Everyone was returning to top form, invigorated by their recent success. Everyone wanted to lay claim to a bit of the credit for the circus' renaissance.
It looked as though they were well on their way to becoming a world famous circus again. The entire company, from troupe to crew, buzzed with a hopeful anticipation that had gone missing far too long.
Well, almost the entire company. With two notable exceptions. Bella and Big Max still stalked around the fairgrounds, still scowled at nearly everyone, and still complained endlessly. At least, when they weren't refusing to speak to anyone.
Not that anyone really missed talking to either of them.
The most exciting thing about their return to St. Louis was the venue. Now that they'd returned to some of the larger cities with big playhouses and theaters, they could offer performances in town where they could charge a better admission price.
This morning, the carnival and rides were set up in Riverside Park. Neve's caravan, along with the other performers' tents and wagons, were tucked into a copse of trees overlooking the Mississippi River. There was a lovely scenic bridge over a small stream nearby. The midway spread out over a broad open space in the park. The big top events would take place in a real theater, with gilt on the ceiling and velvet on the seats.
They'd lucked into a fine location downtown, near the municipal monorail. It would be simpler for the performers to travel to and from their homes in the carnival caravan.
Only a few weeks ago, they couldn't have afforded to book an indoor venue, much less had any hope of filling one.
Neve sat in her caravan down by the river, poring over one of Papa's journals. There were more than a dozen of them. She'd been scribbling her own notes in one of the blanks he'd left piled in a cupboard. The four seasons act was going over so well, but she wanted to start thinking ahead to next year.
A knock at the door broke her fierce concentration.
"Good afternoon, love. What are you doing indoors on such a glorious summer day?" Brendan looked dashing as always in a dark grey shirt and black pants tucked into tall black boots. His dark hair was damp, and combed away from his face.
"Studying! What are you doing running around the park when we've got a big opening night tonight?"
She waved him in, putting a kettle on the small boiler stove in her tiny kitchen. The two of them had few things in common, but love of a good strong cup of tea was among them. For her, it was probably due to being raised by an Englishman for the past decade.
"Studying? Don't you ever take a rest?" He settled himself into the upholstered booth that took up one side of the caravan kitchen.
"This is resting, compared to wrangling the animals with Bosworth. I still feel a little bad for leaving him."
"Hasn't Lang hired some help to replace you?"
"Yes. A young boy named Donnie. Worked at a stable in Kansas City. But he's not used to dealing with animals as. . . ."
"Ancient? Decrepit? Maniacally evil?"
"I was going to say 'exotic.' Or maybe 'wild.'"
"Maybe, but you can't deny they're also ancient, decrepit, and a few of them are maniacally evil."
"Brendan, why are you here? Not that I don't enjoy your charming company, but I assume you didn't just drop by to insult the menagerie?"
"True. I suppose I just came to be around you."
Neve nearly dropped the tea kettle. She recovered quickly, pouring two cups.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I find your company calming. As you've said, we've got a very big opening tonight. I was having a little trouble keeping my energy focused."
"Is that your way of saying you're nervous about tonight, too?"
"A true professional is never nervous. We just have trouble managing our excess energy." He grinned at her across the table, as she slid a cup of Earl Grey towards him.
"Well, tell your excess energy to calm down already. Your act is wonderful. Now that Stella doesn't have to worry about getting maimed by Marcus anymore, the two of you have been really pushing the act. It's thrilling to watch you both."
"Really? I have to confess I'm a little disappointed, love."
"You're disappointed I think your act is thrilling?"
"No. The act is fantastic. I'm disappointed you're not at least a little jealous watching Stella and me."
Neve frowned at him, putting a hand to her hip.
"Why should I be jealous? You're not courting Stella, are you?"
"No. My relationship with Stella is purely professional. Besides, she's madly in love with Nicky Wheeler."
"Really? I had no idea! How did you find that out?"
"I have my ways. Stella and I know exactly where we stand with each other. It's my relationship with you I can't quite puzzle out."
Neve sucked in a deep breath.
"You're the best friend I've ever had, Brendan. I don't know what I would have done without you this year."
"Friends, love? Is that all then?"
"I told you the night I first performed in the big top, I'm not sure I would've gone to Mr. Lang without your encouragement."
"And if all I've accomplished is introducing a great magician to the world, I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that. But I think you know I want more than to be your friend, Neve."
She took a slow sip of tea, trying to compose her own "excess energy" and collect her thoughts.
"Yes. I guess I have known that for a while now." She gave him a crooked smile. "And I think I'd like that, too. I know you make me feel brave, and beautiful, and like I could accomplish anything. I think I want to be in love with you Brendan. I think I've lived without love for a very long time, and the idea of loving you is very tempting."
"Then why not just leap? You fall back and trust your alchemy to catch you in front of a crowd. Why can't you fall and trust me to catch you?"
"You've hit on exactly the problem, Brendan. I like you, very much. I might even love you. But I can't quite trust you. There's something you're not telling me. Every conversation, every time we're together, I can feel it. There's a question in the air between us. You won't answer it, and I haven't been willing to ask it. I think we're both afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That whatever this is between us, it's not strong enough to survive an honest answer. We're both afraid whatever the secret is you're keeping, it's something that won't stay buried forever, and it'll tear us apart if it ever comes to light."
Brendan scowled down at his tea cup. "So why don't you just ask it, then? Ask it, and we'll find out who can trust whom."
"Or, for now, I could just enjoy being happy for a change. Look, Brendan, for years my life was nothing but disappointment and tragedy. Now, it seems like things are finally changing for the better. Can't I just enjoy that for a little while? You and Mr. Lang can just keep your deep, dark secrets a little bit longer."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, we keep getting to know each other. We keep enjoying each other's company. We keep encouraging each other, or calming each other's excess energy, or what have you. We learn to trust each other. Then maybe, when I'm ready to ask and you're ready to spill your secrets, we'll have built something strong enough to last."
Brendan slurped his tea, a pensive expression clouding his features. "Well, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for when I came here to ask you how you felt about me, but I guess it's also not the worst response I could get." He slid out of the booth, and headed for the door.
"I'll see you tonight, then. Break a leg."
As he left, Neve exhaled a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
It seemed like all the important men in her life had secrets. Uncovering Papa's secret journals had led to wonderful things.
Whatever secrets Lang and Brendan held, she feared that revealing them might not end nearly so well.
Fortune and Folly
Bella Venezia stifled a grumble as she crept down the midway, once again headed to t
he Mirror's tent and trying to avoid attracting attention. Instead of her emerald green outfit, she wore a dress of deep blue and plum colored stripes. A matching hat perched on her red coiffure, its dark veil wrapped around to preserve her privacy.
She found herself following a middle-aged couple accompanied by a gawky teenaged boy and a small girl with pale blond hair. Although she clearly didn't belong with such a bourgeois group, she attempted to blend in behind them.
"I still think you should get credit, Mama." The teenager sulked. "It's pretty obvious she's using your featherfall formulae, from what I've read."
The boy waved a newspaper with an image of "Bianca" floating above the floor of the big top. Bella cringed at the mention of her rival.
"First of all, the Alchemists Guild holds the patents. If your mother demanded credit every time anyone used it, she'd spend ten hours a day signing paperwork. You might as well consign her to the fifth circle of Hell, son."
"Umm! Daddy, you used the H word!" the little girl giggled.
"I'm talking about the place of perdition, Sweet Pea. It's not a cuss word if you're talking about the place."
The man pushed a pair of spectacles back up onto his nose and ruffled his daughter's flaxen hair. His own was black, but greying at the temples a bit.
Bella thought it unfair that men could age attractively like that. When her own hair started to sprout silver strands, she had diligently dyed it back to a flaming red. The spotlight had no mercy for a mature woman.
The mother piped in with a spirited reply.
"Not to mention if I took credit for every use of featherfall, I'd have to take credit for a few other things. And since I'd prefer not to take credit for starting a war, how about we just let me enjoy the circus in peace?"
With that, the odd family turned off towards the Ferris wheel, leaving Bella to wonder how such an ordinary-looking woman could expect even her own children to believe such a tall tale.
Everyone knew the alchemist Greta Merryweather had invented the anti-gravity formulae decades ago. She'd probably solved the Philosopher's Stone and still looked like a nubile youth. It was unlikely she resembled a frumpy matron with old-fashioned braids looped around her head, in a dowdy shirtwaist with scorch marks on one elbow.
And the greying man beside her couldn't possibly be Kit Merryweather, the renowned engineer. Their exploits were legend. People that famous certainly weren't wandering around a circus outside St. Louis with two chatty children.
She supposed children were foolish and would believe nearly anything. She had certainly been naive as a child. She'd believed hard work would be enough to earn the fame and glory she deserved. She'd been wrong.
For a year, she'd waited patiently for Lang and Perrault to acknowledge her greatness. She waited for Bianchi to step aside, and take his miserable brat with him.
But then she'd grown up, and adjusted her outlook and tactics. She'd taken what was being unfairly withheld from her. She was no longer the innocent farm girl, Bertha Vane.
What she'd done to become Bella Venezia was her worst secret, the thing which could topple her happiness forever. She'd sacrificed her youthful innocence, done something terrible to become the Queen of the Air. Deep down, she knew she would do it all again.
In fact, she might have to do exactly that. Bella knew the awful cost of obtaining the recognition which was her due.
Now she needed to discover what it would cost to keep it.
She slipped away from the crowds and into the dark, silent tent of the Mirror of Destiny. It was finally time to face both her past, and her future.
"What is it you would know?"
The accented spectral voice seemed to fill the tent. How could no one hear this outside? It occurred to her for the first time that she'd walked past the tent often while the Mirror had a customer, and had never heard anything.
Bella steeled her spine. Tricks and trinkets. That's all this was; the usual pretense of a sideshow con artist. Up until now, she'd never believed the Mirror had any real mystical power to tell the future, or read the past. But now, at the end of her rope, she was willing to suspend her skepticism. Her usual tools of flattery, snooping and threats from Max weren't getting her the answers she needed. It was time to try a different approach.
Her last meeting with Vladimir Propp had not gone as planned. Instead of offering her a position with the Royal Russian Circus, he'd peppered her with questions about Neve, or rather "Bianca." She'd begun this week anticipating making a triumphant exit from Lang & Perrault's.
Now, she was a little afraid she'd be making a much less satisfactory one, and not by her choosing. That insufferable English twit Lang might be planning to replace her with Bianchi's doe-eyed daughter. It was unthinkable.
She needed to know. Only Max knew the lengths to which she'd gone in her rise to fame. If there was a chance someone was poised to take away what she'd clawed and scraped to accomplish, she had to find out. She settled herself on the bench nervously, removing her hat and veil.
Once again, a brisk wind swirled through the tent. The mirror clouded with greenish fog before resolving into the veiled face of the fortune teller.
The moment seemed to demand a certain melodrama, so she cleared her throat and prepared her sweetest theatrical voice. She dropped several more coins in the casket than she'd given for the tonic. Buttering up the oracle never hurt.
"Tell me, wise Mirror, am I not still the Queen of the Air, finest performer in this company? I hear whispers and gossip, but you know the truth. Is there anyone who would, who could, take my place?"
The Mirror's smile widened and her eyes narrowed.
"Bella Venezia, you are still a beautiful woman and a fine acrobat. But the whispers you hear are the voice of the future, warning you your reign is coming to a close. The voice of a ghost from the past also, I think? A ghost with good reason to see you replaced with another?"
Bella sucked in a tense breath. No. No one knew except Max, and he would never betray her. The Mirror continued.
"You are not the fairest at the fair,
O queen of the air.
There is one who will take your place before you know.
Lips red as blood, hair black as ebony, heart pure as snow."
"No!" shouted Bella.
She stood in a rage, grabbed the casket of coins, and threw it at the Mirror with all the strength and fury of a woman who'd pulled herself out of obscurity once upon a time, and pulled herself up silken cords every night since.
The mirror shattered, bits of glass flying across the room. Bella felt something warm slide down her cheek. She touched her hand to her face and saw blood on her fingertips. A sliver of glass had sliced her cheek as it flew.
She kicked over the bench, howling in rage. She tried to grab the curtain, intent on finding the fortune teller and beating the blasphemy out of her.
But her hands couldn't seem to grip the fabric. It seemed both immaterial, and impassable. She couldn't gather it in her hands, nor could she push past it.
Panting and frustrated, she kicked the bench again. She grabbed her hat, which had been inadvertently crushed by the bench. She brushed the bits of glass from it and perched it on her head as best she could, wrapping the veil around her.
She turned towards the door, only to see her path blocked by a woman wearing a heavy black veil, over an old fashioned stiff bonnet. She was dressed in a dark grey gown from the middle of the last century, with heavy skirts and long sleeves. The woman wore dove grey gloves. Not an inch of her skin or hair was visible. Her face was a shadowy sketch behind the veil.
"That was foolish."
The Mirror's voice no longer resonated through the tent, but was still recognizable.
"Seven years' bad luck. That's a long time for a woman of your age." The voice held bitter laughter barely in check.
"Luck is for suckers," said Bella. "Or lying charlatans like you. Now get out of my way."
"If you're unsatisfied with your future, you've
only yourself to blame. You laid the foundation for it with your actions in the past. But if you're unhappy with your fortune, then take back your coin."
She spun a gold coin in her fingers for a moment. The disc shimmered mesmerizingly before her. Bella couldn't draw her eyes away from it. Time seemed strangely suspended for a moment.
The veiled woman tossed the gold coin towards Bella, breaking the spell. She turned to snatch it out of the air. When she looked back, the Mirror was gone. She spun around, looking for the missing fortune teller.
As she whirled around, she gasped in surprise. The tent looked exactly as it had when she'd entered. The mirror lay against the curtain, whole and shimmering. The bench sat before it, perfectly aligned with the dividing wall. The casket of coins sat beside the bench undisturbed, but empty. It was as if she'd never been here at all.
Only the crunch of broken glass beneath her shoes, and the streak of blood on her hand remained to give witness to what had occurred.
Regrets and Recriminations
Bella stood outside the omnibus, watching through the window as Andrew Lang stood admiring his reflection.
The brown tweed suit he wore was little different in styling, or size for that matter, than any of the suits he'd worn for years. But this one was new. It was unmistakable, perfectly sized and cut, with no barely concealed worn spots or stains.
Some time while they'd been here in St. Louis, Lang had the audacity to buy himself a new suit.
She couldn't remember the last time the Englishman had a new suit. It was definitely an omen, but whether it was a good one for her or not remained to be seen. She stifled a snicker as the paunchy older man preened in front of his looking glass.
Unlike Monsieur Perrault, Andrew had never been much of a dandy. The old Frenchman had had a taste for couture and fads which Bella had appreciated, even shared. There was an unfortunate period when the old man had been enamored of purple velvet over shirts frothing with lace at the neck and sleeves. But Perrault had always been the showman of the two, flamboyant and effusive. It had suited him.
Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series) Page 8