by Deva Fagan
As if it were that easy.
***
There's one conversation I can't run away from, though, even if it scares me stiff. When I find the Ringmaster, he's looking out from the viewing deck at the whorls of light and color drifting past. In a strange way it makes me feel better. Last time we were standing here, my world was breaking apart and I was furious with him. Now it's time to put it back together and apologize.
"Hey," I say. "I've got something for you."
He turns, his expression scrupulously mild, like I'm a rabbit he expects to bolt. I hold out the pink teapot. "I'm sorry it's chipped," I say. "It kinda took a detour."
Yes, I went back and got it. From Rjool. And trust me, there's no power in the universe that's going to make me tell anyone that story. Ever.
The Ringmaster looks between the teapot and me. Before he can say anything, I blurt it all out. "I'm sorry, Ringmaster. You took me up here, gave me all of this"—I wave out the window—"and I ... I've been nothing but trouble. I'm so sorry." I study the pattern of the floor panels with such intensity that his touch on my arm makes me jump.
"Beatrix, the Mandate are the ones who want only to avoid trouble. Nyl and his ilk would have us all following rules blindly, accepting what we're given. I meant what I said to Reaper. I like a bit of trouble in my life." This time he doesn't wink when he says it. At that moment my elbow is my connection to everything that matters.
"If you hadn't acted when you did, Nola might have been lost to us, utterly. I hesitated. I was confused. I wanted to be sure. I was ... afraid." His face darkens.
"You had more to lose. I get that now," I say, wanting to chase the shadows from his eyes. "It was easier for me to take the risk. I'm nothing sp—"
The word dies unspoken as the Ringmaster presses one finger to my lips. "No. I knew exactly what I was doing when I asked you to join the Circus Galacticus. Special isn't only what you can do. It's the choices you make. You don't go through the universe looking for a place that's ready-made for you to fit into, a round peg for a round hole. You have to make your own place. Do you understand?"
I nod, and his finger falls away, leaving a ghost of warmth. He sighs. "My mistake was not realizing I needed to do the same..."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know what this is all for." The Ringmaster waves to the room. "The Tinkers left this ship for us, but for what purpose? Am I truly doing their work, gallivanting around the universe?"
All this time I've been thinking about how much I need this place, this life. I looked to the Ringmaster to show me the way. Now, suddenly, the world has shifted. There's a desperation in his eyes that kills me. "That's not the right question," I say. "Those ancient long-lost Tinkers, they're gone. They retired, quit, whatever. You're the one who's here now, reminding people they can reach the stars and choose their own destinies. That's the real way to fight the Mandate. That's the real way to bust those cages. And I think the universe needs that pretty badly right now. I—" My voice breaks. "I know I did."
He meets my gaze for a long moment, then nods as the terrible tension in his face ebbs away.
"So that's our place," I say, smiling. "That's what we do."
The Ringmaster's eyebrows rise toward the brim of his top hat. "We?"
"If you'll still have me. Even if I'm never more than a pink-haired-clown dancing-fruit person. This is where I belong."
"I'm ... glad to hear it." There's a catch in his voice. The Ringmaster doesn't look at me, but I can almost feel the shape of the space between us, no longer filled with fear, but with possibilities.
He clears his throat and continues on breezily. "But don't abandon all hope. You had the Tinkers' Treasure in your hands. You may not have used its power for yourself, but that doesn't mean it hasn't left its mark. And then there's this."
He holds out a familiar, gold-filigreed book. The cover reads The Programme of the Circus Galacticus, Thirteenth Edition.
"Thirteenth? How? What changed?"
He grins, flipping it open. And there it is, at the bottom of the cast list.
"The Champion: She who guards the Dreamers and stands undaunted before the King of Iron and Flame." I skim the rest, not quite taking it in.
"No way. Really?"
"Unless you know someone else with a 'brave spirit and hair like a sunset sky,' I think there's little doubt who it's referring to. So," he adds, "Clown or Principal? You'd be within rights to trade in for a star." The Ringmaster's smile is a riddle, but I know the answer.
We stand there, our faces turned to the galaxies wheeling past. It's not the desert, and I can't forget what I've lost. But that's okay.
"I've got all the stars I need right here."
Acknowledgments
I wrote this book in an attempt to capture some of the wonder and awe I feel every time I look up at the stars. I would like to express my deepest thanks to the scientists, astronauts, and all the other men and women who have worked over the years to understand and explore our universe. I'd particularly like to thank (and recommend!) the folks behind www.astronomycast.com, who provide a wealth of fascinating, inspiring, and accessible information about all sorts of topics related to astronomy.
Many thanks are also due to Karen Jordan Allen, R. J. Anderson, Geoff Bottone, Melissa Caruso, Megan Crewe, Erin Dionne, Robert Dunham, Megan Frazer, Robin Merrow MacCready, Patty Murray, Cindy Pon, Jon Skovron, and Luanne Wrenn for reading various versions of this manuscript and helping me to make it better.
I remain grateful to my agent Shawna McCarthy for being my advocate and adviser, and to my editor Reka Simonsen for her wise insights and attention to detail. Many thanks to everyone who helped produce this book, including Sarah Dotts Barley, Ana Deboo, Su Box, and the team at Harcourt.
And last but not least, I thank my wonderful, amazing family. Mom, Dad, Dave, and my beloved Bob, thank you for your support. You are my stars!