by Ellie Marney
The tense line of his body changes. ‘Ah. Okay, yeah. I need to explain that.’
‘Explain what?’
Marco’s mouth is a flat line. ‘Something’s come up about the sabotage situation. We’ve got some new information.’ He looks right at me. ‘Fleur, we think it’s someone on the lot.’
Seven
Marco and I are walking to the Spiegeltent together.
We kissed, and now we’re walking, and this is all perfectly normal. I actually have no idea what is happening, because kissing Marco has temporarily short-circuited my brain, and I’m pretty sure Marco inhaled the scent of my hair as we left the laundry, but we’ve made it out onto the Parade Road before either of us did anything (else) crazy-stupid. But he insists on walking close, and my breathing jacks higher every time we make contact.
I squint against the light as we walk. ‘Marco, stop that.’
‘Stop what?’
‘That.’ Our arms brush again, in what could almost be a casual way, and I goosebump all over. ‘That. Ohmigod, stop it.’
‘I just kissed you. Don’t you think you’re being a little over-sensitive?’ He glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then he nods at Gordon, one of our resident sword-swallowers, who’s across the street.
‘I’m not over-sensitive.’ I yank the strap of my bag higher. ‘You’re doing this on purpose. People will notice.’
‘Settle, Petal.’
‘You are the most frustrating person in the world right now.’
Marco just grins. I somehow manage to restrain myself from elbowing him in the gut.
I try to get my lights chugging back on by asking obvious question. ‘So someone on the lot is the saboteur? You think it’s someone within this circus?’
‘We can’t be sure.’ Marco grimaces. ‘Not a hundred percent. But it’s certainly pointing that way.’
‘What’s the new information?’ It’s the same idea Mitch and Eugenia and Daddy and I had originally: that the sabotage is internal. I couldn’t wrap my head around it when Eugenia first suggested it, and I’m still having a hard time. ‘And…why would someone do that? Why would anyone deliberately destroy the carnival? Wreck their own livelihood?’
‘I don’t know, Petal.’ Marco shakes his head. ‘Let’s just get to the Spiegeltent, we can catch Mitch and Eugenia there and chat about it.’
‘Gabriella is sitting with Daddy. I should go back to the van and–’
‘It’s sorted. I’ve arranged for Ren Putri to take a shift with Terry. She said it’ll give her a chance to do some exam study.’
‘Oh. Well, okay.’ I’m touched that Marco has taken my new invalid-nursing schedule into account. ‘Thank you for setting that up.’
He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, and somehow nudges against me again. I blush and stumble. This self-consciousness I feel around him now is making me as uncoordinated as a baby giraffe. Finally, we make it to the tent.
The backstage area smells of the midway: top notes of engine oil and the tang of fireworks layered over the lingering scents of greasepaint, performance sweat, and the smell of old popcorn. The sounds of people talking are muted by the stage curtains, and there’s a dull clang of equipment. Through a gap in the material, I see Lee conferring with Bennett as they check a practice area in the ring for the acrobat spot.
Marco guides me around to the right. Mitch and Eugenia are there, talking over the small table lit with a desk lamp that serves as Bennett’s station during performances.
Mitch straightens when he sees us. ‘You took your time, I was just about to call you.’
‘Fleur needed a few minutes to finish rehearsal,’ Marco lies smoothly.
I pull on my tracksuit jacket against the cool of the Spiegeltent, and keep my eyes off Marco. ‘I’m here now. What’s this business about new information?’
Mitch and Eugenia exchange frowns. Eugenia smooths a hand over her Dior-inspired black dress before turning to me.
‘I was speaking to Dita this morning about costumes–you know how particular she is about fit, and I’d asked her to buy me some sewing notions in town.’ Eugenia glances at Mitch again before continuing. ‘She told me that she was coming out of the haberdashery shop in the central business district, and she saw Zep Deal.’
‘Okay. And?’ It’s not against the law for performers and crew to go off the lot. People go into the city to shop, and we all need to get out into the world sometimes, or we’d get cabin fever.
‘Dita said Zep was having burgers with his father.’
‘All right, that is weird.’ My brows knit.
Marco turns to me. ‘So I’ve been out of the loop a while, but apparently Zep and Angus Deal have a bad relationship?’
‘Really bad.’ I nod. ‘My dad took Zep on when his father basically threw him out.’
Mitch nods gravely. ‘Zep and his dad have always been at loggerheads. Then, a few years ago, Zep took a short term contract here on the lot, and Angus told Zep never to darken his doorstep again.’
‘And Angus Deal works at Lost Souls.’ Marco’s expression says that connection carries a lot of weight.
‘Yes. He’s Cavendish’s key engineer.’ I don’t like the direction this is going in. ‘But it could be anything, right? Maybe Zep and Angus are trying to patch things up. Maybe they–’
‘Fleur…’ Eugenia steps closer and squeezes my arm. ‘Dita said she saw a packet exchange hands. It looked like money.’
My think-positive attitude falters. Not Zep. Zep Deal has always been one of the good guys. He’s been a calm, reliable crew-member for nearly three years. He was there when my father woke up. The idea of someone I’ve trusted, someone in the inner circle of circus operations, being the saboteur…
My stomach curdles. ‘Please don’t say you think Zep is the one responsible for all this.’
‘We’re not saying anything yet,’ Eugenia points out. ‘But it certainly looks odd, considering the circumstances.’
‘But this is all just hearsay–’
‘I believe Dita, though. She had no reason to pass on that information, she didn’t even know it was relevant.’ Eugenia pats my arm. ‘Fleur, I know you don’t want to think the worst about Zep. But whoever the saboteur is, if it’s a crew member, it’s going to hurt.’
I wince, hearing that, because she’s hit my sore spot. Circus is about trust. Maybe I’m blinded to the truth about the saboteur because I’m too horrified by the idea that I can’t trust people on the lot.
‘Hey, don’t panic yet.’ Marco glances at me, his expression soothing. ‘Mitch, what do you think?’
Mitch shakes his head. ‘It’s hard for me to fathom. I’ve worked with that boy for a while now, and he’s always seemed like a straight arrow. His father is a poisonous bastard, though, and family stuff can be complicated. Who knows what’s going on.’
‘Zep’s not the only crew member on the lot who has past history with Lost Souls.’ Marco’s eyes dash over to his mother, away. It’s so fast I don’t think she even notices. ‘We need to go back over crew records, check if there’s anyone else with a rival connection.’
‘We should do that today.’ I need the firm reminder. Have you gone through personnel records? Sorsha said it earlier, but it’s been something I’ve tabled to join the long line of chores on my To Do list. ‘I’m sorry, that’s my fault. I should’ve gotten to it sooner.’
‘You’ve had a lot going on, Fleur,’ Eugenia says, collecting her basket. ‘Why don’t you and Marco go through the records this afternoon? All the paperwork is in your van, isn’t it?’
‘Uh…’ I cut my eyes at Marco. ‘Yeah, yeah it is. Genie–’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Marco says immediately. ‘But not this afternoon. I’ve got a meeting with Jones about promo, and then I have to sweet talk a guy from city council about off-site parking.’
You’re good at the sweet talking. I nearly open my mouth to say it, bite my tongue just in time. Marco’s giving me an out.
‘But I could come over later tonight, if that’s okay?’ Marco looks at me, eyebrows raised.
Right–not an out. And I have no reason to decline his request. It would seem super weird.
‘Um, sure. Sounds great.’ I make a weak smile. Suddenly I want to run into the ring and climb the scaffolding, just to release some of this nervous energy. Who knows what could happen, in close quarters again with Marco?
‘Excellent.’ Eugenia tucks her basket into the crook of her elbow and turns. ‘Mitch, I’m going back to dorms to talk to Dita, see if she has any more details.’
‘Try to keep it casual. I don’t want anyone to think Zep is in trouble–at least, not yet.’ Mitch pulls a pen and notepad out of the pocket of his coveralls. ‘I’ve gotta go see Bennett. Fleur, let us know what you and Marco find out.’
I nod, Mitch walks towards the ring, and I wave to Eugenia as she leaves. Thinking about Zep being the saboteur makes my shoulders feel tired.
‘You’re worried.’
I jump when Marco’s voice sounds close beside me. ‘Dammit, would you stop that? And yes, of course I’m worried. Of all the people on the lot, Zep Deal is someone I would have put in the ‘above suspicion’ category.’
‘Nobody’s above suspicion, I guess.’ He watches his mother as she departs, then sighs.
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I think you can probably rule out Eugenia as the saboteur, though.’
‘What?’ He looks away. ‘Oh, right. You’re heading back to the van, yes? I’ll walk you.’
‘You don’t have to walk back with me, y’know.’ I wrinkle my nose at him. ‘I’m grown up now, I’m capable of walking to my van all by myself.’
‘You’re most definitely grown up, Petal.’ Marco turns me towards the wing, with a hand low on my back. ‘But I’ll walk you anyway.’
My awareness narrows down to the place his hand rests on me, the warmth of it through my jacket and the thin lycra of my leotard. ‘Really, Marco, it’s okay–’
‘Fleur, you might not have considered the implications of this, but right now you’re one of the only people holding this show together.’ Marco’s expression darkens. ‘Mitch pointed out last night, over dinner, that the easiest way to shut down this show at the moment would be for something to happen to you.’
‘What?’ My mood plummets further. ‘But that’s ridiculous. I’m not the only show-runner on the lot. You and Mitch and Genie are–’
‘–important, yes. But a lot less symbolic than the ringmaster’s daughter.’ His fingers tighten a little on my back, as if he’d prefer to have me tucked right against his body. ‘I’ll be staying close, and when I’m not around, someone else will be looking out for you. So if Zep Deal tries anything–’
‘We don’t even know it’s Zep!’ I hiss, glancing around.
‘Fine. Whoever the saboteur is, if they want to try something, they’ll have to get through me first.’
‘Is this why you’ve been hovering since training?’
‘Yes. And for other reasons.’ His eyes look serious, even as his mouth quirks into a smile. ‘Whatever happens, Petal, you can’t get rid of me. I’ll be sticking to you like glue.’
Oh, this is just perfect.
‘Here you go–A through to M.’ I thump a stack of manila folders onto the coffee table in front of Marco’s feet.
The inside of the van feels stuffy and small. Having spent all afternoon confined to it, I’m ready for a visitor, even if that visitor happens to be Marco. He’s sitting on the couch in his jeans and undershirt, looking like he should be advertising undershirts. His cheekbones are so sharp you could cut bread with them. I, on the other hand, am still in the sweatpants I wore to training, and a tank top. Marco’s getting the full ‘Fleur flops at home’ experience.
He sets the mug of coffee I made for him down next to the folders. ‘Terry’s gone to sleep already?’
‘It’s six p.m.’ I sink back into the other side of the couch, my own pile of folders in my lap. ‘Dad usually gets his medication around five thirty, which wipes him out. We spent some time together before, watching a movie. Casablanca–his pick. And I didn’t have to make dinner, because Judy already had that organised. We’re doing okay. I’ve been going over invoice paperwork while I waited for you to arrive. ’
‘I’m sorry you were stuck indoors today.’ He looks apologetic. What he really means is, I’m sorry for freaking you out with news about potential concerns for your safety. Guys are diplomatic about the weirdest things.
I shrug. ‘It’s okay. I would’ve been here with Dad anyway, after training. I don’t like leaving him on his own when he still can’t walk properly.’ I give Marco the side-eye. ‘Of course, I felt a lot safer indoors, too.’
Marco’s cheeks pink. ‘We don’t know what’s going on for sure–’
‘Then let’s get through these reports, and hopefully we’ll be able to figure it out.’ I separate my folders, so I don’t need to look at him. Some of them I dump on the floor to my right, away from the invoice stack, and some I set on the coffee table. ‘We need a ‘completely ruled-out’ pile. What sort of red flags are we looking for anyway?’
Marco grimaces as he opens the top folder of his stack. ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it? It could be anything. But I guess we should narrow down candidates who’ve got connections to rival operations, and maybe anyone who might be in arrears financially. And anyone who’s had disputes with management might be worth a second look. Have you hung onto files for people who’ve been let go?’
‘I think so–for the last couple of years anyway.’ I shuffle through the pile on my knee.
‘I still can’t believe you don’t have these files in digital.’
‘I’ve been hassling Dad to input everything, find a data-entry manager or something, but we never seem to have time. So I guess we’re doing it old-school style.’
‘Everything about this show is old-school,’ Marco grumps, but he’s already leafing through pages.
Once we figure out what to look for, and which pages to check, things go smoothly. We get into a rhythm: examine a file, make a note, pass it over to double-check, then dump it into one of three piles–Suspect, Question Mark, or Ruled Out–before having a swig of coffee.
We examine Zep Deal’s file minutely, but I can tell straight away there’s nothing to see.
‘He got a job here when he was only sixteen?’ Marco squints between me and the notes.
‘Oh yeah, he had to.’ I look at the full name on the file. ‘Zeppelin Alejandro Deal. Age on this first contract says sixteen–there you go.’ I point helpfully. ‘Dad said he just showed up one day looking for work. Had enough of putting up with Angus, apparently, and decided to leave Lost Souls and go make a living elsewhere.’
‘Terry put him into the mech yard practically the same day.’
‘He’s a good mechanic. Actually, better than good. But he has a craft as well–he’s a cardsharp. He just prefers not to perform.’
‘No days off, comes to work on time, no arguments in the men’s dorm, pays his on-costs…’ Marco runs his finger down the paper. ‘Model citizen.’
‘There was some trouble when he first arrived. Angus wanted him back. Showed up at the gate screaming blue murder about how Zep was a traitor, and how he was going to march him back home.’ I look at Marco. ‘Zep’s my age, you know. We talked a bit. He said he was scared about the idea of going back to his father.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘Yeah.’ I look away, turning pages. ‘Zep thought Klatsch’s was heaven. A place he could live independently, and earn a wage doing the work he enjoyed.’
‘You think he’d be grateful.’ Marco’s eyebrows make a heavy line. He surveys the info
in front of us.
‘I don’t think he’s the saboteur, Marco.’ My voice seems to drop into quiet. ‘Zep loves this show. My father stood up for him, gave him a home. Zep’s as dedicated to this community as I am.’
Marco shakes his head in confusion. ‘But what about the meeting with his dad? The money?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘I don’t imagine we’ll find out unless we ask Zep. But you’re implying that Angus paid Zep to cause these problems, that Zep is some kind of long-game plant…’
I raise my hands, because I don’t know how to express how ridiculous I find all this in more words.
Marco sighs. ‘You’re right. It seems unlikely in the face of that history. And we’ve met Cavendish now, we’ve got a feel for what that operation is like to live in, considering the way management behaves.’
‘Would you want to work there?’
‘No.’ His lip curls in distaste. His expression alters with his attitude; I can read the whole story in his face, so I know exactly when he changes his mind. ‘Okay, let’s talk to Mitch and Eugenia about it some more tomorrow. And then we should talk to Zep. But let’s get through the rest of these files, see if we can’t find someone else who might be a likelier candidate.’
I smile with the victory. Then we both dive back into the files.
I slip into Dad’s room a few times, to check he’s okay. Marco and I take it in turns to refresh the mugs, and bring over snacks. We find a couple of potential new leads for the Suspects file. But hours go by, and it’s dreary work. In the quiet warmth of the van, I can feel my concentration slipping.
‘My eyes are getting tired.’ I stretch and yawn. ‘Talk to me. I need something to keep me awake. Tell me how you got the job at Cadell’s.’
‘It’s not a very exciting story.’ Marco rubs the back of his neck. His dark hair flops over his forehead, and his kicked-off boots lie in a tangle of laces beside the coffee table; his socks are of the thick, hiking variety. ‘I was sick of Scotland, and I needed a job to come home to. Dad knew Brian from years ago, when they were both on the carnival scene, so he gave me a recommendation.’