BLIZZARD
Micah and the Lightbender stood at the closed tent flap, trying to decide what to do.
The Lightbender was in favor of braving the storm in order to reach Porter’s warehouse right next door. It was one of the most stable tents at the circus, since it would have been disastrous if thousands of doors were damaged during a rough move. The illusionist was worried that if the blizzard worsened, the Lost and Found wouldn’t be safe.
Micah thought this was a fine plan, but he also thought they should search through the Lost and Found for weapons first. It seemed obvious to him that malevolent forces were at work, and they ought to be ready for anything.
“Is it a magician controlling the weather?” Micah asked.
“I do not know,” said the Lightbender, heading for the pile of clothes Micah had left behind. “Come here, please.”
He held out the peacoat.
When Micah put it on, his fingers barely stuck out the cuffs. “Are there magicians who can control weather?”
“Not with any degree of reliability.”
“But it’s obviously magic. Isn’t it?”
The Lightbender had started buttoning Micah into the coat, even though he could have done it fine by himself. “Yes,” he said, frowning. “We hoped the lightning strike a few months ago was bad luck. Tents have been struck before, and we only moved the circus out of an abundance of caution. An unseasonable blizzard is another matter.”
He finished buttoning the coat and reached for the red scarf. “I will tell you who I think may be responsible for this storm, but I would appreciate it if you did not cling so doggedly to guilt and worry as you have been doing these past few days.”
“I don’t cling!” Micah protested.
“Is that why you lurk around Porter’s at all hours, waiting for news?” The Lightbender wrapped the scarf around Micah’s ears and tucked the ends into the neck of the coat. “No one here cares that you are related to Victoria Starling.”
Micah looked away.
“I do not care. Rosebud does not care. Porter does not care. Firesleight, Dulcie, Mistsinger, the Inventor, Geoffrey—”
“Are you going to name everyone at the circus?”
The Lightbender waited until Micah met his eyes. “Do I need to?” he said calmly.
Micah blinked. The Lightbender would really do it, he thought, even if it took all day. “No,” he said hesitantly. “Only Mr. Head didn’t want me to be here at first—”
“If the manager did not want you to be here,” said the Lightbender, “then you would not. Mirandus is quite proud of the work you have done with Terpsichore, and he does not count your unfortunate relation to the Bird Woman against you.”
The back of Micah’s throat was burning in that odd way he associated with oncoming tears, but he didn’t think he was about to cry. It felt like a swarm of confused emotions trying to escape all at once.
His guardian, apparently deciding that a single scarf was insufficient to keep him from freezing to death, had found a second one. He started wrapping it over the first.
“As for the storm,” the Lightbender said, “it is much too great and complicated a force for a magician to control, but I have heard of animals that can manipulate the weather.”
“Like birds?” Micah’s voice was muffled by layers of wool.
“Several magical species of bird possess that power, yes.”
“But if people can’t, how—”
“Sometimes instinct outshines intellect. Chintzy, for example, has an extraordinary homing instinct. She can find her way back to the circus even if we move while she is away on a delivery.”
“So, you think it could be Victoria,” said Micah. “Using a weather bird.”
“It is possible.”
“She could be out there right now. Watching us.”
“I am only making a guess,” the Lightbender cautioned him. “But yes. If we assume it is her, then she must be staying close enough to maintain control over the bird. When I knew her, she had to be within earshot to direct most of her flock, but she has no doubt improved her range over the years.”
“Can’t you use your illusions to stop her?” Micah asked.
“I could if I had a clear idea of where she was,” said the Lightbender. “But the kind of magic I would use to stop Victoria is not something I will send out into the world haphazardly.”
Just then, the tent flap whipped open and a gust of wind swept through the Lost and Found. Snowflakes needled the tip of Micah’s nose, which was the only part of him except for his eyeballs the Lightbender hadn’t managed to completely smother in fabric.
Something that looked like the abominable snowman lumbered into the tent, and for a wild moment, Micah thought the Lightbender had been wrong about them not needing weapons.
“There you are!” shouted the snowman, shaking itself all over. Snow spattered the ground, and Bowler appeared. He was wearing a furry coat, his hat was missing, and he had a wriggling, snowy bundle tucked under his arm. “Let’s get you two out of here!”
* * *
They rode out the blizzard in Porter’s tent, along with the wriggling bundle, which turned out to be an alarmed reading goat that had wandered away from the menagerie.
“Little fellow stumbled right into me,” Bowler explained, giving the goat a friendly squeeze. “Must have gone out for a walk and gotten caught in the storm.”
Micah was struggling to get out from under his coat and scarves. “What about all the other animals?” he asked when he was finally free. “What about the kids who are visiting today?”
“We got everyone into the tents,” said Bowler. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ve closed all the local Doors I was holding in the meadow,” Porter added. “We won’t have to worry about new arrivals until I open them again.”
He led them to the back of the warehouse, to the freestanding wall where the mail slots were. “Do you think we should call Firesleight?” he said. “Or wait until we know for certain what’s going on?”
“Best wait,” said Bowler. “No point in worrying her until we know what move the manager wants to make.”
“I agree,” said the Lightbender.
“Baaaaaa,” said the goat.
“Bowler, put that poor animal down,” said Porter. “He needs some time to himself, I’m sure.”
Behind the mail slot wall, the brown fabric wall of the tent itself stood taut, and set into that fabric was an ornately carved wooden door.
Porter reached for the knob. “Come in,” he said. “Leave your shoes outside.”
Micah toed off his damp sneakers and stepped through, blinking at the sight that greeted him.
Porter had a house in his tent. Micah had assumed the magician had private rooms just like everyone else did, but he hadn’t pictured anything like this. The door opened into a comfortable living area, with a sofa, a coffee table, and two cushioned rocking chairs.
Micah took a seat on the sofa beside Bowler.
For the most part, the adults talked in circles, passing what ifs back and forth. No one was certain of anything, and Bowler, at least, was still hopeful that the blizzard would be revealed to be some freak natural disaster.
Micah didn’t learn anything new until the Lightbender mentioned dragons.
“I do hope she thought better of it as she aged, and that we have sent Firesleight chasing after figments. I don’t see what she could possibly hope to accomplish by fledging one.”
Porter rocked back in his chair. “She probably thinks she’ll be able to control it like it’s a canary.”
“That is absurd.”
“You know how arrogant she is,” said Porter. “Some of the ancient dragons had feathered crests. I’m sure one of those books must have mentioned that they’re distantly related to modern-day birds. That would be enou
gh for her to start imagining what it would be like to have one under her thumb. No doubt she chewed on the idea for years, until it didn’t seem absurd to her at all.”
“Can’t she control a dragon, though?” Micah asked hesitantly. “If they are related to birds, I mean?”
“They’re related to birds in the same sense that the Tyrannosaurus rex is related to birds,” said Porter. “I’m no scientist to explain how it all works, but I am absolutely sure that Victoria Starling cannot command a dragon. At best—or at worst, I should say—she’ll have taken one of the draklings and bribed it into being civil by giving it everything it wants. Dragons are smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds them, but they can’t be tamed. They’re monsters, not miniature poodles.”
The Lightbender was rubbing his temples. “The grandiosity of a dragon would have appealed to her on every level.”
Porter nodded. “And if she means to attack the circus, instead of just annoying us with inclement weather, she’ll need more firepower than she’s got now.”
Micah pressed himself back into the sofa cushions, trying not to imagine what a dragon attack on the circus would be like.
“You think she’s out for revenge,” said Bowler, his voice grim.
Porter snorted. “What else? Our illusionist knocked her out of the sky. Mirandus banished her.” He smiled fondly before adding, “Bibi almost ate her.”
If only, Micah thought. The tiger took her guard duties seriously.
The conversation grew repetitive again. It was all Victoria and dragons and endless maybes, and when the storm suddenly ended, three hours after it had begun, Micah was relieved. He hoped Victoria really had been out there in the blizzard, and that she’d accidentally frozen herself solid so that he would never have to think about her again.
When they opened the tent flaps, they found snow piled so high it came up over Porter’s head.
“Delightful,” he said drily.
“Well, at least nobody got hurt,” said Bowler. “If it is Victoria trying to get revenge, then she’s doing a bad job of it. She’s made a lot of ruckus but hasn’t done a bit of harm.”
He put on his furry coat and started scooping out a path for them, his big hands as good as shovels.
“I doubt she wants to engage us too closely,” said the Lightbender.
A sound came from somewhere deep in the warehouse, the echoing baaaaaa of a goat that had gotten lost wandering among all the doors.
“I guess I’ll have to go find him,” Porter groaned. “No doubt he’s chewing on my inventory.”
But instead of leaving, he turned to look thoughtfully into the shadows. Micah followed the direction of his gaze and saw a large set of double gates.
“A good thought,” the Lightbender said.
“I know how you feel about major cities,” Porter said.
“I can manage.”
Porter sighed. “So can I. I’ll talk to Mirandus as soon as Bowler plows a path to his tent.”
MOVE
Bowler was wrong about one thing. The blizzard had done harm, and more than a bit of it.
Two of the circus’s animals were missing—the golden fleeced llama and a giant wombat. Both had apparently been outside the menagerie when the storm struck, and unlike the lucky reading goat, they hadn’t bumped into a helpful Strongman in the snow.
Mr. Head was furious, and Bibi was worse. By that afternoon, most of the snow had melted in the heat of the day, and the tiger stalked the perimeter of the meadow, fully visible, looking like she wanted to rip someone limb from limb.
After the visiting children were sent back home through Porter’s Doors, the magicians searched the circus for the missing creatures. Nobody found any sign of them.
“Stealing magical animals must have been the whole point of it,” Micah said in a subdued voice. He and Geoffrey were working together, combing every inch of the nocturnal garden, but neither of them had much hope of finding anything. “This proves it’s her. Doesn’t it? She really has been planning her revenge against the circus all along. She just had to wait for the Moment to wake up the draklings.”
“Seems like it.” Geoffrey reached out to rustle the limbs of a flowering bush, as if he hoped a frightened llama might burst out of it. “Must’ve used the storm to cover an approach and a retreat. Didn’t want to tangle with any of us yet, so she got us all out of the way. A lot of work for a little gain, if you ask me, but I guess it’s not easy, tryin’ to feed up a dragon.”
The only thing they knew for sure was that the Bird Woman was no longer nearby. The Inventor had set up a magical telescope in the meadow, and magicians had been taking turns on watch all afternoon. They saw no sign of Victoria at all, not even a single sparrow.
“What are we going to do?” said Micah.
“You’ll see,” said Geoffrey. “Go to bed early tonight. Get some sleep if you can.”
“Why?”
The ticket taker didn’t answer.
Micah thought it was ridiculous advice. Who would be able to sleep under these circumstances? But it turned out that being caught in a blizzard in the morning and joining search parties in the afternoon was exhausting. When he finally closed his eyes that night, he was asleep at once.
It seemed like only seconds later he woke to find the Lightbender standing over him.
“What time is it?” Micah murmured, his brain still fuzzy.
“An hour before dawn,” said the Lightbender. “We are moving the circus.”
That’s not right. Micah knew the travel schedule as well as everyone at Circus Mirandus did. It wasn’t time for a move.
He rolled out of his hammock. Before his bare feet even hit the rug, the Lightbender was holding his magician’s backpack out to him. It was already bulging, no doubt stuffed with everything in the room that was too delicate to be subjected to the Strongmen’s version of packing up.
“When did you start sleeping in a hammock?” the Lightbender asked.
“I made it myself.” Micah had tied it using different colored ropes and cords, making sure all the knots that held it together were full of comfortable, sleepy memories. He yawned. “Do you want one?”
“I do not,” said the Lightbender. “But thank you. We need to hurry. We are making a much quicker leap than usual.”
“We’re running away?”
“It does us no good to stay here. We will travel somewhere unexpected. It is a wide world, and our pursuer cannot harm us if she cannot find us.”
He left while Micah changed out of his pajamas.
When Micah exited his room a few minutes later, the Lightbender was gone, but he spotted Chintzy on the floor by the stage. The parrot was trying to drag her huge perch—stand, food dish, bell, and all—to the tent’s entrance.
“Chintzy, you nut!” Micah exclaimed, running over to collect her. “You’ll get packed up in the tent if you don’t hurry. Forget the perch. Bowler can get it.”
He grabbed Chintzy’s scaly feet, and she flapped her wings, batting him in the face. “Not him!” she squawked. “Last time, he dented my bell!”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s a musical instrument!”
Micah rolled his eyes, unclipped the little silver bell, and hurried out of the tent with Chintzy clinging to his arm, muttering mutinously about people who didn’t appreciate true artistry.
Outside, the confusion was palpable. Micah wondered if the manager hadn’t told anyone they were leaving until the last minute, so that word couldn’t reach the wrong ears. The magicians certainly weren’t as prepared as they were on a normal moving day.
A few of the performers were still wearing their costumes. And others were in their nightclothes. People darted here and there, shouting questions to one another.
The Strongmen, however, were moving through the circus like they’d been choreographed. On
e or two of them would approach a tent, fabric would buckle, pegs would fly, and a minute later they would be bundling it up and hauling it toward the edge of the meadow, where Micah assumed Porter must be setting up the Door.
They always used huge ones on moving days. Few entryways could accommodate circus tents, even neatly packaged ones, and though Big Jean was a sport about trying to fit herself wherever they wanted her to go, there was only so much bending and squeezing an elephant could do. Usually, the Strongmen were sent ahead in advance to set up the moving-day doors, but sometimes, they used gates or arches that were already in place.
Micah watched wide-eyed as tents fell and fell. A few of them were supported by center poles as big as sequoias, and they hit the ground with echoing booms he could feel in his chest.
“There you are!”
Micah turned to see Bowler striding toward him and Chintzy. All the circus’s outdoor lights were blazing bright so that the Strongmen could see to do their work, and in the harsh white glow, Bowler’s face and chest shone with sweat. “Emergency procedures,” he said. “Beg your pardon.”
Micah leaped out of the way, and Bowler grabbed two huge handfuls of the Lightbender’s tent. He pulled, and Micah winced at the sound of twanging ropes and straining fabric.
Bowler wasn’t playing around. He’d have the tent down in a minute, but everything inside was going to be flattened and battered.
“My perch!” Chintzy cried. “I can’t watch!”
She launched herself off Micah’s arm and flapped toward the meadow.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Menagerie’s the only holdup,” Bowler grunted, his muscles straining.
Micah nodded and raced toward the menagerie, his heavy backpack jouncing against his shoulders as he ran.
Mr. Head’s tent was almost always the last one standing, even on normal moving days. The animals disapproved of the whole procedure—having to leave their comfortable habitats, going through a Door to a strange new place. They weren’t going to like this unexpected departure at all.
The Bootlace Magician Page 14