Ice clinked in a glass before Propp tried again to cheer his comrade.
"But what if she doesn't want the money? What if she just wants the partnership? Perhaps you could carry on after all?"
"That was my intent, my friend. In my plans and dreams, the circus would miraculously recover and I'd give her an equal partnership, instead of just a third. She's practically running things as it is. But a half share of a company that's falling to pieces is hardly just compensation."
"I wish I could help you, Andrew. I truly do. But I have my hands full running the Royal Russian. Even if I wanted to take on a second show, I don't have the capital for it. And I can't merge the shows. Too many of the same acts and attractions."
"And you're too kind to say, all of yours are superior to ours."
Bella's face turned white with rage outside the window.
"I would never say such a thing. I will tell you what I can do. I have some wealthy friends in Chicago. They continually tease me about buying the Russian. I do not know how serious they are, but I will ask them to contact you. I will tell them that Lang & Perrault's is an excellent investment opportunity."
"I suppose that's better than I'd hoped for. Thank you, Vladimir. And please, I trust we can keep this between us? At least, the details about Neve? I do intend to tell her, as soon as I have a buyer. I simply can't go to her without something, some concrete promise that she'll see some of her rightful due."
"Of course."
Bella collected herself, although she was still reeling in shock. She collapsed the listening device and slipped it back into her reticule. She seethed as she spun away from the window of Lang's caravan.
She stifled a scream of frustration. This was not going to happen. She could not allow that miserable little wretch to take away everything that mattered.
She slipped into the crowd, determined to catch Propp before he left. If Lang & Perrault's was going under, she was not going down with it. She could flatter her way into a new show. She just needed to make sure Vladimir got an opportunity to see her shine.
She would not go back to being Bertha Vane.
Not now, not ever.
Conversation and Consternation
Neve and Brendan crossed the midway, arm in arm. They slipped behind a group of noisy teenagers, hoping to avoid Bella as she stomped through from the other direction. Who knew why she was on the warpath this time? Experience taught both of them it was best to just avoid her.
"Now that you mention it, love, what do you plan to do about the future?" Brendan's serious expression made her regret teasing him. Usually, people worried about young girls running off to join the circus, not leave it.
"What do you mean?" Apprehension crept into Neve's voice. The future was not a topic she spent much time considering, much less discussing in detail.
They passed the caramel apple booth. The delicious smell made Neve's stomach growl louder than Jazz at her fiercest.
Brendan smirked, pulling out a coin and tossing it to Virginia, who ran the concession booth. He handed the apple to her, and she bit into it with relish. At least she was getting a snack out of helping him practice.
"You've lived here in the circus your whole life, first with your father and then as Lang's ward. But now you're an adult. You're eighteen. The circus passes through most of the republics. You could leave almost anywhere along the way and do whatever you wanted."
Neve's face turned red as the apple peeking out from under its caramel blanket. She didn't like the implication that the circus could just go on without her.
"This place would fall apart if I left! What would Bosworth and the animals do without me? And who would practice with the new performers? Do you think just anybody knows those little flourishes to make an act look professional? Who'd help Monique keep the costumes looking decent?"
Brendan looked taken aback at her vehemence. "Of course! I'd never question what you do for the circus. I just can't help but wonder what the circus really offers you?"
She gave him a blank, confused look. He sighed in exasperation and continued, determined to make his point.
"Do you really want to spend your life cleaning up animal cages and acting as a practice dummy for a knife thrower? Even one as irresistibly attractive as me?" He flashed her a brilliant smile.
She smacked his shoulder, as she always did when his vanity went over the top, passed underneath him, and went right back over the top again.
At least he didn't need any help with his confidence, unlike most of their ragamuffin company.
She supposed he had a point. To someone like him, her life must seem unbearably tedious. She'd seen how high the cost of talent and ambition could be. Still, if a circus was an engine, those two qualities were the steam that powered it. Lang & Perrault's was in dire short supply.
"This place is my home, Brendan. You probably have a huge family back in Ireland, but the company is the only family I've ever known. This troupe meant the world to my father. Even if most of the people who were here with him have long since left, it's still his legacy. I'll stay and preserve it as long as Lang lets me. But. . . ."
She looked cautiously over her shoulders. There didn't appear to be anyone listening.
If she was going to share her secret, it looked like the coast was relatively clear.
Was she ready to tell Brendan what she'd discovered? Could she trust him with a secret she hadn't told a soul?
Deep in her heart, she hoped what she'd learned could save Lang & Perrault's. Maybe it was just a foolish dream, but the moment she told someone else, it became more than just a fantasy. It became something real. Could she really have the power to change things?
Or was she about to let ambition lead her towards the same doomed path as her father?
The two had stopped in front of the fortune teller's tent. The elegant script on the sign announced The Mirror of Destiny dwelt within.
Neve got a cold chill whenever she glanced inside. No one, except presumably Lang himself, had ever seen the Mirror.
At least, no one had seen her face to face.
Instead of the faded, once-bright colors of the other tents, the Mirror's tent had always been made of layers of murky, shimmering lavender, mauve, silver and grey. Inside, there was no woman seated before a crystal ball in garish attire. There was simply a velvet-covered bench placed in front of an ornate antique mirror.
The mirror hung on a black-curtained wall that divided the tent in half. Those who wished to know their fate sat on the bench, plunked a few coins in an open gilded chest at their feet, and waited for the Mirror to awaken.
Some said a veiled woman appeared in the looking glass, surrounded by a dense swirling mist and spoke with a voice that seemed to whisper right in their ears. Some said they could simply see their own future, as if painted magically on the mirror's surface.
Neve had never entered the Mirror's tent. There was something ineffably strange about it. Besides, until recently, the future was something she preferred not to think about, considering all the unexpected losses in her past.
If she had a destiny, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear about it. She certainly didn't want to pay for the privilege.
She looked back at Brendan and decided to trust him, at least with this. In the end, it was that or submit to helping him practice his knife-throwing again. Perhaps he'd think she was a fool, but it was time to let someone see she could do more than toss meat to tigers.
"Do you want to know a secret?" she whispered.
Brendan nodded, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning a bit devilishly. She smacked the back of his head.
"Not that kind of secret. Follow me."
Neve's Secret
She grabbed his hand and dragged him forward. Now that she'd decided to do it, the sooner she got it over with, the better. They soon found themselves among the tents and steam wagons where most of the circus folk lived.
Andrew Lang lived in the omnibus attached to the ticket booth. Neve thought it res
embled a two-story mansion with several steam-pipe chimneys, sitting on eight prodigious wheels.
She had loved playing in Lang's omnibus as a child. He had the loveliest china tea set and plush armchairs that felt like sinking into a cloud. She tried to shrug off the fact that she'd not been invited inside for many months.
She and Brendan stopped at her wagon. She asked him to wait outside while she washed up and changed. He'd offered to come in and help with a lascivious grin, but she'd smacked him in the back of the head and called him impertinent.
When she was younger, she'd lived among the women of the troupe. At first, the ladies had guarded their tongues around her, but before long she'd faded into the background. Some enlightening conversations she'd overheard had taught her much, possibly too much, about how to handle impertinent young men.
When she'd gotten a bit older, she'd asked to move into her father's old carnival wagon. All his things were still stored within it. Compared to most of the others it was luxurious, despite a decade of neglect. Lang had ordered the outside repainted after Papa's death, as if paint could wash away both tragedy and nostalgia.
Despite its general state of decay, she'd moved in immediately after getting Lang's permission. It was like coming home after a long and tiring vacation.
It had taken her the better part of a month to get the entire thing cleaned and habitable. The biggest difficulty was her reluctance to part with any of her parents' belongings. Giovanni had been a bit of a pack rat. It was difficult to clean around the stacks of books, alchemical ingredients and pieces of props in various states of assembly or dismantling.
Somehow, she'd managed to sort through it all, and now the carnival wagon was a cozy, relatively tidy home.
In the effort to clear out the wagon, she'd discovered some interesting secret compartments, which her father must have custom-ordered when it was built. She'd managed to store much of what she couldn't bear to throw out in them.
In fact, one such hidden cabinet held the secret she was about to share with Brendan.
It was almost full dark when she came back out, dressed in a simple red and white harlequin-patterned dress covered by a dramatic, sweeping black coat with long sleeves.
"You look like the Queen of Diamonds," Brendan teased in his lilting voice. "Have you taken up three card monte?"
She snorted and grabbed his hand, dragging him further from the lights and the crowds. She wondered whether he was a good choice of confidante. Although if he kept her secrets as well as he kept his own, she was putting them in good hands.
As they wandered the dark passages of the circus' netherworld, they stumbled into Nicky Wheeler. Nicky was a daredevil. He'd lost his legs in the Mechanicals Wars, but they'd been replaced with a set of clockwork wheels. He could move as quickly as Claude's steamcycle.
The crew set up a track with various ramps, embankments, and other obstacles for Claude and Nicky to perform on. They whirled through the track at a stunning speed, flying through the air off the ramps.
"Where are you two off to this fine night?" Nicky asked, twisting his impressive handlebar mustache.
"Just going to run through some practice," Neve said, trying to cover her nerves. "Brendan here thinks he's not quite as breathtaking as he ought to be. I'd just like to make sure he doesn't skewer any of the paying customers."
She rolled her eyes dramatically and pantomimed grabbing a knife stuck in her chest.
Nicky snorted in reply.
"Well, in that case, best of luck! God knows we can't afford to maim any of the few proud folks who still want to shell out the cost of admission!"
With a hearty chuckle, Nicky rolled away, leaving them to pursue their secret missions.
Neve's mission was to unburden herself from a secret. Brendan's was to get to know this mysterious and remarkable girl a bit better, without revealing any secrets of his own.
~*~
Neve led Brendan to a practice tent near the back. As she reached for the tent flap, he stumbled to a complete stop, so suddenly he nearly tripped her.
"I'm sorry, Neve. I have to go. I just remembered. . . ."
He was stuttering. Brendan never stuttered. A slow smile spread across Neve's face. She patted his hand reassuringly.
"No you don't." She held tightly to his hand. "Whatever you think you just remembered, the second you step through this curtain, you'll realize was an illusion."
She smiled again, a little smugly. He did not find it reassuring.
He wondered why she seemed so pleased with his sudden and intense discomfort. He threw her a puzzled expression, frowned and shook his head vigorously. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and the tightness in his chest could not be ignored. He needed to be somewhere else. Now.
"No, no. I'm absolutely certain. I really have to go!"
He dropped Neve's hand and started to turn away. With even a single step, the ominous feeling diminished. He felt like he could breathe easier. Neve reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping his retreat.
"Brendan Donnelly! Don't be a coward! I trust you with my life! I let you throw sharpened blades at me every other night. You can't trust me long enough to take three steps forward?"
As a matter of fact, he didn't. Not that he said so out loud.
She gave him her stormiest, most disapproving frown. It was clear this was a test. He only wished he knew whether success lay in moving forward or backward.
Brendan frowned, took a deep breath, and stepped into the tent. Just as she'd said, the instant he was past the canvas, the confused and frightening feelings dissipated.
His eyes widened and he looked at his friend with new respect.
"You enchanted a practice tent? I didn't even know you knew any alchemy, love."
He shook his head to clear it from the powerful effect. Neve tossed one of her rare and brilliant smiles at him. Suddenly he felt a little lightheaded again, but for an entirely different reason.
"My father was one of the best stage magicians of all time. He used all kinds of alchemical enchantments to pull off some of his tricks. A turnback charm is one of the oldest formulaes known to man. It's the very first one any decent illusionist learns."
She grinned and whirled around the tent, her arms spread wide.
"You have to protect your secrets from spies and competitors."
She grinned mischievously.
"I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable, but I'm pleased to see how well it worked. I've been worried for weeks. Ever since we left San Francisco."
"So what's this big secret?"
Brendan's arms were crossed as he leaned against one of the outer poles of the small tent. He glanced around in the dim light of Neve's single lantern, but found no clues to his friend's mysterious purposes.
A small folding screen stood in a corner, serving as a makeshift backstage area. Lanterns hung dark and cold in a rough circle. A few crates and boxes sat around the edges of the space, some with packing straw poking out their tops.
In other words, it looked no different than any of the other practice tents, unless perhaps it was a little shabbier and older.
He noticed that in addition to the turnback charm, Neve must have applied a speakeasy formulae to the tent. He could not hear the slightest sound from outside the tent, which meant that no one outside could hear anything that happened within.
Neve walked to the center of the tent and lit a gas lantern. Then she set the one she'd carried from her wagon on a crate.
She rubbed her hands together, cupped them, and blew at the hanging lantern. The flame inside seemed to split. Pieces of the flame danced out of the lantern. They cartwheeled through the air to two more lanterns, each halfway to the tent wall on opposite sides.
A moment later, those flames split as well. Dancing sparks flew in opposite directions towards four more lanterns.
By this time, the ring of lanterns circling the tent could be seen much more clearly, along with one more interesting detail. Unlike the other prac
tice tents, every single rip, tear or hole in this one had been meticulously patched.
Brendan was painfully familiar with that level of caution. The extreme care taken to hide anything that happened in the tent sparked a grim memory for him. He extinguished it and focused his attention back on the present.
As each lantern ignited, it sent off sparks that lit the next lantern, till the whole circle glowed. Brendan stared at his friend. She offered him another of those breathtaking smiles.
"That's nothing. Wait till I show you what I've been practicing."
He pulled up a crate and sat down, crossing his long legs. Neve's father had never taught another magician. Rumor had it his journals contained the secrets to all his illusions.
Even now, magicians claimed to have discovered the Bianchi Books when they wanted to pique interest in their skills. It was mere grandstanding. No one had ever been able to match Bianchi's most famous stunts. Had Neve found her father's notebooks? If she could read and follow their instructions, she held the key to her own future.
It was an intriguing turn of events.
"So you found Giovanni's old journals?"
She nodded, doing her best to affect a mysterious smile.
"What have you got so far?" He tilted his head and folded his arms.
She ducked behind a folding screen, obviously giddy with anticipation.
She'd smiled more tonight than he'd seen in the entire year he'd known her. That display alone was worth following her to the practice tent. Brendan waited patiently for whatever came next.
Neve returned from behind the screen and struck a dramatic pose in the center of the makeshift stage. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Prepare to be dazzled."
Dancing and Deliberations
The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the tent roof, as Neve held a small apple in her outstretched hand.
Thwack! A knife flew through the air. It plucked the apple from her hand and speared it against the painted wooden background where nymphs danced in a wooded glen. The apple completely covered the head of a satyr playing a pan flute.
Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series) Page 4