by Ioana Visan
“Sir.” Dale bowed at the waist but couldn’t bring himself to say it was a pleasure.
“And who is your new friend, my dear?” Ternchiev nodded in return, his smile never faltering.
“Uncle Tem, this is Dale Armstrong,” Aurore said.
Ternchiev gave him an up and down look. “Any connection with General Armstrong?”
“No, sir.” Not anymore. It wasn’t technically a lie since the general had died in one of the last battles before the army abandoned Asia altogether.
With a sideways glance, Aurore continued, “We met during my last trip to Zurich. He happened to be in town and was curious about the show.”
“The Nightingale Circus never tours Switzerland,” Dale easily joined her in the lie. He didn’t know it for a fact, but it seemed plausible. Despite the war, Switzerland remained pristine and had the most advanced health care system in Europe, second in the world after Japan. The Swiss would never allow circus freaks to mar their streets. Besides, life continued to be expensive in Switzerland. In the absence of extra income, the circus would starve there.
“That’s a shame.” Ternchiev gestured for them to take a seat. “The Nightingale Circus has entertained us for several years.” He didn’t mention banning the circus to the outskirts of the town a few years back by passing a law he both proposed and enforced.
Squeezing the mayor’s shoulder, Aurore sat at his right and signaled Dale to occupy the seat on her other side. Seated this close, Dale could smell her perfume and enjoy the expanse of perfectly natural, exposed skin. He forced himself to move his eyes from her so Ternchiev wouldn’t get annoyed with his attentions. The fatherly attitude didn’t fool Dale. The man considered Aurore something of his he needed to protect.
They had barely made themselves comfortable when the door opened again, and Renard peeked inside. “Don’t get up; don’t get up!” The magician waved both hands. “Has everyone arrived? Good. We’re ready to start the show. Prepare yourselves to be amazed … and let’s hope the electrical system works.” He laughed as if it were a joke and rushed back out.
29
“How are we doing?” Nicholas asked, meeting Rake and Spinner backstage.
A flock of dancers wearing feathers and not much else rushed past them on their way to the stage.
“It’s holding so far,” Rake said. “And if there’s a shortage, we’re prepared to power it from our supply line.”
“And the Nightingale?”
“All secured in the sound booth,” Spinner said. “Ten gymnasts are guarding her, and then the stilt men will take over. We’ll gas the entire hall if anyone tries anything.”
“Wonderful.” Nicholas grimaced. They had debated until the last moment whether to have the Nightingale sing but, in the end, decided it was better to have her on board. If they were wrong, the circus would never be able to set foot in Bratislava, and probably the entire country, again. Luckily, it was a small country—plenty of other places to go.
Shaking his head to chase the bad thoughts away, he reached for his top hat and put it on. “Okay. Good luck, everyone!” He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall.
“It’s not luck. It’s practice!” the people around him chorused.
“Right.” Laughing, Nicholas headed for the stage.
At his signal, the lights in the hall dimmed until only one bright spotlight remained shining on the center of the stage. The murmurs in the audience quieted down, and silence filled the hall.
Show time.
The spotlight disappeared.
Someone protested in the darkness, but the grumble was covered by gasps of surprise when the light bulbs connected to the armrests of the seats lit up. A soft hum coming from the speakers accompanied the light show, which soon revealed a distinct pattern: a snake made of light swirled around the hall, climbed on the walls, briefly visited the three rows of balconies, then returned to the stage.
A drum roll broke the silence, and the main spotlight returned while all of the other lights faded into nothingness. Nicholas stood proudly, bathed by the light, and bowed his head in greeting. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Nicholas’s clear voice carried across the hall. “It’s an honor for us to perform in such a wonderful venue. We invite you into our special world. It’s strange, it’s daring, it’s mystifying. Prepare yourselves to be amazed. Welcome to The Nightingale Circus!”
Nicholas raised a hand and stepped back. All the lights came to life, revealing the ensemble spread around him and waiting to perform. He retreated backstage where he waited. Supervising the show inside the big circus arena was not his job, but here, at the theater, after all the work he had put into it, this was his show.
Given the audience’s reaction, the German wheel and the contortionists were a big success—no surprise there. It helped the entire crew had received orders to make their masks look less frightening. Faced with a tamed public that wasn’t going to jump in their seats or throw things on the stage, there was no need to scare them to keep them in check. And they also had the Nightingale to take care of that. Nicholas was anxious to see the reaction to her singing, but a little wary, too. If they liked it too much…
A hand rested on his arm, and when he glanced to his left, he found Anya standing by his side. The shades of silver, obsidian, and ice of her mask morphed, forming a smile as dazzling as her swan costume. She moved, and pieces of fabric twitched, switching their color from white to black and back again. Cielo had done a fine job.
“What are you doing here?” Nicholas asked in a low voice. He knew the schedule by heart, up to the last second, and her turn hadn’t come yet.
“I’m nervous. I wanted to get a feel for the crowd.” Anya stared out through the open exit.
“It’s a decent crowd. They have their own dance and ballet ensemble, so your grace won’t be lost on them. You have nothing to wo—” Nicholas paused and lowered his head. Anya’s confidence in her dancing skills was far greater than that. It wasn’t her fault no ballet company would hire her once they saw her medical records. Regardless of their opinion, she continued to dance and would do so until the machinery inside her chest broke down. “Okay, you got me.” He stifled a chuckle. Anya had read him better, and it was he who needed the support. If the show turned out to be a disaster for any reason, it wouldn’t be easy on him. And, like all members of the circus, he had no other place to go.
The mask kept her features hidden, but Anya leaned in to whisper, “Your secret is safe with me.”
Her smile could have been a promise if only Nicholas had held onto it. If everything worked out tonight and he had enough to drink at the post-show celebration party, he might. The acknowledgement made him want to put more distance between them, to stay away from temptation, but just then, a small army of dogs ran towards the stage, and Anya yelped and hid behind him. Nicholas held a protective arm in front of her, shielding her from danger, although her fears were silly. The dogs were too well-trained to bite anyone, but Anya didn’t trust any creature with teeth that could reach her ankles.
“It’s okay. They’re gone now,” he said.
Two pairs of capuchin monkeys followed on tricycles, honking their horns. The theater management deemed the doves too messy, so these were the only animals included in the program.
Laughter filled the hall as the clowns tried hard to distract the animals and ruin their acts.
Anya peeked over his shoulder and muttered, “I hate those clowns.”
Nicholas squeezed the delicate hand that still rested on his arm. Even with her apparent carefree attitude, Anya was capable of holding a grudge for a long time. It was particularly hard to forget about it when those clowns stuck their hands inside your chest every night. Nicholas felt guilty for doing the same thing to her and adding to her discomfort, but at least it didn’t detract from her enjoyment when she danced.
The stilt men entered the stage and danced wildly around the room, the dogs accompanying their every move while the
ir legs elongated, tripling their size.
“You could use a pair of those,” Nicholas said, half-joking. “They would protect you from the dogs.”
Anya threw him a murderous glare and slapped his arm, stepping to the side. “You stay away from my legs!”
Well, maybe she wasn’t going to come down hard on him after all. Nicholas straightened his tailcoat and checked the red carnation pinned to his lapel. He could have used a fake one, but he preferred fresh flowers when he could get them.
“You’re—” He was going to say “You’re next”, but Spinner coming towards them stopped him. “Any problems?”
“No,” Spinner said. “We’re supplying ten percent of the power from our source, but it’s holding. We’re prepared to go with a full hundred percent if needed. It’s less than the circus consumes, and the circus is closed tonight. It will be fine.”
“I thought channeling all the power at this distance was supposed to be problematic because of the ancient electrical system,” Nicholas said, and scolded himself again for not insisting on performing in the new theater building, which was closer to the current standards.
“So we lose some of the power on the way.” Spinner shrugged. “It’s only for two hours tops. We can afford it.”
With her hands propped on her narrow waist, Anya shuffled on her feet and pursed her lips. She didn’t like to be ignored.
“Fine.” Nicholas nodded at Spinner. “Keep a close eye on the readings. We don’t want any surprises.”
“So bossy,” Anya said, grinning, after Spinner left. “It suits you.”
Nicholas shook his head, recalling days long gone when he used to act like that without giving it a second thought. “I don’t like the pressure.” Not anymore because, this time, he felt responsible for the result.
Anya kept smiling, implying she knew better. The truth was, Nicholas liked to be in control, and he hadn’t been in a long time. He didn’t remember the pressure being so great, but that was another time and he was a different man back then.
“Stop tempting me, you devil.” Nicholas pretended to frown at her and pointed at the stage. “Go and do your thing.” He tried to make it sound like an order, but the smile tugging at the corners of his lips ruined the desired effect.
“Yes, boss!” Anya laughed and ran gracefully in the pointed direction. Instead of getting out of the way of the retreating stilt men, she ducked and passed between the legs of one of them. Luckily, the dogs had left the stage through the other exit.
30
Aurore forced her fingers to unclench the edge of the balcony. Had her fingernails been real, they would have been broken by now. The way it was, half-moon shapes had remained engraved in the fine layer of gold covering the polished wood. Gold didn’t scratch gold but, of course, her hands weren’t made of gold. They just looked like they were. She discreetly flexed her fingers, hoping her companions hadn’t noticed. The only other time her prosthetics had malfunctioned, it had happened during a cold winter when the entire city was without power for a week. Her technician had blamed it on the low temperature, though she had been sheltered in the house and hadn’t even caught a cold.
Keeping her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, Aurore urged her body to relax. Unfortunately, she had no control over what was going on inside her prosthetics. She felt no pain, but having lived with them for over a decade, she instinctively knew the circuits inside were overcharged, and she couldn’t figure out why. Her prosthetics didn’t make a habit out of moving without her willing them to do so. Yet, they had. The stumble while walking up the stairs had shocked her because she never stumbled. All her moves were perfectly calculated and executed. She didn’t have to think about them after her brain had sent the command.
Her mind scrambled to think of a reason for such behavior, terrified it could happen again. She paid no attention to the show. Colorful lights flashed in front of her eyes, and loud music assaulted her ears, but everything happened far away as, frozen in her seat, she waited for the next twitch to come. When the drums, sounding like cannons, announced the leap made by one of the gymnasts from on top of the human pyramid over the smaller tower in front, in did. Her left foot jumped, slamming down so hard, the heel of her shoe broke the floorboard underneath and remained stuck in it.
Dale’s arm rested heavily on the back of Aurore’s chair. “Calm. Down.”
“It’s because of the excitement,” she said in a weak voice.
“Sure it is.” Dale kept his eyes on the stage but didn’t remove his arm.
Aurore waited for another act to start before slowly rotating her ankle in an attempt to free her heel. Dale’s hand landed on her knee, steadying it. She was about to protest when Uncle Tem clapped his hands.
“Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” he said, referring to the group of female contortionists performing on stage, all tangled up in a human jumble. “Don’t you agree?” His eyes strayed to the hand on her leg and widened. Still, the big grin didn’t leave his round face.
“They’re very …” Aurore paused, unable to find the right word.
“Gifted,” Dale said.
“Yes, gifted indeed.” She nodded, though her thoughts were not on the contortionists, no matter how skilled they were.
“Gifted. I like that!” Uncle Tem gave Dale a knowing smile and turned his attention back to the action on the stage. “I like that very much,” he repeated to himself.
Aurore rolled her eyes, which startled her because she couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. People were usually careful not to act silly around her or, God forbid, upset her, but that wasn’t the case with her uncle, the mayor. She also didn’t remember the last time someone had touched her. Dale’s hand burned her through the thin fabric of her dress. It was her bad knee, the one still made of flesh and bone.
Pure hatred flared through her, aimed at the man who made her resent what was left of her human body. She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed, not enough to break the bones, but close. Dale tensed beside her and gritted his teeth. Aurore decreased the pressure, relieved to have the prosthetic work correctly. And then, there was another shower of lights and loud music, and her other foot jumped.
“Is it the visual or audio stimulus that triggers it?” Dale whispered in her ear.
Aurore shook her head from left to right, her jaw locked too tightly to get the words out. I don’t know.
“Is there going to be an intermission?” he asked.
She nodded at the program. Dale’s dark eyes trailed from her face, down the curve of her breast, to the glossy, brown piece of paper lying in her lap. The lack of change of his expression told her the answer. No intermission.
“Do you want to leave?”
“I … can’t.”
After a short pause, Dale said, “I should go and talk to Renard, tell him to tone it down.”
“These things … are programmed in advance … They can’t change them … on the fly. I’ll be fine.”
She was for a while. The Nightingale’s marvelous singing helped her remain relaxed in her seat, and while aware it was misleading, Aurore couldn’t fight the feeling nothing bad could happen to her. Then Nicholas came out on stage, and she relaxed more. His act required no special effects so no lights assaulted her, and he preferred to work in silence, interrupted only by the audience’s gasps and claps when a number was particularly astonishing. Her attempts to free her heel failed due to Dale’s hand stilling her foot each time so, in the end, she gave up trying.
“Oh, no …,” Dale murmured when the magic number ended and a big wheel appeared on stage.
31
Nicholas pushed his trunk out of the way and, removing his top hat, wiped his forehead. He’d done it. He’d performed his entire act, used a small amount of power to make it believable, and no one had noticed. He had always told himself he was taking too many risks with the shows he did alone in the towns they stopped in, but these shows were the only thing that made him stand a
part from the circus people, helping him to not lose his identity.
Who was he really? He wasn’t the son of a rich financier anymore, he did not have a life of his own, did not have any accomplishments. He didn’t belong to the circus, and his identity—le Fleuriste—was a sham since he was clearly no magician. But he felt at home tonight, in his medium, on top of things, not hiding for a change. He’d tremendously enjoyed that.
To calm his excitement, he reminded himself he didn’t really own the circus. Big Dino would not give up on it anytime soon, and when he did, he wouldn’t leave Nicholas in charge. Shaking his head, he locked the trunk and signaled for a member of the staff to take it to his dressing room while he hung around and kept an eye on things. The crew knew their job, and he wanted to hold onto that satisfaction a little longer.
Nicholas’s smile faltered when, turning the corner, he found Anya bent over a waste bucket. Her mask was off, and her face had an unhealthy green tinge. Bracing himself against the bitter feeling he was partially responsible for her discomfort, Nicholas slid an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you out of here …”
“I’ll be fine,” Anya said, allowing him to lead her to her dressing room. “I get sick every time. It’s nothing new.”
“I know.” The acknowledgement didn’t remove any of the guilt. He supported her all the way to the door and, once inside, pulled a chair out for her.
Anya sat down with a tired sigh and dropped her head in her hands. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to go out again until the end. I don’t know how I would make it.”
She would have made it the same way she survived every curveball life threw at her. She performed each night despite the sickness because she was a brave girl. If she hadn’t wanted to do it, Big Dino wouldn’t have forced her. He wasn’t that cruel.