Instead, he heard a whuffling noise, and a moment later, the side of his face was being licked by a slobbery tongue.
“Gross!”
He rolled over. Terpsichore’s blue-green nose was an inch from his own. The foal stamped her hooves and made a chiming sound that Micah had to admit seemed more happy than murderous.
Cautiously, his lungs still burning from the chase, Micah climbed to his feet. He brushed his hands off on the front of his T-shirt and eyed the unicorn.
A few seconds passed, and then Terpsichore lunged at him again.
Micah forced himself to stand still. The foal bumped him with the end of her horn. Several times, but gently. As if hoping she might prod him into continuing their game.
“They’re not violent animals.” The manager approached the two of them slowly. “The opposite, in fact. Unicorns protect creatures weaker or smaller than they are, including human children. Terpsichore will, too, when she’s grown.”
He picked up the bucket Micah had dropped and held it out to him.
Micah took it and offered it to Terpsichore, who ignored it in favor of licking his face again.
Mr. Head reached into the bucket for a handful of the food. The lumpy stuff glistened wetly in his palm, and the smell was cloying. The Lightbender, who had finally left his safe post by the wall, wrinkled his nose.
Micah wondered if unicorns in the wild ate this kind of thing, or if the magicians had somehow gotten the recipe wrong. Now that he wasn’t running away from her, he noticed that Terpsichore looked thin. He had seen the foal on his very first trip to Circus Mirandus, before he’d known he would one day live here. She hadn’t grown at all since then as far as he could tell.
“Isn’t there any way to find her family?” he asked.
Mr. Head was holding the food right under Terpsichore’s snout. “Not if they’re unwilling to be found.” He sighed. “This is the first time I have heard of a young unicorn being abandoned by her herd. Terpsichore is almost certainly the only foal in the world right now. Her mother should have been fiercely protective of her.”
Abandoned. Micah hadn’t realized. He’d assumed the foal had wandered too far from her herd and been unable to find her way back.
Being abandoned was a lot like being an orphan, and Micah knew how hard that was. But at least Grandpa Ephraim would never have left Micah behind on purpose. Even when he’d been so sick he couldn’t get out of bed, he’d been sending letters to the Lightbender, trying to make sure Micah found a new home.
Micah reached out to stroke the unicorn’s velvety nose. “Poor Terp,” he said. “You must be so confused about all of this.”
The Lightbender had been easing closer to them, and now he stopped a few yards short of the foal’s hindquarters. “Don’t be afraid for her. Unicorns are strong. Even young ones.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Mr. Head. “If we can get her to eat, Terpsichore will do wonderfully. She’ll even be able to knock the Strongmen around in a few months.”
As if she understood what they were saying, Terpsichore pranced in place and made a proud tootling sound.
Then she snorted condescendingly at the food in the manager’s hand and jammed her head into the bucket Micah was holding.
Micah barely managed to keep his balance.
“Well!” said Mr. Head in a delighted voice. “This plan might work.”
Micah held tight to the bucket and tried not to make any sudden movements while the unicorn ate her fill. “I can come every day,” he offered. “I’ll be her friend and make sure she eats.”
He could even use his magic to help. If he tied a knot full of all his best food memories—orange soda and extra-cheesy macaroni and his grandfather’s double chocolate brownies—maybe it would whet Terp’s appetite. He’d have to get Mr. Head’s approval, but it might work.
The Lightbender cleared his throat. “Speaking of friendships,” he said. “Mirandus has something to tell you.”
Mr. Head shot the illusionist an exasperated look before turning to Micah. “You may invite Ms. Mendoza to come for a visit,” he said. “Of course.”
Micah gaped at him over Terpsichore’s ears.
“I am not some tyrant who prohibits the magicians who live here from having guests,” the manager said, a hint of affront in his voice.
“I didn’t think you were, sir,” Micah said quickly, though he had, in fact, thought something a lot like that. “Thank you so much!”
Mr. Head nodded.
While Terp finished eating, Micah was already composing his next letter to Jenny in his head.
“Dear Jenny,” it would start. “Guess what!”
BAD LUCK
Just before lunchtime a week later, Micah climbed the three wooden steps that led up to the door of Rosebud’s wagon and knocked.
“Come in, duckling!” a booming voice called. “Terpsichore’s potion is almost ready.”
Micah stepped inside, and the familiar smells of strong herbs and smoke and a hundred different kinds of tea stung his nose.
Circus Mirandus’s healer and potions expert stood over her worktable. Rosebud was seven feet tall, and her bald head almost brushed the ceiling of the wagon. She was uncorking a tiny glass bottle. Whatever was inside the bottle looked like condensed cobwebs and stank like old cheese, and Rosebud deftly scraped every bit of it out into the mixing bowl in front of her.
Dried leaves filled the bowl already, along with colorful powders and pale flower petals.
“Rosebud,” Micah said, “do you think maybe I’m missing something about my knots? Because I can’t figure out how to make them do anything new or impressive, and—”
“Shoo that mousebird off, dear,” Rosebud interrupted. “They know they’re not allowed in here.”
Micah blinked and looked down to see that a small gray mouse had followed him through the door. It was sniffing at the laces of his sneakers.
“Not again,” said Micah, nudging the mouse with the toe of his shoe. “Go away.”
The mouse caught his shoelace between its teeth.
Sighing, Micah bent and grabbed it. He dropped the mouse onto the wagon’s steps, and it chittered angrily at him. Halfway through its rant, it turned into a bird, and Micah shut the door on it before it could flutter back inside.
“They’re always going after my shoelaces and the bracelets I tie and even my hair,” said Micah, stepping carefully around a towering stack of books and newspapers to get to Rosebud’s oversized armchair. He couldn’t read any of the titles, and that wasn’t unusual. Rosebud spoke more languages than anyone else at the circus.
“The mousebirds like to line their nests with magical bits and pieces,” said the healer, reaching for a cookie tin on one of the wagon’s many shelves. “They can be a bother, but I do admire them. They stayed behind when the other birds fled from . . .”
Micah held his breath, but Rosebud was too considerate to finish her sentence.
Circus Mirandus had been home to many species of bird until Micah’s grandmother, Victoria Starling, had gone on a rampage during her horrible final performance. She’d driven her flock of magical birds mad so that they fought one another and plummeted into the ground.
Grandpa Ephraim had fallen in love with the Bird Woman and married her without realizing that she’d done such terrible things. And Micah had never even met her. But that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about the birds. The survivors had all flown away after the disaster, and Chintzy and the mousebirds were the only ones left.
“Anyway, duckling,” Rosebud said, after a moment’s pause, “I’m afraid your knot bracelets will always be too much of a temptation for the mousebirds.”
Micah was gripping the edge of the chair’s cushioned seat so tightly his fingers hurt. He made himself relax.
“As for them stealing your hair,” Rosebud sai
d, “you could quit using your magic to untangle it, but I’m afraid you’ll have to borrow a comb from someone other than me.”
She smiled and pointed at her own bald head. She had painted irises on her scalp today, and the bright purple flowers stood out against her dark skin.
“I don’t untangle my hair on purpose, though,” said Micah. “It just happens.”
Rosebud opened the cookie tin. It was full of something pale green and crumbly, and when she spooned it over the contents of her mixing bowl, everything began to liquefy.
She pulled a digital wristwatch from the pocket of her long skirt and set the timer. The beep-beep the buttons made as she pressed them sounded weirdly out of place in a wagon full of potions ingredients.
“Now,” she said, setting the watch on the table, “you were asking me about your knots when you came in. What makes you think you’re missing something?”
“It’s just that I’ve been practicing a lot,” said Micah. “I can tie regular knots really fast, and I don’t have much trouble with the memory ones. But what if that’s all I can ever do?”
“What if it is?” said Rosebud, her tone patient but no-nonsense. “Filling knots with your memories is more than most people can do.”
Micah knew that. But he also knew that compared to everyone else at the circus, his magic was small. And compared to a gift like Rosebud’s, or the Lightbender’s, his talent might as well have been crumbs.
He said as much, and the healer stared into her mixing bowl thoughtfully.
“It seems to me,” she said at last, “that worrying over what you don’t have might take a lot of useful energy away from making the most of what you do. It’s good that you’re practicing. Try not to lose patience. Gaining new skills, magical or otherwise, takes time.”
Micah sighed. “I know.”
Rosebud grinned at him. “And if you hope to catch up with me, you’ll have centuries of work ahead of you.”
The digital watch beeped shrilly, and she gave the potion a stir. It was a blinding shade of yellow now, and she poured it into the same china pitcher she had used yesterday.
Micah stood, and she passed it to him.
“Do you think we might get by with less sugar in it today?” she said. “I know it tastes good, but it will work better if you can persuade the foal to eat it without the additional sweetener.”
Micah was flattered that Rosebud trusted his opinion enough to ask. “I can get her to eat it,” he promised. “I’ll tell the kitchen magicians to change the recipe.”
She opened the door for him, and he made his way toward the dining tent.
Micah went carefully, watching where he stepped and keeping his grip on the pitcher tight. Preparing lunch for a picky unicorn was a lengthy process for all the magicians involved, and he didn’t want everyone to have to start over because he’d spilled Rosebud’s potion.
He took a winding route to avoid the busier parts of the circus, but he still ran into a few curious kids who wanted to know what he had in his arms. He managed to convey with smiles and gestures that the pitcher wasn’t full of something delicious or interesting he could share.
Nobody took the news badly. The visitors Micah encountered were almost always in a great mood. They were at a magical circus after all. And the potion’s bizarre smell probably helped to convince everyone he was telling the truth.
The day before, a couple of boys his own age had even decided to walk along with him to make sure no one bumped into him. Micah found them later that afternoon and showed them around the midway to say thank you. He made sure they got to try a few of his favorite games and all the best snacks.
It had been a lot of fun, and it had made Micah miss Jenny fiercely. She was going to come for a day trip right before school started back, and he was already planning everything they might do together.
Eventually, Micah and the pitcher reached the Staff Only section of the circus.
The dining tent and kitchen, Porter’s warehouse full of doors, the greenhouses, the Strongmen’s bunkhouse, various workshops—they were all hidden back here by the Lightbender’s magic so that visiting children never knew they existed. Most of these tents were dull shades of brown and green, and the dining tent blended right in with the moss-colored storage tents on either side of it. But inside, it was a warm and inviting place.
The tent had a wooden floor, and a wall with a cutout window separated the kitchen from the dining room, which looked like a tea shop that had grown out of control. About three-quarters of the round tables had chairs for seating, and the remaining ones were covered in platters, casserole dishes, samovars, and tureens. Circus Mirandus didn’t have set mealtimes, but the food that was set out in the morning tended to be breakfasty. Heavier dishes began to appear around noon, and if you came by at midnight there were always hot drinks and desserts.
Micah had been enchanted the first time he’d stepped through the door. He’d seen all the magicians eating supper together—people from different parts of the world and different centuries speaking a dozen or more languages—and he’d realized all over again how special the circus was. He still felt that way as he entered the tent now.
The lunch rush was just beginning, and when Micah headed back to the kitchen, he found it bustling with magicians who were putting the finishing touches on what looked like ten different dishes at once.
“Hi, Yuri,” he said to a man who was jabbing sprigs of rosemary into some kind of roast. “Where’s Terpsichore’s food bucket?”
“Dulcie has it?” Yuri said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He had a strong Russian accent, and he only ever spoke in questions. “The unicorn baby is growing better now they say?”
“She is!” Micah said proudly. “I’ve talked her into eating her food every day this week.”
Yuri grinned at him.
Micah liked Yuri. He was the youngest magician at Circus Mirandus, other than Micah himself, so you could talk to him about things like televisions and computers without worrying that he’d never actually seen one. And he wore his dark hair tied back in a ponytail that Micah thought looked cool.
“Where is Dulcie, though?” Micah asked, craning his neck to see everyone in the kitchen. The circus’s candy maker wasn’t there.
Then he spotted her. She was emerging from the pantry with Terpsichore’s food bucket in one hand and a ten-pound bag of sugar tucked under her arm. She was humming cheerily, and the only healthy food in sight was a pineapple she had somehow managed to cram into the bib pocket of her green overalls.
“Rosebud said less sugar,” Micah told the magician as she approached the counter. Dulcie set the bucket right beside Yuri’s roast.
“Nonsense!” she said. The sugar bag hit the counter with a thunk. “Sugar is my specialty!”
It was true, and Dulcie’s confectionery magic could probably make gym shorts taste like cotton candy. But still.
“Rosebud said the nutrient potion would work better if there was less sugar in the food. Maybe you could just use a spoonful or two.” Micah elbowed the sugar farther away from the unicorn’s bucket and set Rosebud’s pitcher down.
“A spoonful.” Dulcie was looking into the bucket, aghast. “But what else will I put in here?”
“Things that are not sugar?” Yuri offered helpfully.
“Sugar is my thing, though,” said Dulcie. “I’m an artist, and it’s my canvas.”
“What about that pineapple?” said Micah. “And some vegetables.”
“I tried to make a salad once,” Dulcie said. “And it gave people hives.”
Micah didn’t think she was kidding. “What about you?” he asked Yuri. “Can you make unicorn food?”
Yuri shook his head. “I only make regular food? Without magic?”
“Oh. I thought . . . I guess that won’t work.”
In the wild, unicorns foraged for
magical vegetation, so the food in Terpsichore’s bucket had to be made with magic as well.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dulcie grumbled. “I know what to do. Let me go get more pineapple.”
She left, and Micah looked at Yuri. “I thought you had kitchen magic.”
He had never seen Yuri outside the kitchen, so it had been a natural assumption.
“I am a chef?” said Yuri, grabbing a potato from a pile on the counter. “Who is also a magician?”
“That’s pretty neat,” said Micah. It had never occurred to him that someone at Circus Mirandus might have a job unrelated to their power. “What kind of magic do you do?”
Yuri’s face fell. “It’s best that you do not know this?” he said. “I do not want you to be hurt?”
At Micah’s alarmed look, he backtracked hastily. “Not hurt? I mean affected? Influenced?” He set the potato back down with a frustrated grimace. “It’s best that I do not say certain things out loud?”
Micah hadn’t realized that the way Yuri talked had something to do with his magic. He’d always assumed the chef was just shy.
“Sometimes telling it makes it stronger?”
Micah didn’t understand, but the pained look in Yuri’s eyes told him that the matter was serious. “That’s totally fine,” he said. “You don’t have to explain. I’ll . . . um . . .” He looked around for something to break the tension, and his eyes landed on the pile of potatoes in front of the chef. “Wow, those look delicious! I’ll go get you some more of them.”
“But I do not need—”
Micah was already hurrying toward the pantry.
He found Dulcie inside the cool, dimly lit room. She was already back in her usual good spirits, humming as she stuffed various tropical fruits into her overalls, which must have had magical pockets, Micah decided.
“Potatoes are over there,” she said, using a banana to point toward a bin near the door. “If you’re really going to make poor Yuri peel more of them.”
The Bootlace Magician Page 4