The equivoque principle cq-1

by Darren Craske

  Butter cocked his head to one side, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his anorak. 'I am glad we could speak, Madame, I shall try not to let these bothers take residence in my heart,' he said.

  Destine lowered her head. 'Good for you, Butter. Everyone has doubts it seems-everyone except Cornelius.' She smiled warmly as her mind's eye entertained an image of the man. 'He has a natural affinity with over-confidence, Butter, and that sometimes serves to inject us all with questions of our own importance. You will feel better in time, mon ami. You will find your place.' Butter nodded. 'That is my hope, Madame. And you also?' 'Oui, that is my hope,' confirmed Destine, as she gathered up her embroidery and clutched it close to her chest. 'Now…I have other matters to attend to. Butter, if you will excuse me, I must return to my quarters. You are wrong to question your worth, mon ami… I only hope that my own fears prove just as unfounded.'

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Rehearsal

  RUBY MARSTRAND WALKED down the steps of the train's main engine onto the station platform, and swept her hair into a loose ponytail. Her fellow circus troupe were assembled into a long line, and their expressions reflected a myriad of emotions from excitement, to boredom to anxiety.

  'Inspection in five minutes, people,' bellowed Ruby at the top of her voice through cupped hands. She was a gifted mechanic as well as knife-smith, and was wearing a pair of tatty dungarees and a large, greasy smear of oil down her left cheek. Miraculously, she still managed to retain her natural beauty.

  Tapping his feet idly, the lanky Indian animal trainer named Kipo toyed with a metal chain attached to the collar of his very large, very muscular tiger. Next to him-consciously standing as far from the beast as he could without breaking the formation of the line-was Jeremiah the clown, and next to him was his co-performer-a beaming, bearded dwarf clown by the name of Peregrine. Dressed in a crumpled, striped suit, and without his clownish makeup, Jeremiah looked positively dishevelled-the irony of his chosen profession obviously lost on him. His jowls hung low, his eyes carried a heavy grey undercarriage, and he was every inch the opposite of the persona that had graced The Black Sheep tavern the previous night-much the same as Ruby Marstrand was.

  The young knife-smith pointed towards the large, circular clock that hung from the station's rafters, and yelled at the top of her voice: 'Yin, Yang-hurry it up, will you? Mr Q wants to see what we've got, and we don't have all day,' she called to the two Chinese acrobats, perched like pigeons atop the roof of the train above her. 'You know what the boss always says-'

  'You can never have enough rehearsal time!' chorused the twins in unison.

  'And I am seldom wrong, gentlemen,' said Cornelius Quaint as he strode onto the platform next to the line. He had changed his attire, and now wore a long-tailed, dark-grey woollen coat over a loose black suit, topped off with a half-height top-hat. He looked as if he were meeting a lady-friend for afternoon tea, rather than someone about to embark on a desperate search of the surrounding area for Prometheus.

  Ruby looked to the floor in embarrassment. 'Oh, Mr Q, you're early! I'm just trying to line everyone up like you asked. I'm just about getting there…slowly.'

  Quaint saluted her. 'My thanks, Ruby, you've done an admirable job,' the tall man said with an air of fatherly pride. 'I'd hoped we'd get more rehearsal time in Hyde Park, but with all that's going on at the moment…I don't think we can afford the effort of skipping to and fro across London. Now…let's take a look at our troops, shall we?' Quaint gave Ruby a wink, and began to stroll slowly along the line of performers. Not that he ever let on to the crew, but he rather enjoyed watching his performers-his family-stand tall, and stand proud awaiting his word, knowing that he held their faith and respect completely.

  Quaint stopped in the centre of the line, and held his hands up to his audience. 'Now, folks, if we had more breathing space before Friday's show, we'd be doing a full dress rehearsal today, but as you know, there are a few distractions, so we'll go with what we have. You all know your roles far better than I, and you've all performed them so many times you could practically do the entire show in your sleep,' Quaint gestured with his eyes towards Jeremiah's dwarf assistant. 'And some of you frequently do from what I hear. Am I right, Peregrine?'

  'Ah, just a bad case of the wind last night, guv. I think it was that mackerel Harry bought,' Peregrine the dwarf said sheepishly.

  Quaint afforded the man his blushes. 'No need to apologise, Perry! Natural gas is a very healthy bodily product.'

  'It ain't that healthy when you're on the bottom bunk underneath it, boss,' muttered Jeremiah. 'I'm going to need a clothes peg if I want to get any sleep tonight!'

  The line erupted into restrained sniggers, and Quaint clapped his hands to quell the rabble. 'All right, folks. Part of why you lot are assembled is to make sure you're all still limber. And that goes double for you two chaps,' said Quaint, looking at Yin and Yang atop the train carriage. 'I'd prefer it if I didn't have to shout into the rafters; get on down here.'

  'Righto, Mr Quaint, on my way down!' Yin vaulted from the rear of the train, somersaulting in mid-air to land as deftly as a cat by Quaint's side on the platform.

  'Impressive,' Quaint said, half-approvingly. 'And your brother, please.'

  'Look out below!' yelled Yin's twin. He and his brother were indeed two peas in a pod, either side of the same coin, but whereas Yin was calm, restrained and thoughtful, Yang had a daredevil streak that flowed through his veins. Whatever Yin did, Yang wanted to do it better, faster, higher. Leaping from the train like a dart into the air, Yang somersaulted, catching one of the station's iron roof supports, and swung himself around in a complete circle. He leapt from one girder to the next, more like an ape than a man, his fingers and feet seemingly finding stability everywhere they touched. He leapt into the air and performed a triple twist, to land with a cocky grin just as deftly as his brother on the platform next to Quaint.

  'Save the theatrics, Yang. I can't have you breaking an ankle before show-time,' Quaint said testily, glancing over his shoulder. And then more quietly, he said: 'Nice final twist on the end beam though, son. You've been practising.'

  The hustle and bustle at Grosvenor Park station, commonplace at virtually any time of the day or night, slowed to a standstill as every other traveller or worker stopped and stared at the sight of the circus folk. Quaint barely acknowledged the gathering audience, and seated himself down on a wooden bench opposite the train. He crossed one leg over the other, and linked his fingers together, his hands sitting loosely in his lap. He looked over towards Ruby, and gave a gentle nod.

  'Begin,' Cornelius Quaint said.

  The word was like a starting pistol going off before a race, and in a second the group of circus folk pulled on the masks of performers, and the rehearsal commenced. Yin and Yang kicked off with a series of back-flips and cartwheels at blinding speeds along the platform. Like sporadic whirlwinds, the Chinese twins never stood in one place long before they were leaping somewhere else. They bounded, flipped, jumped and sprang from one end of the platform to the other with a succession of dizzying acrobatic displays. Quaint spun around in his seat to investigate, as a chorus of undulating cheers and applause echoed around the station. A group of onlookers had gathered around the station, and they were enjoying the free show.

  'We have an audience now, people,' said Quaint. 'So make it count.'

  Even in the distilled afternoon light of the train station, with its many distractions of noise and smoke, the acrobatic display was still breathtaking-even to Quaint, who had witnessed it countless times. How the two little bumblebees managed to ricochet across the platform with such grace and speed was something of a mystery to the circus owner. As was how they managed never to collide mid-air, but perhaps this was due in part to the Chinese men being twins, as perhaps there was an unspoken, almost telepathic communication linking the two of them. That was the spiritual explanation of course, and one that never sat too comfortably in Quaint's solid and physical world.
Nevertheless, whether the display was the result of something beyond the boundaries of normality, or just the fact that the two had been performing together since the age of six, it was still spectacularly stunning to watch -and Quaint hoped that the forthcoming audience in Hyde Park would be sufficiently entertained.

  As he watched the rest of his crew perform, he felt a nagging twinge within his heart. As good as his team were, there were still gaps in the programme, very obvious gaps that only served to reinforce what they were missing.

  Twinkle's presence was irreplaceable. More than just a juggler, comedienne and all-round entertainer, she was the pulsing heartbeat within his circus, and now that heart had been torn out. Praying they were a strong enough community to weather the storm, Quaint knew that a lot of it relied on them finding Prometheus. Whilst not as effervescent as Twinkle, he was virtually an embodiment of the circus's recent troubles. If he could be found, and normality restored, perhaps they might all have a very real chance of repairing their wounds. But by the same token another question appeared in Cornelius Quaint's head. If Prometheus should die, would the hearts and minds of all in the circus be far behind?

  CHAPTER XX

  The Scent

  A LITTLE OVER AN hour later the rehearsals had concluded, and Grosvenor Park station gradually returned to a semblance of normality. Each of the performers was enjoying a well-earned break from their duties and practising, and they congregated in small packs. They were sitting cross-legged on the station platform, some on the wooden benches, or atop stacks of luggage and canvas-covered circus equipment. Almost like a nomadic desert encampment, the small, scattered cliques were alive with pleasant chatter, idle gossip and good-natured warmth, not unlike most families. Seated within a throng of performers including Yin, Yang, Jeremiah, Peregrine and Kipo, young Ruby Marstrand sipped at a small metal cup of steaming tea, and tapped her feet against the ground incessantly. She was frustrated, and in no mood to hide her feelings.

  'Something up, Rubes?' asked Jeremiah. 'Or are you trying to burrow all the way to Australia?'

  'Hmm?' she asked distractedly. 'Oh, sorry, Jerry, it's just…all this waiting around. I want to be out there getting my hands dirty searching for Prometheus. How much longer do we have to wait? He could be anywhere by now, and it'll take us ages to get back to Crawditch.'

  'You're not going back to Crawditch,' said a voice behind her.

  Ruby swallowed hard as she saw Cornelius Quaint approaching her. His cold, steely expression immediately deflected any accusatory comments. His was the type of stare to silence even the greatest critic.

  'We're not? How come?' Ruby asked.

  'Because, Ruby, you and the rest of the crew are needed in Hyde Park getting things ready,' Quaint answered. 'We've still got a circus to put together, remember?'

  'We are not going out to search for Prometheus?' asked Yang.

  'Correct, Yang,' confirmed Quaint. 'We are not. Butter and I will suffice for now. As well as in the park setting up the tents, I need someone stationed here should Prometheus return to the train. It's a safe bet that we'll be having the company of some policemen soon.'

  'To stop us driving the train away, I'll bet,' added Yin.

  'Yes, well, if we wish to exonerate Prometheus, we must be careful not to add fuel to the fire. Commissioner Dray can be a conflagration all to himself,' agreed Quaint. 'Now, whilst Butter and I are absent, I am relying on the fact that everyone knows their roles and responsibilities. Madame Destine is on hand, should you require her assistance. We have promised London a circus this coming Friday, ladies and gentlemen-and I for one intend to deliver.'

  'But Mr Q, how are we supposed to do the show without Prometheus or Twinkle?' asked Ruby. 'It just won't be the same.'

  'We will continue as normal, and hide the cracks as best we can-as Twinkle would have wanted. This circus was her life, and we must honour what she stood for. If I know Twinkle, she would want us to go out there and knock London's socks off! Prometheus will be found long before Friday's matinee show, of that I am sure.'

  'Will you still be requiring me, Mr Quaint?' asked Kipo.

  'Oh, yes! You and Rajah are still very much required,' said Quaint. 'I have a most important job for you, as a matter of fact.'

  Yin patted Kipo on the back. 'The boss is taking Rajah out on the town with him to search for Prometheus, isn't that right, Mr Quaint?'

  Quaint stroked his jaw pensively, as Kipo looked on aghast. 'As tempted as I am to see how Londoners would react to a tiger loose in their midst-Rajah's staying put, Kipo, so you may relax. He's a tiger, not a bloodhound, and he happens to be a very visible deterrent should the police decide to come and take a look inside my train,' Quaint turned on his heels. 'Now, where's Mr Barracks?'

  'Down here, boss,' called the train mechanic, crawling on his hands and knees down under the engine. 'Up to me eyeballs in muck 'n' grime as usual.'

  'I should have guessed,' Quaint chimed. 'So, what's your prognosis on our faithful transport then?'

  'Well, Bessie's been through a lot, boss. She needs a total overhaul, if I'm bein' honest,' said the engineer, wiping a glistening trail of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. 'I'll need another day on the manifold, and the transmission's been shot since we left Edinburgh. She's held together by sheer stubbornness alone.'

  'I know the feeling,' said Quaint. 'Good work, man. Keep at it. I don't suppose you've seen Destine anywhere, have you?'

  'The last I saw, she was on a bench at the far end of the platform,' answered Barracks. 'That lady could do with good night's sleep, if you ask me. She looks shattered.'

  Quaint cast his eyes through the smoke of the station platform. He saw Destine sitting detachedly alone in the distance. 'You noticed that too, eh?' he asked.

  'Hard not to,' said Barracks. 'When a lady glows as brightly as she does, it's obvious when she loses her shine, you know what I mean?'

  'As a matter of fact, Barracks,' said Quaint. 'I do. You know how guarded she is…it is no easy feat getting her to admit it if she feels weary.'

  Barracks nodded. 'You ain't wrong there, boss. She's like you; she'll just keep soldiering on until something breaks. She's no spring chicken any more, not that I'd have the balls to tell her that, of course,' Barracks said with a throaty guffaw. 'You know you're the only one who can get through to her.'

  'Hmm,' agreed Quaint. 'Perhaps it is time that I tried harder, eh?'

  Quaint turned away from Barracks and made his way along the platform to where Destine was seated. She looked up in surprise as Quaint approached her.

  'Hello, sunshine,' he said. 'How do you feel?'

  Destine smiled. 'How do I feel? Have you been talking to Ray Barracks again?'

  'Always the fortune-teller, eh?'

  'Barracks is a sweet man.'

  'He cares for you a great deal, Madame…but do I detect a little mutual fancy?'

  'Nonsense, Cornelius! I am old enough to be his…well, let's just say I am more senior in years than he is. I am far too old for romance-let alone Ray Barracks!'

  Quaint lifted Destine's hand and kissed it gently. 'Love is blind to age, Madame.'

  'So what brings you here, Cupid?'

  'Well…actually, I would appreciate your opinion on something, as it goes.'

  'My opinion seems to be in high demand today,' Destine said. 'I am honoured. What can I do for you?'

  'Ah, would you care to take a walk with me?' asked Quaint. 'Somewhere out of earshot, I mean.'

  He led Destine along the station platform, to a solitary wooden bench, away from the main congregation of circus folk. Quaint rummaged around inside his overcoat and produced a folded piece of paper.

  'What do you make of this?' he said.

  Destine knew instantly what it was, but still felt compelled to ask.

  'Cornelius-is this the note we saw at the police station? The one found near Twinkle's body? Where on earth did you get it?'

  Quaint smiled wanly. 'No one has quicker fingers than I, Mada
me.'

  'But that's stealing! That's police evidence,' shrieked Destine into her hands.

  'Yes, I know that,' said Quaint without batting an eyelid. 'Evidence that I'm hoping you can make use of. From a sensitive's point of view, I'm curious as to your take on the sentiment, the emotion behind it all.'

  As well as clairvoyant, the Frenchwoman was highly sensitive to the emotions of others, and sometimes felt what they felt, saw what they saw. Usually this translated into faint, almost non-existent feelings, as identical twins such as Yin and Yang had experienced when one of them was in pain. There had been odd occasions when the flash of emotion was so strong that the Frenchwoman was almost rendered unconscious. It was a gift very different from the ability to read fortunes and was far more dangerous, far more uncertain, and Destine only attempted it when it was absolutely necessary.

  She traced her fingers across the almost childlike writing of the letter. 'I sense a high degree of hatred for Prometheus for one thing,' she said, 'A very personal hatred.'

  'That's plainly evident, Madame,' Quaint nodded. 'Anything else?'

  Madame Destine closed her eyes, commanding her sensitive gift to work. 'Very personal, very…angry, but that is also obvious,' she said with certainty. 'There is nothing more evident, nothing at all. It is cold.'

  'And yet the letter is the epitome of emotion, don't you think? Is that not your area of speciality? I had hoped you would be able to sense a lot more of the murderer's resonance from his words…allow me to paint a picture of him.'

  Madame Destine nodded thoughtfully. 'Usually, perhaps I could. But this killer is different-the man we can presume is this Hawkspear-he certainly knows how to leave his scars, doesn't he? Physically and mentally, it seems.'

  Quaint's black eyes narrowed. 'He could have been hunting Prometheus from the moment he set foot in Crawditch, and that's what worries me the most.' Quaint motioned to the array of people gathered in scattered groups on the platform. 'In that letter he said he was going to destroy everyone whom Prometheus loves, remember? Perhaps Twinkle was just the first target? When I look at those people over there…I can't help but think each and every one of them is also a potential victim-myself included.'