Bella glared at the Mirror, and grabbed her hat. She stuffed it on her head and pulled the veil over her face. She didn't doubt the potion was exactly where the woman claimed it would be. Who knew how she managed to pull off her infuriating trickery, but she did manage it, over and over.
She consoled herself with the thought that soon, she'd be with the Royal Russian Circus and this entire company would be shut down and dismantled. The fool behind the mirror could play her little games for now. Her show was almost over, and she'd never see it coming.
She smiled on her way out of the tent, then sucked in a breath as the sound that had been absent up until that moment assaulted her.
Magicians Lost and Found
A rooster as flamboyant as any sequin-spangled ringmaster announced the sunrise to the sleeping populace of Des Moines in the Republic of Iowa.
Dew kissed the tents of Lang & Perrault's World Famous Traveling Circus and settled the sawdust between them. Many of the performers and workers still dozed in their bunks, after a late night keeping the crowds entertained.
Neve was among the few members of the troupe or crew up and about at this time of day. Somehow, the animals never got the notice that staying up late meant you should sleep late the next day. After laying fresh straw in the horses' stalls, she'd need to feed the elephants.
At least there had been no great escape attempt from Roderigo lately. He'd only attempted to set the sword swallower's tent on fire. He'd been so obvious about it everyone agreed he must have wanted to be caught.
She was inexplicably saddened at the thought of the circus' saboteur losing his enthusiasm for mayhem. Maybe it was a sign, a reassurance that allowing Lang & Perrault's to come to an end would be for the best. Otherwise, they were just allowing Roderigo to continue carving his path of destruction across the continent.
She stifled a yawn. In spite of her sleepiness, early morning was her favorite time of day. She enjoyed soaking up the quiet and stillness before the air began bubbling over with noise and activity. Sometimes, it seemed like the only time she ever got a chance to think.
She still wasn't sure what to think about that dance with Brendan.
For a little while, she'd forgotten about her sad past and uncertain future. She'd felt the past ten years slide off her shoulders, relaxing into the comfort of Brendan's arms.
Those few minutes were among the few bright spots in recent years. Life had taught her such comforts were fleeting. Darkness lurked at the edge of every quiet and peaceful moment.
As if to prove the point, a horrified scream broke the morning calm. Neve dropped the pitchfork, and ran in the direction of the sound. Her boots raised a cloud of dust.
When she arrived at the practice tent for the Marvelous Marcus, a small crowd had already gathered. A small clutch of people surrounded the prone magician.
The sandy-haired young man was on the ground. A blood-soaked cloth covered his hand. His face was grey. By the looks of him, he was about to pass out.
"Would someone please get me out of this thing?" Stella screeched and kicked at the painted, coffin-like box where she was trapped. The blond assistant was stuck inside the prop for the "sawing a woman in half trick."
On the lid of the box a man's thumb rested in a pool of blood. On the stage, a saw streaked with red lay forgotten for the moment.
Neve gagged.
Stella screeched again and kicked at the box, attempting to free herself.
The wayward digit bounced on the lid with each jostling movement.
Neve bit her lip, steeled her resolve, and jumped up onto the stage. The circus' portly physician, Dr. Wellers, had arrived and was tending to Marcus.
"Um, Doc?" Neve wasn't sure if it was possible to reattach a thumb that had been sawed off accidentally by its owner. She was, however, positive that dropping it onto the sawdust floor would not help matters in the slightest.
"Neve, dear, really! I'm trying to keep poor Marcus from going into shock, here."
The grizzled old doctor had his back to the stage. His pince nez balanced precariously on a bulbous nose above walrus-like salt and pepper whiskers. The pungent odor of his cologne could not quite mask the persistent smell of "medicinal tonic" which always clung to the man.
"Do you think restoring possession of his thumb might help with the shock? Because he seems to have mislaid it." She pointed at the grisly debris.
"Oh! That's where it went. Yes, of course. . . ."
He reached up and carefully collected the severed digit in his pocket handkerchief, before returning his attention to its owner.
Neve was not certain the pocket handkerchief was cleaner than the sawdust floor. At least the thumb was out of sight, although it would take a while to put it out of mind.
With the disturbing item removed, Neve focused her attention on getting the lacquered magic box open and freeing Stella. The latch had gotten stuck and the poor woman wasn't in a position to work it free.
It only took a moment for Neve to get it loose. Stella scrambled out of the box as if it were on fire and she was coated in gunpowder. Which was always a possibility. Marcus' flair for the dramatic far outpaced his meager abilities.
"Thank God! Oh, Neve, thank you! I thought I was gonna be stuck there just forever."
Stella's voice had gone from a shrill squawk back to its usual nasal, breathy soprano. She leaned over and gave her an enthusiastic hug. It was a better testimony of her sincere gratitude than words could convey. Most of the time, Stella wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole for fear of getting dirt on her spangly costumes.
"What happened?" Neve asked quietly, although she was already fairly sure she knew.
"Whaddya think happened, sweetie? The moron missed the box completely, grabbed the wrong saw, and sliced off his own thumb in one swipe." She gestured an unnecessary pantomime. Marcus groaned from the sawdust floor.
Neve winced. She hadn't needed any more help imagining the scene.
Despite a lingering queasy feeling, she also felt a mild relief wash over her. Bella and Max stood near the door of the practice tent, glowering at the bumbling semiconscious illusionist.
"Then it wasn't. . . ." she hesitated. Nobody ever spoke their suspicions out loud. At least, not when they were close enough to hear. In the last few years, there had been a few suspicious accidents. They always seemed to befall performers who received more applause than the featured attraction, and who seemed in no hurry to leave.
"Nah, I know what you're wondering, doll." Stella looked around quickly, but neither the aerialist nor the strong man seemed to be paying any attention to them.
"Trust me, this was all him. He's a victim of his own stupidity. It's not like he was good enough to be any competition to her highness, anyway. To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken him this long to hurt himself. But that's what we get for hiring amateurs, so I guess we can lay that on 'em. They're half the reason amateurs is all we can seem to get nowadays."
The last part was whispered under her breath.
She needn't have worried, though. Bella was loudly berating Andrew Lang and couldn't have heard her even if she'd been speaking in a normal tone of voice.
Without her greasepaint, there was nothing to soften of the harsh lines of outrage etched in the acrobat's face. Her silky dressing gown and gossamer green robe flapped around her like the plumes of a tropical bird fighting to rule a roost of pigeons.
The circus owner cowed before her. The gold lamé turban covering her red hair wobbled like a bulbous, ill-fitting crown.
Everyone in the tent seemed to shrink a little, hoping to escape her vicious attention. Neve noticed Nicky Wheeler roll slowly back out of the tent with a soft putt, putt, putt.
Bosworth, who probably only made an appearance to convey the idea that he'd been the one up tending the animals at this hour, also slipped quietly away. Noel and Gloria exchanged silent looks and suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.
"What are you planning on doing about this,
Lang? It was bad enough I had to go on after this buffoon. Now we have no illusionist! What will the audience think? And this uproar? At this hour? I was trying to rest, because unlike most of these imbeciles, I care about putting on a decent show. Now half the company will be exhausted tonight, and the show will be even more lackluster than usual."
She waved an arm in the general direction of the few remaining performers present, somehow managing to defend their right to sleep in, and dismiss their general competence, with one sweeping gesture.
"I don't see why you can't hire and keep decent, passable talent. Of course, you'll never find another performer of my caliber, but this is getting ridiculous. Your shoddy excuse for management is an absolute disgrace! I'm sure Old Perrault is positively rolling in his grave. Rolling!"
The few old-timers in the crowd knew that this was the cue for her to feign nearly passing out from overwhelming concern. Max caught her, and she recovered herself just in time to deliver the coup de grace to the beleaguered Lang.
"I don't know why I put up with this. It's unbearable! You should be grateful I don't take my talents elsewhere!"
Her spleen properly vented, Bella stormed out of the tent, the strong man lumbering silently in her wake as always.
Neve was grateful to have the two of them gone. It was bad enough to have to see the grisly results of Marcus' ill-advised attempt to add a more spectacular trick to his act. Having to endure Bella and her operatic grievances against poor Mr. Lang only made it that much worse.
Not that Neve enjoyed being around Bella or Max even when things weren't going tragically awry.
For some reason, Bella had always held a particular dislike for her. The acrobat was haughty and condescending to everyone, but it was impossible to miss how she went out of her way to insult and disregard Neve.
Whenever Bella got involved in anything related to her, the result was never pleasant. Aside from the Mirror, the only people in the circus Neve didn't consider family were Bella and Big Max, who was practically the aerialist's shadow.
The Mirror was simply strange, and held knowledge Neve preferred to avoid. Bella and Big Max were bullies who seemed to wait in the shadows for opportunities to hurt and humiliate others, especially Neve.
It was as if they viewed her as a threat, which was ludicrous. What possible danger could she pose to the star of the show, and a man who could crush her as easily as a paper cup?
It didn't make sense, but she avoided them just the same.
By this time, the men had carried Marcus off to the infirmary wagon, Doc Wellers trailing behind them. Most of the small crowd had dispersed. Andrew Lang remained behind wearing an expression like a stray dog who'd been kicked till his spirit was utterly broken.
He rubbed his hands through his thinning blond curls and looked anxiously at Stella. He was probably worried she would leave. Right now they could ill-afford to lose another member of the troupe.
Neve hovered nearby, tense and uncertain. She wanted to comfort her guardian, but deep down she knew he didn't need comfort. He needed talent. He needed a decent magician.
No -- this mess had gone on too long. Things had fallen too far. He needed an amazing magician.
She watched him approach the magician's assistant, a tense conciliatory smile plastered on his weathered face.
"So, Stella. My apologies. I know our latest illusionist is a bit . . . green."
"A bit green, ya say? Ya think I like being trapped in a box, working with a guy so inept he cut off his own thumb? Ya can't even say he's all thumbs now, can ya?"
"Now, Stella. There's no need to be rude or melodramatic. Clearly, Marcus isn't working out as we'd hoped, but we'll find someone else."
"Who, Andrew? Another hayseed who read a book about magic and learned a few card tricks to impress the folks at his hometown ice cream social? I'm done working with amateurs! It ain't safe. It coulda been me that got hurt! And you know it!"
Stella shrugged on the embroidered satin robe she wore between performances, twisting her silky blond mane up into a quick bun. As she left the tent, she tossed an ultimatum over her shoulder.
"Until you find a real magician, I'm done. I'll stick around and work with Brendan, till we get to Illinois. But unless you start finding bona fide professional talent, he'll probably leave, too. At least he will if he's as smart as he seems. Even if he doesn't, I'll be looking for a new place with the burlesque when we're close to Chicago."
With that, the girl in the spangled costume flounced away, trailing sequins behind her like confetti after a parade.
Neve had tried to fade into the background, but she hadn't left the tent. Her stomach hadn't quite settled down from the sight of Marcus' severed thumb. Now it was competing with fear and hope warring in her heart. In her distraction, Brendan had sidled up to her unseen.
"Are you going to tell him or aren't you?" His voice was right in her ear. She squeaked and leaped nearly a foot in the air.
"Stop sneaking up on me like that! You nearly scared me half to death."
He was frowning at her, looking at Lang as he sat on the stage, his head in his hands. His tweed suit was faded and threadbare. He'd rather spend money on costuming performers than dressing himself decently. Neve had seen old photographs of Lang. Once upon a time, he'd carried himself with pride and dignity.
Now he looked as broken and bereft as half the carnival's prizes.
Most of the other people had returned to their tents. There were still a couple of small knots of quiet murmuring conversation and head shaking. She suspected they were laying bets as to how long it would be before the circus folded. She couldn't blame them. After this debacle, it wasn't a question of whether it would, just when.
Brendan leaned and whispered in her ear.
"Either you tell him, or I'm leaving when we get to Illinois."
Neve looked at him in shock. He might as well have slapped her.
"Leaving?"
It felt like a heavy stone had been dropped on her chest. Or like someone had pulled her corset stays too tight, too quickly, leaving her breathless.
Although she'd been half expecting it, she wasn't prepared for the reality of Brendan leaving.
"Stella is right. Things can't continue the way they've been going. Lang & Perrault's is on its last legs. I've been sticking it out, hoping you'd find your courage. I want to work with you, Neve. I'd love to see you bring this circus back to the glory your father built. You could do it. You know you could. But I won't stay here while you watch his dreams wither and die instead."
"What do you care about my father's dreams?" she hissed under her breath, her eyes welling with tears.
"I don't. I care about you. If I thought for a second you'd leave with me, I'd ask and we'd never look back. But you won't. You'll stay here shoveling manure and sewing sequins till it all disappears around you. You have an amazing talent, love. If you're determined to bury it beside your father and this circus, I'm taking mine elsewhere."
With that, he turned and left the tent.
Neve stood in the shadows. Her heart pounded furiously. She knew he was right. A part of her wanted to show Lang, and everyone else, what she could do.
Another part of her flared a warning, that it was useless. Things had gone too far. There was no bringing back Lang & Perrault's. It would fade from people's memory, along with the memory of her father.
If she tried to change their fate, then fate would . . . would what, exactly? Take everything from her? Hadn't it already? Wasn't that what she'd already been experiencing for the past ten years?
Maybe it was time to take some of it back.
Maybe she was more her father's daughter than she thought. Maybe she could summon the bravery of her Mama, who'd left hearth and home behind to travel with a charming circus performer.
Lang had pulled himself together, and was heading towards the door of the tent.
She ran after him.
"Wait!" she called. "Wait! I can do it! I can do it!"
"I can do my father's act. No, I can do better than my father's act."
She looked up at her guardian, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I can bring it all back, Mr. Lang. Please let me show you what I can do. Just give me a chance, and I can bring magic back to this place."
The Amazing Bianca
The big top was quiet, the crowd stilled by lowered lights.
Paolo the ringmaster stood bathed in gaslight at the very center of the ring. His head inclined so far forward, the flat crown of his top hat resembled the face of a black moon shining out at the audience.
He slowly raised his head and his voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, we have an unexpected treat for you. Many of you must remember our Grand Illusionist, the Magnificent Bianchi. His performances startled and amazed audiences across Europe and the American republics for years before he was tragically taken from us nearly a decade ago."
Paolo lifted one finger, pointing to the crowd.
"What you may not remember, is that the Magnificent Bianchi had a child. A daughter whose magical gifts promised to rival even those of her illustrious father.
"In the confusion and chaos of the master magician's death, his daughter was lost. These last ten years, she has been living in exile.
"A princess among magic folk thanks to her father's achievements, she traveled from tribe to town. She lived and studied among the great wizards of Europe, the conjurers of the Orient, and the viziers of her mother's ancestral home in Old Africa!"
Paolo's voice rose, as his flourishes became more animated.
"And now, she has returned to us! Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back to Lang & Perrault's World Famous Circus, the Amazing Bianca!"
Neve had to admit that Paolo could still get the crowd going. She hadn't seen him this animated in years. The people in the stands burst into enthusiastic applause, but she knew that it was for Paolo's performance, much more than a real show of anticipation to see her.
Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series) Page 6