The Circus Infinitus Stories Volume 1

by Ethan Somerville

  The Monocle bowed his head. “Of course, Bishop. I will inform the Queen of what you have learned, and she will authorise me full police powers.”

  “Good, but first Mr Sabbath here needs to fetch the items we require. Will he perform as asked?” The Bishop glared at him. “He looks like a dissolute poet!”

  Bart Sabbath simply rolled his eyes in exasperation at the theatrics. But he painted a smile on his pale round face. “I will go tonight and get the articles you mentioned,” he promised. “You needn’t worry about me – I have a few talents of my own.”

  Reginald Jefferson could not resist the urge any longer. He should have been in church with his family, but had told them he was ill and needed to stay in bed to recover. He couldn’t afford to be sick now he had a new job. Mary had accepted the lie without question, and taken their baby daughter Clarissa off into the cold morning. As soon he was sure they were gone, Reginald, or Reggie as he now preferred to call himself, threw off the warm but threadbare covers, dressed and headed off towards the Circus Infinitus.

  He had initially asked Mary if she wanted to go, but the devout young woman vehemently shook her head, saying that she had heard the Circus Infinitus was a dark and corrupt place and she didn’t want herself or Clarissa to go anywhere near it. So Reggie had to go on his own, and he felt like a thief in the night as he stole through the streets. He caught a hackney, and due to the hour and the fact it was a Sunday, he reached the Circus in record time.

  Crowds had already collected, waiting for the first show of the day to start, and all the rides were running. Reginald wandered in, as wide-eyed with wonder as a child. He was a thin, bony man of twenty four, newly employed as a clerk for the prestigious law firm Harrison and Hawley. Once he had some money behind him, he could approach his father’s creditors, and maybe start paying back all the debts his foolish parent had amassed. He knew he would never be able to restore his family’s fortunes, but he could at least bring his name out of the gutter. He didn’t know what his father had been seeking, but he certainly hadn’t found it in any of the gambling dens or whorehouses he had spent all his time in.

  If only Reggie knew why he was so attracted to this place! He’d had some talent for performance in his youth, but he’d never thought about running away to join a circus. He’d always been so responsible, not like his father … or a certain thieving cousin he didn’t want to think about. Sighing, unable to find any answers, Reggie joined the queue for the morning show, paid his money, and was shown a seat by a disagreeable looking fellow with a bad scar running down the side of his face.

  But the show stole his breath away. He had never seen anything like it. He’d expected shabby, badly-treated animals, drunken clowns and consumptive acrobats. What he got was the experience of a lifetime, with its blazing lightning-flashes, magnificent freakish creatures, limb-changing acrobats and phenomenal strongman. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how the rings changed when the curtain fell. Where did such wonderful creatures come from? He couldn’t tear his eyes from the tiger-mistress who wore not a stitch of clothing. No wonder Mary didn’t want to come here! But Reggie didn’t find it unholy. He found it magical.

  But he couldn’t stop his gaze from straying up into the top right-hand corner of the Big Top, even though he couldn’t see anything up there. Something hidden seemed to be calling him, something he knew he had to have. The yearning terrified him, because he’d always been such a practical soul. What had come over him all of a sudden? Was this what had attracted him to the Circus in the first place? The magical promise that something awaited him within its mysterious realms? He had to find out. He didn’t want to think about trying to leave against that dreadful pull.

  After the show was over, he loitered near the Big Top’s entrance for a while. A couple of carnies, including the shabby fellow who’d shown him to his seat, hovered nearby, making sure people couldn’t sneak in without paying. But their attention wandered every time a pretty lady walked past, and a group of four such young women, giggling together under their parasols, actually caused them to leave their post long enough for Reggie to slip in unnoticed. He had only minutes to assuage his curiosity, then he would leave. He darted across the metal floor and slipped through the curtain. Blessed with natural stealth and silence, Reggie picked his way around the perimeter, trying not to be distracted by all the pipes, machinery and weird multiple ring-thing against the far wall. He had to focus. He crept up a set of steep metal stairs and hurried along a narrow catwalk that led down a corridor lined with rooms. The pull was stronger now, drawing him towards a chamber at the end.

  Reggie entered a strange laboratory, filled with wonderful machines. But he hardly saw any of them, his eyes only for a tall set of shelves filled with strange artefacts; old leather-bound books, boxes of machine-parts, bottles, jars and half-finished projects. Then he saw the things he wanted.

  An old jester’s hat and staff with a leering skull on the end.

  Reggie actually voiced his surprise out loud. “What the Deuce?”

  “Who are you?” demanded a voice behind him. “How the Hell did you get in here? Do I need to put a damn lock on the door to keep you nosy bastards out?” Reggie whirled around to see Professor Abbacus bearing down on him. He was smaller up close, but no less frightening. Fear overtook his urge to grab the articles and he ducked under the Professor’s arm.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped as he sprinted for the exit. “I only wanted to see-“

  A lightning bolt splattered off the door frame as he bolted through it, howling in terror. He charged down the walkway, leapt onto the stair railing and slid down it like a child until he realised a tall, shadowy figure was waiting at the bottom of the steps for him. He couldn’t stop, and just when he thought he was going to clean the fellow up, the man lifted a hand and he slowed, sliding gently off the edge of the metal banister. He landed neatly on his feet, then swayed as shock took over. The man grabbed him and straightened him up. Reggie found himself gaping up at the Ringmaster’s pale, ageless face.

  “Please, I didn’t mean any harm,” he managed. “I … I only wanted to … I only wanted to see.”

  “Why don’t I just put a sign above my door?” Professor Abbacus yelled from the top of the stairs. “’Trespassers and Thieves Welcome’!”

  “That’s enough, Icarus!” the Ringmaster shouted. “Reginald here may be important.”

  The Professor swore and stomped back into his lab, slamming the door so hard the entire walkway shook.

  “H-how did you know my name?” Reggie gasped.

  The Ringmaster ignored the question, his blue eyes intense as he stared down at Reggie. “You felt a call to come here, didn’t you?”

  Reggie stared. “Yes, but how – can you really read minds?”

  “Time is of the essence. What did you seek?”

  If he could read minds, he couldn’t see everything. But he felt he had to obey, almost as though he was being coerced. “The … the jester’s hat and staff. I felt … that I had to have them. But the urge is going now.” He dropped his head, feeling foolish. “Do you know where they’re from?”

  The Ringmaster shook his head. “They came into Professor Abbacus’ possession some years back, but he doesn’t know anything about them either, only that they contain great power locked inside. Obviously you could feel it. For some reason the two articles are connected to you. I suggest you stay here, and try to use them under controlled conditions.”

  The thought filled Reggie with a sudden, desperate longing, but he stood fast against it. “No sir – I had best be going. I’m sure my wife has returned from church by now, and will be wondering where I’ve gone. I can’t disappoint her.” He turned and ran, eager to get out the Ringmaster’s eldritch presence – and away from his own bizarre need.

  He hurried from the Circus and found his way home. He bore Mary’s questions stoically, telling her that as soon as he’d felt better, he’d gone out of a walk and lost track of time. She accep
ted his story as the truth because he’d never lied to her before. But he wasn’t sure for how long he could maintain the deception, for the strange artefacts continued to nag at his mind for the rest of the day and deep into the night. He tossed and turned so badly that Mary eventually told him to get out of bed. Despite the lateness of the hour he couldn’t sleep, and dressed. Perhaps a walk would clear his head.

  But as soon as his worn-down old shoes met the cobbles, he found himself heading back towards the Circus. Now he knew what he wanted he couldn’t resist the call any longer. He walked, tears of hopeless frustration coursing down his cheeks.

  Bart Sabbath was also crossing the city, keeping to the shadows and making sure he wasn’t spotted by any constables. Or prostitutes, for that matter. He enjoyed availing himself of their services, and didn’t want to be distracted tonight of all nights. For he was about to meet his destiny. The bishop had told him he could keep the hat and staff, since the articles belonged to his family line, but after collecting them he had to use their power to steal an ancient, vellum covered book. Victoris had told him that the book was probably located near the hat and staff, but he wasn’t sure. He only knew the articles were in the Necromancer’s possession.

  Necromancer. Bart didn’t like the sound of that at all. He was a natural coward, and tangling with someone who used such a powerful moniker worried him. He had spent his whole life keeping one step ahead of the law. But unlike his late uncle Alexander, his creditors had yet to track him down. Not that he’d ever given any of them his real name!

  The tall, lanky man crept onto the grounds of the Circus Infinitus. Technically, the land was publicly owned, so no-one could gainsay his presence. But he still kept to the shadows as he crept through the silent tents and stalls. He’d spotted a few hulking figures wandering about, and didn’t want anyone to get a glimpse of him. He wore his distinctive curly red hair buried beneath a woollen cap, and a long coat with the collar up. Naturally stealthy, he made no sound as he stole up to the Big Top. The front flaps were closed. No matter – he’d passed plenty of windows. During the day the windows were covered with canvas flaps, tied down to keep curious passers-by from looking in. But at night they were rolled up to allow in fresh air. Despite the chilly evening, several windows were open.

  Bart peered in one, spotting what appeared to be some sort of alchemical laboratory. It appeared to be deserted, the bed under the window rumpled and empty. Bart didn’t question his luck. He scrambled in and dashed across the room to an open door. Beyond lay a narrow hallway, dimly lit with electric lights. Above the ceiling sloped down, and Bart realised he was underneath where the audience sat. Low storerooms lay to his right, more rooms along his left.

  Almost immediately he was overcome by the strangest sensation, as though someone had grabbed the front of his shirt and was tugging him forward; this way, this way. It wasn’t strong – he could have resisted. But he didn’t want to. Something told him the extraordinary felling was pulling him in the direction he wanted to go.

  Bart crept through the passageways, occasionally pressing himself against a wall, or diving through the doorway when distant voices reached his ears. Around him metal ticked and creaked as it contracted in the rapidly cooling night. He’d always intended to visit the Circus – properly of course – but had never gotten around to it. Would he have felt this strange call sooner? Could he have acquired the hat and slapstick without the Stigmata’s help? Then he wouldn’t be under their control now!

  Not that he actually intended returning, despite Victoris’ warning. That silly old bastard can spout all the Latin likes at me, Bart thought. Once I get my hands on the stuff, I’m off! He would keep the hat and staff of course, but an ancient Vellum-covered tome would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. Bart knew plenty of buyers.

  As a distant clock somewhere chimed midnight, the slippery fellow emerged from under the seats, crossed the first ring, and headed up a set of steep metal stairs to an overhead landing. The pull was stronger now, drawing him quite insistently towards a room at the far end. The door was open, an eldritch glow coming from within. Bart managed to pause and check his surroundings in case someone was inside. He peered cautiously into a large laboratory, packed with strange machines, long benches crammed with hissing, bubbling experiments, and up the back – a tall shelf full of all kinds of strange and wonderful artefacts! Oh, the money he could make from all that gear!

  No, no – focus, he told himself, and carefully scanned his surroundings again. Good, the room was deserted. The tall shapes he’d spotted appeared to be statues, not living beings. He crept in, heading for the shelf. In the dim light he spotted the things he wanted – a dusty old hat of red and yellow, and s short rod with a leering skull on the end. They looked so old and shabby. But Victoris had told him they would bring someone from his family line great power. He extended a trembling hand – then someone slammed into his back and brought him down on the hard metal floor with a crash.

  “Oh no you don’t!” someone hissed in his ear.

  Bart grappled with his attacker, someone as bony and wiry as he. He found himself looking into a pale face like his own, with the same freckles and curly red hair. Only this young man had no moustache or spots from a dissolute life. “Reginald?” Bart gasped. “Is that you?”

  “Bartholomew! I don’t believe it!”

  “I haven’t seen you in years. Now get off me – I have a job to do here.” Bart managed to scramble to his feet.

  “You want the hat and staff – can’t allow you to have them.” Reggie positioned himself in front of the shelf, a determined expression on his face.

  “Now look Reg – I don’t want to hurt you, but I must have them. They were promised to me.” He made a grab for the hat, but Reggie knocked his arm out of the way.

  “They’re not yours!”

  “They’re not yours either! They were promised to me!” He launched himself at Reggie, and the two cousins grappled, almost perfectly matched. But Bart was a smoker and tired more easily, granting Reggie a precious second. With a truly mortified expression, Reggie grabbed the hat and pulled it over his head.

  “Noo!” Bart howled. He made a grab for the staff and caught hold.

  The effect of the hat on Reggie was immediate. Suddenly, memories of numerous past lives flooded into his mind. He recalled the very first Fool who had entertained King Arthur, right up to the Fool before him, the Scarlet Rapier. He recalled all the powers of the hat, and suddenly, comical taunts began to bubble from his lips.

  “A silly young man named Bart,

  Fell off the back of a cart!

  He bumped his head, they thought he was dead

  Until he gave a very loud fart!”

  Reggie hooted with laughter at Bart’s horrified face. Then, with a snarl, Bart came at him with the slapstick.

  Reggie discovered agility he never knew he had as he leapt and dodged with the greatest of ease, performing acrobatic feats he never dreamed possible. And all the while he continued to tease Bart. “Barty found a little stick, thought it would make him quick, but instead it made him sick!”

  But Bart had the slapstick, and it also gave him powers. He chased Reggie around the room, swinging and missing, hitting metal support-struts and sending sparks flying. He was stronger and faster than before, and Reggie’s taunts only served to make him angrier.

  “Question: what’s the difference between Bart and a horse’s arse? Answer: the horse’s arse smalls better and doesn’t excrete as much shit!” Reggie howled with hysterical laughter as he ran. He had no idea where the words were coming from. He was normally such a mild-mannered soul - he was never so insulting, not even to his cousin, and he would never have sworn like a fishwife!

  “Stop it!” shouted Bart as he cornered Reggie at the back of the laboratory, near a small, iron-riveted door. He swung with his staff, knocking Reggie’s hat to the floor. It flew across the room, striking a pole. Something fell from inside one of the tassels and bounced away.
Only Bart spotted it from the corner of his eye.

  Reggie had been about to insult Bart again when the words died on his lips, and all the celerity faded from his body. He backed up. “I’m sorry – so sorry!” he gasped. “The hat made me do it!”

  Bart pointed the skull-staff at Reggie’s throat. Somehow he knew he could make energy bolts blast from its eyes. “One move, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled. He started to back up to where the hat had fallen.

  Then Reggie’s eyes widened in amazement. Bart turned, but he wasn’t quick enough. A bony hand caught hold of his collar and effortlessly hauled him into the air. Both cousins gaped at the sight of a six-foot tall woman, skeletally thin with dead-white skin, dressed in a ragged shroud. She had jet-black hair streaked with white at the temples, and blazing red eyes ringed with black, like she was wearing too much make-up. Neither had ever seen such a scary-looking woman.

  “You will do no such thing,” the woman hissed. She snatched the staff from Bart’s hand and all the bravado drained from him. Then she dropped him and he landed with a thud right on his tailbone. “You will sit there and explain what you’re doing in Professor Abbacus’ laboratory!”

  Bart’s ability to lie his way out of pretty much any situation deserted him. He could only gape dumbly up at the terrifying female. She directed her attention to Reggie, who was struggling to his feet.

  “I’m sorry, but … but the artefacts called me back,” he whispered. “When I saw my cousin trying to steal them, I had to stop him.”

  Now the woman’s attention was no longer on him, Bart started to edge towards the fallen hat. But first he found the object that had fallen from it. He snatched it up and stuffed it into his jacket.

  “What artefacts? The hat and staff? Useless trinkets! The Professor has had them for ages.” Her blazing eyes narrowed. “Unless of course you have worked out how they function.”