by Ioana Visan
Cole’s eyes strayed to the left where his liquid meal waited.
“It’s still soup,” Cielo said with an apologetic shrug. “But I mashed some vegetables and meat into it so it will have a higher protein value. It shouldn’t taste too bad.” She uncapped the thermos and guided the plastic straw to Cole’s lips. “Take it easy. It might be a little hot. I hope the straw won’t clog,” she added, mostly to herself.
She placed the thermos on the metal frame pulled close to the bed and ran her hands down her sides, feeling Cole’s gaze trailing over the sequined yellow dress. “It’s for the show. We all dress up when it’s on. God forbid someone saw us in our street clothes.” She laughed and folded her hands in front of her.
Cole continued to stare at her while he sucked in the pasty soup. Not only were his arms encased in plastic covers, but his legs were, too, which meant he was fully paralyzed from the neck down. Otherwise, he couldn’t have handled the pain. Cielo avoided looking at the cases. They reminded her of the time spent in the factory, and it hadn’t been pleasant.
“I know they don’t talk to you much,” she said, “so I’ll try to keep you up-to-date with what’s happening. The procedure is going as well as could be expected. They had to stall the growing process of the muscular mass so they could insert the nerves first. Apparently, it’s easier that way and prone to better results.”
He groaned, and she gave a sympathetic wince. “The downside is that once they start inserting the nerves, you will regain some degree of sensitivity in your arms. However, given the state they’re in, you should expect a lot of pain, as well. The good news is we have great drugs for such things. They’ll keep you under for days while they work on you. They will wake you up more than once to test the results, and that won’t be pretty, but you’re a tough guy. You can handle it, right?”
Her teasing made the corner of Cole’s mouth arch up, and a flash of pain passed over his face.
“Sorry,” Cielo murmured, eyes downcast. “They’ll start at midnight tonight. They hope to do the main innervations during the next eighteen hours. It will be delicate work, but they have done more difficult things, so there’s no need to worry.”
When she looked up, Cole was blinking rapidly. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” She reached for the anesthetic plunger.
Blink. Blink. Then blink, blink, blink, blink, blink …
“What is it?” Cielo asked, cursing the inability to communicate.
She had fed him before, once each day, and he drank his soup obediently, half-asleep because of the painkillers. She had never seen him so agitated. Something was wrong.
“What?” she whispered.
Cole stopped blinking. He stared straight ahead, not at her, but somewhere over her right shoulder in the direction of the door.
A chill ran down Cielo’s spine, and she slowly turned around. She had a good idea what was going on before she heard the heavy footsteps walking down the corridor.
17
While he crawled out from underneath the car, Dale wondered whether they were going to thank him or set the dogs on him when this was over. He didn’t fancy either alternative. The circus had some mean-looking poodles.
For the last hour, he had followed the thugs through the city, which wasn’t easy since he didn’t blend in because of the lack of visible prosthetics. When they left downtown, Dale had repossessed a taxi from a sleepy driver. With the lights turned off, he had tailed the black car across the deserted field, keeping his distance. That was why, when he parked it near an abandoned warehouse, he only knew the direction in which they had gone.
Dale had cut across the field towards the railway tracks, barely seeing the uneven ground in his haste. Only long-dormant instincts had kept him from falling and breaking something. Then the bright lights of the circus had nearly blinded him, making it impossible to spot any action near the cars on his side of the train. The thugs had disappeared, and he found no broken or open windows, either. When he looked up, he saw the shadows running along the rooftop of the car.
He could have followed the same path, risking running straight into them, but the strategist in him wouldn’t allow it, not when he knew their destination. He crawled underneath the car and emerged on the other side. The loud noises and blinking lights threatened to make him dizzy, but he didn’t let them distract him. He walked to the third car and clasped the door handle with both hands. The muscles in his arms tensed, his joints locked, and he pulled. Whatever mechanism kept the door closed broke, and the door slid open.
Dale climbed inside.
The inner door was also open. Two bulky silhouettes staggered among hazy clouds of smoke. Dale brought a hand to his throat. He hadn’t expected a chemical attack. While his body was trained to fight several types of poison, it didn’t recognize this one. His knees turned to jelly. Two meters away from him, the thugs collapsed on the floor with loud thuds.
As the fog cleared, a yellow spot in his peripheral vision became a blonde woman whose appearance looked vaguely familiar. When she turned around, Dale noticed a golden mask covered her face.
“Oh, crap!” She ran to him, a syringe in her hand.
Dale forced his head upward, so he could look at her. He’d fallen on his knees but didn’t remember it happening. “What’s that?” he croaked.
The mask gleamed in the shallow light, shades of darker gold swirling on her face. “It will keep you awake. Do you want to sleep for the next four hours?”
Since he didn’t answer, she plunged the needle into his chest. Sensitivity returned in Dale’s extremities, accompanied by a faint tingle. His head took longer to clear, and seeing the mask disintegrate into small pieces that migrated off her face and disappeared behind her hairline didn’t help convince him he wasn’t hallucinating.
The young woman emitted a low, long whistle. “Just … wait here.” She rushed back to Cole.
“Shouldn’t you give him something, too?” Dale asked.
“No. He’s already got too many drugs in his system. I don’t dare interfere,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “I’ll let them do it.”
Them? Dale grasped the edge of a table and pulled himself up, only to find her staring at him, eyes wide.
“How did you do that? You were supposed to be immobilized for another half-hour at least.” She took a step back and whispered, “What are you?”
The knife throwers burst in, cutting off Dale’s chance to answer, though he didn’t know what he would have told her anyway.
“Cielo, what happened?” Spinner asked. “Are you all right?”
“These happened.” Cielo pointed at the two men splayed on the floor. “How did they get in? I thought we used better protection than that.”
It felt odd to listen to the girl scold the older, bigger men. They could have broken her in half with one hand without any effort at all. Still, Spinner lowered his eyes, and Rake grunted.
“We had to take the wards down when we crossed the Moldavian border, or they wouldn’t have let us pass. There was no need for them until now,” Rake said.
Cielo’s glare aimed at the two aggressors-turned-victims said there was a need.
“But how did they get in?” Spinner asked. “The door was nearly pulled off its hinges. You need dynamite to do that, and we didn’t hear any explosion.”
“They didn’t come in through the door,” Cielo said.
“That—” Dale raised a hand, “—would be me.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him.
“You … tore it open, just like that?” Spinner asked, taking a step closer, and looked at him up and down.
“I was coming after them, but I was late. I knew Cole was in here, so I went right through.” He glanced at Cielo. “It turned out I wasn’t needed after all.”
“You turned on the gas?” Spinner asked Cielo. “Oh, dear …” He ran off to check on Cole.
“I’d like to take a look at your muscles when this is over,” Rake said, moving at a le
isurely pace after Spinner.
They worked for several minutes, adding vials to the drip and turning dials on the machines, until they were contented with the readings on the screens.
“Okay, he’s stable now,” Spinner said, “but I wouldn’t recommend gassing him again in the near future.”
“Can you still do the grafting?” Dale asked. “I mean tonight.”
“Yeah, he’s out cold.” Spinner nodded. “It doesn’t matter how …”
“You don’t care much what happens to him as long as you get what you want, do you?” Rake asked casually.
“We’ve come too far to stop now. If we fail, everything is lost,” Dale said.
Cielo shifted in place. “Guys, I have to go …”
“Wait,” Rake said and turned to Dale. “Do you know what they came for?”
“Spare parts,” Dale said.
“Anything else? Did they mention the Nightingale?”
“No. It didn’t sound like an ordered hit.”
“Good,” Rake said, and both knife throwers visibly relaxed.
“I’m off.” Cielo gathered her skirt in her hand and headed for the opening with an absent door.
Spinner picked up the syringe from the floor and arched an eyebrow at Dale. “Mr. Armstrong, can you walk?” Dale nodded. “Then please make sure Cielo arrives safely at the arena. We’ll cover the ground here. Your friend will be safe.”
Dale did his best to hide his hesitation. He needed the cooperation of these people, and while Spinner’s voice had remained friendly, this wasn’t a request. Without saying a word, Dale followed after Cielo. Her yellow dress would be easily found in the crowd and, unfortunately, not only by him.
18
“Not so fast.” Dale caught up with Cielo before she disappeared into the crowd. Oddly enough, she limped less when she ran.
Cielo slowed to a walk, her eyes ever watchful. The mask was back, the same golden shade as her flowing dress, swirling around her delicate features with a life of its own. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t stop.
Dale automatically took the lead, something he was used to, and moved ahead, constantly aware of the small girl’s presence behind him. In front of him, the crowd parted while he advanced towards the large tent.
“What is it that you do here?” he asked. “I didn’t see you during the show.”
“I have the most important job in the world.” Her words chimed, and when Dale glanced back over his shoulder, waiting for her to continue, Cielo grinned. “I’m the seamstress!”
The mask hid her face, but not the smile which gave her a mysterious air. Dale’s gut told him this couldn’t be the whole truth. Rake and Spinner wouldn’t have asked him to guard a seamstress. And she looked nothing like them, so their concern couldn’t be explained by blood relation.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Cielo said, the smile never leaving her face. “You obviously never worked in a circus. With those stunts they do, the costumes need repair more often than you’d think. And the appeal of the acts greatly decreases without the costumes. I mean, who would want to see what’s underneath? The girls freak out every time a thread tears. That’s a lot of work!”
“There’s one act that doesn’t need costumes.”
People said no one had ever seen the Nightingale perform. No one knew who the singer was or what she looked like. Dale would have been tempted to believe it was only a recording, tailored to fit each act, if he hadn’t heard her with his own ears. The songs didn’t matter, but the message they sent did. Whoever sang had to be there each night to get the pulse of the crowd. In his work, Dale had encountered people able to target subjects one by one, but never someone working crowds this large. Lucky for them, The Nightingale Circus was in no danger of getting lynched—not that it was any of his business.
Cielo’s green eyes flashed at him. “We all wear costumes when the fair is open—”
“And masks.” And not only the ones moving on their faces.
“And masks. It’s all part of the act.”
It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech, so Dale pretended to fall for it. There was no time to question her more because Renard welcomed them at the back entrance of the tent, a worried look on his face. “What happened? Did someone break into the factory?”
“Yes, but everything is all right now,” Cielo said.
Not really. They still had to deal with two catatonic bodies, and there was also the question of what effect the gas had on Cole, but no one asked Dale.
“Good.” Renard nodded. “Get in. They need you.”
Cielo disappeared into the tent with a flurry of yellow skirts.
His task completed, Dale turned to go back to Cole. The icy dew crunched under his feet.
“I better see what happened,” Renard said, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
“The lab is still standing,” Dale said.
“It’s not the lab I’m worried about.” Renard’s mutter confirmed Dale’s suspicions. The machines could be repaired and the equipment replaced. It was harder to explain two dead bodies if the police came looking for them.
Still, Renard smiled and nodded at people as they passed by, stopping to shake hands on the way. He was as popular as someone who ran a circus would have been expected to be—maybe too popular. Well-mannered and educated, he didn’t quite fit into the scenery. And, unlike all the other performers, he wasn’t wearing a mask.
"No mask?" Dale asked.
The magician raised a hand and wiggled his gloved fingers. “The audience is more prone to believe an act it knows can’t be real if you go out of your way to prove you have nothing to hide.”
“So it’s all smoke and mirrors?”
“More or less,” Renard said. “We’re not so keen on mirrors. That’s why we got rid of the ordeal of putting on makeup.”
“Those masks are … quite something.”
“Yeah, though you’ll have to talk to our specialists if you’re curious. I was never good with technology, not the kind we use anyway.”
Such a statement coming from someone whose work relied on highly advanced technology made Dale shake his head. The man was either very modest or used to a different type of technology. He ran a factory of spare parts, for God’s sake.
Once they left the cone of light surrounding the fair and stepped into the darkness separating them from the train, Renard tapped his walking stick against a rock. A faint glow lit up the stick’s handle. It bothered Dale’s eyes more than helped, but the magician obviously didn’t have Dale’s enhancements.
They crossed the last couple of meters in silence, and Renard placed his hand on the logo painted on the side of the car before climbing inside. That gesture likely triggered a sensor to keep track of visitors, since there was no door to open anymore. What did that mean in terms of security? Would the gas have gone off if Cole had been alone, or had Cielo released it? Not like any of them would have volunteered the information if he asked.
In the last compartment at the end of the car, Spinner hummed quietly to himself, checking data on the screens in front of a shelf filled with vials. “This one … this one … and this one … No, not this one … Ah, this one, yes …” He picked out colorless vials and set them aside.
Renard’s light footsteps made him look up. “Oh, it’s you … boss.” He cast a glance at Dale. “Umm, we had a bit of a problem, but it’s all taken care of.”
Broken glass had been swept away, and the place looked pristine again. A clueless visitor wouldn’t have any idea of the horrors that took place in there, hacking people up to fix them and putting them back together. Exhibit number one lay unconscious on his bed, but Rake was absent, and so were the intruders.
“Do you expect more problems of the same nature?” Renard asked.
“No, we’ll be prepared if they return,” Spinner said.
“So you can proceed as planned? I’m sure Mr. Armstrong is concerned.”
Dale settled for a nod.
“Absolutely,” Spinner hurried to say. “Rake has gone to bring another door from the storage. We’ll install it and, after the show, get to work.”
“I’d like to stay,” Dale said.
“Not here,” Spinner said decisively. “What we do is not for the faint-hearted, and we don’t want to add any risk of infection.”
“If you insist, you can wait in my car,” Renard said.
“But it will take all night,” Spinner said. “There’s no point in waiting. We’ll inform you in the morning how it went and what we plan to do next.”
With both of them clearly wanting to get rid of him, Dale prepared himself to insist, but Rake came in.
“All done,” the taller knife thrower said, his face impassive.
“You don’t need me here. Please excuse me.” Renard headed for the door. “Don’t be late for the show.”
Dale took one glance at Cole, then turned to Spinner. “Tomorrow. I want news as soon as possible.”
“Yes, we’ll send word,” Spinner said. “Then you can come if you want, but we intend to keep him under sedation for several days until we complete the grafting.”
It sounded like a complicated and painful procedure, so Dale had no choice but to agree with their terms.
19
Thick clouds hid the sunlight as Rake left the factory the next morning. The smell of fresh blood had lodged inside his nostrils, and his left eye twitched from all the squinting. They had called it a day after several difficult hours. By the time they had stopped, the client’s body showed signs of distress but, as far as they could tell, the transplant had gone well. In a day or two, they would know how many grafted nerves had taken and would function properly, and which ones they would have to remove. So it would be touch-and-go for a while.
He shook his head. Armstrong didn’t seem like the type of guy used to waiting. Rake climbed into the car he shared with Spinner. His colleague had stayed behind to get breakfast from the cafeteria car, but Rake was too tired to wait. Carrying the heavy door from five cars away and putting it into place by himself had exhausted whatever strength he had left after the show. He was starting to feel his age. Later than most, but still annoying. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep until the next show.