by Sarah Noffke
Dave shook his head of short brown hair, unleashing the water clinging to its ends. Titus stepped back suddenly and shielded his face with a raised elbow from the spray of droplets. When the taller man lowered his arm the shorter man stood, a mischievous look in his small light-colored eyes. “Evolution isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be,” Dave said. “It works for mammals and birds and fish, but in my opinion it isn’t suited for all organizations or in this case, the Vagabond Circus.”
“Your opinion is wrong!” Titus threw his hands into the air, his fingertips almost knocking into the low part of the ceiling overhead.
Dave took one large step, his short legs really reaching to close the space between him and the other man in only one stride. He threw his chin up and stared with bold eyes at the man who easily stood a foot over him. “I value your input, but at the end of the day my opinion, whether right or wrong, is the only one that counts. Is that clear?”
Titus didn’t say a word, only stepped back and roughly shook his head, his lips pressed together in a hard line.
“I think we’re done here tonight,” Dave said, his voice cordial once more. He turned and made for the open flap of the tent. “Please close up, would you?”
Chapter Three
The outsider stood closer now, just under the eaves of Dave Raydon’s office tent. The boy was disappointed that he couldn’t hear the conversation going on inside the miniature big top. The rain prevented him from making out the two men’s words, but he could discern that it was a heated conversation. When the shorter man strode out of the building the trespasser slid in closer to the tent, his shirt colliding with the wet material, drenching his backside completely. He stifled a curse and instead watched as the ringmaster trudged through the puddle-filled lane, head held high against the splattering rain. Dave’s figure soon grew indistinct as he neared his personal trailer and the boy lost sight of him completely.
Dave, however, had excellent night vision and didn’t even carry a flashlight at night like most in Vagabond Circus. He also knew his path so well he could find his way blindfolded. And this was impressive since the configuration of the big top and trailers and sleeper-row shifted slightly between each city. It always depended on the space allocated by that city and the relationships of the performers. Neighboring situations shifted, but only slightly. Dave had figured out long ago how to keep relations among his staff pleasant. This was because he’d learned the hard way that pleasant relations made for consistent performances and everything at Vagabond Circus relied on consistency. It’s what kept the doors open and the believers and non-believers filing into the big top.
The rules were simple and no one ever forgot them and usually no one ever broke them, which was solely a result of the level of leadership Dave had over his employees. The rules, number one: everyone respects each other, no matter what. And two, no one dates each other, no matter what. Those were the rules and they weren’t just easy to remember, but surprisingly easy to follow. People understood them. Followed them. Believed in Dave’s reasoning. Mostly never questioned it.
Twenty years ago when Dr. Raydon started Vagabond Circus he was devastated by something that happened to his circus and the sole reason was he didn’t have any rules. His primitive mission had been clear: to take in lost and wandering Dream Travelers. Encourage them to use the skills their race was born with to become someone great. Dream Travelers, starting at puberty, could utilize sleeping hours to take their consciousness anywhere and do anything. Too often the lonely Dream Traveler will waste away these skills. But Dave recruited and organized a band of young, rogue Dream Travelers. He instructed them to meet him every night in an empty field and practice various skills. To hone their unique abilities. It was in this field that Vagabond Circus was born.
Dave then bought the four-mast big top that the circus still used to this day. This was why he didn’t want to take Titus’s unrelenting advice. He still believed that what he created belonged inside that tent. That it didn’t need to outgrow it.
Once inside his dark and empty trailer, the middle-aged man threw himself down in his plastic-sheathed recliner. Dave sighed to himself, his aggravation finally surfacing. He did firmly believe that the forty-eight-foot-diameter ring was still big enough. But proving this to the creative director was tough and growing more of a challenge day by day. Two big tops wouldn’t make for a grander show, just more of a show, but that wasn’t the key. And neither was merchandise. He hated stuff anyway. He hardly had more than the bare minimum in his tiny trailer.
Once, Dave had an estate and enough possessions to fill it, but it didn’t bring him happiness. He wasn’t going to take hard-working people’s money in exchange for crap that would congest their closets one day. People didn’t need souvenirs or mementos. They needed an unforgettable experience and that’s all that Vagabond Circus offered.
Dave flipped open his recliner, not having to feel around for the handle but going straight to it. He smiled with relief when his damp head nestled into the pillow. Yes, possessions never brought happiness. Comfort yes, but that shouldn’t be confused with happiness. He hadn’t known true joy until he closed up his psychiatrist practice, sold his estate, donated his belongings, and started a new life.
His initial bit of happiness came when he located his first drifter, a Dream Traveler who had the ability to manipulate objects with his mind. The boy was underfed, disenfranchised by his years as a runaway and completely intrigued by the idea of being the first member of a circus. From there it was easy for Dave to grow Vagabond Circus. He simply put out a message amongst the homeless and transient population that he was recruiting those with extraordinary abilities. The ones who fit the bill knew who they were. These individuals lined up once they realized they’d be given food, room, pay, and, one day, a reputation of prestige.
Sometimes Middlings came for auditions—the other race, the one who couldn’t dream travel and had no unique ability—but Dave quickly saw them for who they were. There was nothing wrong with Middlings, they were just a different caliber. Their circuses were great and based on talent but also flashy costumes and a bit of deception. Vagabond Circus was not flashy and didn’t rely on bright lights and sparkly costumes. Its success, from the beginning, relied on the various Dream Travelers who all had unique abilities. And it also relied on a ringmaster who had them spend every waking moment and every dream traveling second honing these skills until they were super powers. That’s what made Vagabond Circus the best in the world and Dave wasn’t about to exploit it. He did, however, agree that his circus was currently lacking. Something was missing. Something that would keep the doors open without raising ticket prices or adding extra shows.
With a slow hand he slipped a bottle of pills from the drawer in the table beside his recliner. Fanny, the Vagabond Circus healer, had created the herb mixture a few years ago. It was for the nights when Dave chose not to spend his twilight hours dream traveling with his staff. Dr. Raydon could do almost anything, but for too many years he couldn’t just close his eyes and sleep.
He popped the brown capsule into his mouth and swallowed it dry. The formula Fanny concocted wouldn’t just put Dave to sleep but would also prevent him from having dreams, which was crucial.
The first troupe Dave started twenty years ago had phenomenal success but in less than a year it all crumbled. The troupe, through acts of betrayal and jealousy and greed, tore one another apart and Dave was left to pick up the pieces and start again. This was the reason for the rules and also the reason for the nightmares.
Dave’s eyelids finally fell shut and within several seconds he was breathing with the rhythm of a person locked away in dreamless sleep.
Chapter Four
The boy stepped out from his place hiding beside the tent. He wasn’t actually quite a boy anymore, Finley would be eighteen soon. Maybe in a month, he guessed. He didn’t know when his real birthday was, and he’d guessed at the year he was born. Perhaps he was about to turn seventeen or nineteen.
The boy wasn’t entirely sure.
Finley didn’t follow Dave to his trailer. He had considered it. Considered confronting him then, but by the way the man moved, Finley knew he was tired and thus knew he wouldn’t get the audience he desired. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d find the ringmaster when he was alone. That was the only way his plan would work.
He snuck out from behind the tent and stealthily moved through the RV trailers lining the back lot. The rain had calmed to a gentle mist now and the crew inside the tent sounded as though they were nearing the end of their work. It wouldn’t do the trespasser any good to be seen. It might ruin everything. Finley wasn’t concerned about being caught. That would be nearly impossible, but if he was seen then later he might be recognized. Tonight wasn’t the night to take chances; it was the time for reconnaissance. There would be other nights for chances, once he knew more about these people.
Slipping between the gaps in the RVs, the boy slid up against a trailer echoing with noise. He pressed his ear up alongside the wet metal listening to the muffled voices inside. They were undoubtedly children’s voices. Four or five distinct voices. And possibly a woman’s. Hers was warm and low. Finley backed up and surveyed the RV trailer. It was larger than most, but by the sound of it there were more residents in this trailer than most. What he needed was to get a look inside, but after circling the compartment he learned there were no open window shades. They were all pulled down so tightly that the light within hardly found its way out. If the adult inside had just been as careless closing her window coverings as her neighbor then Finley would have what he needed for confirmation.
The neighboring trailer had all its window shades still open wide, the various lights within spilling out into the black night. Inside he spied movement, someone crossing the small living area within. Finding a spot beside a tree, Finley focused his eyes through the window. He was only fifteen feet away. This proximity provided him an unobstructed view of a girl. Maybe like him, almost not a kid anymore. He recognized her at once from the performance he’d seen in Vancouver. She was one of the acrobats. There was no doubt about it. Not many people had platinum blonde hair with a two-inch-wide bright pink streak running through it.
She was seated, perhaps at a table. The details around her Finley couldn’t see without moving closer. His inhibitions wavered for only a second before he got control again and forced himself to stay hidden by the tree. Trespassing on the circus was one thing, but being spied peeping was another. He couldn’t risk it.
The girl was chatting, her words flowing easily, as if the person she was speaking to she knew well. She reclined a bit and gathered her long hair in her hands and began twisting it. Again and again she twisted the blonde and pink hair into a tight rope and then absentmindedly she twirled it into a bun at the back of her head and stuck something slender through it. With her hair back, he noticed her long neck again. Finley remembered her lean muscles, no doubt a result of hundreds of hours of stretching, twirling, flipping, and gliding through the air.
When the girl erupted in sudden laughter, Finley realized he’d been staring at her without actually seeing her, his mind trailing back to her performance. Now he focused on her again. She didn’t just laugh once, but instead seemed infected by it. He could hear the sound spilling through the flimsy door on the side of the trailer. It was a sound he was unaccustomed to. Laughter. People didn’t laugh where he came from and never like this girl, with seemingly no end. Her face was now a shade lighter than the streak in her hair and her long slender hands glided under her eyes, pushing tears away. She was enchanting when she laughed. As unfathomable as it was to Finley, she seemed to grow even brighter. Her laughing smile soon lessened and after a few seconds of composure her passive expression reappeared. And still under her eyes she wore the joy connected to that fit of laughter, like it might burst forth again at any moment.
Finley wondered what would make a girl like this laugh so hard. More curious was who. She spoke to this person again, a now bashful look on her face. With a quick scan of the area Finley made an impromptu decision. He raced, as only he could do, crossing the space between him and the window. His pause was brief. It gave him just the information he craved and he was once again a blur of movement and back safely behind the tree. It was unlikely anyone saw him. His moment of indiscretion had been only a second or two. Besides, his speed was almost too fast for anyone to register in the dark.
And now he knew who had made the girl laugh. It had been one of the other acrobats. He was the one who Finley guessed had the ability of levitation. He wasn’t sure what the girl’s skill was. She had appeared almost like a normal acrobat in the act, like a Middling, but that couldn’t be the case. There were no Middlings in Vagabond Circus. Everyone was a Dream Traveler and had one or more unique abilities they used in the show. Even the crew who tended to the big top were Dream Travelers. Maybe the girl’s gift was that she was hypnotizing, because for some reason Finley couldn’t look away from her. Didn’t want to.
And then the girl leaned across the table and the spell was broken. If Finley didn’t know who she was leaning toward, then he wouldn’t have turned away. But he did know. And he felt cold shame for caring what two strangers were doing inside the privacy of a personal space.
Chapter Five
Zuma said a polite farewell to the other acrobat three minutes after Finley marched away. He was two rows away when she waved at Jack as he strolled to his own trailer. There was no long kiss goodnight, as Finley had imagined there would be.
With Jack gone the sudden need for privacy was overwhelming for Zuma. It always dropped down on her like a net. Being with her circus family nonstop, and having the public eye on her during every show, created a greedy need for decompression time. She pulled the shades of each of the windows as she passed to her bedroom at the back of the trailer. Her chest was still buzzing from the laughter. Jack always made her laugh. He had the beautiful knack of breaking through her tough exterior and making her appear almost human. Not happy, but almost human. Zuma didn’t know what happiness felt like. She hardly knew what human felt like.
Zuma sulked quietly as she slid onto her bed, not even bothering to put herself between the covers. Just this once she wished she would have asked Jack to stay longer, to share more of his time with her. But they both knew, and had discussed, that this would only lead to one thing and that could never happen. They both loved their place within Vagabond Circus too much to take that risk. Even for each other.
The regret slid away as Zuma focused her thoughts. Tonight was a free night; she could dream travel to wherever she pleased. No dream travel rehearsal or meetings. Just her lonely consciousness and the world to explore. With her eyes closed she focused on a location. She’d learned about it from one of her clients in Vancouver. Their thoughts had been obsessed with this place and she now wanted to find out why. Most places had an energy that either pulled people in, locked them out, or did a little of both. Zuma was good at reading the energy of places, about like how she could read minds.
Her consciousness spiraled through the almost metallic tunnel. It pushed her like a comet through space and time, barreling her in the direction of her focused thoughts. Since she was twelve she’d been dream traveling, and the experience never lost its rush. How could the automatic transport through the latitudes of the globe ever grow boring?
This was her last thought before she arrived on a sandy beach and stood facing out at the waters of the Atlantic. Of course, her body was only there in ethereal form. The Middling tourists strolling through the sand couldn’t see her. Only other Dream Travelers in the same form as her could. But she was finally alone after the long day. Middlings in the physical realm didn’t really count as company.
Zuma let out a refreshing breath and then turned to the city. Her pink lips quirked up with a smile of delight. She instantly knew one of the reasons Cape Town had a draw. It didn’t look like most cities. Most places she’d visited in physical or dream travel form weren’t
surrounded by tabletop-like mountains. How protected the residents of Cape Town must feel nestled in the bottom of a bowl, a beautiful archway of mountains on one side and a warm ocean on the other.
Chapter Six
A single spotlight glimmered down on Dave Raydon. He wore a teal blue three-piece suit with long tails in the back and a matching top hat nested on his plump head. His almost neon green bow tie matched the round carpet he stood on in the middle of the ring. Every eye in the big top was centered on him.
“Lentlemen and gadies! Goys and burls,” he said, his voice booming through the speakers. Giggles tumbled out of everyone in the crowd. “It is my distinct privilege to welcome you all to Vagabond Zoo!” he said.
“No, no, no,” the crowd echoed. Kids shook their heads furiously, covering chuckling mouths with tiny hands.
Dr. Raydon clapped his hand to his chest and furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘no’?” He looked around the tent, confused. “Doesn’t this look like a zoo to you?”
“No!” a dozen kids yelled.
The Vagabond Circus was different from all the rest in many ways and the first was it had no clowns. Not a single red, round nose in the whole troupe. Maybe that was the reason Dave had decided he’d be the silliest ringmaster in all of history. His job was to lead and move the events of the show along but he was less a Master of Ceremony and more a buffer between the jaw-dropping acts.