Threadbare- The Traveling Show

by Alexandra DeMers

  “So he used inquestors to keep you in check.” Marmi exhaled a ribbon of smoke that seemed to point straight to Amandine. “As I am sure you noticed, we’ve already got an inquestor on us. If I take you on, the only thing you could possibly offer me is more trouble.”

  Glorious remained kneeling. He had not yet run out of offerings. “I can help bring the others back.”

  Glancing up from her meaningless task, Amandine could tell that Glorious had struck a tender nerve. Marmi bit the mouthpiece on her pipe and used a gravelly voice to hide her emotion. “Tell me who wants to return.”

  “Everyone. The freaks, the acts, and even some of Johnstone's original people.” He closed up his suitcase. “All I want is to join you. I was able to bring my own truck. I have everything I need to take care of myself, so I don't require much, just a job and a group of nice folks to travel with.”

  Marmi snarled, “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s all the truth, ma’am. I swear it.”

  She jabbed her pipe in his direction. “You’re hiding something. I can’t see what it is, but it’s dangerous, and you want to use it to coerce me.”

  Glorious turned his hat in his hands humbly. “You’re right, ma’am. I haven’t been completely upfront with you.”

  Amandine’s mouth fell open a little in astonishment. Could Marmi’s Infinite Sight be true? Could she really see all?

  “Well, then!” Marmi snapped. “Out with it or out with you!

  “I got the feeling that you might not trust me, what with my employment history and all, so I brought somebody to vouch for me.” He replaced his hat, knowing that the conversation was quickly reaching its end. “Heard he was one of yours, so I brought him home. Baji Rao is sleeping in my truck.”

  “Rao?” This seemed to be the last thing Marmi expected to hear. It shocked her so badly that she spoke his name as a question, the first Amandine had ever heard. “I thought... I thought Rao was dead.”

  Eager to prove his goodwill, Glorious beckoned to her, and Marmi flew out of the tent behind him. Amandine abandoned the gown and followed. They moved quickly through the crowds, over to where the guests were parked.

  Glorious drove an old, red, electrician's truck, and the back was loaded with boxes of lights, wires, and other pieces of scrap. Marmi looked into the cab. A huge figure covered in a moth-eaten woolen blanket was sleeping across the bench seat. She wrenched the door open and the figure stirred.

  From Marmi's emotional reaction to Rao's return, Amandine expected to see a lost husband or brother. What appeared before them in the cab was a full-grown, ten-foot long, four-hundred-pound Bengal tiger. He lifted his head and stared at Marmi with his jaws agape, black tufted ears twitching in her direction. Suddenly, he pounced like a golden flash and flatted Marmi to the dirt.

  Amandine shrieked.

  A crowd circled around them to see what the trouble was. Sasha, Piotr, Jean-Claude, and Ambroise came charging through the throng, shouldering people aside. To Amandine’s surprise, they didn’t defend their matriarch. Instead, all four men dog-piled on the animal, crying out in Russian and French.

  “Koshka vernulas!”

  “Tu es un chaton méchant!”

  Through the chaos, Amandine spotted Marmi half-pinned by this enormous cat, squeezing his neck and weeping into his fur while he rubbed his yellow teeth across her shoulder. “My sweet baby,” she sobbed. “My ferocious Baji Rao, where have you been all this time?”

  “Baji Rao ghar hai!” Chitra cried, and the dancers leaped into the pile on top of the tiger.

  Marmi decided that she'd had enough as more of her cast-members threw themselves into the joyous reunion on the ground. Glorious took both of her arms and hauled her upright, but her long costume got stuck. Marmi was able to get free when the tiger rolled over to accept scratches on his belly.

  René hurried over from the freak show. He squatted to ruffle the tiger’s face between his hands, and Amandine noticed a bright yellow book tucked into his back pocket. “It’s good to see you again, mon ami.” He gave Rao’s fur a violent tousle while the tiger chuffed and gently mouthed his forearm.

  “What’s going on here?” Coronado demanded once he finally made his dramatic appearance.

  “Rao’s come home,” Marmi beamed. “And he brought a musician back with him.”

  Lily Aerfeldt had just locked the cafe door for the night. She was about to start cleaning the floors when she heard a tap at the front window. At first she didn't see anybody in the darkness, but as her eyes adjusted, she spotted a man waving to get her attention. She politely shook her head and pointed to the hours posted on the door. He pantomimed begging pitifully, and she was about to refuse him again until the streetlight happened to glint off of the silver catamount on his shoulder.

  Lily dropped her broom and ran to unlock the door; she knew what happened to people that denied service to inquestors.

  Twenty minutes passed, and all he had asked for was black coffee. She resumed cleaning the floor in silence, pausing every few minutes to refill his cup while he read a newspaper in the booth nearest the window. When that was finished, and she had nothing left to do but wait for the Inquestor to leave, she pretended to clean the counter again.

  “Miss?”

  Lily jumped.

  “Sorry. I didn't catch your name.”

  “Aerfeldt, Inquestor, sir,” she said, rubbing even harder at the laminate surface. She heard the booth squeak, and she glanced up to see that he had turned to face her.

  “That's a mouthful. Got anything shorter?”

  Quietly, she answered, “Lily, sir.”

  “Lily, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind bringing me more coffee?” He playfully shook his empty cup in her direction.

  “Yes, Inquestor, sir.” She reached for the nearly empty pot. At this rate, she'd need to brew him another. “Can I get anything else for you?”

  “What have you got?” he asked.

  “Well...” She tried to remember what was in the refrigerator. “The cook left a while ago, but I can whip up a sandwich. We always got pie or maybe a slice of leftover cake in the back.”

  “Actually, what I’d really appreciate is a little company.”

  She fumbled the coffee pot. “S-sir?”

  “Please sit.” He indicated the seat across from him. “Let’s talk awhile.”

  Lily trembled as she slid into the booth. She touched her yellow hair nervously, coiling the end around her finger while she waited for his next demand. To her puzzlement, he seemed to be waiting for her to speak first.

  “So, Inquestor… is there anything good in the newspaper?”

  He chuckled. “You don't have to keep calling me that. ‘Carver’ will do.”

  “Mister... Carver?” she asked carefully.

  “Miss Aerfeldt,” he responded with a nod. He tipped the page downwards so she could see what he was reading. “In answer to your question, there's plenty of good stuff in the newspaper. Listen to this. You won't believe it.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Emmy, I got engaged to the girl of my dreams, but since then she has become another person. To put it bluntly, she has grown so fat, she's nearly added another person! I thought she was supposed to get plump long, long after we've been married. How do I get back the thin girl I proposed to? Help me! Dread to be Wed.”

  Carver glanced up to check Lily's response. She was confused, but she politely tried to keep her expression neutral.

  “I think it's his own fault,” he said, ignoring whatever Emmy had to say on the matter. “He's a young fellow, so it’s very likely he’s with the army. He has all of his NAR agent perks, including storehouse privileges. If her family was having a hard time getting food, he probably used that to win her over in the first place. This one is easy. Stop feeding your fiance, and she won't get fat.”

  He shook his head and scanned the page again. Tapping another letter, he exclaimed, “Here's one I can better relate to. 'Dear Emmy, my husband insists that I starch
his shirts. Do I have to? I’m a welder, not a laundress. Signed, To Starch, Or Not To Starch?'” He pounded the table so hard, he made the flatware rattle. “Absolutely! A man’s shirt should always be as crisp and starchy as a bag of potato chips!”

  A giggle escaped from Lily, and a bit of tension seemed to vanish along with it. She thought perhaps all he wanted was a little friendly conversation, so she tried to treat him like a regular patron. She noted his perfect black suit. “I bet your wife spends ages taking care of your uniforms.”

  “I’m not married,” he said, putting his paper away.

  She wasn't sure where to focus her attention because each time she looked up from the table, he was watching her intently. While he didn't seem quite so threatening when he was giving his own take on the advice column, her instincts still told her to be wary.

  “A bachelor?” she asked lightly.

  “Unfortunately,” he pouted. “I tried to get a girl to come out for coffee with me earlier, but she shut me down.”

  “Ouch,” Lily said, feeling a little more at ease. “Tough luck.”

  “To make it worse, my boss is making me drag around a bunch of academy-hopefuls, and they saw the whole thing.”

  “How embarrassing.” She was leaning forward now.

  “Honestly, I think those goons scared her off.”

  “That’s not it. I think it was—” She stopped abruptly, realizing that she was being too careless.

  “It was what?” he pressed.

  Timidly, she responded, “Maybe it's because you're an inquestor.”

  He frowned. “Do ladies not like inquestors?”

  She grimaced and shook her head slowly.

  Carver looked surprised. “Why not? I make good money. I have a nice apartment in Nieuwestad. I mean, just look at my beautiful car!” He pointed at the curvaceous Interceptor parked outside, gleaming beneath the streetlights. “It's the intimidating amount of laundry, isn't it? Unbelievable! The inquestors’ strict grooming standards are ruining my love life!”

  Lily giggled again and tried to reassure him. “It's not about all that.”

  “Then what is it?” he pleaded. “Tell me, because I have had just the absolute worst dumb luck in the romance department.”

  “Maybe you should write to Emmy.” She tried to keep a straight face.

  Carver burst out laughing. “I mean it!”

  “Alright,” she gave in. “How to put this? It's because they're afraid of you. They're afraid of what you do.”

  “Is that so?” The Inquestor's smile vanished, and his voice became measured and low. “And what, precisely, are they so afraid of? What, exactly, do they think I do?”

  Her breath stopped in her throat.

  “Are you afraid of me, Lily?” he demanded.

  If she had offended the Inquestor, it was too late and no use to apologize. Her eyes dropped down to her lap, and she said nothing. Unexpectedly, he reached across the table and tilted her chin upwards with a finger.

  “You shouldn't be,” he chirped. “Go on, ask me anything.”

  She was unsure if he was being sincere. The person in front of her was odd, funny, and handsome: nothing like what she had expected an inquestor to be. As if reading her thoughts, he gave up all traces of his official formality and laid back in the booth.

  “I’m an open book. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me, the inquestors, good laundry tips, the best coffee places on the east side of the country...” He trailed off, smiling warmly at her.

  Lily had no idea what she could possibly ask him. The first question that came to mind was silly, but it was all she could think of.

  “What's... your favorite color?”

  “Red,” he said seriously. “It’s all I ever see.”

  She rearranged the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Where’re you from?”

  “Arizona, pre-war. Now I'm in Nieuwestad when I'm not in the field.”

  “What brings you to the cafe tonight?”

  “Needed some coffee, and this was the first place I found with its lights on.” He smiled, amused by the way she slid a sugar packet across the tabletop just to keep her hands busy. “I came from a show just outside of town. I didn’t see the whole thing, though. I left during the magic act.”

  “Why? No good?”

  “No, it was really good for such a little production. I just couldn’t figure out how his magic tricks worked, and that was making me angry.” He sulked, clearly still irritated that he had been fooled. “Anyway, as soon as I was out of there, I got rid of the barnacles stuck to my stern and went to spend some time alone.”

  “And those barnacles, are they making it hard for you to do your job?”

  He groaned and rubbed his temples. “Like you wouldn't believe. They’re all about yelling and punching and making a mess of things. Don't get me wrong, they’re good agents. They're just what the NAR wants, but they’re just what I don't want right now.”

  Lily had stopped her fidgeting, completely engrossed in this unexpected conversation with the Inquestor. When she first saw him, she was struck by his exemplary appearance and fearsome reputation. Now as it was growing late, she could start to see imperfections in him. His black hair was coming loose from its style, and he needed a shave. His dark eyes were tired but seemed content for the moment. Now that she had the courage to really look at him, she saw something she never expected to see in one of the most dangerous men in the NAR: vulnerability.

  “What do you want right now?” she asked.

  “I want to be left alone!” He lightly hit the table with the edge of his hand to emphasize each point. “I want to be free to do my job the way I want to do it. I want a raise! I want a vacation! But most of all...”

  Carver dropped his voice a little. Her hand was resting on the table, and he took it cautiously. She didn't flinch or resist. To her own surprise, she smiled at his touch, finding it warm even through his glove.

  “Most of all, I just want one person to share everything I have with, even if it’s only for a little while.”

  They looked into each other's eyes.

  “So,” she said softly. “You don't really want to be alone.”

  Suddenly, the door slammed open, and the bell jangled wildly. Lily yanked her hand away and jumped out of her seat as one of Carver’s blue shadows stalked up to the booth.

  “Speak of the barnacle.” Carver smiled sadly. He went for his mug and found it empty, so he folded his hands and waited for the officer to explain his presence.

  “Pardon me, Inquestor,” the officer said, using respectful words but a very disrespectful tone. “May I please speak with you?”

  “Sure you can, Mister...?” He gestured for him to sit where Lily had just been.

  “Officer Charles Norton,” he said stiffly, taking the seat. “I have been traveling with you for nearly three days, Inquestor. I had hoped that you would at least remember my name.”

  “Sorry.” Carver turned to the waitress and pointed at his mug. “Lily, could I trouble you for some more coffee?”

  Her heart thundering, she nodded curtly and retreated behind the counter. She listened while she prepared a fresh pot.

  “What can I do for you, Chuck?” Carver sighed.

  “Inquestor, we were asked by our captain to assist you in your hunt for rebels. For our efforts, we were to gain some experience to better prepare us for the exam, and with any luck, gain your endorsement to the academy as well.”

  “Yep, I get it,” he nodded mechanically. “You thought tagging along with me would give you an edge over all of the other hopefuls. Anyway, what's your beef?”

  “My beef,” he growled. “Is that there is clearly something up with those side-show freaks, and that girl couldn't be redder if her throat was cut. Yet you're willing to trail them all the way back to Nieuwestad at a snail's pace just to see if it will yield something bigger?”

  Norton expected the Inquestor to interject, but Carver didn't answer. He was preo
ccupied with scooting Lily's sugar packet across the table like a toy car.

  “And that attempt at getting her to come quietly tonight was pathetic! Half the town saw it, and now nobody will respect the inquestors anymore. You should have beat an answer out of her in front of everybody! To top it all off, now those freaks know we're following them.”

  “I'm following them,” Carver corrected him. “If you don’t like the way I handle things, you can go back to Pearisville. I will not have your ego muck up my case.”

  “Your case?” he blustered.

  “Yes.” Carver straightened his posture, and the sugar packet vanished. “My aim isn’t simply ‘get the girl.’ It’s to put an end to the rebellion in the NAR.”

  “But what does she—?”

  “It’s not about her! You need to look at the bigger picture.” He slid the folded newspaper across the table and tapped the front-page photograph to prove his point.

  Surrounded by shackled men and women, Caroline Stewart glared into the camera beneath the headline.

  “Is it coming together yet, Chuck?” Carver said patiently. “Pieces falling into place? Without her mother to protect her, where do you think the girl is going to go? Why is she headed to Nieuwestad in the company of a bunch of transient foreigners?”

  “You think she’s headed to another rebel safehouse?”

  “I think she’s heading to the rebel safehouse.” Carver traced a square around the picture, boxing the prisoners in. “The place where Tall-Me hangs his hat and Cleo kicks off her heels after a hard day’s murder.”

  “But what use is some teenager to the rebel leaders?”

  “Not sure, but if she’s important to them, she’s important to me. What I do know is that she lived in one of their safehouses, and that knowledge alone could be invaluable.” The Inquestor laced his fingers together and stretched, cracking all of his knuckles at once. “Fortunately, I’m very good at getting people to talk.”

  Skimming the article, Norton didn’t realize that his mouth had fallen open. He sputtered, “But the girl’s an air-head! She didn’t even recognize you!”