Threadbare- The Traveling Show

by Alexandra DeMers

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She hugged her knees like a child and touched her face through the red fabric.

  “When aren’t inquestors a problem?” he asked with contempt. “They're trouble, even when they're on our side.”

  “Stop worrying. You've spent too long in that submarine.” She scooted across the floor until she sat directly behind him and leaned onto his broad back. Softly, she asked, “Does the earth still move, mon amour?”

  “No,” he replied with a smile. She tilted her head against his shoulder and relaxed with a deep sigh. “Only when you do that, my dear.”

  They sat together that way for some time. Colorful beams from the stage below filled the empty room through the split in the curtains and Caroline watched the lights dance across the ceiling.

  “Thank you for not being angry with me about Marcus,” she murmured.

  Will looked up from the scope. He didn't think he could bear it if she ever brought it up, but now that it was out in the open, he was glad she did.

  “I don’t blame you, my dear. He may be quite a bit younger, but you are still a very beautiful woman. You believed that your husband was dead. I worried that you were lost to me until I finally met Marcus in person.” He chuckled and returned his attention to the gun. “Then I didn't worry anymore.”

  “I won’t try to deceive you, Will. We did grow very close.”

  “I suspected as much,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I will try not to be upset about what’s past, Caroline of mine, but I want to know. What happened?”

  “It all started about a year after we heard about the Osiris,” she replied. “Amandine was starving. It would have killed you to see her, Will. She was fading when she should have been thriving, and all the while, she kept on smiling. The way she tried to glean joy out of a handful of weeds… well, it drove me into a rage.”

  Will drew a sharp breath and let his head fall against his hand in guilt.

  “The first time I met Marcus, I was raiding the storehouse with our neighbors from Cold River. That gun—” Caroline nodded to the 50-90 Sharps in his hands. “—Was all we had between the four of us. I took it from the display in the den. Do you remember it?”

  “This is the gun from the den?” He turned the weapon in his hands to examine the carved stock. It had hung over his desk for years beside some taxidermy animals that he did not kill. The interior designer had thought antique guns and hunting trophies would add a sense of rustic masculinity to the space. “I thought it was just a decoration. I had no idea it actually worked.”

  “Neither did I,” she admitted. “Not until that night. We crept in, and I saw Marcus sitting on a crate of sugar right in the middle of the storehouse like he was expecting us. I was so startled, I took a shot at him.” She smirked at the memory of him slipping on spilt sugar and stumbling for cover. “He ran and hid, and I had to talk him out. We talked for hours. I found out he was the pirate radio DJ that Amandine and I loved to listen to. He let us take whatever food we wanted and said that Tall-Me needed a reliable land crew. I didn’t have a clue that it was you until just before I was arrested— that night all three of us were on the radio.”

  Will remembered that day well. When he heard her familiar voice, distorted through the static of the comm station, it took everything he had to keep from breaking down in front of his officers. That memory used to fill him with joy and reaffirm his dedication to the cause, but now as realization slowly crept over him, it only filled him with dread.

  “Marcus found you first?” he asked with a chill in his voice. “He was waiting for you?”

  “Yes,” Caroline continued, oblivious to his alarm. “And I am glad he did. I never could have imagined all that we would accomplish together in those two years. After my last job, he came running to the house in a panic. He said there was no time, the inquestors were right behind him, and he had to arrest me if there was any chance of us surviving the night. I trusted him. I had to. We had a plan in place in case something like this ever happened. I told him to hit me a few times to really sell it, but he couldn't. I had to dash my own head on the fireplace before the police showed up. He had them all take me from the house quickly before anybody saw Amandine hiding upstairs.”

  Will was pale, and he set the rifle down to take both of her hands. “Caroline, something dreadful has just occurred to me.”

  “What?” Caroline stared at him in bewilderment. “William, what is it?”

  “It's Marcus,” he said urgently. “The amount of power he holds over us has always troubled me, but—”

  “Power?” she interrupted him. “Over Tall-Me and Cleo?”

  “Listen to me,” he said desperately. “We might lead many capable crews, but who controls us? You and I? This cause? We are nothing without the information he gives us. He is right about being the most wanted man in the NAR that they don't even know they want. But what if this is all by his design?”

  She opened her mouth to interject, but he cut her off.

  “I thought it was just wild happenstance that you were Cleo. At the time I was blinded with happiness just to hear you were alive, but in light of recent events... Caroline, it's just too perfect to be a coincidence.”

  She shook her head again and again. He pressed on.

  “Just look at how he has stacked the cards in his favor. To the NAR, he's a hero. He is their military elite. To us, he is our most vital asset. He's an inquestor with near limitless power and influence, but above all, he has information. He is playing both sides.” He searched her for understanding. “That makes him not only the most wanted, but the most dangerous man in the NAR.”

  Caroline stared hard at him, her lips pursed as she listened. The suggestion was a chilling one that she could not believe, yet could not dismiss. She thought back to her imprisonment beneath IHQ. No matter how much Carver prepared her for the probability of torture, nothing she imagined came close to the horrors she endured at the hands of the inquestors. Like a hellish fever-dream, Carver appeared during one of her interrogations. He didn't speak, but as the others tore into her flesh, the way he gripped her arm told her many things. In that touch, she felt his fury, his anguish, and an oath to make everything right.

  She also thought of the day before, when her face was crushed into the pavement at the prison. The warden's heel was on her neck, and Carver loomed just behind him. There was no smile, no wink to reassure her that everything was going to plan; there was only death in his black eyes. It was an expression she knew well after years of fighting alongside him, but as he fixed her with that look down the barrel of her Sharpes, a jolt of primal fear set every nerve alight, each one a flashing warning that screamed, “He’s going to kill me.”

  But he didn’t. He would never hurt her. He couldn’t even hit her in the parlor when she asked him to. The night she discovered Will was alive was the only time he ever showed any bitterness, yet he still surrendered her without a word of jealousy or resentment.

  “Will, Marcus was standing right next to me when I found out you were Tall-Me,” Caroline answered stiffly. “He was just as shocked as we were.”

  “Marcus is an excellent actor,” Will reasoned. “But which side of him is the real one? Who is he really fooling?”

  She couldn't accept it. It wasn't possible, not after all they had done together. She held her husband's hands tightly. “Mon chèr, this is a perilous time. Every day that we get closer to our goal, the stakes rise even higher. It's too late not to trust each other.”

  “I don't trust him,” he said angrily. “There is something very big that he's keeping from us.”

  “You don't have to trust him.” She squeezed his shoulders. He refused to meet her gaze, so she lifted his head in both hands until she could look into his eyes. “Trust me.”

  Caroline leaned forward carefully, pressing her lips once to his. He remained stock-still and withdrawn.

  “You think my attachment to Marcus is blinding me,” she frowned. Caroline wr
apped him gently in her arms and murmured, “While I still think that you’re wrong, if you turn out to be right, and I must choose a side, then I will always choose you. There is no question, there never was and there never will be. You’re my husband.” She gently kissed him once more. “I love you, Will.”

  He released a long, shuddering breath of relief and pulled her into his lap. He held her close and rested his head on her chest while she ran her fingers through his hair.

  “I should have come straight home,” he mumbled. “If I had come home, you wouldn’t be blind, Amandine wouldn’t have run off, and none of us would be in this mess. What was I thinking, playing Robin Hood?”

  “If you had, you’d be eating dandelion salad right next to us,” she replied and felt him laugh softly. “You’d be hiding in shame, instead of making history beside me.”

  The radio on the floor whined loudly, interrupting their tender moment. Will sighed and took up the gun to resume watch over the events below.

  “Anything?” Caroline set the radio closer to the window.

  “No signal yet.” Will scanned the crowd again, but a fiery streak of red on the stage caught his attention. “Was this the same group Amandine traveled with?”

  “Yes, it should be.” She crawled around behind him to look over his shoulder and down the gun barrel. “This is the one Marcus wanted to see.”

  “Oh, I recognize the magician and that little-bitty friend of hers now.” He watched the performers whirl across the stage like a colorful kaleidoscope, each one a gleaming jewel on a moving stage. “Did Amandine actually make all of the costumes, or did she just alter them?”

  “You saw her notebook,” Caroline replied impatiently, pinching his ear until he nudged her off. “The design and construction was all her doing.”

  “Caroline of mine, you need to see this.” He passed her the gun. “It's one thing to read plans on paper, it's another to see it on stage.”

  The two of them took turns watching the show from the scope, proud beyond words of their daughter's independent work. Caroline was moving in time to the music when she finally remembered to look for Amandine in the final act.

  “Oh, there she is,” she exclaimed. “She's at the very front. She probably wanted to say goodbye to her friends one last time.”

  “Let me see.” Will went for the rifle again, but Caroline jerked it out of his reach.

  “Non,” she snapped. Explosions as loud as thunder rattled the dusty apartment windows. “Get the binoculars and see for yourself.”

  Will wouldn’t have appreciated what Caroline saw through the scope, so she kept it to herself with a private smile. She watched René wrap Amandine in his arms and kiss her deeply as fireworks burst in the sky. Gold, silver, and blue sparks rained down behind the electropolyharmonium as the grand finale rose into its final crescendo. It felt as if the entire city was dancing, and the square couldn’t contain it’s boiling energy. Couples swarmed on rooftops and fire escapes. Every stair, every wall, every inch of pavement was a dance floor, and for once, René and Amandine were the only two standing still. The young couple stood pressed against each other, simply breathing, feeling, gazing with wonder at the breathtaking city around them.

  That was all Will could see by the time he retrieved and focused his binoculars. Amandine looked happy if not a little tired, and Will realized that that was the best he could hope for under the circumstances. He glanced over at Caroline to guess at her opinion, but she was fumbling to get the rifle repositioned on her left side.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take the shot, dear?”

  Caroline had to turn her head all the way to the right to throw him a dark look.

  “I’m not doubting your marksmanship,” he assured her. “I’m only thinking of your comfort. You are still recovering from a very serious injury.”

  “My left eye can see just as well as my right,” she shot back. “And you’re likely out of practice after all that time at sea.”

  “Horsefeathers. I’m a high officer.” Will lifted his chin, pretending that she had hurt his pride. “The last time I was tested, my accuracy was scored at ninety-six percent. You’re just accustomed to working with somebody who doesn’t know which end of the gun the bullets come out of.”

  “Ninety-six percent with a shiny new Springfield, perhaps. How’s your accuracy at over four hundred yards with a fifty-caliber antique buffalo rifle and a—” She glanced at a blue banner fluttering from a nearby building. “—Ten mile-per-hour wind?”

  Will was impressed. Watching her settle into a new position with her giant rifle, he thought back to Paris, 1922. He could vividly recall looking across the stage, past the cascading drapes and handkerchief hemlines to a pair of dark eyes hidden beneath a cloche hat. She was eighteen, so lovely, so shy, and thankfully so charmed by his sincerity and horrible French that she accepted his impulsive marriage proposal. Though the war had been cruel to her, she emerged stronger, more beautiful, and every bit as regal as the stories told. He couldn’t blame Carver for falling in love with her, and the thought made him jealous and proud all at once.

  “The only time I’ve missed with this gun was the first time I fired it.” Caroline ran her hand down the length of the barrel and felt a rush of renewed self-confidence. “Non, chéri. This might be your fight, but the Sharps is my gun and shooting her is my purpose.”

  Just then, the radio crackled to life. “Jim to Charlie, Jim to Charlie. Who orders groceries right in the middle of the festival?” said an angry voice through the static.

  That was their cue. Their target was approaching fast.

  Will picked up the radio. “Jim, this is Terry. That’s what you get for staying open on a holiday.”

  “Is anyone available to handle a delivery?”

  “Charlie’s already out the door.”

  “Roger that, Terry. Don’t forget to leave him a tip.”

  Will swept his view down to see if Carver was paying attention, and he found him staring directly back up at him. The Inquestor nodded once, then his gaze drifted up, and he pretended to watch the fireworks. Will scowled and decided to keep a close eye on this dubious character for now.

  “I’ve got him,” Caroline said. “The Admiral is surrounded by his men. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

  “Keep a steady hand, and he’ll be seeing a few more.”

  She chuckled and pulled back the Sharps’ bolt with a decisive crack. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”

  “Absolutely not.” Will readied their belongings for a hasty exit. “The Osiris has been waiting two years to settle this score.”

  Caroline twitched.

  “And the HMS Sanctum will have justice at last,” Will said, but both of them knew that he had spoken too late.

  No one near the stage heard the shot, not over Big Polly and the grand finale of fireworks. The only way Amandine knew what had happened was when she looked for the Inquestor and he was gone.

  Later that night in a crowded back alley six blocks away from the square, a freckled showgirl sobbed miserably against the wheel of her trailer. Her ankle was twice its normal size, swelling like purple over-proofed dough out of her satin dance shoes. Frantically, other showgirls tried to help her to her feet, but she collapsed in agony. “I can't dance,” she wailed. “I can't even stand! It's broken, and it hurts so bad!”

  “You'll dance,” the showmaster slurred, tipping the last swig of whiskey beneath his moustache. “If I have to get you high as a rocket first, you'll dance.”

  “Have a heart, Mr. Johnstone,” wheezed an exhausted old-woman who was cinching another dancer into her costume. “Let the girl get some ice and sit this one out.”

  “No,” he shouted and pitched the empty bottle onto the pavement. “That savage cow, that Madame Marmi everybody’s so fond of, got Holloway's machine and fireworks for her show! Fireworks!”

  “Codswallop,” the old woman sighed. “It was just lucky timing.”

  “T
his show needs to be perfect! I will not tolerate a single gap in the line!”

  “We can close gaps, but what if she falls in the middle of the routine?”

  “She won’t, if she knows what’s good for her.” The other dancers scattered like a flock of birds when Johnstone stalked towards the injured showgirl. He jerked her upright by the elbow, and she shrieked in pain. “Let’s get you something for that foot from the candy cart, eh?”

  He dragged her around the vehicles to the concession trailer, but he sputtered in surprise when he realized that somebody was already in it.

  Carver was standing over a box of popcorn kernels that had been cut open to reveal an enormous cache of drugs. “Good evening, sir.” He smiled and took a bite of a caramel apple. “Mr. Cornelius Johnstone, I presume?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Johnstone slurred. He shook the showgirl until she yelped. “Who the hell is that?”

  She trembled like a rabbit at the silver insignia on his shoulder. “It's— It’s an inquestor,” she squeaked.

  Johnstone sobered, and both he and the showgirl tumbled backwards. Casually, Carver helped Johnstone to his feet. “Whoopsie-daisy. You alright?”

  “Fine,” mumbled Johnstone. “Don’t—”

  “You sure?” Carver dusted off his red velvet jacket. “If not, I seem to have found a huge, illegal stash of drugs. Something in there is bound to help with pain.”

  “It's for my performers,” Johnstone said. “Something is always plaguing them, and we aren't always so near a doctor.”

  Carver nodded sympathetically. “I can see that. That poor girl looks like she needed a hospital for that foot a week ago.”

  To Johnstone’s puzzlement, the Inquestor said nothing else. Instead, he just stood there smiling and chewing his festival treat. After a while, Johnstone managed to collect himself and clear his throat. “So, what can I do for you, Inquestor?”

  “What can you do for me? Well, that’s an interesting question. I suppose a better question would be, what can I do for you?” Carver reached for his pocket notebook and skimmed the open page. “Word is, you’ve had more run-ins with my people in the past year than most do in their entire lives. You’ve dealt with Agents Karlov, Brant, and Colburn…”