Le Cirque Navire

by Chele Cooke

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t remember.”

  She turned over the top card of the deck for something to do with her hands. She lay the magician down on the table. He barely looked at the card but she couldn’t take her eyes from it. He had the wrong colour hair. It should be red, not brown. Dark rich red tied back in a ponytail. That, to her, was how the magician should look.

  The man dropped to his knees beside her and took her hands in his own.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked. “Please, Annalise. My Anna. Tell me you remember me.”

  He brought her hands to his chest and pressed them flat against him, his long fingers pressed across the back of her hands. He was warm, his shirt soft, and he smelled of lemons and winter fires. There was something so comforting about his presence and the feel of his chest beneath her fingers, but it wasn’t comfort he was after, it was memory. She carefully pulled her hands out from beneath his and folded them in her lap.

  “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  Slumping back on his heels, he rubbed his hands over his face and threaded his fingers through his hair. When he appeared from behind his palms, the older professional man was back. He straightened and got to his feet.

  “My name is Jack. I’m a friend. I’ll take you to our… I mean, I’ll take you to your room. You’ll be safe there while I find a way to fix this.”

  “I can see the baby?” she asked.

  His lips tightened and he stared down at the cards on the table. He picked up the magician card and placed it face down on the pile as if he couldn’t bear to look at it.

  “Yes.”

  He held out his hand for her and she considered it for a long moment before she slipped her fingers across his palm. His skin was pale against hers but it felt much warmer. He tried for a reassuring smile as he led her from the small room and out into the bustle of the crowd.

  The ship was busy and most of the people looked drunk. They swayed and clung to each other, they laughed with such force and lack of restraint that it hurt her ears. They tripped over themselves and grabbed onto her, demanding to be read. Jack fought them off with a protective fury she found comforting. Curled in against his side, she felt unexplainably safe.

  The wall looked like any other wall and yet Jack grasped one of the fixings and yanked it open, revealing a thin door through to a quiet passage. He waved her through and checked the corridor before he closed it behind them.

  “The girl, Hadley,” she said, reaching again for his hand. “You’ll have to look after her.”

  He spun to face her so fast that he almost toppled into the wall. He steadied himself and stared uncertainly at her.

  “You remember her?”

  “And Lachlan,” she nodded.

  She wasn’t sure if it was pain or disappointment she saw in his eyes. He took her hand and led her along the corridor, not looking at her again. She jogged a step to come to his side.

  “You’ll need to look after her, Jack. She’ll need someone to remember.”

  “No one remembers me,” he muttered.

  Annalise blinked in surprise. There was a reply, an instinctual reply that she wanted to come to her lips, but like everything else, she couldn’t quite grasp the words. Instead, she shook her head, shaking the reply away for good to be replaced with another.

  “She will. I know it.”

  It was pain, definitely pain. When he looked at her, she knew that too.

  “Western?”

  The voice echoed in the slim corridor. As each reverberation hit her a bucket of ice flooded her veins. That voice, even calm as it was, chilled her. Jack froze and pulled her behind him as the man came closer.

  His black hair was ruffled, a top hat with a ribbon as red as blood hung from his fingers. His grey eyes narrowed as he looked over the two of them.

  “First I find you back here with a patron, now you steal away my fortune teller mid-show?” he snarled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you insolent little shit?”

  “It’s not like that,” Jack said quickly. “Anna doesn’t…”

  “I don’t care what Miss Romero does or does not do,” the man snapped, pulling the sleeves of his jacket further down on his wrists. “You had a job. Where is Tack?”

  Jack gulped, she saw it. Was this the man he’d been trying to hide the siblings from?

  “He left. Too much to drink.”

  The man’s lips twisted and tightened, his eyes as dark as charcoal in the shadows. He glared at Jack in silence, his grip tightening on the top hat. He nodded. Then he rounded on her.

  “I need you to look for the girl again, the one you read this evening.”

  “What?” she squeaked. “I don’t…”

  “Mr. Hatliffe—”

  His finger was up in front of Jack’s face in an instant.

  “Stay out of this. Whether you make it to the next hitch is a question you do not want me answering in this mood.”

  Annalise closed the gap between herself and Jack, pressing her chest against his arm. Mr. Hatliffe sneered and grasped her by the elbow, tugging her away.

  “You need to look for the girl,” he ordered. “She left the ring before I could get there.”

  “She doesn’t remember,” Jack snapped back. He grasped Hatliffe’s wrist and wrenched his grasp from her elbow.

  The sound of the hat hitting the floor was nothing to the slap of flesh on flesh. Hatliffe’s knuckles crunched against Jack’s jaw and cheekbone and he was flung sideways. He caught himself against the wall, his breath coming hard.

  Hatliffe’s grasp on her shoulders was painfully tight as he turned her towards him.

  “Look,” he demanded again. “Now. I need to know where she is.”

  The grip was merciless, no matter how she shrank away from him. She didn’t recognize his face, she didn’t even know his name but for the fact Jack had called him Hatliffe, and yet there was something inside of her that knew she shouldn’t be here and she couldn’t refuse him.

  “LOOK!”

  Annalise squeezed her eyes closed, cringing away from him. In the black, a face came to her. The woman came to her, solidifying like rain, freezing as it fell. Each drop created more of her until the young woman stood before her. She was trembling in the ice-cold fear. Her flesh was speckled with goosebumps and tears dripped from her eyelashes.

  “No, no, I didn’t. Don’t do this. Please…”

  The voice sounded too far away and it didn’t belong to Hadley. It was someone else, a man, sounding as scared as she looked. He came closer, reaching for the girl. Hadley had vanished into the rain before he reached her.

  They trudged through the nighttime, the ice and fear nowhere to be found. She looked at her brother warily and said nothing.

  Annalise opened her eyes.

  “Well?”

  Hatliffe stared down at her, expectant and angry. She licked her lips and glanced to the side. Jack was holding his cheek, watching her. She remembered him. For the briefest moment she could see him in the darkness.

  Annalise opened her mouth as the world blurred and disappeared.

  She fell out of the Ringmaster’s grasp and landed with a crash on the cold metal.

  “Anna? Come on, Anna, wake up!”

  Jack Western shook his girlfriend by the shoulders. He slipped to his knees and pulled her up into his lap, brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes were closed and no matter how many times he shook her, she did not open them. He tapped her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair, and when that didn’t work, he tugged her further up against him, rocking her and murmuring her name over and over.

  Cole crouched and picked up his hat, turning away from the pair. He brushed the dust from the silk rim, turning it over in his fingers. It was a pity. Annalise Romero had been talented. Some took the gifts they were given but never truly got used to them. They never learned how to use them to their fullest potential. Not her. She could slip into the future as easily as stepping into a new dres
s. She used the images she saw and weaved them into stories so beautiful you couldn’t help but believe them. Even when the news was bad, she found a way to turn them to her own advantage.

  Annalise had been with them for years, over a decade in fact. She’d been such a young and timid little thing when he first met her. It had been almost impossible to believe the things she told him, the reasons she wanted to join the ship.

  He had been dubious at first. It had been a long shot to imagine that little mouse as a talented seer, someone who could read people as easily as a book. She’d promised that she would be the best. She would be anything he wanted as long as he helped her. The fact she had managed to break into the grounds during the daytime had been enough to listen to her request.

  She had been a funny young thing, seventeen when he first took her on. More beautiful by the day and twice as talented as he’d ever imagined.

  She was one of the good ones.

  Correction, she had been one of the good ones.

  Cole turned back to the young man and the corpse he held against him. That body was no longer his talented fortune teller.

  “She’s gone, Western. No amount of sobbing is going to change that.”

  Jack held Annalise against him and the tears on his lashes sparkled in the low light. He clutched her desperately, pressing his lips against her hair. When he lifted her hand, it slumped right back to the floor.

  “What’s happening to her?”

  He could feel each etch in the smooth crimson silk banded around his hat as he ran his finger along its rim. He knew the design as well as he knew his own body. He knew it as well as he knew the cirque around them and every person in it.

  “Miss Romero’s talent was a gift,” he said with cool indifference. “The same as yours.”

  The man beneath him stopped breathing, he stared at him with a fear he had not seen since he first met the boy, so desperate for somewhere to run.

  They were all desperate. That was why they came. It was why they begged and pleaded, why they offered to do any job he could find if he just let them join. Jack Western had been no different to Annalise Romero. Each desperate to run. Their reasons had been as different as they were and Cole had to admit that he had been surprised when it was Annalise who came to vouch for the young man.

  “She was more talented than most, I grant you, but the fact remains it was time to give the gift back.”

  “Give it back?” Jack asked in a breathless whisper. He clutched Annalise closer to him, a desperate glance at her lifeless face. Perhaps the young man thought she was sleeping.

  He should have known better than to think that was how it worked.

  “These gifts do not come without a price, Mr. Western. You knew that when you signed onto this ship.”

  “But, but what does that mean?”

  “The gift has passed on,” he said. “And so has she.”

  It was difficult for Jack to get to his feet. He could see the decision being made, the cogs turning, so to speak, wondering whether he should leave Miss Romero on the ground. He did in the end, her body rolled off his knees as he clambered up, steadying himself on the wall. Her head slumped to the side, twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Jack didn’t look down as he clambered over her.

  “You knew this would happen?” he demanded furiously, smacking his fist against the metal. “You knew it would kill her?”

  Cole straightened to his full height and looked down at the young man before him. No, he was not a man at the moment. He was a boy throwing a tantrum. Children were quick to demand and to take what they wanted but they never understood the price of their dreams. They never thought of the consequences that came with their actions. His lips tightened into a sneer.

  “Mr. Western—”

  “No!” Jack shouted, pushing himself off the wall and stepping towards him. “You used her. You’re using all of us. You’re using us for your pathetic little—”

  “You knew the terms!” Cole snapped, stepping to meet Jack’s aggression. “You begged me to hide you. You pleaded for me to help you and so I did.”

  Shoving Jack back, he thumped his hand against the man’s chest and forced him back against the wall. He towered over him, sneering.

  “Do not presume to claim I used you when you know full well how desperate you were for my mercy.”

  The air was let out of Jack Western with a silent hiss. He deflated visibly in front of him, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. He curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. The scared boy with bruises on his face and marks on his neck was no longer the man who worked for the cirque. That boy had disappeared, replaced with a talented, charming young man. Yet here the boy stood again, holding back tears, just like the first time. Only, mercy was not on Cole’s mind tonight. He waved his hand at Annalise.

  “She pleaded, just like you did. Her past was too terrible, too painful, and she wanted to forget. So I let her. One piece at a time.”

  “She’s gone,” Jack whispered into his hands, his fingers parting until he peeked through at her body.

  “She has passed on.”

  Jack looked up so quickly that Cole was surprised he didn’t wrench a muscle. He stared at him with wide eyes and his nostrils flared as he heaved deep breaths.

  “You said the gift has passed on,” he said. “What does that mean, passed on? Where has it gone?”

  Folding his arms over his chest and stepping away from him, he tapped the brim of his hat against his hip. Surveying the man before him, he smirked. Jack listened after all; that was a redeeming thought, at least for the moment.

  “It means that Annalise’s replacement has already been chosen,” he said with calm detachment. “It means that when we leave we will have a new person on this ship.”

  “A new…”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  Recognition flashed across Jack’s face. He glanced at Annalise and when he looked back, the fear was different. Cole took a deep breath of it and grinned. Annalise had said that it wasn’t the first time she had seen the girl, that she had seen her with Jack before they even arrived on Corapolvo. He wondered whether Annalise had shared her premonition with her boyfriend, knowing that it would be her downfall. Or perhaps she had told him more about it when she realised she had met the girl who would take her position. However Jack had found out, Cole knew that he knew more than he was saying.

  “Perhaps Miss Romero already told you about it?”

  Jack’s face was surprisingly blank. He stared at the wall as he ran his hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. The resigned desolation came off him in waves.

  “Who?”

  He smiled, watching for the realisation he knew he would be able to see on the man’s face. After all, he’d caught them in the workers’ area of the ship earlier in the evening. He’d not been able to connect it at the time but he’d remembered the woman at the sight of her in Marcus’ mirror. He wondered whether Jack had noticed that there was something different about her. He’d said she was feeling ill and no doubt the girl hadn’t realised what was changing within her.

  How fortunate that he’d set his young advance man to tail the soldier, the brother of the very girl who would be joining their ranks.

  “She is the sister of the man you were supposed to be following for me.”

  The air that might have filled Jack at his questions promptly left him again. He slid down the wall and stared at Annalise’s body as the colour drained from his face.

  “I do believe you’ve met her, Mr. Western. It seems you have an affinity for our fortune tellers.”

  “It can’t be stopped?” he asked. “What if she doesn’t want this?”

  Cole rolled his eyes and turned away.

  “Mr. Western,” he taunted. “Her wants do not matter. It is what she needs that counts and by the end of our stay here Miss Hadley Tack will need to join this ship.”

  “You can’t…” Jack whispered.

  He didn’t get to his
feet nor try to stop Cole from leaving. He stayed against the wall, broken and scared, still the little boy.

  “Trust me, Jack, I can,” he said, glancing back one last time. “And I will.”

  The rising sun shone through Lachlan’s window, bathing the room in a peach glow. Her brother buried his face further into the pillow and tugged his blanket up to his chin but he didn’t wake. His skin was warm and clear under the sunrise, if a little pale. Every movement of his body was met with caution and suspicion. She wondered if that movement would be what woke him and sent him back to the bathroom.

  Hadley shifted in her position at the bottom of the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head back against the wall. She hadn’t ever done this. She’d never had a reason to be worried about her older brother before. He had always been so certain and steady. He had always been the one to watch over her.

  Her eyes drooped, her head lolling to the side before jerking back up. She took a deep breath and blinked furiously. She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes and patted her cheeks. She shifted her position again, careful not to kick Lachlan’s legs, and rested her chin in her palm.

  The last time he’d watched her through the night had been during the pox epidemic. It had swept through the city, confining people to their homes. Lachlan had to work and attempt to keep order, but the moment she had come home, spots rising from her collar up towards her jaw, he had signed off his shifts. He’d taken three extra shifts the following week in order to take the time off he needed. She’d been old enough to take care of herself and Lachlan’s soup was only just passable for a sick person. Yet he had stayed by her bedside, reading reports on his litcom whilst she hacked and tried to scratch.

  He’d caught it too. Within twenty-four hours of her spots appearing, his were creeping up his neck and all along his jaw. He got it worse than she did. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that wasn’t covered in the marks but her brother didn’t scratch. It didn’t matter that she told him to go to his own bed, to take it easy. Whether it was willpower or sheer spite, he kept reading his reports, kept his watch at her bedside, and kept bringing her soup.