then his expression softens. He steps forwards and puts his finger lightly beneath my chin to raise my gaze to his. He breathes out softly.

  ‘You okay, little Twist?’

  It’s a question I can’t answer. Physically, I am fine, but my insides feel heavy. Because people died. And I couldn’t save them.

  I don’t want to feel like this. But I don’t know how to stop it. I want him to stop it.

  As he looks at me, his face darkens. He moves closer, and his body heat washes over me. I can’t think; I can’t focus. I just want the bad feeling inside to stop.

  ‘Jay . . .’ My voice sounds small.

  ‘Little Twist.’

  His hand slides up, his fingers curling around the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing circles on my skin. My heartbeat quickens as his eyes linger on my lips.

  And I jerk back, almost knocking into the clothes rack, furious with myself. With him. How can I even have the thoughts I’m having when people died because of me?

  ‘We need to go. They need me.’

  I turn on my heel and stride out of the Circus to face what I have done.

  As night falls, the bodies burn. The flames lick the air and dance with the mist in front of the Circus tent. The surviving Darlings stand in a semi-circle around the funeral pyre—around forty of them. The air is thick with grief and smoke and stories.

  Jay stands beside me, his back stiff and arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t want to be a part of this. Death is usual for Blotters. Emotion is not. I wonder if witnessing the aftermath of a Blotting makes him feel anything
about the Blottings he has been a part of. I wonder if he feels as bad as me.

  The Blotters came here for me. And sixteen people died.

  It’s my fault.

  I don’t think Jay cares much about the fates of these people. Not yet. But he helped the children. He carried the dead Blotter for Raven and Sylvia. He answered Sylvia’s questions.

  I have hope for him.

  ‘This is fucking awful,’ he says. ‘Can we go?’

  ‘Soon. Be quiet.’

  I turn back to the flames.

  Usually, we would tell stories for hours about those we lost. But tonight, urgency prevails through the tears. We don’t have time for it.

  ‘Their bodies are gone, but may their stories live on,’ says Sylvia, backlit by the fire, signalling the end of the funeral.

  ‘May their stories live on.’ All but Jay repeat the words back.

  Then Sylvia, with a begrudging expression, invites me to speak.

  It doesn’t feel right to ask them to risk their lives while their loved ones burn behind me. But that is the way it must be. There’s no time for anything else. So I step forwards and tell them what I want from them.

  ‘It’s time to put an End to their story. It’s time to create our own story. It will be dangerous. I know it’s a lot to ask. But we can continue to hide, to survive, to exist. Or we can fight. Come with me. Let’s make them pay for what they’ve done.’

  When no one responds, I sigh.

  ‘I know you’re afraid,’ I say. ‘But I know another girl who was afraid.

  ‘She had a hurricane raging in her chest. And with a travelling Circus, she travelled to the Final City. Together, they planted thousands of dandelion seeds that grew and spread around the world, forcing through the cracks, breaking through the pavement. Until the force of the Circus, and the dandelions, and their Story, was stronger than that of the Creators.

  ‘And together, they changed the world.’

  ‘It’s not true though,’ says Anna. ‘It’s just a story.’

  Despair hangs over the crowd like a shroud. But there is anger too—clenched fists, strained muscles, and set jaws. It gives me hope.

  ‘But it could be true. Stories are true when we believe them. And I’m going to make them pay for what they did. Come with me.’