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Hello, everybody.

The Circus of Brass and Bone is back from its unplanned hiatus! This month and next month's episodes are finally completed (those who donate in any amount will get the January episode early). I suppose if there were going to be complications, I should have expected them to show up for Episode 13.

The writing was going along tickety-boo until my darling baby boy made his presence felt. As a first time mother, I didn't know what to expect, and so I didn't plan for a difficult last trimester or for quite how time-consuming a newborn infant is. After he was born, everything not involved in feeding or cleaning up after an infant got shoved onto the back burner.

These months have been a time of joy and a time of sorrow.

My mother died very recently. This story was started in her time of need. She survived about 15 months after being diagnosed with ovarian and endometrial cancer. I don't say she struggled or battled or fought--she didn't like using violent imagery to describe it. She endured it with remarkable grace, and it seemed to leave her outwardly untouched for a very long time, even as it spread through her body. Up until the very end, she would run--and then walk--along the Sand Creek bike path, taking photographs that will be displayed in a gallery exhibit later this year.

In the last year of her life, she was able to do much. She saw her photographs from India exhibited in an art gallery. She held her first grandchild. She rejoiced in hearing from many of the people whose lives she had touched over the years. She told me how much it mattered to her that she got so much support from friends, family, and even total strangers who knew of her only from news articles or from The Circus of Brass and Bone. During the darkest days of her treatment, my mother found inspiration and comfort in the kindness of strangers.

One of the last things she did was to celebrate her 33 1/3 wedding anniversary. People came from all over the world to see her, to honor her life, and to say goodbye.
She died because breathing became just too difficult. When my aunt, a nurse, told my mother that she thought my mother would probably die that night, my mother's response was to give her two thumbs up. She was ready to go. And when she stopped breathing, she smiled before she died.
Her last coherent words were to my dad: "I love you."

She lived a rewarding and adventurous life, and she had a good death, though we all wish she could have stayed with us longer.

So what happens next with The Circus of Brass and Bone?

Well, I am constitutionally incapable of leaving things unfinished. Now that I'm back to writing, I hope to be able to put up new episodes about every month, as infant-rearing duties permit. During my mother's illness, some significant bills were racked up. Donations are still what keeps The Circus of Brass and Bone going, and every little bit will help. And if we hit the target donation by the end of the story, there will be a free ebook/audiobook final version circulated once all the editing and polishing and extras are put in and the print version is made. (We're a bit more than 2/3 of the way there already!)

Until next time, keep looking for the light in the darkness.

Abra Staffin-Wiebe

Circus of Brass and Bone

Foreword
Welcome to The Circus of Brass and Bone. This story is free, but donations are what keeps it going. All proceeds go to help cover the bills from my mother's treatment for advanced ovarian cancer.

Now settle back and enjoy the circus. It's the end of civilization, but the show...must go on.

EPISODE 13

The Importance of Apples

Download MP3 podcast Isaac the animal handler

New York City

When Rosie Sasse opened up the gate to her family's zoo, Isaac hurried inside. His monkey might have run away from the circus, but Isaac couldn't imagine anything that would keep him from coming back.

At first the reunion was everything Isaac could have hoped for. When he stepped into the clearing holding the monkey pen, his heart was hammering fit to burst. Monkeys of all varieties perched on branches or groomed each other as they sat under the trees. Most of them looked healthy and well-cared-for, though a couple huddled against the fence, pressed as far away from the other monkeys as they could get. Now and then, they twitched spasmodically.

"Papa," Rosie muttered, "they're getting worse."

Papa Sasse nodded. "Still can't figure out what in tarnation is wrong with them. At least it hasn't spread to the others, and they're eating well enough--more than well enough. As long as an animal keeps eating, it'll usually pull through in the end."

Isaac ignored them. As long as whatever-it-was wasn't spreading and his monkey wasn't among the afflicted, it didn't matter. "Doom?" he called. "Mr. Ben Doom?"

One monkey broke away from the rest and loped toward the pen gate, uttering the soft, twittering call that was monkey-speak for, "Friend!"

Papa Sasse unlocked the gate and opened it. When Mr. Doom--no. Mr. Ben, Isaac corrected himself mentally. He really had to stop calling him 'Doom'; people kept reacting funny to it. When Mr. Ben flowed through the gate and jumped into Isaac's arms, all was right with the world again. Isaac ran his fingers through Mr. Ben's fur, checking for injuries. The monkey responded by relaxing bonelessly against Isaac. He seemed just fine, but Isaac kept grooming him.

"Here."

Isaac looked up to find Rosie Sasse standing beside him, offering him a couple of apple slices. "For the monkey," she said, jerking her chin at Mr. Ben.

"Thank you," Isaac said, accepting the apple slices. Maybe she was reconciling herself to the situation.

She didn't answer and she didn't smile. She just took a step back and watched.

Isaac offered the apple slices to Mr. Ben. The monkey stuffed one slice into his mouth, gripped the second in his paw, and hopped down. Before Isaac could pick him back up, Mr. Ben lurched away with a lopsided sort of gallop--and ran back into the monkey pen.

Isaac's jaw dropped.

Mr. Ben handed the second apple slice to a smaller monkey sitting alone under a tree--a female monkey, Isaac saw--and sat down beside her. She plucked a leaf from his fur and then settled down to some very attentive grooming. Mr. Ben's eyes drooped, half-lidded with contentment.

"Oh," Isaac said, very quietly.

"You see?" Rosie said. "You can't separate them, you just can't!"*

Papa Sasse reached out and clapped Isaac on the back. "There, there, lad. Don't look so stricken. It's the way of things, that's all."

"Mr. Ben belongs with us," Isaac said, about as convincingly as a country rube claiming he could out-wrestle a bull gorilla.

Rosie flared up again. "It doesn't matter if he belongs to you! You can't have him."

Papa Sasse patted the air in a calm-down gesture. "You can't take him now, that's true." As Isaac drew in breath to argue and Rosie stuck out her tongue victoriously, Papa Sasse hurried on. "It's almost dark. Curfew starts soon. You don't want them to catch you on the street after that, believe me!"

Captain Angie perked up at that, though Isaac wasn't sure if it was at the idea of food or if she hoped they'd be able to play leapfrog with the local policemen after all.

"You can stay with us," Papa Sasse continued. "We have space, and Mama Sasse will just have to stretch the soup a little farther."

Isaac might not have fancy manners, but he figured that these days it wasn't polite to take food from those who didn't have much. "You don't have to feed us," Isaac said.

Christopher looked relieved; he had his own reasons for not trusting local hospitality.

Papa Sasse's beard bristled with affronted family pride. "Nonsense! Mama Sasse wouldn't hear of it! She's probably already preparing for guests."

He led them back through a maze of overgrown paths. By the time Isaac found himself standing in front of a large cottage with smoke curling cheerily from the chimney, he really hoped the Sasse family's hospitality was genuine. He was all turned about, with no idea which way was out. If he tried to find his way through the zoo in the dark, he could just as easily end snuggled up next to the alligators.*

Papa Sasse led them up to the cottage and opened the door. Light spilled across the path, and the aroma of baking fish and apple pie floated out to welcome them. Inside, a woman laughed and was answered by a flurry of childish giggles.

Rosie Sasse darted into the cottage ahead of them. "Mama, we're home!" she called. "Papa insisted on bringing guests!"

A tall, rawboned woman walked into the front room as Isaac and the others entered. "Of course he did," she said, drying her hands on her apron. "The little ones told me. And Rosie, for shame! That is not how we talk about our guests."

Rosie flushed. "But Mama--!"

"As things are, we may have to guard our home. But once we've invited somebody into the zoo, they are our guests, and you will treat them appropriately." Mama Sasse regarded her daughter sternly for a minute. Then she relented slightly. "If they behave untowardly, then you may shoot them."

Isaac was decidedly discomfited by how comfortable everybody seemed to be with the idea of shooting him, but Rosie perked right up.

"Yes, Mama! Do you need help in the kitchen?"

"No, your aunt and cousin have everything in hand. You go call the family to dinner." Mama Sasse smiled. "And keep your rifle near, in case you need to shoot our fine guests."

Papa Sasse chuckled and elbowed Isaac. "Ain't she a pip*? She's the one who thought of sawing the Zoo sign off the gate, and using blackout curtains, and rotating a gate guard between us all--even the girls."

Isaac disagreed about the wisdom of putting Rosie on guard duty, but he held his peace.

"Come, sit." Mama Sasse led her guests to the table. "You--" pointing to her husband, "--wash up! I know you've been mucking out the elephant pen!"

Isaac, Christopher, and Captain Angie sat. Mama Sasse returned to the kitchen. Isaac frowned at Christopher. The tightness in his muscles reminded Isaac of a dog who'd been beaten before, waiting for the next blow to fall.

Isaac leaned forward and whispered, "I'll eat first. Like the equestrienne suggested we should."

Christopher's shoulders unknotted and he shot Isaac a grateful look, but before he could say anything Papa Sasse strode in. Washed up, wearing clean clothes, and with his magnificent beard brushed out, their host appeared almost a gentleman. Mama Sasse followed, carrying a covered platter that steamed most promisingly. Behind her came an older woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, bringing out the breadboard.

Other freshly scrubbed members of the Sasse family drifted in. From the range in ages and appearances, Isaac reckoned the Sasses had taken in uncles and aunts and cousins out to a few removes, in addition to their own brood.

"Did you release the dingoes?" Mama Sasse asked a tall young man who looked like he was outgrowing his clothes at the rate of an inch a week.

"Yes'm."

"You got dingoes?" Isaac asked.

"We have a fine pack. Since all the upset began, we've started letting them out at night. They're nocturnal, you see. They'll give us warning if any strangers break in, and their yips and howls will spook the intruders."

"I'm sure," Christopher said, shooting Isaac a look that said, plain as anything, You got us into this. You get us out!

Isaac chose to ignore him. He saw no reason why they should fuss about how they were leaving until after dinner.

Rosie joined them last, her hair brushed up into a twist, wearing a nice dress. She set her rifle in the corner before joining them at the table.

"Shall we eat?" Papa Sasse asked.

Isaac's stomach growled in noisy approval. Chuckles rippled around the table. Even Rosie smiled.

After Papa Sasse said a quick but heartfelt grace, they all dug in. When Isaac pressed his fork into the baked fish, it flaked into perfect white layers. The bread was as good as only bread fresh from the oven can be. Everything, right down to the pitcher of cold milk, delighted Isaac--though he decided not to ask what kind of mammal the milk had come from.

He was so caught up in his meal that he didn't notice the lack of conversation until Mama Sasse demanded, "Don't you like my cooking?"

He looked up to find her frowning at Christopher and Christopher's untouched plate.

"He's got, ah, indigestion," Isaac stammered. "It will pass soon."

Enlightenment flashed over her face. "Situational indigestion?" she said approvingly. "I suppose I might have some too, if I were in your shoes. If I thought of it in time."

"How can he have indigestion if he hasn't eaten yet?" Papa Sasse protested.

She patted his hand. "Don't worry about it, dear. Just save the man his portion. I'm sure his indigestion will clear up soon."

Isaac smiled weakly. Then, realizing Christopher might take that as a sign of illness, he tried to smile more vigorously. Captain Angie looked at him and her eyes widened. Isaac gave up on trying to smile in any particular way and focused on his plate.

Knowing that Mr. Ben Doom was safe--even happy--gave him patience enough to hold back until the dinner plates were taken away. Barely.

Then he launched into his pitch. "I saw how Mr. Ben Doom is with Marigold. I don't want to split them up either."

Rosie narrowed her eyes.

"I'd be happy to take her with us. They could start a family. We've got plenty of room for more monkeys, and. . . ."

He trailed off as Rosie pinned him with a glare so fulminating he nearly raised his hand to check if it had set his hair afire.

Christopher cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should have this discussion after the ladies retire.*"

Papa Sasse's eyebrows flew up. "I'm not going to try to persuade them to retire!" he said hastily.

"Huh!" Captain Angie snorted. "You'd better not. I want to see how it all pans out!"

"I'm not needed in the kitchen," Mama Sasse said comfortably. "Besides which, nothing will be agreed upon without Rosie's say-so."

"Nothing?" Isaac asked weakly.

"Nothing."

"Then I don't agree!" Rosie snapped.

"Now, now, hear them out," Papa Sasse said. "I rather like the idea of more baby monkeys about the place. What else do you have? Zebras? Baboons? A lioness or two?"

"No lionesses or baboons. Plenty of ostriches. A pair of zebras, a crocodile--I don't suppose you have any camels?" Isaac asked hopefully. "People might not think them as valuable as horses, but they're mighty tough and they can fend for themselves. I've got three, but they're all female."

"No," Papa Sasse said with a sigh. "Just a couple of months ago, there was a ship in port that offered me a pair of camels. I turned them down. I thought they weren't flashy enough for the New York crowd."

Rosie's face began to redden as her father continued, "Now I wish I had taken them up on it. Camels could have been useful around the place." He shook his head. "We at least have pasturage. I don't know how we'll keep feeding everyone else. Our food supply isn't entirely self-supporting. Some of the animals have special dietary needs, and the big cats--" He shook his head.

"Might be I could see my way to a word with my fellow captains," Captain Angie offered. "You've got something to offer in exchange. Might be that--"

Rosie interrupted, her face as red as a baboon's butt. "We're not trading Marigold!"

"I was thinking visits to the zoo," Captain Angie said mildly.

"He wasn't!" Rosie stabbed her finger at Isaac. "All he wants is to steal Marigold away!"

"That's not--" Isaac stopped. "I just want what's best for them. Have you seen what it's like in the city?"

"On the way here, we hiked through the Bronx countryside," Christopher said quietly. "The Commissioner has already stripped all the farms for miles and miles around. I've seen the ration notices. Food is in mighty short supply, and I'm not talking just for the animals. How long until the Commissioner gets around to deciding that your menagerie is an edible resource?"

"That would be a damn shame!" Captain Angie looked up from her skull monkey, which she had been making dance for the entertainment of the youngest children. "What's a sailor in new New York supposed to do for entertainment? The Commissioner already shut down the bars and the--" her eyes slid to the children, who had frozen as still as rabbits in hopes of not being noticed, "--and the other establishments, that, er, cater to sailors."

"I'd keep Marigold safe, really I would," Isaac said earnestly. "The monkeys have a fine circus wagon with plenty of room, and I make sure they get their exercise and plenty of fresh stuff to eat, and our doctor fixes them up if they get sick, and they're very friendly really, and I'm sure they'd welcome a new female into the troop, and. . . ." He ran down. There wasn't much else to say. And he's my best friend and I'd miss him wasn't the kind of argument that would persuade Rosie.

Rosie crossed her arms.

"Rosie," Mama Sasse said.

Rosie jutted her chin out stubbornly and refused to look at her mother.

"Rosie," Mama Sasse coaxed.

A flicker of eyes.

"We won't do anything unless you agree, but you need to think about what would really and truly be best for her in the world we live in now. Or did you think it was all fun and games and being allowed to wear men's trousers?"

"At least in the zoo we have walls," Rosie retorted. She shoved her chair back and stomped out of the room.

Papa Sasse leaned over and rested a hand on Isaac's arm. "Rosie needs some time to think. You have to understand, Marigold is like a member of our family."

Isaac's throat tightened. He nodded. "I understand," he managed.

"Well!" Captain Angie clapped her hands to her thighs, breaking the moment. "Somebody point me to a bunk. I'm about ready to keel over."

#

Lacey Miller, The Fabulous Lady Equestrienne Who Defies The Fiery Rings of Death!

In the circus camp on the outskirts of New York City

The horses had been unsettled all day, and Lacey didn't blame them. Since returning from the scouting trip to New York, she'd been unsettled too. Strange sounds came from the trees: huffs, and eerie rasping noises, and rattling like somebody was dragging a stick along the tree trunks. Nobody actually saw anything, but everybody was spooked.

Lacey took extra care to corral the horses in the center of the circus encampment for the night. She also took straw from the lion cage and spread it in a wide ring around them. The horses reacted to the predator scent by flaring their nostrils and shying away. She hoped the whatever-they-weres wouldn't want to tangle with a lion either.

The night air seemed to carry the creatures' calls particularly well. At one point, the lion roared a challenge, and the night fell silent. Lacey hoped they'd fled, but after a while, the noises resumed, closer. Something scraped high along the side of her wagon, and she froze. She could have peered out the window to see what it was, but she was seized by the superstitious fear that if she did, it would see her, and then it would not leave until it had winkled her out of the wagon like an oyster out of its shell.

If one of her horses had screamed in pain or trumpeted a challenge, she still would have gone to them, though the only weapon she had was the brass-and-enamel hoof pick the Indian mahout had given her. After the incident when she was forced to shoot a bandit, she hadn't been able to bring herself to retrieve her derringer. She cursed that squeamishness as she lay rigid in her bunk, though she didn't know if a derringer would have done much good against whatever haunted the night.

(To be continued in Episode 14: Blood and Bone)

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If you enjoyed this episode of The Circus of Brass and Bone, consider making a donation to keep it going (and get a character named after you, and a copy of the final book). All proceeds go to help cover the bills from my mother's treatment for advanced ovarian cancer. If you can't afford a donation, tell a friend, or blog about it.

Acknowledgments

This episode is brought to you by the donations of Andre Guirard, Genevieve Woodward, and Deborah Rowan.

The Circus of Brass and Bone is written and recorded by Abra Staffin-Wiebe. My main website is at www.aswiebe.com, and I blog at cloudscudding.livejournal.com.

Music is courtesy of Vermillion Lies. Go to their website at vermillionlies.com to hear more.

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