by Ben Galley
Lilain cut in. ‘Are you sure about this, Nephew?’
‘Absolutely.’ Merion looked his aunt square in the eyes.
Lilain’s face went through a range of emotions. All the usual ones he had seen before. Doubt. Concern. Worry. All the leashes she had kept him on in Fell Falls. Merion was about to interrupt the refusal he knew was coming when something new flashed across her face.
‘Well, if Ms Mizar can promise you’ll be safe, then I don’t see why not,’ Lilain admitted. Merion was taken aback. He looked surprised.
‘Really?’ he asked.
His aunt shrugged again. ‘I trust you,’ she said. Merion began to smile, and nodded. How long had he waited to hear words like those?
Merion turned back to Yara, who was clearly working on something between a smile and a grimace. ‘However,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’ He felt his heart fall.
‘That is to say,’ Yara continued, ‘not on a stage. Your skills are impressive, Merion, but you are too raw. We heard your scream today. It lacked control. And a stage requires control. From here,’ Yara placed a finger on her heart. ‘And here.’ The finger moved to her temple. ‘It will come in time, but you are not ready.’
Nobody likes a refusal. But nobody likes a spoilt brat, either. Merion fought his urge to complain, to reassure her that he was indeed ready, that he felt ready at least, more so than he had ever been. That she was wrong and he was right. But he recognised from Yara’s firm expression that his claims on control would have fallen on deaf ears. He bowed his head. ‘I understand.’
‘Good,’ Yara said, smiling once more. ‘I hoped you would. You know what they say about Empire types,’ she said, winking at Lilain.
‘And what’s that?’ Merion asked, feeling he already knew the answer.
‘Why, you’re all lords and ladies of something, are you not? A spoilt lot.’
Lilain laughed at that, covering Merion’s very wary and polite chuckle.
Yara clasped her hands together. ‘So it is decided. When you think you are ready, Merion, ask again, and we shall see. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?’
‘Seems fair,’ Merion replied, his voice barely audible over the rain and revelry.
Yara excused herself and went to tour the circles, like a beloved queen appearing for her subjects. Cheers and loud laughter erupted wherever she walked. Merion and Lilain watched her.
‘She’s right, you know,’ his aunt whispered, leaning close to his ear. She sat with her knees up and her arms wrapped around her legs.
‘I know.’ Merion was almost sullen. ‘And that’s why it’s annoying.’
‘Hey, you’re not ready yet, that’s all. People go through life never being ready, never workin’ hard enough to grab those dreams of theirs. She told you to ask again, right? That means something, surely,’ Lilain nudged him.
‘I know,’ repeated the boy. His aunt put a hand on his arm and he met her eyes.
‘As much as the aunt in me wants to wrap you up in cloth and stow you safely in the back of a wagon, you’re not the same boy that stepped off that train, all those months ago. I know I’ve said it before, but you’re growin’ up more and more every day. Either I let it scare me, or I trust you to learn it yourself.’ The alcohol had loosened her tongue, but he was grateful for it.
‘I appreciate that, Aunt Lilain, I really do.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It’s about time.’
‘Cheeky bastard,’ Lilain snorted.
‘Now, in the meantime, what exactly have you done to poor Lurker?’ Merion asked. When she pulled a quizzical face, he pointed to where the prospector sat, still hunched over and deep in conversation with Devan. They each held a flask in their hands, taking liberal sips between sentences.
‘And what about him?’ Lilain asked.
Merion chewed the inside of his lip in thought. ‘He keeps looking at you. And he’s grown moody, don’t you think? Quieter than usual?’ If that was possible.
Lilain scratched her head. ‘I haven’t noticed. I’ve been too busy with Sh—.’ She paused for a moment as Lurker’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, then scuttled away again. Another sip of the flask followed. ‘Ah, I see it now.’
‘Looks like I’m not the only one who’s jealous of somebody in the circus,’ he said, sounding very sage if he didn’t think so himself.
Was his aunt blushing? Surely not. Perhaps it was just the shade of the fire, rosy in her cheeks. He could not image Lilain Rennevie blushing. She took a long moment to huff and grind her teeth in thought. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Lurker couldn’t possibly …’
‘Possibly what?’
‘Well, I mean …’ But words had failed her. His aunt, who could ramble on for hours and pick apart the finer points of history and morality, who could spin a yarn so long Merion could have used it to scale the Bellspire, was wordless. She took a sip from her beer. ‘No, not Lurker. He’s never forgotten his wife.’
Merion found another cup of beer waggling in his face. He smiled and took a swig. ‘Times change, Aunt Lilain. You said so yourself.’
Lilain was already getting to her feet. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Nephew. It’s a grown-up thing,’ she said before muttering an excuse and wandering off to find another circle. Merion just rolled his eyes and laughed to himself. He caught Lurker’s narrowed gaze and held up his cup aloft. Lurker raised his flask and nodded.
‘Trouble in paradise,’ he muttered to himself.
*
The rain stopped at some point in the early hours, just as the morning sky was beginning to grow lighter at the edges. The fires had been left to smoulder. The drunkards had been left to slumber. Cirque Kadabra had finally turned in for the night. Only a handful of lights had been left to pierce the darkness: the lanterns of the sentries, and one tent, on the outskirts of the circus. Yara liked being on the fringes.
Big Jud Jepson languished in the corner of her lavish tent, his gargantuan weight spilling over the creaking arms of the poor chair he had chosen. He had his hands folded over his belly, and was staring at the kaleidoscopic fabric that hung from the tent’s roof.
‘All I’m saying is that you should give him a chance. Been a long time since we had a crackler in the circus. Remember Hosh?’ he mused, picking grit from under his fingernails.
Yara flashed him an irritable look. She was bent over a writing desk, a quill in her hand. Its ink-stained nib hovered over an untouched piece of paper, a powder-blue colour. ‘Of course I remember Hosh, Jud. I remember everyone that comes through my circus,’ she replied sharply.
‘Hmph, well, he could always bring in a crowd, couldn’t he now? Think about it, is all I’m saying.’
Yara knuckled her brow. ‘I have already given it much thought, Jud. It is not the boy’s time yet. But it will be, and soon.’
Big Jud had known Yara long enough to know when she was holding back. He leant forwards and the chair groaned awfully. ‘You’ve had news from our friend in the east, ain’t you?’
There was a rustle as Yara snatched another piece of paper from the desk, blotched with all sorts of official seals and postal marks. ‘We have our invitation,’ she replied, waving it about in the air, a smugness in the curve of her smile. ‘Politics have finally worked in our favour. The Red King has agreed to host us. A political offering, of some sort.’
Big Jud clenched a sweaty fist and punched the air with it. ‘About time.’
‘That it is, Jud.’
‘And by my reckonin’, you want to use the boy, right?’ Jud guessed.
Yara gave him a look over her shoulder. That smug smile did not fade. ‘I have always said you are the smartest one around here.’
‘You might do with sayin’ it a little louder then,’ Jud chuckled, belly shaking. With a great amount of effort, he pushed himself up from the chair. ‘And you’re tellin’ our friend about him. Think that’s wise?’
Her finger rose up to tap her nose. ‘He already knows he is here, Jud. He told me we might run into him, a boy
of his description. And by our luck, we did. Now I shall tell him he was right.’ She tapped her quill on the page. ‘Daeven Port has plenty of mailships.’
‘You really think he’s up to it? His aunt said he’s only been rushin’ for a month or so.’
‘I have faith.’
‘You sure ’bout that? He’s a spirited sort.’
Yara spun around from her desk. The quill twirled about her fingers. ‘He will be nothing but a distraction, Jud, and distractions are at their best when they are loud and brash. And if he does not do as he is asked, well, you remember Hosh.’
Jud sucked at his lips. ‘Yeah, I do.’
The circus master prodded the paper again. ‘Besides, it seems we shall not have to go to such lengths. We may have another new arrival soon, from our friend in the east.’
‘I see,’ Jud hummed. ‘I’m growing to like him, you know.’
‘And I too,’ Yara tutted. ‘But as Kon always said: eyes on the prize.’
‘Blood and gold,’ Jud sniggered. ‘Blood and gold.’
Yara watched him waddle out of her tent before turning back to her pieces of paper. She dipped the nib in the ink again, tapped her teeth together, and began to scrawl.
Chapter XV
TRICKERY
9th July, 1867
It was noon. The sun beat down like an angry blacksmith who had just found his wife in bed with the cobbler. The day was a sweltering one. Vicious, after the coolness of the damp morning. The rainclouds were long gone, beating a hasty retreat at the first sight of dawn.
Daeven Port was a bustling hub, paying homage to railroad, riverboats, and airships aplenty. It sat like a flattened hive at the bottom of a river valley, fingers of wooden slats and roof-tiles creeping up and out onto the slopes, muddled and disjointed. Two airship towers dominated each half of the city: one in the north, one in the south, both vying for space in the skies. The fat, bulbous airships floated lazily around them, while smaller airskiffs and clockwork balloons buzzed around them.
Below, in the river, steam and paddle plied the blue waters, rippling like a conveyor belt of gemstones in the hot sunlight. Riverboats fought for a spot at the crowded docks, splashing their paddles and props and ringing their bells. Merion could hear them even from the valley ridge.
Plumes of steam bubbled up from the railroad station, deeply embedded in Daeven Port’s core, where the buildings piled on top of each other and the streets wandered outwards like the disjointed spokes of a wheel. Every now and again a whistle would blow and a train of grey carriages would sneak out from between the buildings, running for the wilderness along the gleaming silver railroad. Merion wondered where they were going.
Yara was waiting until she had surveyed the scene in the proper manner. It was very important, the positioning of a circus. Kon had taught her that many years before. Too far away, and the patrons might baulk at walking for the pleasure. Too deep into the town or city, and they risked causing queues and strife. Neither the town nor Cirque Kadabra needed that sour taste in their mouth. No, a circus must be pitched in the perfect spot between the two, neither too close to the richer areas, nor too close to the poorer. Yara was a professional circus master, after all.
Only once she had chosen their spot did they begin to move. The valley’s slope was severe in parts, and Merion helped Lurker and his aunt to keep the wagons from slipping. The worst culprits were those ferrying the animals and their heavy cages. They were tall, and more than once a wheel or two lifted, and shouts and calls brought help running. Devan Ford and Big Jud Jepson excelled, of course, using their strength and sheer weight to keep the wagons from tipping over. The beasts roared and whinnied. Nelle wandered back and forth with a switch of wood, whacking it against the bars and telling them to pipe down with whispers here and there.
It took an hour to make it down to the river’s edge. From there they swung north to their chosen spot, nestled in a vacant field between the port and a busy street on the edge of town. A few tall buildings, no doubt saloons or big manors, were their neighbours. Both types of abode were perfect for summoning patrons.
Yara ordered her circus folk to fan out and prepare for the evening. Such few words for a mammoth task, as Merion soon found out. Cirque Kadabra had only pitched and performed once since he and the others had joined them. He had largely kept out of the way before, but now he was put through his paces.
Nelle had him mucking out the cages. Devan had him rolling heavy stone balls back and forth. Big Jud needed some help with his stage. Cabele wanted bunting passed up to her as she capered and catapulted herself between poles and wires. Kasfel needed more paints for her face. Rahan and Hashna stole him away to help with the erecting of the big tent. Jackabo had him dousing rag-wrapped sticks in kerosene. And so it went.
After three long hours, he was sweating so much he looked as though he had snuck a quick dip in the river. That did not sound like a terrible idea at that point: he was sweaty, he was dusty, there were blisters on his hands, and a lump growing on his forehead from where a heavy tent spike had caught him. All in all, he was exhausted. But he had loved every minute of it.
It was hard labour, but it was exciting labour. He knew now how the bones of circus came alive, and had fallen deeper into its family because of it. There had been jokes and natter throughout the work. Merion had even ignored Itch Magrey’s jibes about being as skinny and pale as a ghost when he had taken his shirt off. Only Merion’s arms had yet tasted the sun, not the rest of him. And skinny was true. The summer sun and the walking had whittled him down to something wiry. He could no longer find a single inch to pinch of the pampered puppy fat that Harker Sheer had gifted him. Merion found himself sneaking looks in a trough of water and flexing to see the shallow lines in his chest and arms.
When Merion finally stole a moment with his aunt, leaning against a brightly painted barrel with a cup of cold river water, he found himself gazing around in wonder. Yara had pulled out all the stops.
‘Clever, ain’t it?’ Lilain remarked, following her nephew’s eyes as they hopped between the eye-burningly colourful stalls. ‘How it all opens and unfolds and springs up into this.’
The smell of fresh paint was an odd complement to the smell of the town, the river, and the blooming prairie. Down in the valley, shrubs sprouted white and yellow flowers.
‘Very,’ Merion replied. ‘It’s almost like a magic trick in itself.’
‘I suppose it helps to have a team of rushers about the place, hmm? Devan’s been rushing all day, helpin’ out with the heavy lifting. I wonder how long it would have taken to get the big tent up without him.’
Merion stretched an aching shoulder. ‘Not as long as it took to roll his stones to his wagon,’ he mumbled. ‘And he’ll be rushing all night too,’ he added. ‘That’s some stamina.’
‘That’s practice for you, Nephew. Who knows, you could be up to that level in time. He ain’t a leech like you,’ his aunt said. She had been very complimentary today, he thought. Perhaps she was trying to make up for her quick exit the night before.
‘And soon, I hope.’ He took another sip of his water. ‘So what’s next, do you imagine?’
‘Darned if I know, Nephew. Seems to me like we’re all done here,’ Lilain replied. But that was not quite right. Shan and Sheen Dolmer appeared from behind a wagon, each carting a big wooden box. Lilain stood up when she saw Sheen, and he smiled wide as they approached.
‘Afternoon,’ he greeted them. Merion nodded, watching his aunt carefully.
‘Sheen,’ she replied. ‘Shan.’
‘Lilain,’ the two siblings chorused.
‘What have you got there?’ Merion asked.
Sheen jiggled his box and glass rattled. ‘Shades for tonight. Have a lot of red to give out. Going to be a big show.’
‘And I have posters and leaflets,’ Shan added, shaking her box to the sound of thudding paper. ‘Got to go post them around town. Merion, will you join me? I could use the help.’
‘
As could I,’ Sheen cut in. ‘Lilain?’
Lilain looked at Merion, who had folded his arms and was waiting for her answer. She worked her mouth. ‘Well,’ she replied. ‘How about we handle the literature, and you two see to the blood. I’m sure you’ll be needed more than me, Shan.’
Shan shrugged, smiled, and handed the box over to Lilain, who promptly placed it on the barrel. Sheen looked a little deflated, but he smiled and nodded anyway, before departing with his sister.
‘Somebody has fallen from favour,’ Merion whispered as Lilain watched them go.
‘Oh, shush, Merion,’ she chided him gently, not really meaning it. ‘I feel guilty enough as it is.’
‘About Lurker?’
‘Yes, about Lurker. We’ll talk about it later if we must. Now, where’s that faerie of yours? I know how he likes to creep about. Maybe he wants to see Daeven Port before the sun goes down?’
Merion knew she was using the faerie as a buffer. He pointed down the path to their tent. ‘I’m sure he would,’ Merion winked, much to Lilain’s annoyance, and walked off. His aunt stayed by the barrel, tapping her foot and rifling through the posters.
‘Rhin,’ he hissed, stepping into the tent.
‘Here,’ replied a voice. A face and a body soon followed it. Rhin was standing on the desk, armour scattered around him, halfway through trying on a bright red tunic. A myriad of other garments lay around his feet, discarded and rumpled.
‘I didn’t know you were dressing to impress,’ Merion sniggered.
‘Enough of that, you snide harpag,’ Rhin scowled. ‘I have to be in character. The kids won’t be expecting a faerie in armour now, will they?’
Merion’s smile refused to die. There was something particularly hilarious about the hardened, battle-scarred faerie trying on costumes for his debut show. ‘If only Lurker could see you now. I think he might have a fit.’
Rhin dragged his sword out of its scabbard and waggled it in Merion’s direction. ‘I’ll cut something precious off you in a minute.’