Astrid Darby and the Circus in the Sky

by Eleanor Prophet

Bearded ladies? Miniature people? Creatures with the body of a man and the head of a bull?”

  “I believe those are most commonly found in mythological texts, Ash, not the circus, even if it is a most unusual show. Shall we, then? I am eager to see what lies behind this door.”

  He reached forward and gripped the knob. It turned easily under his long, slender finger. He turned to me with a smile. “Not locked, then,” I murmured. “Quite interesting. Perhaps we are not the first to wander from the arena in search of fresher air and clearer heads.”

  “Are you prepared?”

  “I have seen many a peculiar thing in my time, Ash. I think I am most well suited to withstand a side show act.”

  “All right, then.”

  The room was dark, but as we stepped cautiously into the room, a faint glow spread from one side of the semi-circular room to the other, as though several small, square stalls had lit one by one from within. It was, I noted, precisely as it happened. As we moved towards the glowing stalls, we discovered them each to be a large, glass display case. I shuddered in revolution as I realised exactly what was on display inside the frightful vitrines.

  People. Dozens of them. People of shapes and sizes such as I have never witnessed nor ever wished to witness again.

  Beside me, Asher stiffened as though he, too, was appalled by the contents of the cages. Within the grotesque, inhuman showcases were the usual circus oddities. Small, hand-painted red lettering on the glass walls purported the inhabitants to be the smallest or largest in the world, though I had seen larger and smaller men and women in my travels, particularly in New Delhi, where the large population somehow bred the strangest of nature's children. There were siamese twins, a pair of girls with long, curly dark hair tucked under identical blue bonnets that perfectly matched their blue gingham dresses and clear, brilliant blue eyes. They peered insolently out at us through their confines.

  I did not know if the inhabitants could view us through their glass; perhaps they merely peered at themselves through two-way mirrors. It seemed as though they sensed us, at least, for there was movement in all of the vitrines now, a subtle, eerie shifting amongst the oddities as they moved closer or further from the glass, eager to hide themselves or perhaps proudly display their peculiarities.

  I met Asher's grim gaze, but we did not turn back the way we came. As though compelled by some morbid, instinctual impetus, we continued along the semi-circle. Mournful faces peered back at us. Some of the oddities bared their teeth in feral leers and pressed themselves upon the glass, following us with their eyes as we passed quickly by. They might have been prisoners of a hideous asylum, eager to lash out at anyone who wandered too close.

  “This is dreadful,” I murmured morosely.

  Asher's voice was equally subdued. “Perhaps it does not always look like this. Perhaps they are released into some other environment for the main attraction.”

  “Perhaps.” I did not think it likely. The horrors humans could visit upon each other were enumerable.

  Within the vitrines was a bearded lady in a stunning red gown, who smiled saucily at us through the glass, stroking her long, curly blonde beard. A woman, naked but for her sheet of long, dark hair that covered her most intimate proportions, sprawled on the floor of her cage. She could not move, for her legs appeared fused together, her feet pointed outwards and sealed at the heels to form what looked, on first glance, to be a mermaid's tale. The flesh was smooth and featureless. She looked very sad. She reached out a hand to touch the glass, her expression horribly imploring.

  Asher looked away, as though the affecting sight had disturbed him deeply. Beside the mermaid was a man with a hideously disfigured face, as though by fire or an awful mangling accident. He snarled and frothed at the mouth, though we could not hear any noise from behind the glass. The entire room was silent but for our shallow breathing and an occasional, horrified gasp. There was a man with what appeared to be scales all across the exposed flesh of his head and torso. He glittered in the bright light about his head. He flexed and preened before us, as though he was accustomed to being much admired.

  An albino man with stark white hair and colourless eyes perched with precise, eerie dignity upon a small foot stool in the centre of his showcase. His black suit was smart and well-tailored, though, with his pallor, he appeared to be a corpse, propped upright, staring out at us with his chin lifted imperiously into the air. My skin crawled. I spun away from the glass.

  I felt Asher behind me, close enough that, had I been willing to admit my intense discomfort, I could step back, into his arms as I had so many times in the past. “Astrid?”

  I lifted my chin. “Let us leave this place. There is nothing of relevance to our case to discover herein. I do not hear the clockworks now, but I am certain they are not within this chamber.”

  He did not respond to this, but he caught my hand with a firmness that indicated he would not be put off this time. I permitted him to guide me out of the miserable menagerie. The lounge was mercifully bright and cheerful, and I shook off the lingering sensations of repugnance the freak show had invoked within me. I sighed in relief. Asher, too, seemed of lighter foot, as though a weight had lifted from upon his shoulders. He still clutched my hand, but his fingers were warm and soothing, and I did not shake him off.

  The corridors beyond the lounge, in which the guest quarters were situated around the perimeter of the tent, were dark and empty. We met nary a soul, and I wondered to where Xander and Juliana had gone. Perhaps they, too, had discovered a hidden nook or cranny, another hideous facet of the gruesome Cirque du Flaire. There was no sign of the mysterious clockwork that had ticked in time to the snake charmer's music.

  At the end of a long, winding corridor, which I was certain must end sometime but which seemed to continue on perpetually, as though we had become entangled in some terrible, endless labyrinth of halls, a sharp, stern voice rang out. It echoed as though the walls were of some cavernous proportions. “What are you doing out here?”

  Asher and I spun in a single, seemingly choreographed motion towards the startling voice. Before us in the hall as though he had emerged silently from one of the mysterious locked chambers, was a rangy, hulking man. He was not dressed in the shining metallic suits of his fellow troupe-men, but he was most obviously Flaire's man. A tight, black leather cap covered his hair and wrapped around his chin, and he wore a black, military-style uniform with a strange, slender pronged wand on his belt. It was, I was certain, capable of much damage should he take it in his head to wield it.

  I smiled blithely at him. “Ah, we are most contrite. So sorry to bother, sir. We've been caught out. Feeling quite warm in the arena, we stepped out for a bit of air and stumbled upon the most intriguing side show. I'm afraid we've lost our way; we searched all over and simply cannot discover the path back.”

  The security guard stared dubiously between Asher and me for several seconds. “The ring is this way. Just follow the noise.” He spun on his heel and jerked his head.

  We had little choice but to follow him, lest we alert the man and his master to our genuine impulsion for wandering the ship whilst the rest of the party savoured the spectacle in the ring. He said nothing to us as we followed his swift, marching gait towards the lounge, but his hand hovered above the wand on his belt, as though he may yet resolve to draw it and fly at us. He paused before the shimmering red curtain in the still empty lounge and gestured.

  He waited, his expression stern and inarguable, until we had slipped past the curtain and reclaimed our seats beside Vera, who had hardly seemed even to notice our return. She clapped and exclaimed delightedly at the tumblers now performing an impressive array of tricks and human pyramids in the centre of the ring. I sighed. Asher, too, appeared rather miffed by the interruption.

  Moments later, Xander and Juliana hurried into the arena with identical shamefaced expressions. In the instant before the curtain closed behind them, I saw another man dressed as our guard, watching to ensure
they arrived safely in their seats. I smiled, for I was at least gratified that my young wards had come off no better than Asher and I.

  “Ah. Ran into the guards, did you?” Asher asked.

  Xander sighed. “Indeed. We were caught up on the observation deck.”

  “We, too, were discovered in the guest corridors. Were you successful in identifying the source of the ticking sound?”

  “Regretfully, no. There is no sign of a clockwork at all in the place.”

  “Perhaps it is concealed by other similar instruments,” I suggested.

  “I think not. We did discover the engine room, but it was nothing more than a vast collection of ballonets and boilers. It was most impressive and quite in order. There was no such apparatus that might explain such a strange noise.”

  We returned our attention to the centre ring, in which the aerialists spun, twisted and leapt from bars and chains upon the ceiling, contorting their bodies into odd, boneless shapes. Eitenne was as easily spied as before, but he did not seem as carefree as he had at the onset of the show. His movements, still uncannily graceful, were slightly stiffer and less fluid. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, the remnants of the chill of the eccentric Cirque. The hurdy gurdy music swelled around them, and their bizarre dance wove into