by Ellie Marney
‘I could probably organise a half dozen mech guys to do a sweep before showtime,’ Mitch concedes. ‘I’d be assuming they were trustworthy, though.’
Eugenia clinks the ice around in her glass, and finally voices the fear all of us share but are too worried to speak aloud. ‘Do you think someone on the show is responsible?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dad sighs again. ‘I hate that idea. But…’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ Mitch agrees. ‘Terry, I’ll vet all the people working the security sweeps. Just use employees who I know are completely solid.’
Eugenia sees my face. ‘Are you all right, Fleur?’
I settle myself on the arm of the couch, near my father. ‘Yeah, I just… It’s hard to get my head around.’
Eugenia nods, and we all contemplate it.
The whole concept–that someone on the show could be deliberately trying to hurt people, and bring the show down–unsettles my world. Circus is about trust. You have to trust that the rigging will support you, that your fellow performers will look out for you, that management will take care of your well-being. Without trust, you can’t put fear aside. Mastering fear is the only way some of us can do the things we do. You can’t climb up to that trapeze platform and swing out over the abyss if you don’t feel completely certain the net will catch you if you fall–that wouldn’t just be foolhardy, it’d be suicidal.
I mean, I’ve been given the cold shoulder by the crew for the last two and a half months because people felt that I’d betrayed a trust. That’s why they punished me. There’s a code, and I broke it. I’ve had to work hard to restore people’s faith. It’s that simple, and that important.
So the idea that we can’t trust people on the show? Freaky as fuck.
Our meeting breaks up half an hour later; Mitch has agreed to organise crew members who can do a pre-show sweep, starting tomorrow night, and Eugenia will keep her ear to the ground and try to manage the rumour-mongering. I’m going to go through personnel files, to check who we’ve taken on recently, and see if that turns up anything.
Dad will just…continue being Dad. The Troupe Leader-slash-Ringmaster role is about keeping morale high and making us all feel like a community, as well as steering the show behind the scenes. Dad will stay visible, chat to people on the ground, and make sure we’re all one big happy family.
Someone in the family might be a psycho with a vengeance problem. But I guess every family has issues? Sheesh.
I pull on my sleeping shorts and tank, and crawl into bed just before midnight, thinking Deep Thoughts about the show and my role in it. On the one hand, my inclusion in tonight’s pow-wow is a sign that Dad’s giving me more responsibility, which is something I’ve wanted for a long time. I’m nineteen, and I feel ready. Joining in the discussion with Eugenia and Mitch and my father was very cool. I mean, it was basically a central management committee meeting, so that makes me part of central management.
On the other hand, the issue we were discussing chills my blood.
Sabotage. I don’t want to believe it. But talking about it tonight has made it real.
‘How’s it looking from up here?’ Deanna LeMarr’s head pokes out from behind the canvas flap, then the rest of her emerges.
We’re identically dressed, both of us in matching orange flyer’s costumes, with black leather slippers and black ring robes to cover up. Dee is five years older and a head taller than me, though, and we couldn’t look more different: her lean, angular body and hawk-like crop of auburn hair contrasts sharply with my petite curves and sleek, dark up-do. Luke Rogan, our trapeze team leader, says it’s good for the audience, so they can tell who’s who at the tilt.
Dee’s supposed to be down on the lot, getting ready for the parade. I’m currently walking around the rigging on the outside of the candy-striped Spiegeltent, doing a surreptitious check of the ropes and pegs while the pre-show sweep is happening. I don’t know why Dee’s walked up the Parade Road to say hi. Maybe I’m not as surreptitious as I thought.
I turn on a bright smile. ‘It’s fantastic. The parade looks really different from up here.’
‘Yeah, we don’t get to see it from this vantage point so often.’ Dee nods. ‘We’re always in the middle of it.’
I scan down the hill, where the early parade stirrings have begun: acrobats converging at the place where Tinpan Alley and the Parade Road meet, costumed artists carrying equipment. Gabriella won’t bring up the horses until just before we’re due to start. Winston’s tuba will blow, and we’ll all walk together up the incline of the Parade Road, until we reach the canvas tunnel that funnels all performers into the backstage area of the Spiegeltent. And then…
Then, the Greatest Show on Earth will begin.
But that’s an hour away. Right now, Daddy is inside the ring, directing Mitch’s hand-picked team in a thorough check of the equipment and rigging. The view to my right is obscured by the walls of the parade tunnel, but I know that Mitch Gibson is stalking around the front of the tent, checking pegs and touching fence posts as he walks the other side of the perimeter.
‘…so, Luke said that if I was worried about it, I should ask you,’ Dee says, and it’s only when I turn back that I realise I’ve missed the first part of her sentence.
I can’t really fudge it. I squint in apology. ‘I’m sorry, Dee, can you say that again? It’s my bad, I wasn’t concentrating.’
Dee bites her lip, then seems to give in. ‘Okay, it’s just… I was talking to Luke about the trapeze accident.’
‘Oh. Right.’ If I wasn’t attentive before, I am now. My insides bristle whenever this subject comes up.
‘I mean, it’s over and it’s fine, and I wasn’t even involved–’
‘Hey, you were involved. You were up there on that platform, too.’
‘I guess.’ She shrugs. ‘And sure, we’ve talked about it since. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable that I keep bringing it up…’
‘I don’t mind talking about it.’ I make my voice reassuring to hide the lie. ‘Dee, I wouldn’t have been able to go back up to the tilt if we hadn’t spent some time debriefing.’
Her cheeks go pink. ‘I know. But it occurred to me the other day that you haven’t had as much opportunity to debrief as the rest of us.’
She’s talking about how I was shut out of conversations only a few days after the accident. Once word got round about what I’d done–my stupid ‘anonymous’ tip-off–only a handful of people on the show wanted to have anything to do with me. Luke still treated me like normal. Rueben Sullivan, our other team-mate, was okay. Eugenia stated her case, and my father supported me. Even Sorsha herself made an effort to include me.
But Dee was angry. She and Sorsha have gotten along well from the start, and I think she considered my screw-up to be a very personal betrayal. It’s only in the last few weeks that Dee’s been meeting my eyes and addressing me personally, except for when we’re mid-routine. Is this her way of saying she’s sorry?
‘I’m not apologising,’ she says firmly.
Oh. Okay then.
‘But I do wish you’d been more included in the discussions about the accident after it happened,’ she goes on. ‘I feel bad you didn’t have a chance to vent.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. I did my venting with Daddy, mainly.’ I’m okay about not ‘debriefing’. I didn’t feel like talking about it then, and I still don’t.
‘Oh. That’s good, then.’ She shifts on her feet, looking a little awkward.
‘I’m really okay, Dee.’ I don’t want her to still feel like I’m holding a grudge. We’ve had our issues, but that time has passed. ‘Sure, the last few months have been tough, but hey, I deserved that. I messed up, and I took my licks, and it’s over now. I’ve chalked it up as…a learning experience.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. But, y’know, I still get anxious when I’m pe
rforming,’ Dee admits. She looks at the ground. ‘The accident made me a little nervous, I guess.’
‘You still get nervous when we’re flying?’ I can’t hide my surprise; Dee always seems so steady, so relaxed in the air.
‘Yeah.’ She shrugs. ‘And there’ve been other accidents–the Ferris, Gabi’s horses…’
‘Everything’s okay,’ I say quickly, reassuring. ‘Look, Dad and Mitch Gibson have organised a complete systems check before every performance, from tonight onwards. They’re doing the first sweep right now. There won’t be another trapeze accident–or any other sort of accident. Not if we can help it.’
‘They’re checking all the rigging?’ Dee looks hopeful now.
‘Absolutely.’ I make my voice solid. I hate the thought of her flying if she’s still feeling afraid.
Just as I think that, Sorsha Neary walks around from the tunnel-side of the tent. She’s tiny, a pocket Venus with a cloud of red-gold curly hair, but you wouldn’t want to underestimate her. She might look like a Kewpie doll, in her makeup and corseted trapeze costume, but Sorsha’s tough as they come.
‘Are they done yet?’ Sorsha knows what’s going on, because Colm is one of the guys Mitch tagged to do the sweep. ‘Cars are already arriving in the parking area.’
‘The rousting crew will direct people onto the midway. I think we’ll need another half hour or so.’ Patrons won’t be allowed inside the tent before the sweep is finished. I turn back to Dee. ‘Hey, why don’t you come inside and have a look? We’re keeping the sweep under wraps right now, mainly because we don’t want people to get anxious. But come in, see what they’re doing in the tent. It might make you feel better.’
Maybe the sight of the sweep team at work will put Dee’s fears to rest. I wave her and Sorsha to join me as I slip back through the tent flap into the backstage area, to see how Dad’s getting on.
We’re on the far right-hand side of the tent, farthest from the tunnel, and this wing is quiet and dark. The backstage area here is cluttered with equipment, a mass of cables and props, some in storage and some in preparation for the show. For the first time, I realise what an enormous task a thorough pre-show systems check actually is.
‘A complete check of all this?’ Dee is obviously thinking along the same lines. ‘That’ll take hours!’
‘Well, they’ve been at it since three.’ Sorsha trails behind Dee, who’s only a few steps behind me as we pick our way towards the ring entrance. ‘It should be all wrapped up before the parade.’
‘Mitch and the team did the outside and the midway, now Dad should be…’ We reach the wing curtain, and I peer through, tracking the sound of voices. ‘Yep, there they are.’
I can’t help smiling: Dad is stalking around the ring, calling out instructions to the guys as he keeps an eye on a rigger in the gantry. He looks a little tired: maybe I’m the only one who’s noticed a touch of extra shadow in the grooves of wear on his face, around his eyes and mouth. But he looks as if he has everything under control. Somehow my father manages to juggle every aspect of the circus’s daily running, from handling admin and personalities to dealing with hiccups like this.
‘Good stuff. Terry’s got them all scurrying.’ Sorsha grins, her eyes locked on Colm’s fair head and ginormous shoulders as he trawls over the left-hand bleachers with two other crew members, checking bolts and seat connections.
I turn my head to look over at Dee, who’s peering out at the action in the ring. ‘Does that make you feel a bit better?’
‘Yes.’ She glances at me, her shoulders and face visibly relaxing as she exhales. ‘Actually, that makes a huge difference. Thank you.’
‘No problem.’
Maybe more folks are feeling the strain of these ‘accidents’ than we thought. Maybe it would make people feel more at ease if we told them about the sweeps after all. I table that idea so I can talk to Dad about it later, and step out of the curtain shadow towards my father.
He spots me approaching and tears his attention away from the gantry. ‘Pumpkin! Hey, what are you doing here?’
‘Just wanted to let you know the outside is all finished.’ I watch the gantry with him. ‘They’re letting cars into the lot, so the midway will be filling up soon. And Mitch is just walking the front perimeter and then checking the carpark, so he should be in here soon to help you.’
Dad’s eyebrows lift. ‘Great, I need all the help I can get. Did you see how nuts things are backstage? Half the gear we checked there needs to be dragged down to the mech yard.’
‘So, along with systems-checking, you’re de-cluttering? You’re using the Kondo method, I hope.’ I give him a grin.
‘Absolutely.’ Dad scrunches a hand at the back of his neck, grimacing as he keeps his gaze aimed high. ‘Anything that doesn’t bring me joy is going straight to landfill. So is the parade forming up? Do I need to show my face yet?’
‘You’re good, you’ve got maybe half an hour–’ I start, but Dad’s been distracted by something up on the bleachers.
‘Zep! Hey, back up,’ he calls. ‘Did you check the seats on the top levels?’
Zep Deal, one of the younger mech guys, looks up quickly from the seats he’s checking halfway up the level. His voice echoes in the empty auditorium. ‘Not yet, Mr Klatsch. I’m going row by row, right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, but–’ Dad makes a frustrated noise, then claps me on the shoulder. ‘One second, honey.’ He starts towards the bleachers, speaking as he goes. ‘Zep, we need to check over and under…’
I stay where I am, my attention split between my father and the experienced older rigger who’s checking connections nearly forty-five feet above us. He’s secured to the top poles with a rappelling harness. I still don’t like the idea of anyone climbing that high without a spotter.
‘Fleur, is there anything we can do?’ Sorsha calls in a stage-whisper from the wing curtain, where she and Dee are still watching the action.
I shake my head and stage-whisper back. ‘Nah, don’t think so. This is just the boring stuff. Do you and Dee wanna head back to the parade? Once the tilt is done, I’ll–’
My reply is interrupted by the sound of Colm Mackay projecting his voice. ‘Uh, Mr Klatsch, hang on a minute.’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’ Dad has spoken to Zep, and walked up the next set of stairs, to the highest level of the neighbouring set of bleachers. Now he’s standing near the backboards behind the very top seats–the eyrie seats. They’re really the worst seats in the house, as they’re furthest from the ring, although the view isn’t bad from that height. Dad’s voice has the slightest edge. ‘You find something down there, Colm?’
‘No, sir.’ I think Colm could be the politest guy I’ve ever met. ‘But we’re going set to set, and I haven’t checked the poles under that set of bleachers. You might wanna wait to climb up there until we’ve had a good look at–’
And that’s when I hear it: the creaking groan of metal. My head turns so fast I crick my neck. It still takes a second for my brain to catch up to what I’m seeing.
The top tier of the centre set of bleachers is swaying.
It’s just the slightest movement. But nothing should be moving on those bleachers. They’ve got to support thirty people per level, they have to be rock solid.
Swaying is bad. Swaying means that something is deeply, structurally wrong. And if my father is up there, adding extra weight–
I don’t think about it. I bolt for the bleachers.
‘Daddy.’ My voice is all breath. I clear my throat and call out again as I run. ‘Daddy!’
‘Mr Klatsch!’ Colm’s voice rings out again, but my eyes are soldered to my father.
Alarm and fear and anger play on Dad’s face as he grips the scaffolding poles nearest him. He’s trying to comprehend what’s happening. And I can tell from his expression he’s working out how to get down without tippi
ng the invisible scale that will make the whole structure collapse.
But that’s not all he’s thinking about.
‘Fleur, stay there!’ His right hand extends, palm towards me.
I hear Sorsha’s voice. ‘Fleur, come back!’
But I’m not concerned with anything now except Dad. I’m nearly at the base of the centre bleachers, skirting fake boulders set up around the edges of the ring for the performance. I push over chairs, straining towards him–
‘Wait.’ A hand grabs my shoulder, then a lean body gets in front of me. ‘Fleur, wait, it’s not safe–’
‘Zep, get out of my way!’
‘No, Fleur. You can’t go up there, the weight–’
‘Daddy!’ I shriek. I thump Zep’s chest. I don’t care about safety, I don’t care about any of that. I just want my father down.
‘Fleur, it’s okay.’ Daddy’s hand is still forward, he’s standing braced where he is on the gently tilting scaffolding. His face is almost apologetic. ‘I’m coming down, okay? Stay there, Pumpkin. Zep’s right, you can’t come up here.’
How can this be happening? The sweep team was supposed to find any potential disasters and fix them before they caused harm. It never occurred to me that this might put the team in danger themselves. Now my father is standing on a teetering pile of unstable scaffolding, and I can’t do anything about it.
Hot tears pool behind my lashes. I haven’t felt this helpless since I was ten years old, and it makes my voice crack. ‘Daddy, you come down right now!’
‘Let me up there!’ Colm pushes past me and Zep, and practically vaults up to the top tier of the neighbouring bleachers. He has a thick coil of rappelling rope fisted in one hand, and he plays out cord quickly, casting around for other faces, raising his voice. ‘Archie, find Mitch Gibson now. Everybody else, stay the hell away!’