Harper and the Fire Star

by Cerrie Burnell

  The Wild Conductor adjusted his terribly tall top hat and bowed his head to Harper. This had not been part of the plan. He alone had hoped to tame the fierce heart of Othello Grande, as the rules for entering the Circus of Dreams were very strict. He had to:

  Summon them with a talent. Charm them with a skill. Or put on a performance that would make their hearts stand still.

  And yet, as he watched the child in the Scarlet Umbrella with the rare musical gift, the Wild Conductor realized that her talent only added to the wonder of the show, and he pedaled on merrily, sending droplets of musical rain all the way to the red-and-gold tent.

  There was a swirling of dark cloud and the residents of the Tall Apartment Block clutched their umbrellas closer.

  “I think the circus is coming!” whispered Liesel, who could hardly contain her excitement. Nate reached out a hand and felt the air, giving a swift nod. Thunder cracked the sky, but Harper and the Wild Conductor held their nerve, keeping the music flowing. Black clouds parted and a flight of stormy birds emerged, each of them towing a far-off tent. They dived among the umbrellas, filling the night with feathers and drawing the magnificent circus closer, until it lingered in the air just above everyone’s heads.

  Harper, Ferdie, and Liesel all peered upward, trying to spot their friends the storm-stirrers. But instead, they found themselves staring into the beady eyes of a man with a huge red beard and a cruel heart.

  Nate, who could hear the beating of mighty wings, drifted a little nearer to Harper. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Othello Grande is here,” she whispered. “I think we’ve done it! I think the Wild Conductor has won back his place in the Cir—”

  But at that moment, Liesel screamed and Ferdie gave a panicked yell. Harper hardly had time to gasp before a huge white-winged eagle swooped toward her, seizing the Scarlet Umbrella’s handle in its claws.

  Nate felt the nearness of the great bird and knew he had to help Harper. Bravely, he cast his own umbrella aside and seized the spike of the Scarlet Umbrella in his hands. As the mighty bird pulled both children higher into the air, Nate managed to wedge his foot into the branches of a rooftop tree, so they were caught in a sky-high tug-of-war.

  The Wild Conductor stared up in confusion as Othello’s bird tried to steal Harper. “Othello, what are you doing?” he cried. “Leave the child alone! If the cloudian’s song has tamed your heart, you must let me back into the circus. If not, then you must leave.”

  Othello gave a sickly chuckle. “And leave I will,” he hissed, “but not without the girl who plays the harp.”

  And with that, Othello snapped his pudgy fingers and the great bird’s wings beat the air, yanking the Scarlet Umbrella out of Nate’s hand and dragging Harper and Midnight into the folds of the red-and-gold tent.

  “Somebody save them!” bellowed Great Aunt Sassy.

  Ferdie and Liesel, who were used to flying by umbrella, raced across the sky, sending the other residents tumbling out of the way. Liesel dived toward Nate, who was slipping through starlight. She spun her mouse-eared umbrella upside down, balanced upon its handle on one foot, and caught Nate like a dancer. Ferdie tried to follow the great bird, but a fierce whirlwind of cloud blotted out the moon and he found himself in darkness.

  Then the air cleared and so did the strange white mist. A heartbeat of rain fell from the sky, washing away the magic. Everyone gazed around in shock, for the Circus of Dreams was nowhere to be seen. It had stolen Harper and Midnight and vanished into thin air.

  Chapter Five

  A BRILLIANT PLAN

  “Someone must save my darling Harper!” Great Aunt Sassy wailed.

  The Wild Conductor turned quite pale, his heart filling with despair, his feet slowing on the pedals. “I will go after the circus,” he said, knowing that this was all his fault. All around him, umbrellas wobbled unsteadily back to the rooftop and a nervous mumbling swept through the crowd.

  “We’ll come with you,” called Nate.

  The Wild Conductor frowned darkly. “There isn’t room on the cloudian,” he said sadly.

  But Ferdie was already attaching his green umbrella to the black bicycle with a strand of edentwine, a gleam in his eye. “If you pedal really fast, our umbrellas will fly on the cloudian’s song.”

  The Wild Conductor gave a weak nod. “Hurry then,” he said. “We must leave at once.”

  Liesel pushed her filthy hair out of her eyes and helped Nate onto the back of the bike while Ferdie quickly set to work attaching his sister’s umbrella to the black bicycle. Nate gave a low whistle and Smoke came racing through midnight clouds with Nate’s green umbrella clasped tightly in her powerful jaws. With a wonderful bound, she landed on Nate’s lap, making the black bicycle spin dangerously.

  A small cheer arose from the residents, and even Great Aunt Sassy managed a small grin. Then the black bicycle with a man in a sweeping satin coat and a boy with a wolf began to sail across the sky, towing two brightly colored umbrellas behind.

  Madame Flora danced gracefully forward and plucked a huge storm bloom, tossing it up so that Ferdie could catch it. “For luck.” She smiled, blowing them each a kiss.

  Liesel looked at the flower and gave a brave laugh. “We don’t need luck—we know the circus better than anyone.” But she gripped her umbrella tightly all the same as they journeyed through the night.

  For a long while no one in the little group spoke, the sadness of the situation weighing on each of them. But gradually the beauty of the night calmed their beating hearts and they began to enjoy the journey. Sometimes they caught a glimpse of lightning on the horizon or passed a floating eagle feather, so they knew they were on the right track. The Wild Conductor pedaled like his life depended on it, never taking his eyes from the far-off storm.

  Liesel, who was used to traveling at this height, watched the Wild Conductor closely. She had known him a long time, but she realized now that she didn’t really know that much about him. “Ferdie!” she whispered sharply.

  Ferdie was dreaming up a poem about the beauty of dawn, and he stared in surprise. “What?”

  “We have to find out exactly why the Wild Conductor wants to get back into the circus,” said Liesel. “We need to know why he and Othello hate each other.”

  Ferdie straightened up and leaned forward until he was flying level with the pale-faced man. “You need to tell us why the Circus of Dreams is so important to you,” he said. The Wild Conductor scowled, but Ferdie insisted. “Please, it might help us rescue Harper.”

  For a moment there was silence, then the tall man answered. “Very well.”

  And so, as they soared through feather-fern cloud and streaks of first sunshine, the Wild Conductor began to tell his tale.

  “Once, many years ago, when I was still a young man,” he began, “I lived happily in the Circus of Dreams. Othello Grande was my friend. He was a young man, too, and had just taken over the circus from his parents. He was sorry to give up his act to run the show, but happy to welcome me in his place.”

  Liesel, who adored stories but had very little patience, shouted out, “So what went wrong?”

  The Wild Conductor smiled sadly. “There was a girl in the circus called Star.”

  “Ah,” whispered Ferdie with a triumphant grin. “So it was love.”

  The Wild Conductor ignored Ferdie and went on. “She was called the Fire Star, because whenever she heard music she began to shine like a star. She needed no tightrope—no strings or wings—she simply glowed and rose into the air. A girl with a heart made of fire. When Star jumped, it truly looked like she was a firework.”

  The Wild Conductor paused here and Nate, who was very close, noticed how the tall man’s eyes had become misted with the memory.

  “When I played the songs I’d written, Star shone brighter than ever,” said the Wild Conductor fondly. “Othello soon became jealous. Then, one day, a spark from Star’s glowing heart landed in Othello’s beard and it singed his red beard, black. The aud
ience roared with laughter, so he flew into a hateful rage and banished Star from the circus.”

  “What a spiteful man!” exclaimed Liesel, who loved the idea of a girl with a heart of fire.

  “I couldn’t let Star get turned out of the circus all alone, so I pleaded with Othello to let her stay and kick me out instead. I thought with time I could charm the circus and be part of it once again.”

  The little group was silent as they realized just how brave the Wild Conductor had been. “So all this time, you’ve been trying to get back to the circus to find Star?” asked Nate.

  The Wild Conductor hung his head. “It’s taken a great many more years than I’d hoped,” he said flatly.

  “Are you sure that Star is still in the circus?” asked Liesel, trying to remember if she’d ever seen her act.

  “Yes,” said the Wild Conductor simply.

  Ferdie tightened his serious scarf. “If there’s one thing I know for certain,” he announced, “it’s that Othello Grande needs to be stopped.”

  Everyone nodded and, as they flew on, the three children huddled closely at the back of the bike, thinking up a brilliant plan.

  “The first thing we need to do,” Nate whispered, “is send Harper a signal so she knows we are coming.”

  With a poetic flourish, Ferdie produced the storm bloom. “Let’s send her this flower—they only grow in the City of Clouds.” He grinned and then gave a serious frown. “I’m just not sure how we get it to her.”

  Liesel gave her knotted hair a wild shake, awakening the little pink dove that was comfortable nesting in her tangles. “Storm can fly much faster than us. If she can catch up with the circus, she could deliver the storm bloom to Harper.”

  Nate nodded brightly and Ferdie reached for the pencil he kept tucked behind his ear and began scribbling a note upon the flower’s dusky petals. “Let’s tell Harper to find out all she can about the Fire Star,” he added in a hushed voice.

  The others agreed, then Liesel let the little dove clasp the flower’s stem in her sharp beak and sent her arcing into the air like an arrow of feathers aimed straight for the heart of the circus.

  Chapter Six

  INSIDE THE CIRCUS

  On the other side of sunrise, as morning arrived, Harper scrambled to her feet. She was in complete darkness, caught up in a chaos of scarlet fabric and cat fur. Midnight purred around her ankles, telling her they were somewhere familiar. And as Harper reached out and ran her hands over thick velvet curtains, she realized she was inside the lightning-leader’s tent.

  “But where is the lightning-leader?” Harper whispered, feeling both joy to be back in the circus and fear that she might never be able to leave.

  At that moment, the velvet curtain began to softly rustle and she froze. Then her parents’ strong arms were embracing her. “Mom! Dad!” Harper cried, wilting with relief.

  Aurelia’s sea-gray eyes were overflowing with tears. “Harper.” She smiled. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”

  Hugo swept Harper into a cookie-scented hug. “You have to pretend you don’t know us,” he said, his face suddenly serious. Harper gulped.

  Aurelia clasped her hand. “If Othello finds out you’re the girl who escaped the circus, he will never let you out of his sight.”

  Harper gave them the best grin she could summon. “It shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said, beaming. For even though Harper’s parents were clearly worried about her, she felt a secret surge of glee at finally being allowed to perform with the circus.

  Heavy footsteps shook the cloud beneath them, and the lightning-leader appeared and ushered Hugo and Aurelia away. Then she stood beside Harper, her aura crackling with blue light, and whispered, “Just try not to anger Othello.” Harper barely had time to nod and scoop Midnight up before a man with an enormous red beard squeezed into the tent.

  “Welcome to my circus of wonders and wishes,” came the snakelike voice. Harper said nothing, but she clutched Midnight closely. “You appear to have a most marvelous musical gift,” Othello went on. “How would you like to be part of my magical circus?”

  Harper forced a smile. “I would like it very much,” she murmured.

  “Very good,” said Othello snidely. “We will write to your family and tell them that from now on you will live here among the clouds.”

  Harper said nothing, thinking how sad it must be for performers who desperately wanted to go home.

  Othello’s thick brow furrowed and his enormous beard loomed over Harper. “And tell me,” he said in a low voice, “what do you know of the Wild Conductor?”

  “Nothing much, really,” she mumbled. “He’s a friend of my Great Aunt Sassy.”

  Othello scowled. “You will not mention his name ever again!”

  Midnight gave a fierce meow and, to Harper’s horror, he broke out of her arms and tried to bite the big man on the leg, which made Harper want to laugh.

  “We don’t allow pets in the circus!” Othello boomed, picking Midnight up by the scruff off the neck and moving toward the entrance of the tent.

  Harper’s eyes opened wide with dismay. “But he has to stay with me,” she pleaded. “He’s my everything, my best friend, my … my …” But her voice trailed off.

  “My dearest Othello,” said the lightning-leader smoothly, “this is no pet. This cat is part of the child’s act.”

  Othello glared at Midnight with an expression that reminded Harper of a small, angry pig. Quickly, Harper fished her piccolo out of her pocket and threw it into the air. Midnight caught it in his teeth and at once began to play, filling the tent with a merry little ditty that miraculously made Othello chuckle.

  He put the cat down and folded his arms across his chest. “Very well,” he said. “But the cat must work to earn his keep.”

  Harper buried her face in Midnight’s dark fur.

  “You can start rehearsals today,” Othello went on. “Wherever the circus next stops, you and your cat must perform.” Then he swung around, his frame filling up most of the tent, and squeezed back out into the daylight.

  “Well done,” smiled the lightning-leader, stroking Harper’s dark hair from her brow and guiding her out of the other end of the tent. To Harper’s delight, she found a wild crew of ragtag children waiting for her: the storm-stirrers.

  “Come with us,” called Skylar, the chief storm-stirrer. “We’ll help you put on a show that will knock Othello’s socks off.”

  Harper had never felt so grateful. How would she ever have managed in this vast and mysterious circus without her friends? She ran with the others to the Heavens of the Circus, a landscape of huge umbrella tops that looked like silken moons. She was ready to meet the children’s orchestra and put on a spectacular act! If she could just fool Othello into thinking she was happy in the Circus of Dreams, he would never suspect she was planning to escape.

  Chapter Seven

  THE STORM BLOOM

  Harper’s day passed in a dazzle of tightropes and trapezes and tremendous tricks. As the first distant stars began to awaken, it was time for one final rehearsal.

  Some of the storm-stirrers gathered around, pretending to be the audience, while the rest rushed to their positions. Harper leaped lightly into the Scarlet Umbrella and whispered, “Ready, boy?”

  Midnight gave a happy meow and, as they rose into the air, Harper set her little cat down on the umbrella’s scarlet edge. He prowled around it on dainty paws, playing the piccolo with his teeth and tail. He looked quite wonderful.

  Harper climbed up, balancing on her tiptoes on the top of the upside-down umbrella’s silver handle. She raised her golden harp into the air, her fingers dancing across its strings as delicately as dove wings, filling the sky with a harmony of hope: a tune of swirling clouds and long-lost dreams that made the storm-stirrers gasp.

  As Harper played, the Scarlet Umbrella began to spin around and around dizzyingly fast, but Harper looked only at Midnight and ignored the whirling world and excited cheers of her friends. Then a storm
-stirrer called Sunbeam swung past her on a trapeze and threw a large bassoon over her shoulder. Harper caught it with a single hand, tooted on it loudly, and flung the bassoon high for Sunbeam to catch as she swung back the other way.

  Next, Liesel’s friend Rat cartwheeled past on a tightrope, hurling Harper a set of cymbals that she clashed and bashed and threw behind her for Rat to grab with his feet. Slowly, more storm-stirrers came zooming past on the backs of great birds or simply free-diving or running along invisible wires, throwing Harper instruments in a musical madness of juggling and twirling. The umbrella sped up with the song until Harper and Midnight became a blur of scarlet silk with the flash of a white-tipped tail.

  Storm-stirrers leaped to their feet applauding, and Harper felt a rush of wonderment. So this is what it’s like to be a performer. She laughed, understanding suddenly why people gave their whole lives to it, for the joy of the wild circus was like nothing she had ever known. For a single heartbeat, Harper wondered if perhaps there was a way she could stay here and be happy. But then she remembered her parents’ courage: how they risked everything to smuggle her out of the circus, away from the temper of Othello Grande.

  The song ended and Harper half toppled onto the indigo balloon. She was tired and dizzy, but her eyes were dancing with happiness. The storm-stirrers crowded close, embracing Harper in a warm hug. “That was brilliant!” cried Skylar.

  Harper felt her cheeks begin to glow. “Thank you,” she mumbled, settling herself next to Rat and gathering up Midnight. She gazed across the evening sky and realized that the circus must have left the City of Clouds long ago, for the sky was a dazzle of stars, each of them bright and wondrous. All of a sudden, she felt a jab of loneliness. Though the circus was extraordinary and enchanting and held mysteries as deep as the sea, it was not the Tall Apartment Block.