A Circus of Brass and Bone

by Abra SW

  Jonathan could handle himself in a situation that called for a quick escape or a quicker stick with a knife, but the sailor’s size kept such situations from even arising.

  Flies buzzed around dead animals in the gutters. Jonathan caught glimpses of human bodies in alleys and closed shops. He did not look more closely. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Stores, factories, and homes all stared down at the street with darkened eyes, though furtive shadows moved behind some of those windows.

  From Lacey’s demeanor, a body would think that nothing out of the ordinary occurred around them. Jonathan found himself grateful for that pretense of normality.

  When they reached School Street, they found that someone had made an effort. The street was clear of corpses and refuse. Oil lamps burned behind windows. A dozen coppers walked back and forth along the street, clearly on guard, and just as clearly not guarding other places: groceries and confectioneries and butcher shops and dry goods stores and bakeries.

  At Jonathan’s sigh, Lacey looked back over her shoulder at him. “We’re nearly there. See?” She pointed along the street to a building whose granite exterior gleamed in the sun. The massive doors stood open, revealing a darkened maw inside. Jonathan shuffled his feet, staying behind Lacey and their fishy escort.

  As they walked up the path to those huge doors, the statue of Benjamin Franklin gazed down upon them from his pedestal with serious, considering eyes. All very well for him, Jonathan thought. He was safely dead. They still needed to avoid joining him prematurely.

  The sailor coughed. “I’ll wait outside, ma’am.” He nodded toward a bench under a tree.

  “Thank you,” Lacey said, nothing in voice or deed betraying any awareness that the sailor might abandon them to make their own way back through the haunted streets.

  Inside City Hall, Lacey paused. Jonathan stopped just in time to keep from barreling into her. Squares of sunlight fell from the tall windows and illuminated the entrance. Gentlemen hurried through the halls. It seemed a hive of activity.

  A young man clutching a sheaf of papers stopped when he saw them. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “but City Hall is closed to regular petitioners today.” He pointed. “If you see that gentleman, he’ll record your name and information, so that we may contact you once—once the current crisis is past.”

  “Oh, we’re not petitioners!” Lacey said. “We’re from the Loyale Traveling Circus and Museum of Educational Novelties. Our ringmaster had an appointment with the mayor’s assistant, a Mr. Roderick White?”

  An appointment? Perhaps Lacey wasn’t so propriety-bound as to be useless after all. Jonathan wouldn’t queer her pitch.

  “Circus?” The young man blinked. For a moment, the weariness in his face gave way to an echo of childhood delight. “Perhaps this will lift the mayor’s spirits. Please wait here.”

  “We have no need to inconvenience the mayor. We only wish—” Lacey began, but the clickety-clack of the man’s boots faded before she could complete her sentence. “—to see Mr. White,” she concluded feebly.

  “Looks like we’ll have an appointment with the mayor,” Jonathan said.

  She visibly rearranged her expectations. “If that is so, it will be an honor. But I’m certain such an important man will have other responsibilities, in this—current crisis.”

  It appeared not, however. When the young man returned, he radiated expectant pleasure. “This way, please. The mayor will see you now.”

  The mayor’s well-appointed office held books that spoke of learning, paintings that spoke of wealth, and a tall stack of paperwork that spoke of importance. The mayor paid attention to none of it. When they entered, they found him standing beside the window, his back to the door, rubbing his right arm absentmindedly as he stared at the thick pillar of smoke they’d seen from the Aether’s Bounty.

  “My city is burning,” he said quietly. He faced them. His patrician bone structure may have been bred to hold the hopes of millions, but his pale blue eyes were shadowed and sad.

  “Mr. Mayor,” said the young man, “these are the personages from the, uh, Loyal Circus and Museum, Miss—.” He floundered.

  “Miss Lacey Miller and Mr. Jonathan Matzke,” Lacey rescued him, “from the Loyale Traveling Circus and Museum of Educational Novelties.”

  The young man cleared his throat and repeated their names. “And this is Mayor Arthur Padgett.”

  Mayor Padgett nodded and the young man disappeared as quickly as he could.

  “Forgive him,” Mayor Padgett said, “he’s not my regular assistant.”

  “We did not mean to intrude,” Lacey said. “In truth, we’d hoped to see Mr. White. Our circus ringmaster had a list, and Mr. White’s name was written beside Boston.”

  “Had?” Mayor Padgett raised a finely carved brow.

  “Mr. Loyale died at sea before we docked.”

  Jonathan admired Lacey’s careful omissions, but not so much that he didn’t notice a precariously balanced dip pen beside the inkwell on the mayor’s desk. The pen had a lovely feather design etched into the handle. He edged closer to it.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mayor Padgett said gravely.

  Lacey nodded acknowledgment.

  “Alas, Mr. White was among those taken from us by this crisis.”

  Lacey sagged. Jonathan shifted a little closer to the dip pen. His fingers itched to caress those curving lines.

  “Forgive me, but—what has happened?” Lacey asked. “We have been at sea and only docked this morning.”

  “You must thank Providence for that. Yesterday, a terrible and uncanny storm struck our fair city. Uncounted numbers died. I fear their corpses still line our streets.”

  Jonathan fumbled and the pen fell to the carpet. He froze.

  The mayor bent, quite naturally. He picked up the pen, and set it back beside the inkwell.

  “Animals and even humble plants died in equal proportions.” He pointed out the window. “Vandals have looted homes and set fires all over the city. With police numbers so reduced by the storm, my ability to maintain order is negligible. The whole city is a powder keg.”

  While Lacey and Mayor Padgett gazed out the window, Jonathan deftly slipped the pen into his pocket and eased farther back from the desk. Satisfaction thrilled through him as he ran his finger along the lines of the engraving.

  “I thought I could do nothing to draw the city together. But now—you come.”

  “We come?” Lacey echoed.

  “Something wonderful and joyful and wholesome. Something that will remind Boston’s citizens of happier times.”

  Wholesome. Mr. Loyale would have loved to hear that. He had added “Museum of Educational” to “Novelties” to give that impression, along with introducing Biblical tableaus to the menagerie: The Garden of Eden, The Lion and the Child, that sort of thing. His measures had prevented small-town ministers from preaching against the immorality of the circus, but they’d never actually been called wholesome by anybody but sign-painters before.

  “I fear you lend us more importance than we have,” Lacy said. “Yet, if you believe our presence can provide hope in a dark time, we shall do our humble best.”

  “Can you get the circus set up by this evening? I fear that another lawless night will rip this city apart.”

  “I—it usually takes us a full day to set the circus up!” Lacey protested. “But, yes, I suppose. If we must. As I recall, the last time we were here we set up in Boston Common. Does that still suit?”

  “Refugees from the North End—that’s where the big fire is—have taken up residence in the Common.” Mayor Padgett paused. “All the better for my purpose, I suppose. Yes, the Common is an excellent choice. You have my personal gratitude and the gratitude of the City of Boston for your assistance.”

  Jonathan shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the pen in his pocket.

  “We’re honored,” Lacey murmured. “I hesitate to impose, but would it be possible to use your telegraph machine? Under the c
ircumstances, I fear the telegraph office is closed.”

  “My dear, I’m sorry. All our aetheric devices failed or exploded. As you value your health, stay away from all such things. The telegraph’s demise was less dramatic than most, but it is impossible to send or receive any messages. I’ve sent a messenger to the mayor of New York to beg for assistance, but it will take him more than four days to reach the city, and longer for any aid to return.”

  “No telegraph.”

  Mayor Padgett patted her gloved hands, momentarily resembling the benevolent patriarch Boston had elected.

  Lacey withdrew her hands coolly. “No matter. Thank you for the information. And I do hope you can make it to our opening performance.”

  “I am so sorry I cannot help more. Please allow me to show you to my assistant’s desk. Perhaps Mr. White left some message for your ringmaster.”

  Lacey thanked him, and they proceeded into the adjoining room. Mr. White’s desk was more modest than the mayor’s, but the stacks of paper were even higher. Lacey, with a quick apologetic look directed at Mayor Padgett, began sifting through the papers.

  Jonathan rifled the drawers. The contents bored him: nothing shiny or colorful or edible, not so much as a tin of mints. He sat back on his haunches and scowled at it. Above him, Lacey continued reading the documents sitting on top of the desk, but he knew better. Nothing really interesting would be left out in plain sight.

  He flopped down on his back, ignoring Lacey’s startled exclamation, and wormed his way under the desk to stare up at the middle drawer. A cobweb clung to his face, but he brushed it aside. Something jutted out from the back of the drawer.

  Using a delicate touch, he felt around until he found a spot that gave slightly under his fingertips, pressed it, and caught the hidden drawer as it fell into his hands. He emerged from under the desk triumphant, if with a low opinion of the maid’s cleaning skills.

  The hidden drawer held a Bible and a small parcel with ‘Loyale’ written across it.

  “That’s Mr. White’s handwriting,” Mayor Padgett said, leaning forward with interest.

  Lacey reached out her hand for the parcel. Jonathan clutched it closer.

  “Open it, then,” she said.

  Reluctant to lose the savor of the moment, he unwrapped the parcel as slowly as he dared. His eyebrows raised. He looked up at Lacey and Mayor Padgett to find that their expressions of blank amazement mirrored his own.

  In his hands, he cradled a bundle of hundred-dollar treasury notes, more money than he’d ever seen in one place before. The urge to tighten his grip and bolt past Lacey and Major Padgett swept over him. He resisted until it faded, leaving him sweating. With all the coppers in front of City Hall, it would only take one shout from Mayor Padgett to have him arrested. And even if by some miracle he escaped the coppers, the state of the city didn’t seem friendly to a thin, feeble-looking man on his own, especially one carrying anything valuable.

  Lacey kept her composure. “Ah, he must have been passing along monies from one of the investors to the circus. Is there anything else?”

  Jonathan shook his head.

  Lacey smiled at Mayor Padgett. “Thank you so much for your assistance, Mayor. I’d best get back to the steamship so that the circus can prepare.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Miller.” The mayor rubbed his arm again.

  Lacey tilted her head slightly. “Likewise, I’m sure. Are you feeling well, sir?”

  “As well as any.” He laughed mirthlessly. “My arm still throbs sometimes. It’s nothing.”

  They departed the mayor’s office and reached the Aether’s Bounty in safety. Lacey gave a few coins to the burly sailor who had escorted them, along with her thanks and two tickets to the circus. Still looking a bit bewildered by the whole affair, the sailor gave his cap a respectful tug and struck off along the dock.

  In their absence, the crew of the Aether’s Bounty had organized a watch to stand guard. A sailor walked the length of the ship, rifle in hand. When Lacey waved to him, he hurried over and let down the gangplank.

  Jonathan tried to follow Lacey to see where she would hide the ringmaster’s bounty. After only a few minutes, though, he stepped on a creaky board. Without looking over her shoulder, she called, “Go back and get ready for the grand entrance, skeleton man! I’ll tell the others.”

  Discouraged, he went back to his room and sulked—until he remembered that he still had secret papers from the ringmaster’s locked chest, and better than that, nobody cared what happened to the ringmaster’s sausage. What was left of it. Jonathan had just nipped into the ringmaster’s cabin and hid the bag of tasties under his tailcoat, along with a few other small items, when he heard the fortune teller and the whiteface clown coming down the passageway talking about packing up the ringmaster’s belongings.

  Jonathan dodged out the door and scuttled down the passageway in the opposite direction. Around a bend, he stopped, pressed his back to the wall, and listened. No outcry sounded. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was just enough time for a quick snack before he went to take his place in the grand entry procession.

  He passed the animal trainer’s assistant leading one of his new charges, a red-bearded langur monkey.

  “Come along, Mr. Doom,” the assistant said.

  Jonathan stopped. “The monkey’s name is Doom?”

  “Ben Doom.” The assistant shrugged sheepishly. “It seemed like a funny idea at the time.”

  “Our audience isn’t in the best mood today. They might take it the wrong way.”

  They might take anything the wrong way. Jonathan pressed his hand to his waistcoat and felt the reassuring outline of the knife he’d taken the opportunity to secrete in his clothing, just in case.

  The assistant sighed. “Come along, Ben.”

  Jonathan nodded and continued on to the circus wagon line-up.

  In the depths of the ship, he heard the steam calliope start. It traditionally traveled last in the procession, but its music carried for blocks and blocks, summoning people to see the parade.

  The sparkling silvery trim on the white circus wagon Jonathan shared with the fat lady always reminded him of sugar sprinkled onto a cake. He sat on the high carriage seat, while she sat in the back. They contrasted each other nicely and, he supposed, his slight weight helped keep the specially reinforced carriage from buckling under her poundage. He counted them lucky that the black Clydesdale that pulled their wagon was among the horses they’d taken with them to India. Not long after their return, Lacey had stalked by fuming about how impossible it was to buy or hire the necessary horses to haul the wagons.

  The circus folk were arrayed in all their gaudy finery, the mud tarps pulled from gilded circus wagons, and the menagerie staring out from behind the bars of their cages (or, in the case of the snake charmer and her charges, the glass walls).They jockeyed into order for the grand processional, and then—the ship’s crew lowered the gangplank. Jonathan found himself holding his breath as butterflies danced in his stomach.

  The aether-powered elephant led the way. Brass chimed and clanked as its weight swung from side to side. The planks shook beneath its ponderous steps, but the mahout rode atop the massive animated elephant skeleton with rajah-like indifference.

  Behind the elephant came the snake charmer’s wagon. She dressed in green silks with an Egyptianish tiara on her forehead, and snakes twined around her arms and legs. They coiled against the glass sides of the wagon, pressing against it as if they tried to break free and spill out into the street. Jonathan shuddered.

  Next came the ostrich cage. Their plumage gleamed in the sun. Improbably long necks stretched up above the top of the wagon, curving and bending as the ostriches bobbed their tiny heads. They eyed their surroundings, looking for something interesting to gobble up.

  Jonathan and the fat lady’s wagon followed, and after them, the lion cage. Whenever the procession rounded a corner, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure the lion still
sat majestically in his cage.

  Silence fell across the dock as the circus passed. The only sound was the whistle of wind and the strains of the calliope organ. Sailors and their women, tarts and wives alike, stared as if at the ghost of a former time. Jonathan smiled and waved and doffed his stovepipe hat to anything remotely female.

  When the circus proceeded into Boston, the difference from the normal welcome they received was marked. Curtains twitched in darkened windows. Faces appeared, wraithlike, in shadowed alleys. People who dared the street stopped to watch when the parade went by, but they didn’t cheer and they didn’t smile.

  Ginger the clown, in full whiteface makeup and fiery orange wig, strode alongside the wagons. “Come one, come all, see the greatest circus of them all!” he called. “The Loyale Traveling Menagerie, Hippodrome, Circus, and Museum of Educational Novelties! Witness amazements and wonders unlike any you’ve seen before!”

  A grimy child of indeterminate gender peered around a lamppost as Ginger passed.

  Ginger stopped and bowed so deeply his hat fell off. “Dear Mr. Lamppost,” he said. “How good it is to see you again! How is Mrs. Lamppost keeping?”

  The child stared, but didn’t flee.

  Ginger did a double-take. “Goodness, there’s a child! Is it a young lamppost?”

  Solemn-faced, the child shook its head.

  “Let me see—.” Ginger reached into his hat. “Could you taste this for me?” He handed a horehound candy to the child.

  Eyes wide, the child stuck the candy in its mouth. The clown tilted his head. “Now, was that candy or a marble I gave you?” he asked, sounding very concerned.

  “S’candy,” the urchin admitted.

  “That’s such a relief!” The clown clapped his floppy-gloved hands to his chest and appeared to trip over his own feet. He took a pratfall, flipped up out of it to land on his feet, and kept going. Behind him, the child broke into a surprisingly white-toothed grin as it gurgled with laughter.

  When the first circus wagons reached the Boston Common, they halted abruptly. The circus parade disintegrated into milling confusion. Jonathan craned his neck to see around the ostriches in front of him. Instead of a wide expanse of green, a patchwork of quilts and tarps and blankets sprouted across the Common. Fallen tree branches fueled cooking fires. Living trees formed the center beams for makeshift tents.