Porter groaned and rolled over until he was facedown in the grass.
* * *
Micah didn’t remember falling asleep, but when next he opened his eyes, he was curled up on a cushion on the floor of Rosebud’s wagon.
The bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling quivered and swung as the wagon rolled along. Bottles and jars rattled against one another on the shelves, and someone snored loudly on the bed. Micah pulled himself up for long enough to determine that it was Bowler.
Even in the dim wagon, the Strongman looked bad. A pair of lumps on his forehead made his skull look misshapen, and he had dried blood under his nose.
But he was snoring, and snoring people were never dead.
And that’s good enough, Micah decided, collapsing back onto the cushion. Even if everything else is messed up, that’s good enough for now.
CONSEQUENCES
Micah’s bedroom looked like it had been put through a blender.
He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten from Rosebud’s wagon to the Lightbender’s tent, or who had tucked him into his old bed, or how long ago that had been. He only knew that he hurt, from head to toe, like he’d tried to carry Big Jean on his back.
He thought he would have felt much better if he’d been sleeping in his soft hammock instead of with his nose smashed into the mattress. But as soon as he set his feet on the floor he realized that would have been impossible. His hammock was gone. The remains littered the rug, a mess of cords, not a single one of them tied to another.
And that wasn’t the worst of it.
Micah shook his head, trying to make sense of the chaos around him—a scramble of wrinkled laundry and broken knickknacks. Half the clothes on the floor weren’t his, and almost none of the books were. Bits of thread and twine were strewn everywhere, and he felt a twinge of frustration when he realized all his bracelets had been unmade.
The only thing in the room that didn’t look like it had been caught in a bomb blast was his backpack. Someone had set it on the foot of the bed.
Micah reached for it. Maybe something was left. But when he dug inside, he found Chintzy’s silver bell tangled up in loops of embroidery floss and ribbon. Those bracelets were gone as well.
It was all the work Micah had done as a magician—months of experimenting and fiddling with threads no thicker than strands of hair. And he realized, with a flash of panic, that if that had all come apart, then the rope ladder he’d taken from his old tree house must have been untied as well.
He leaped up and began searching the cluttered room for it, hoping that it had somehow escaped his magic, but when he found it under the tumbled chest of drawers, it was a heap of rope and scattered rungs.
The knots he’d tied with Grandpa Ephraim were gone.
That was me, thought Micah. I did it without even being near them.
He tried to be impressed with himself. It was a bigger burst of magic than he’d ever imagined he might be capable of.
But holding the limp ropes, he just felt wounded and surprised. Like he’d cut himself on something he’d never known was dangerous.
Mr. Head was proud of you, he reminded himself. He said Bowler was all right thanks to you. And obviously the circus got where it was going, because here you are in your room. Porter must be okay, and the Door must have worked, and you’ve got bigger things to think about than a few silly ropes.
Micah continued in this vein for a while, trying to convince himself that the rope ladder wasn’t a tremendous loss. But those knots, the last his grandfather had ever tied, were gone.
You can tie it back. You can tie it just like he taught you, and it will still mean something.
That was the best he could come up with.
He coiled the two ropes and cleared a space on the rug for them, shoving the other detritus aside. Then he stacked the wooden rungs in the middle of the coil. It was the tidiest patch of floor in the whole room.
Micah dressed and left the tent. He wondered how long he’d been asleep. It could have been hours or days for all he knew, and the world outside didn’t give him much of a clue.
It was cold, and the sky was a dreary gray, the sun completely hidden by clouds.
The circus looked half assembled. Many of the tents were up, but not all of them, and no one was busy putting together the missing ones. This was unusual, since the Strongmen usually worked straight through after a move, getting everything ready for the crowds in a few short hours.
But there were no crowds now. And the call of the pipes and drums was absent.
It felt wrong to Micah. Circus Mirandus was always so busy. He’d gotten used to ignoring the constant chatter and excitement, and without it, he felt unmoored.
It was even worse without Bowler watching over the tent. Micah wondered if he was in the Strongmen’s dormitory, or if he was still in Rosebud’s wagon.
Maybe he needed visitors.
Just as Micah was setting off in the direction of the dormitory, the Lightbender rounded the side of the tent holding a covered tray.
He stopped when he spotted Micah. “You’ve woken.”
“You’re all right,” Micah said at the same time.
“I am quite all right,” the illusionist said. “Though I nearly had the life frightened out of me when the Door collapsed. I haven’t seen Porter lose control of one that badly since he was in his twenties.”
He looked Micah up and down. “Are you all right?”
Micah nodded. “I think so. I didn’t mean to do it. The Door . . .”
“I know. Are you hungry?” the Lightbender asked, shooing him back into the tent.
“Extremely hungry.”
“Good. The kitchen is supposed to be serving sand-wiches while we sort things out, but apparently, Yuri cooks in times of stress. He’s given me enough food for a small nation.”
To Micah’s surprise, the Lightbender settled in the stands in the main section of the tent, placing the tray on the bench beside him. He removed the lid to reveal an assortment of food—egg casserole and a vegetable stir-fry and a miniature pie that turned out to be full of chopped meat when it was cut in half.
Micah took the egg dish. “What meal is this, anyway?”
“An early supper, I think.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Micah realized that the Lightbender was tired. He was staring off into space as he chewed, and he wasn’t bothering with the illusions he usually used to make himself look more magiciany. His coat hung limply from his shoulders, and he had bags under his eyes.
Micah swallowed a bite of his eggs. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The Lightbender blinked. “I am well. Only thinking about a great many things at once.”
“I’m sorry about splitting up the circus.”
The Lightbender waved his hand. “It was not badly done. The response was a bit extreme, but so were the circumstances.”
“Mr. Head said Bowler’s going to be okay?”
The Lightbender smiled. “Yes. You should hear him complaining about his arm, though. You would think he was the first person in history to ever have broken a bone.”
“He’s awake!” Micah exclaimed. Something inside of him loosened at the news. “That’s great! How’s his head?”
“Hard. He had a concussion, but the Strongfolk are sturdy sorts.”
“And someone found Terpsichore?”
“She has been tucked away in her paddock since you arrived, with a round-the-clock guard. I am sure she feels quite important.”
“That’s good,” said Micah. “It wasn’t her fault. She was scared of the giant hawk.”
“Yes. We must talk about that. Among other things.” The Lightbender brushed his hands together, scattering crumbs of piecrust on the ground, and cleared his throat.
“First, I should tell you that we are in
a park in St. Albans, just outside of London. It is an unusual choice for us in many ways. The area is relatively populous, and we were not scheduled to tour England this year. Victoria has lost us once already, judging by the long period we had without any ill weather. And we are fairly sure that this move will keep her off our backs, perhaps for months.”
“But she saw us going through the Door,” Micah said quietly.
“She did not know where it led,” said the Lightbender. “We never made this stop while she was part of the circus, and we are certain she did not follow us through. We think it likely, given your own actions, that she was not even conscious when the Door reopened. In which case, any birds she had in thrall will likely have scattered, and she will have to spend time recapturing them.”
That was good news. Much better than Micah had thought. “She had a lot of them.”
The Lightbender had been reaching for the other half of his meat pie, but at Micah’s words he paused. “Oh?”
Micah set his plate down beside him. While they were talking, he’d eaten everything on it without tasting it.
“I saw this place.” He stared at his knees, trying to remember it all. “It was like it was painted over the real world. These knots made of light were right there where I could reach them. And Victoria’s flock was there, too. I could see it—like awful tangled ropes. I think it was her power, tying the birds to her.”
The Lightbender said, “Your magic is different than you thought.”
Micah nodded. He tried to explain his theory, that what he was really doing when he tied his knot bracelets was creating a kind of connection, not only between different pieces of string, but also between the string and his own thoughts and memories. “And I can do more, I guess. In that golden world, I might be able to tie all sorts of connections. Or untie them.”
While Micah spoke, the Lightbender had been staring up at the ceiling of the tent, at the patch in the fabric where Micah had once fallen through the roof. “It suits you,” he murmured.
“What does?”
“Your magic.” The illusionist’s expression turned serious. “Micah, I hope you will forgive me for telling you what I am sure is obvious. But you must be more careful now than you have been.”
“Because I could accidentally close more of Porter’s Doors,” Micah said. “I know.”
“No. Well, yes. Porter would appreciate it if you didn’t do that again, but . . .” The Lightbender sighed. “Your power is lovely and unique. I do not think you realize how much so, yet. And it is also more complicated than any of us had imagined.”
Micah thought he knew what the Lightbender meant. “There were so many connections,” he said. “I couldn’t even recognize most of them. I’ll have to be careful what I touch.”
He hadn’t meant to shut the Door, after all. He’d just been bumping around cluelessly.
“It may be many years before you see the world in quite that way again,” the Lightbender said. “You were extremely afraid for Bowler, and you reached much farther with your magic than you ever have before. I myself see the world through an overlay, much like the one you describe, though for me it is more a tapestry of minds I might affect at will. It took me decades to access that tapestry with any degree of certainty, and it has been the work of centuries for it to become a natural habit.”
“You see threads of light, too?” Micah asked excitedly. “But all the time?”
He wondered what he looked like to the Lightbender.
“That is a subject for another day,” the magician said. “I wish for you to understand that the scope of your magic is greater than we had realized. And the consequences of its use will be as well. It is easy enough for, say, Firesleight, to decide whether or not she should burn something to ash. That is not the sort of thing one does to one’s friends, after all.”
Micah laughed.
The Lightbender smiled, too, but his voice remained solemn. “My own power is not so straightforward. I must use my illusions carefully, and old as I am, I don’t always know what is right.”
“Your illusions are always meant to be nice, though,” said Micah.
“When you are altering the thoughts of others, even good intentions can end in disaster,” the Lightbender said, frowning down at his hands. “You had nightmares when you first came to stay with us. Do you remember?”
Micah had had such terrible dreams about Grandpa Ephraim dying. It was why he’d spent so much time tying knots with Fish.
“I was tempted to take them all away from you,” said the Lightbender. “Replacing bad dreams with good ones is a simple thing for me to do. But Rosebud and Geoffrey advised against it. Dreams can be your mind’s way of working through something difficult. So, I helped just enough to ensure you slept peacefully for a few hours each night.”
“Oh,” Micah said. He’d never even known. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Of course. But do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“That you had to be careful. Because maybe what you wanted to do to help me could have hurt me instead.”
The Lightbender nodded. “You must be similarly cautious. This idea that you manipulate the connections between things—I believe you are correct. But I suspect you do not yet understand the implications of that.”
“I just woke up,” Micah pointed out. “I haven’t had time to figure out everything.”
He planned to sit down and have a long think about it all after he checked in on Bowler and Terpsichore.
The Lightbender looked pained. “I am talking about an understanding you might come to over the course of years, not a few short—” He shook his head. “Let us agree that if you feel even the slightest uncertainty about trying something new with your magic, you will ask someone more experienced for advice. None of us will hold you back from experimenting with your power; we will only help you ensure that what you are attempting is reasonable.”
Micah had never thought of his magic as dangerous before. How could it be?
But then he remembered the storm petrel. That was definitely a bigger consequence than he’d been expecting.
“I’ll be so careful,” he promised. “I’ll stick to tying things into string for a while anyway. My bracelet collection is gone, and I need a new hammock. And maybe I can finally make the locator knot work. I think I’ve had the wrong idea all this time.”
“Locator knot?”
“The tracking device I was trying to make.”
The illusionist looked relieved. “That sounds like an excellent plan,” he said. “And a safe enough first step.”
Micah said, “Do you think I might be able to do something to help? If Victoria attacks again?”
“You helped quite enough as it was,” said the Lightbender. “And I hope we have seen the last of her for a while. We’ve had word from the Sisterhood, who will be pursuing her now that we know her general location. She will not have an easy time of it with them on her trail.”
“That dire hawk was trying to catch Terpsichore, wasn’t it?” said Micah. “Victoria wants to feed Terp to her dragon.”
The Lightbender sighed and rubbed his forehead. “That is the best theory we have,” he agreed. “We’ve had word from Firesleight while you slept, and one of the draklings is indeed missing from his burrow. The Mighty Conflagration. Every sign points to Victoria having taken him away early last year. She could easily have fed him from her flock, but she no doubt hesitates to sacrifice too many of her own birds. She will need as many as possible if she means to mount an assault on the circus.”
“So, she’s going after our magical creatures instead,” Micah said, anger tightening his voice.
The Lightbender nodded. “And a single unicorn has more magic than half the animals in the menagerie combined. Only Bibi compares. A meal like that might be enough to fledge Conflagration, and with a true dragon at her
disposal Victoria could attack us directly, rather than taking these ineffective jabs.”
Micah clenched his hands into fists. “We can’t let that happen.”
“Terpsichore is safe for now,” the Lightbender said. “As are we all.”
The two of them finished off the tray of food in silence. By the time they were done, Micah felt stuffed.
The Lightbender draped an arm over his stomach. “Yuri’s cooking is as good as usual,” he said. “And that reminds me . . .”
He stuck his hand into an inner pocket of his coat. When he pulled it out, his long fingers were wrapped around an old leather bootlace.
Micah gasped and reached for it. “Is this real?”
“I would not use my illusions for something like this,” the Lightbender said, handing it to him. “Yuri picked it up for you.”
The bootlace was soft with age, and it felt so familiar in Micah’s hands. “I thought I had lost it. I was afraid I had.”
“You did not. But there were other unintended consequences of your magic that you now must face.” He clapped his hands together and stood.
“What consequences?” Micah said, confused.
“We will visit Bowler.” The Lightbender’s voice brightened. “He may well decide that he owes you his life! I hope you have resigned yourself to having a Strongman follow you around for centuries on end.”
Micah stared at the Lightbender. “He wouldn’t.”
The Lightbender hummed. “Surely I can convince him that you are much more vulnerable than I. And so much more deserving of a bodyguard.”
STANDING TALL
For the next several days, Circus Mirandus stood empty.
Micah walked the same paths he’d always taken, but they felt foreign. Tent flaps were shut, the midway stalls had never been set up, and the music was quiet. He tried to tell himself it was peaceful not to have so many strangers around all day, every day. He even tried to pretend that the whole circus was on vacation together.
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