William Wilde and the Necrosed (The Chronicles of William Wilde)

by Davis Ashura

  Serena wanted to follow suit, but she ate her breakfast slowly and daintily. After all, she did have an image to maintain.

  However, while she ate, she caught William glancing around and appearing worried. She could guess what had him concerned. “Kohl’s miles behind us,” she reminded him. “Besides, Jason said that a necrosed won’t show up during the day with all these people and animals nearby.”

  “I know,” William said. “But I hope that by being here we aren’t putting these people at risk.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Serena said and without thinking, she reached out and squeezed William’s hand.

  William offered a smile. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.”

  Serena withdrew her hand. For a moment she’d forgotten she was supposed to be angry at William for his lies and for putting her in danger. “Who says I’m not,” she said in a frosty tone.

  William’s smile fell, and a worm of guilt curdled her stomach.

  “You ever going to tell us about that sword and your bow and arrows?” Jason asked around a mouthful of food.

  Serena had worked out her explanation before she’d left to join them at Winton Woods. “My dad spent a lot of time in China,” she said. “He taught me what he learned there.”

  “And you never mentioned it before because . . . ?” Jason persisted.

  Serena shrugged. “I knew you and William practiced the longsword, but I didn’t want to poke my nose into what the two of you were doing.”

  “Why not?” William asked.

  “Because then you’d have wanted to spar against me,” Serena said. “Besides, your practice always seemed like it was something private, just the two of you. I didn’t want to butt in.”

  “Well, there’s no butting in now,” Jason replied. “You have to show us what you’ve got.”

  “We’ll see,” Serena said.

  “You have to,” Jason persisted.

  “I said we’ll see,” Serena said, this time with more steel in her voice.

  “Sword. Bow and arrow,” William mused. “What else can you do?”

  Serena grinned slyly. “My dad taught me kung fu.”

  Mr. Bill came stomping into the cookhouse an hour later. “You’re still here.”

  “Mrs. Nancy told us to wait for you,” Serena said. “We can show you what we can do now.”

  Mr. Bill held up a finger. “Not yet. First I need some coffee and some food.” He glanced around. “Jimmy!”

  Jimmy stepped out of a camper. “You know me, boss. I kept it warm in the oven.” The beefy, old cook brought out a cup of black coffee and a plate piled high with crispy bacon, fried eggs, and flapjacks. “All the way you like ‘em.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy,” Mr. Bill said with a nod.

  “You need anything else, boss, you let me know,” Jimmy said before waddling off toward a large tub full of dirty dishes.

  William thought Jimmy was walking weird, and Mr. Bill noticed, too.

  “You okay, Jimmy? You’re walking funny,” Mr. Bill said.

  “I feel like my butt crack’s eating my britches is all,” Jimmy answered with a dejected frown. “Can’t pick it out ‘cause my hands is all wet. If I do, it’ll look like I soiled myself.”

  William had a sudden case of coughing to suppress his laughter, and so did Serena and Jason. They studiously avoided meeting one another’s eyes.

  “Go dry your hands off, fix your britches problem, wash your hands, and then clean off the rest of the dishes,” Mr. Bill said.

  Jimmy nodded vigorously, a relieved expression on his face. “Sure thing, boss. That’s a good idea.”

  He waddled out of view, and Mr. Bill briefly shook his head. “Poor man’s thicker than a bank vault,” he said before taking a sip of coffee. He sighed in appreciation. “That’s the stuff.”

  William had tried the coffee too, but it wasn’t for him. The stuff was thick enough to tar a driveway.

  But it must have been just what the doctor ordered for Mr. Bill. After that first sip he dug into his breakfast. He ate steadily and without stopping, relentlessly plowing through his food but never gulping. He finally finished and sat back with a satisfied pat of his belly and a jovial smile. “Now, my young lads and lady, tell me your names.”

  Introductions were made, and Mr. Bill greeted them all with a handshake. “I believe you wanted to show me what you can do. Let us make haste to the parking lot, where the three of you will have plenty of space to offer up your performances.”

  William shared a glance with the others. Earlier in the morning, Mr. Bill had been as irritable as a thorn-pawed bear. Now he was as friendly as a cat with a nose full of catnip.

  “Don’t dawdle,” Mr. Bill said, exiting the cookhouse. “We haven’t all day.”

  “Best not keep the bossman waiting,” Jimmy advised with a shooing gesture.

  William shrugged at Jason. “Weird.”

  “Definitely weird,” Jason agreed.

  “Hurry up, you two,” Serena said as she departed the cookhouse.

  William and Jason jogged to catch up with her.

  “Why don’t we start with the boys,” Mr. Bill said when they reached the parking lot. “Show me what you can do with your swords.”

  “Yes, sir,” William said.

  Mr. Bill scowled.

  “I mean, yes, Mr. Bill,” he immediately amended.

  He and Jason drew out the training blades they’d retrieved from the Scout while they’d been waiting. The edges were dull, but a strike from one of them could still hurt like hell. For the winter talent show at St. Francis, they had planned to do a demonstration with their longswords, so they already had a routine worked out.

  Halfway into their performance, Mr. Bill waved them off and called them to stop. “Boys, you’ve got promise, but there’s no spark. Can’t you mix in some jumps and flips, like in a ninja movie?”

  “I guess so,” Jason said. He sounded as doubtful as William felt.

  “Is that ‘I guess so’, or ‘I guess no’?” Mr. Bill asked with narrowed eyes.

  “We can do it,” William answered. “We can add in backflips and stuff.”

  “Well, work on it. If you get it shiny enough, I’ll give you a shot,” Mr. Bill said. “For now, though, I can’t use you in the show, but like Mrs. Nancy said we need some help with the crew. If you’re willing to clean, fetch, and do whatever the foreman tells you, you’re hired.”

  William and Jason shared a smile of relief. “We’ll do it,” Jason said.

  “Good. Now let’s see what the girl’s got.”

  “We need to go to our truck,” Serena said.

  She led them to the Scout, and once there, she shucked off her coat, shoes, and socks, and from a backpack removed two long, sheer scarves, one green and the other one yellow. Longer than a sari, they both seemed to go on forever. Serena weighted one end of each scarf with a large washer, twirled the heavy ends, and flung them over an overhanging streetlamp.

  “Tie them to the Scout’s bumper,” she said to William, handing him the weighted ends. “Make sure they don’t come undone.”

  After William did as she’d told him, Serena gripped the scarves and climbed them.

  William had never seen her bare-limbed before, and he stared in appreciation as the muscles in her arms and shoulders rippled as she ascended.

  When she reached the same height as the overhanging streetlamp, Serena stretched her arms out and hung suspended in the form of a crucifix, held aloft by only the sheer fabric. Serena rotated, a graceful inversion until she swung upside down. Again she rotated. Again. And a final time, all the while her muscles flexed and moved beneath her smooth, brown skin. She now had the scarves looped around her arms and hung right-side up again. Serena opened her hands and released the fabric.

  William gasped. He wasn’t the only one.

  Serena remained suspended by the portion of the scarves that she’d wrapped around her arms. She grasped the fabric again and did the splits. In that position, S
erena wrapped her feet in a tight binding of the sheer material and again let go of the scarves.

  William instinctively reached out to catch her.

  “Sweet Father,” Mr. Bill mumbled. “We’ve got to find her the right costume, and the right story.”

  Once again, the material held Serena up, but this time by the fabric around her feet. She rotated upside down and spun in mid-air. Then, with a gentle flick of her wrists, the scarves coiled around her arms. With a snap of her legs, the material unwrapped from her ankles. Rotating to right-side up, she resumed the form of a crucifix. A moment later, she unwrapped the scarves from her arms and climbed to the level of the lamppost. Up above them, she scissored her legs and rotated her arms. Most of the scarves’ lengths were now wrapped around her body.

  “What’s she doing?” William asked.

  “I have no idea,” Jason said.

  Serena let go of the scarves, and they unspooled from around her.

  This time William did dart forward, arms held up, prepared to catch her before she smashed into the ground.

  Several yards before she would have smacked the concrete of the parking lot, Serena snapped to a halt. She gracefully descended the last few feet to the ground, alighting in William’s arms. He set her down, and she grinned as she stared him in the eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders and his on her waist.

  He managed to smile back through his conflicted emotions, desire warring with the inexplicable caution he couldn’t seem to shake.

  “Fantastic!” Mr. Bill clapped loudly. “You’ll be the prize. I can see it now. William and Serena are circling one another on the ground, like you’re young lovers dancing. You’re about to kiss, but then Jason shows up. William doesn’t know how to fight. All you’ve got is a stick.”

  “But I thought you wanted us to do ninja moves,” William said.

  Mr. Bill waved his words aside. “Later. For now, you’ve got a plain outfit. Jason’s is much fancier. He’s an evil, master swordsman while you’re a nobody. Jason drives you off. Then Serena does her performance.” Mr. Bill punched the air for emphasis, and he grew increasingly animated. “Serena is dancing in the scarves. She’s in the air doing her routine, rotating in the air. The crowd’s gasping, sure she’ll die.

  “Then William shows up again, but this time you’re in a fancy outfit, too. You’re a master swordsman now. You and Jason fight, but the two of you have to sell it. You’re fighting for Serena. She’s the center of your performance. In the end, William is victorious. You wait for Serena under her scarves, catching her just before she hits the ground.” His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “It’s perfect!”

  “Does that mean we’re hired on as circus performers, also?” Jason asked.

  “Artists. We don’t say circus performers,” Mr. Bill said. “Right now you’re crew, but you’ll eventually be artists. We’ll see how it works out. Go see Mrs. Nancy. She has all the paperwork about wages and stuff. After that, ask her to send you on to Jane, our seamstress.”

  Mr. Bill stared at the still-hanging scarves, wearing a broad grin. “The crowds will love it.”

  When William, Jason, and Serena returned to Mr. Bill’s camper, Mrs. Nancy greeted them at the door with a warm smile. “Did Bill like your performances?”

  “He liked Serena’s,” Jason said. “Me and William, not so much. He’s got a lot of changes he wants us to make.”

  “I’m sure you and William will be fine,” Serena said, offering Jason a warm smile.

  William once again suppressed a surge of jealousy. What was going on between those two?

  “Then you’ll be crew for a while,” Mrs. Nancy said. “That’s better than what my own children did. Neither of them wanted the circus life.”

  “Why?” Jason stated.

  “You’d have to ask them.” Mrs. Nancy shrugged. “They seem happy enough with their lives, but it’s a world away from what Bill and I have built. A tax attorney and a dentist.” She barked laughter. “Can you imagine two professions less like the circus?”

  “Their loss,” Jason said with a grin.

  “Did Bill tell you to meet with Jane?” Mrs. Nancy asked.

  “The seamstress? Yes, he did, ma’am,” William said.

  “You keep saying ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am,” Mrs. Nancy said, her head tilted in puzzlement. “Why?”

  “It’s how I was raised,” William answered. “It’s considered polite.”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “Just remember what I told you about calling Mr. Bill ‘sir’.”

  “I remember.”

  “Good. Right.” Mrs. Nancy became all business. “I have some forms for you to sign.” She fetched a binder full of papers and had the three of them sign some liability waivers and non-disclosure agreements.

  Afterward, she directed them to Jane, the seamstress who travelled with the circus. She was a slender, owl-eyed woman of an indeterminate age. She could have passed for anywhere between sixty and eighty. Her white hair and seamed face indicated great age, but her eyes, despite being hidden behind Coke bottle-thick lenses, were young and curious.

  Jane smiled when they entered her trailer. “Bill stopped by earlier. He told me to expect you.” She clapped her hands. “Now. Let’s get started.”

  Her camper was crowded with bolts of cloth, pieces of fabric, and spools of thread with the center of the room dominated by an old Singer sewing machine. Jane shifted items aside, muttering all the while. “It has to be eye-catching.”

  While she searched, William asked, “I thought circuses only traveled in the summer.”

  Jane glanced up from her search. “We do, but in his august genius, Bill Londoner wanted to try a winter tour, with no competition from other circuses.”

  “It hasn’t worked out so well?” William guessed.

  “It’s worked out fine,” Jane corrected. “But I think I speak on behalf of most everyone when I say we’d rather be home for the holidays instead of touring.”

  “How much longer is the tour?” Serena asked.

  “Not long. We’re only running from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. Then it’s home.”

  “Where’s home?” Jason asked.

  “Salt Lake City, Utah.”

  “That’s your last stop?” Serena pressed.

  “No. That’s Las Vegas, Nevada.”

  “Just two more weeks and it’s all over,” William mused.

  Jane peered at him over the rim of her thick glasses. “You picked a strange time to join us,” she said. “After Las Vegas, you’ll have to find some other work until the spring tour.” She gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Found it.” She hefted a bolt of shiny, yellow fabric and held it up to Serena’s chest. “You’ll look wonderful in this. It contrasts so nicely with your dark hair.” She eyed Serena up and down. “And we’ll make it form fitting, of course. You have a lovely body, dear. Perfect bosom. Not flat-chested like so many acrobats.”

  Serena reddened. “Thank you,” she said.

  Jane continued as though she hadn’t heard or seen Serena’s embarrassment. “Yes. The yellow fabric, and dark piping to match your eyes. We’ll also have some flowered patterns to act as a highlight. I think I have some leftover material. It should work perfectly. Now let’s measure you.” She pulled out a tailor’s tape and had Serena turn this way and that, stand still, walk, hold her arms out to the side, all sorts of postures.

  Jane wrote down the measurements, and when the seamstress felt satisfied, she turned her attention to William and Jason. “Now for you two,” she announced. “We’ll have to make sure to highlight your packages. Make them pop,” she said, tapping her teeth. “The women love that. Some men, too.”

  William and Jason reddened while Serena chuckled.

  Jane had them turning, standing, arms out . . . all the things she’d had Serena do, and after she finished she stepped back with a satisfied smile. “I’ll have the costumes ready in three days.”

  The circus packed up and left Wayne, Illinois the next day. Early in
the morning after the final performances, everyone, even the artists, helped break down the tents, stalls, and rides. They packed everything, including the vehicles, onto a train to carry it to their next stop. The long day of labor didn’t finish until late afternoon, and by then, most everyone was ready to have an early supper and go to sleep.

  Of course the senior performers, such as Sam the Strongman, Mistress Purdy the Mistress of Cats, and Dr. Devious the Enchanter from the Farthest East and his assistant, the Fabulous Winona, dozed in the best spots. William, Serena, and Jason had to accept a set of blankets rolled out on the floor of the combine car.

  Jason snored lightly in his nest, but William wasn’t ready to rest. His mind and emotions roiled, and he sat in the open frame of the side door, staring outside. The train rattled along the tracks with the wheels striking a regular rhythm, and the winter-fallow cornfields lay beneath a fresh dusting of snow. His breath misted in the air, and the blaze of lights from a small town briefly brightened the night before the darkness took hold once again. The landscape seemed to unspool before him like a slow, hypnotic film.

  “You’re not freezing out here?” Serena asked, sitting down next to him.

  William glanced at her. She was wrapped up in a thick coat and a scarf—a normal scarf, not one of the long, silky ones she used in her act. “I can close the door if it’s too cold for you,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Serena shook her head. “Leave it open.”

  Her voice was as cool as the night, and William figured she was still upset with him. The truth was, he was also upset with her. He didn’t see why she was taking out her frustrations on him, and right now, he didn’t want to be around her. “I was about ready for bed,” William lied. “The door’s yours. Good night.”

  “Don’t go.”

  William looked her way. She stared out the open door. “You sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.” Serena held up a hand. “Stay.”