Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  "But Drystan, you and Aenea, you have good lives here… You could take over the circus, save it from itself and from Bil."

  Drystan waved his hand. "The circus is too far gone. And in any case, it's not for me. This period of my life is over."

  "I'm not leaving," Aenea said. I could not bring myself to look at her.

  "I'm sorry, Micah, but I can't." She turned her head away from me. "I just… I feel as if I don't know you. I told you more of myself than I'd told anyone, and all you told me were lies. My life is here. In the ring, and on the ropes."

  Her words stung. "I tried to tell you the truth as much as I could." As the words tumbled from my mouth, I knew they were not enough.

  "No, you haven't. If you had told me months ago…"

  Then maybe things would be different.

  Her next words were so soft I could barely hear them. "I feel like… you've made a fool of me."

  The words hung in the air. I closed my eyes. She was not Damien. I had not given her the choice to make up her own mind.

  Drystan was filling my pack with what little foodstuff I had in the cart. He had barely glanced in my direction since I had shown him what was under my petticoats. Did he hate me too, for keeping the truth from him? I was losing everything important to me.

  I listened to the beating of my heart and the muted noises of the funfair drifting up the beach. "I understand," I said. "I am the fool, not you. Never you. And I am sorry for it, Aenea. Truly sorry."

  She did not say anything. She gave me one long, searching look, and then her eyes shuttered to me and she walked out the door.

  "I'm sorry, Micah," Drystan said.

  "Me, too." I looked at him. "Are you sure you want to come with me? Wherever we end up going?"

  "Of course I am." He winked, trying for levity. "It'll be an adventure."

  He passed me an empty sack. "Here, go steal us some food while I go get my things from my cart. I'll meet you back here in a quarter of an hour, and we'll make our way."

  "No goodbyes?"

  "No. Best to sneak away and leave fewer ripples."

  I took the empty bag. "See you soon." And I crept from my former home in the circus, cursing all the withheld truths that had turned to barbed lies that cut deep.

  On the way to the food cart, someone seized my shoulder. I twirled and raised my fist. Before I could register their face, a rough cloth smelling of chemicals was pressed to mine. My scream was dampened by the fabric. The hand behind the cloth pushed harder onto my mouth and I choked.

  The world dimmed and darkened and then I was gone.

  28

  AUTUMN: THE RINGMASTER'S CANE

  "There once was a troll quick to anger. He had no friends, and lived by himself by a crucial pass through the Fang Mountains. People would bring him gifts and stories to try and barter passage. Sometimes it worked. Often it didn't, and their bones would scatter the rocks as a warning to others. One day, the troll hurt himself falling down a ledge. He called to a man hiking through the pass for help, but the man only hurried along, grateful that he was safe. The troll withered away, until his bones mingled with his victims'. His anger was his undoing."

  "Troll Pass," HESTIA'S FABLES

  I awoke, my head still in the grips of a chemical fog. The gag chafed the corners of my mouth and the cotton dried my tongue. I groaned and resisted the urge to vomit as the world came into focus. I stared at the ceiling of Bil's cart, still in Iona's wedding dress, prone and tied fast to the bedposts. The false pearls of my skirt glinted in the low light. I whimpered, each breath a struggle. Outside, I could hear the gramophone's tinny music and the subdued mumble and laughter of the circus folk as they celebrated the last show of the season.

  Time dripped past. I shivered, tears sliding down my cheeks. I yelled, the scream absorbed by the cotton in my mouth. I struggled against my bonds, chafing my wrists raw. All was futile. Eventually, the sounds of merriment faded but for the moaning witch of the wind.

  The door unlocked and Bil's silhouette darkened the doorway. Even from here, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He slid in and locked the door behind him.

  "A Shadow was lookin' for you, boy," Bil said, closing and re-bolting the door behind him. "Policiers, too."

  I said nothing, for I could not. I did not doubt the Shadow might have been looking for me, but the Policiers I saw might have merely been keeping the peace in a place where they could have a little fun of their own.

  "Well, I say he was looking for you, but he wasn't looking for someone by the name of Micah Grey, now, was he?" He took a full bottle of whisky from a cupboard, unstopped it, and poured himself another glass. I would never be able to smell whisky again without the memory of fear.

  "He was looking," Bil slurred, "for a girl with a funny name. Iffy… something. Last name o' Laurus."

  I swallowed behind the gag.

  "Iphigenia Laurus. That's what it was. Little noble girl who ran away from her perfect little life."

  I glared at him over my gag.

  "The Shadow asked some innocent questions, but then I remembered that newspaper article Frit told me about, few months back. That missin' girl. Frit wondered where a noble girl would run, how she'd hide what she was. You know what I said to her? I said, 'Not well, that's how. Stick out like a sore thumb, she would.'" He gulped some more whisky. "But you hid a little better than I thought. Might not a noticed, you know, if you hadn't been Iona in the panto. Too convincing a girl by half, you was." His gaze lingered on my dress before he drained the glass.

  "After that Shadow left, I remembered. Remembered the Policiers were offering a reward for you, see."

  My nostrils flared. I felt like a cornered rabbit looking into the eyes of a fox. I managed to make a sarcastic grunt through my gag.

  "Yea, you'd think the circus would be doing all right, now, wouldn't you? I work hard so the circus folk think that. We've been selling seats, fair enough, but we've been limping along on promises. When Frit left, she took everything. D'you hear me? Every. Little. Thing. All I worked for, to support her, all gone." More whisky sloshed into the glass tumbler.

  I stared at him, hatred blazing in my eyes. Again, I thought he was lying. Frit would have taken a lot, but she loved the people in the circus. She did the books. She knew exactly how much Bil could afford to lose. Or had she grown to hate Bil so much that the rest of us did not matter?

  "I didn't say nothing to the Shadow because I'm not stupid. He gets you, he gives you to the Constabulary – money's all his. So, you see, girl, you got a couple options. One, I give you over ta the Policiers, get the money from them direct, see.

  "But I'm not an unfair man. You can buy your freedom. You grew up noble. You probably got a lot of noble friends. Rich, noble friends. You contact the ones you know and trust, get 'em to give you a little more than the reward; you can go on your merry way. I don't care. Can't say ol' Bil ain't fair then, now can you?" His words slurred. He patted me on the shoulder and I flinched. "Shame, as you're a good performer, but I don't need no more Shadows or Policiers in my circus. Think of the circus. Think of your friends. Can't leave them without a job come winter, now, can you? Not as many circuses these days."

  I swallowed again, my mouth still dry and tasting of chemicals.

  Bil shook his head. "Still can't believe you tricked us for all this time. Lied to us all, you have. Little Aenea fooling about with another girl, wouldn't have thought it of her." Bil's hand slid down to my stomach. I glared at him and started tugging against the bonds again. If his hand slid much further, he would have far more grounds for blackmail.

  Bil's hand left my stomach, sliding up towards the neckline of my dress. His hand snaked down the front of the bodice, pushing aside the false breasts and feeling the corset over my true ones. One finger wiggled under the corset. I struggled against him as much as I could, the ropes burning my arms, my scream of rage little more than a pathetic squeak behind the gag.

  He pulled his hand away, patted my cheek.
"Just checking, girl," he said, and he touched the gag. "I'm going to take this off so you can speak, but you're not to scream, you hear? If you do, I'll crush your throat." His big, meaty hand slid around my windpipe.

  "Understand?" he said, eyes boring into mine, hand squeezing for emphasis.

  All I could do was nod.

  He took out the gag and I ran my tongue around my mouth, trying to dampen it. I coughed.

  "What's your decision then, little miss?"

  My mind was scrambling about in circles. "If you turn me in, then you won't get your reward," I said, my voice rough.

  Bil guffawed. "Oh, and why's that, pet?"

  "They may give you the money, but the officials hate the circus," I bluffed, trying to make my voice sound as female as possible. It was harder to do, now – my voice had lowered. "You may get the money, but you'd have the tax men pounding at your door, with rules and bans on where you can set up. It's not worth it."

  Bil perched on the bed, the ropes creaking beneath his substantial weight. I squirmed against my bonds again.

  I paused.

  Bil had not tied the bonds well. It had been years since he had tied the strong knots to secure the big top. I had almost managed to work one of the ropes far enough up my hand that I could pop the thumb over. Almost.

  "I knew you'd say something like that. And you see, I thought of that. Which is why I would prefer the money from your rich noble friends. If you can't get it from them, your family will pay up, and I can deliver them their precious daughter, safe and sound. They get what they want without the Policiers taking a commission." He laughed, hard and harsh.

  I made a show of struggling again. I braced myself and pulled. My thumb dislocated and popped over the rope in a burst of pain. I gasped.

  "I can't go back to them," I said. "I won't. Please, don't do this, Bil. Please." Tears of pain slid down my face as I unworked the bonds behind my back.

  Bil looked at me, regret and pity in his bloodshot eyes. He swayed softly, the stench of alcohol and stale breath washing over me. "I ain't got a choice, Micah, or whoever you are. This circus is mine, and I'll do anything to save it. Anything."

  "I know," I said, and punched him in the face.

  My thumb exploded with further pain. I recoiled at the meaty sound of my fist against his cheek. I had hit true, and Bil roared. I kicked him again, and, unbalanced by the punch, he staggered to the other side of the room.

  Fingers fumbling, I untied my bonds from my ankles and leapt from the bed and made a dash for the door. I tripped over the long fabric of my dress. Bil grabbed my skirt, ripping it. False pearls scattered. Kicking at him, I grabbed the door handle with one hand and thumped the door loudly with the other.

  "Help!" I screamed.

  "Shut your trap. I'm saving my circus, girl. I won't lose sleep over sending one little brat back home for a bit of dosh," Bil grunted. He banged my head against the door of the cart and my vision swam. I wriggled wildly.

  Bil's grip around my waist slipped and his hand slithered between my legs. He froze. I know what he had felt, beneath the layers of fabric. And he knew what I had under my bodice. I kicked him hard in the stomach and pulled free from his grasp. He stumbled backwards, winded but not injured. His face flushed, his eyes darkened. Bil grasped his ringmaster's cane, raising it as if about to strike me. His face showed no mercy. Only anger.

  He swung, and I rolled. The cane thumped hard into the planks of the cart where my head had been moments before. Bil staggered, unbalanced by the swing and his drink. I kicked him again, but his hand grasped my leg and I crashed to the floor. I was too winded to scream.

  And Bil hit me over and over again, the blows from his cane raining down. I covered my head as best I could with my arms, the pain bursting into flames on my shoulder, my arms, my back. A blow struck the side of my head and my vision wobbled. Another hit my upper left arm with a sickening crack, pain radiating through my shoulder. Through a gap in my arm I saw Bil's purple face contorted with rage, spittle flying from his mouth. He had lost it, I realized through the haze of agony.

  And he was going to kill me.

  The door unbolted. Hope surged in me when the blows stopped. Bil crouched over me, one hand formed in a fist, the other still clutching his cane, breathing heavily. I had a bump growing on my forehead and the beginnings of deep bruises on my arms and neck, and the remains of my bonds dangled about my wrists.

  Drystan poked his head into the cart. My heart leapt in my chest. With his stage makeup cracked and his pale motley and hair, he looked like an avenging ghost. Behind him, Aenea also peered in. They glanced between the two of us and froze.

  "This isn't what it looks like," Bil slurred.

  "Oh really? Looks to me like you're about to kill poor Micah, here." Drystan said.

  "Micah… are you alright?"

  I managed to moan.

  "This is a… business meeting," he grated. "And it ain't got nothing to do with you."

  "Bil, you're the one who dragged me into your mess," Drystan said. "And you didn't give me a choice in the matter. I'd say it has everything to do with me."

  The words slid through me. I did not understand.

  "You're drunk. Sober up, have some water, and calm down. Let Micah go. Don't punish him for your misdeeds."

  "Yes, Bil, please. Just let him go." Aenea said, creeping toward him and holding her hands out.

  "Him?" Bil sneered. "You don't know nothin', and you never did." Bil raised his cane again.

  "Were you going to turn Micah in?" Aenea asked.

  "Like I said, you don't know nothin'. The both of you." Bil's chest heaved like a bellows, his white-knuckled fists against his side.

  "I know more than you, it would seem. Policiers won't give you your cut, you know. They'll hold it from the thousands of marks of taxes you owe them and then fine you for the rest." Aenea's eyes would not leave Bil's face. I was touched – she did not want me anymore, and she did not forgive me, but she wanted what was right.

  Bil shook his head, mutely. "I know that. But this girl has noble friends with deep pockets who'll pay. They'll have to. The circus needs it."

  "The circus is dead, Bil," Drystan said. "It's been dying a long time. You just haven't accepted it yet. There will be no R.H. Ragona's Circus of Magic next season, or ever again. You've dug yourself a hole you can't possibly get out of, long before what happened to Frit."

  What happened to Frit?

  Bil's face purpled. "Don't you mention her to me. You hear? Don't you dare!"

  "Haunted by the memory of your murdered wife, Bil? Regret and guilt keeping you up at night?"

  Aenea gasped.

  The pieces fell into place with horrible certainty.

  Bil roared, lurching to his feet. His hands balled into fists as he glared at Drystan, with me forgotten in the corner.

  "Let it go, Bil," Drystan said, holding his fists at the ready. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "You do," Bil growled. "You both hate me and have for a long time now."

  Aenea's gaze met mine, and she nodded, as if confirming something.

  Lightning quick, Aenea rushed Bil and jumped onto his back, her strong arms closing about his neck. Bil sputtered and tried to shake her off, but she held on like a limpet. I forced air into my lungs, struggling to my feet. Bil pried Aenea off his neck. Drystan darted toward him but Bil backhanded him with his other hand and sent him sprawling. While Drystan recovered, Bil drew back his fist and punched Aenea full in the face. Her head snapped back like a doll's and she went limp. With a growl, Bil tossed her across the room. Aenea's head hit the bedpost and I heard a sickening crack. She fell to the floor. Her open, glassy eyes stared at me, seeing nothing.

  For a moment, time stopped. None of us moved. None of us breathed. My mind could not register what had happened. And then Drystan attacked Bil. Like me, he was strong from his time in the circus, but it was his agility, honed from chasing the other clowns around the ring, that was frightening. Drystan sto
oped down and picked up the discarded teak cane.

  He pressed it against Bil's throat.

  I struggled upright, staggering over to Aenea's motionless body. Bil had ripped the bodice of the dress in our struggle. I pulled the scraps of fabric uselessly about a bare shoulder and I pressed two fingers to her neck. There was no pulse. I let out a wounded cry.

  It happened in an instant. A fraction of an instant.

  Drystan swung the cane at Bil's head. I must believe that he only wished to knock Bil out. But Drystan's thumb pressed against the ruby eye of the carved ram at the head of the cane. Just at the moment of impact, a long, thin blade emerged from the end, sliding sickeningly across Bil's throat.