Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series)

by Katina French

  He alone knew about what she'd done ten years ago. He'd kept the fool Italian occupied while she had tinkered with his props and formulae.

  She'd told him it was only meant to be an embarrassment. That the trick would blow up in Bianchi's face, and he'd leave the circus in shame. She still told herself the same thing.

  Maybe it was true. Maybe she would have stopped if the accident had only humiliated Bianchi, and if he had stayed anyway. Maybe she wouldn't have kept engineering accidents until he was dead or gone.

  There was no way to know that now, and it didn't matter. The first accident had killed him. She doubted anyone would care whether she'd meant to do it or not if they ever found out. So she might as well get straight to the point, now that his daughter had taken his place in her way.

  When Bianchi had died, she'd gone to Max weeping, swearing she'd never meant for anyone to get hurt, much less killed. Her plan had gone horribly wrong, but no one but Max would believe her. She needed him to keep her secret or else she'd be imprisoned or worse, hanged, for something that wasn't her fault.

  For years, she was sure he believed she didn't mean to kill the magician. She couldn't say exactly when she'd started to suspect his opinion had changed.

  Whenever it was, it was long after he'd obviously ceased to care. He must know his own part in the affair would come out if she were exposed.

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  "Do ya have the money?" the rough man coughed fitfully. As his hand stretched out, the raw marks of shackles could be seen gouged into his wrist. Max handed him a small bag of coins.

  "Half now, and half when we have proof it's done." Max spoke in a hushed tone. They had only moments before they were missed. It was vital their alibi be unshakable.

  "How'm I s'posed to prove that? Ya sed ya don't want no chance of the body bein' found?"

  True. But she didn't trust the man. Max had assured her he was a killer, sentenced for murder and only just released this week. Still, had he killed someone he hated, or a stranger who threatened him? It wasn't the same thing as slitting a pretty girl's throat.

  She knew she couldn't rest easy until she had some kind of proof the girl was gone. Still, they couldn't have the girl's body lying around where it could be discovered and identified.

  "Well, then, bring back a part," she cooed. "A small part. Something no one will necessarily recognize as human. I think the heart will do. Yes, that will be perfect. Bring me her heart, and you'll get the rest of the bounty."

  The shaggy, filthy man blanched a little.

  "Is that a problem?" Bella hissed.

  The man shook his head.

  "You might not have enough time to take care of it before someone comes looking for her. I'd take her out of town. There are barges passing through on the river all night. I've seen them. Grab her, knock her out, and jump onto one. You'll be in Chicago in a couple of hours. I'm sure there are plenty of dark corners to do the job, and plenty of places to dump a body in the city."

  He nodded. "The barges, they dock right close to the slaughterhouses in the meat packing district. Shouldn't be no trouble at all."

  She handed him a knife with a harp carved into its handle. "Use this, and leave it with the body. Bring the heart back to me. You know where to find us. We'll be watched closely after it's discovered she's missing, so you'd better do it quickly."

  "It'll be done by dawn, missus. I've no wish to drag this out any longer'n it has to be. Sooner it's done, sooner I can leave this hellhole of a town."

  He tucked the knife into the pockets of his ragged pants, and melted into the darkness. The cheroot lay smoldering on the ground where he'd stood. Max crushed it beneath his foot.

  With that assurance the best they could expect, Max and Bella darted back into the street, returning to a group that included Noel, Gloria and Jonathan the sword-swallower. Stella and one of the chorus girls ambled alongside Nicky Wheeler, who was chatting up Gloria.

  "What was that all about, you two?" The equestrienne giggled. "Couldn't wait to get back to the old caravan without getting a little friendly?" Gloria had possibly enjoyed a little too much of the restaurant's very decent red wine.

  "Apparently Max's bladder can't hold as much as his biceps," chided Bella, elbowing the strong man. "He had to stop for a little relief before we all headed to the tavern." She wrapped her arm casually around the big man's arm, winking at the others.

  With that, they walked into the radius of a flickering gaslight. But their cheerful companions were still left utterly in the dark.

  Grave Matters

  "It's a beautiful night."

  Neve stared up at a gorgeous full moon as she walked down the cobbled street beside Brendan. He was looking unusually sedate in a dark wool suit. Neve thought she preferred his outlandish circus outfit.

  "It's hard to believe we're only a few weeks away from our first performance in Chicago." Her voice was wistful, and a little anxious.

  "I can't believe it's going to take that long. Please tell me why, at the apex of our momentum, our illustrious leader decided we should take a week off performances?"

  "Well, the venue we were offered couldn't fit us in until then. We could have continued performing around some of the smaller towns, and we still might add a few shows if Andrew can pull together the bookings. But Chicago can open a lot of doors. If we really wow the crowds, the stories in those papers will make it all across the republics, possibly to the Old World.

  "He wanted to give everyone a chance to polish their acts. Not to mention we just got the funding to buy some of the things we'll need for these bigger cities. We need time to get some new costumes, some new backdrops, some new props--"

  "Some animals that aren't clearly geriatric--" Brendan interrupted.

  Neve smacked Brendan's arm. "Our animals aren't geriatric. They're just . . . seasoned."

  "I think Jazeera was on the Ark."

  "Couldn't have been. God himself couldn't have coaxed her up the ramp."

  Brendan cackled. "Could that be a joke? From you? Well, I'm convinced. Miracles really are possible."

  "I've got a sense of humor!" She was a little offended.

  "Undoubtedly. I just haven't seen you exercise it much in the year I've known you. Believe me, I'm happy to hear it." He tucked her arm into his and stepped across the street, pausing a moment for a passing steam carriage.

  "So you don't mind the changes in me lately?" She had to admit she was a little worried Brendan was only interested in her when she was a damsel who needed saving. Or gentle shoves in the direction of the stage.

  Now that she was comparatively successful and well-off, she worried his massive ego might not take well to being the poorer and less famous of the two. Tales overheard from bedtime gossip during her years in sleeping in the women's tent told her men could be strange like that.

  "I'm delighted with the changes in you. I'll admit you make a fetchingly tragic Ophelia, but I'd far rather court a lively Miranda."

  "So we're courting now, are we? I suppose I'd prefer Ferdinand over Hamlet, myself. I never did care much for men who soliloquize."

  "Oh, we are most definitely courting." He drew her into his arms, and kissed her gently. Neve felt the world fall away. Like a tightrope artist leaping to the safety net, she fell into his embrace.

  Reluctantly, he released her, looking at her cautiously, like a hunter watching a rabbit to see which way it would run.

  "What? No disappearing in a puff of smoke this time?"

  "No wand up my sleeve. No disappearing." She smiled up at him. "I think I'm ready to stay in one place for a while. Well, as much as someone who lives in a traveling circus can do that."

  Brendan regarded her solemnly for a moment. "I don't think the problem has been your peripatetic ways. I think it's been the opposite. I don't think you've moved from this spot in ten years."

  Surprised by the comment, Neve took a moment to survey her surroundings. They were at the gate to St. Peter's Cemetery.
The realization hit her like one of the cannonballs Max juggled in his act.

  "How did you know?" Her eyes were wide and filled quickly with unshed tears.

  "Lang told me." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why here, of all places?"

  She took a deep breath. It had been a long while since she told anyone how her parents ended up together in an Illinois cemetery.

  "The circus was wintering in Chicago. It was always one of our favorite destinations, so instead of spending the whole season in the southern republics or the Mediterranean, we'd come here. Some of the acts would book indoor shows in the city, make a little extra money in the off season.

  "We usually stayed here, in Joliet. It was cheaper than Chicago, but still close to the city by steam ferry.

  "This is where Mama got sick with pneumonia."

  There was a long pause, as Brendan gave her a moment to collect herself. He patted her gently on the back, and squeezed her shoulder. She took a deep breath and continued.

  "When she died, Papa couldn't bear to take her back to Omaha. Her parents were already gone, but he couldn't face their graves. He said they'd overcome their objections, letting her marry a circus man, and trusted he'd take care of her. He felt like he'd failed them. And Mama. And me. So she was buried here."

  She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and mopped at her eyes. He waited patiently for her to continue.

  "Three years later, when the accident happened at that last Chicago show. . . ." Her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it, determined to finish the story.

  "She was so close. It didn't make sense not to lay them to rest together. Andrew and Charles handled everything, but I remember this place. How could I ever forget? But I've never been back since.

  "Whenever the circus passed through here, I'd keep to my quarters. Or find extra work."

  Tears streamed down Neve's cheeks.

  "Why did you bring me here?"

  "Because I thought you were finally ready to move on. You can't face your future till you've dealt with your past. Someday I'll tell you how I came by that particularly hard piece of wisdom.

  "But for now, I want to see you shine in the present, love. I think your parents would want the same. I want to start a future together. I just thought coming here might help you let go of the past."

  Neve looked at the fence surrounding the wooded cemetery. It struck her as a peaceful spot. She hadn't been back since her father's funeral, but she knew Brendan was right.

  In many ways, she'd never left in the first place. She nodded slowly, and let go of his hand.

  "I think I should come with you." He sounded worried. "Joliet seems like a nice enough town, but you shouldn't be walking alone in a graveyard at this time of night."

  "No. I'll be fine. I just need a few minutes alone." She insisted. "You can wait for me right here. I won't be long."

  Reluctantly, Brendan let go of her hand. She passed through the archway. It was dark, but she would have known her way blindfolded.

  The two simple graves sat next to each other, just behind an engraved granite tomb. She took a deep breath, and walked around the corner of the tomb.

  There were her parents' graves. She was overcome with emotion. Grief, regret, gratitude and hope all crashed over her heart like waves breaking on a stormy beach.

  She never heard the stealthy approach of the ragged ex-convict. He slipped up behind her from the shadowed doorway of the tomb, slapped a wet rag across her mouth and nose. His other arm wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground. She struggled, but he'd treated the rag with a sleeping formulae.

  Within seconds, she was unconscious, her last sight the forlorn final resting place of her parents.

  Seven Little Thieves

  "I fink she's dead, Jim."

  "Nah. If she was dead, she'd be turning all gray-like and smellin' worse."

  "Should we kill 'er then?"

  With her eyes closed, Neve heard the distinct sound of someone getting smacked soundly on the back of the head.

  "Now, why'd we do that, Toby? She ain't got hardly no money on her. We dragged her here. She ain't seen nothin' yet. I'da just left 'er on the dock for that lowlife to come back and haul off, if I didn't think she was worth nothin'. That don't make no sense. She's dressed nice enough, might be some rich fella's kid. Wife, maybe.

  "Can't get ransom from a dead body. Or a reward neither, if we wanna play it that way. I figger we find out if she's worth sumthin', and if she ain't, then we kill 'er."

  Neve cracked her eye open. She was in a dingy room that might have been a tumbledown shack, or it might have been someone's shed. It was dark and difficult to tell. And she was surrounded by seven dirty children, three girls and four boys.

  Jim, who was clearly the oldest, couldn't have been more than sixteen. The boy he'd been talking to, Toby, looked like the youngest.

  Neither her hands nor her feet were bound, and there was no gag over her mouth. If these children had kidnapped her, they were either not very experienced, or couldn't afford rope or rags.

  She opened her eyes and they all jumped back a little.

  "Oh, uh, hey there, Miss."

  Jim looked shiftily at his companions. He was probably wondering how much she'd heard.

  "We're sure glad to see yer all right."

  Well, that one changed his tune faster than a street fiddler after a two dollar tip. She wondered how much his tough talk about killing had been bluster to impress the smaller kids.

  "Where am I?" There was an awful taste in her mouth, which felt like it was filled with cotton batting, and her head throbbed.

  "Yer in Chicago, lady. Where'd ya fink?"

  This was the smallest one, Toby, who'd first thought she was dead. He couldn't have been more than five. His pale face was covered in dirt, and his scraggly blond hair was stuffed under a cabbie hat.

  "I was in Joliet, last I remember. I think." Talking made her cough and gag, which shot a searing pain through her head. She moaned and leaned back again. It felt like she was lying on a stack of straw bales.

  What had happened? She'd only left Brendan for a moment and someone had grabbed her. She remembered overwhelming terror and a sickening smell, then everything went dim except for a few vague, disconnected moments of drowsy awareness. She recalled a rocking sensation, rough fabric scrubbing against her face, and the smell of water. Her body ached all over, and a couple of spots probably sported fresh bruises.

  "Well, yer in Chicago now. Looks like we rescued ya." A brown-skinned boy who could have been eight or ten, depending on how many meals he'd missed in his short life, grinned at her. Toby nodded in solemn agreement.

  "Frank ain't kiddin', lady. We saw some feller carryin' somethin' in a big burlap sack down by the docks. We thought the sack might have somethin'--"

  Jim's boot made swift contact with Toby's ankle. As Toby yelped, Jim picked up the story.

  "We thought it might have somebody in it. Somebody in trouble. So we scared him off. He took off towards the abattoir, where they kill the pigs. We hear 'em squealin' all the time. Matter of fact, heard one of 'em squeal not ten minutes later, and they don't usually butcher till the sun comes up. Seems he was aimin' to kill somethin', one way or another." Jim's hazel eyes never left her own, as if he'd take her measure by how she reacted.

  She kept her face neutral. Nobody grew up in a circus without learning how to remain calm in the face of the unexpected.

  "You scared off the man who brought me here? How?"

  "Oh, we got ways." An older girl with pale skin and auburn hair in a single braid gave her a hard look. "This here is our territory. We got ways to protect it from intruders." She crossed her arms in front of her battered overalls, as if daring Neve to challenge her.

  "Oh, Georgie, back off. She ain't skeered of you." Toby picked the story up again, undeterred by boots to his shin or quelling looks from his elders. "Anyhow, he runned off and dropped the bag, and a great knife he was totin', too. So that's how we
rescued ya."

  He beamed with pride and handed her a knife.

  Neve felt her mask of calm control slip as she recognized it. It was a slim, perfectly balanced blade with a harp carved into the hilt. She'd seen Brendan spinning it between his fingers many times. Spinning it, and then locking it away in a chest as he did all his blades whenever they weren't in use.

  He guarded that chest as if his life depended on it. Since the knives were costly and his living did depend on it, she'd never given it much thought.

  Her mind went back to their conversation in her caravan, how she'd been afraid to press him for answers about his past. Could whatever secret he hid be so bad, he'd kidnap or threaten her to protect it? Surely he'd know he could trust her? What if someone else had found it out? Maybe they could have blackmailed him.

  She refused to consider the possibility that he'd have hurt her. Her heart ached just thinking it. Of course, her body had been aching since she woke up. Someone had treated her like a sack of dirty laundry, and Brendan was the only person who knew she'd gone into the graveyard.

  Why hadn't he just been honest with her?

  She stretched and sat up. They'd laid her on a pallet on top of a few bales of packing straw. She saw the burlap sack crumpled in the corner. It looked like her young rescuers had brought her here still tucked inside it. Her lovely dress was ruined. She didn't even have a monkey to blame this time.

  "What were you all doing at the docks so early?"

  "Oh, we always check the docks at dawn for--"

  "We check to see if they have any work," Jim said, interrupting a girl of about eight, who must've been Frank's sister, possibly his twin. Their faces were mirror images. "Hard to come by good honest work, if yer an orphan." Jim glared at the others, demanding their silence.