Foreward

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 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 4

Who's Running the Show?

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The circus members stared out across the city and watched it burn. A thick pillar of dark smoke billowed up from Boston's North End, and thin rivulets straggled up into the sky from elsewhere in the city.

Lacey Miller, the equestrienne, said, "The situation seems to call for us to keep level heads. Perhaps this Mr. Roderick White can advise us as to our best course. There must be a reason his name was written down on the ringmaster's list." She turned to the fortune teller. "Mrs. Wershow, who do you think we should send to speak with him?"

"So kind of you to ask an old woman, dearie! You should go, for one."

Lacey's eyes widened. "I? Surely we should send someone with authority in the circus!"

"Hmm, yes. Dear, you're so achingly genteel that sometimes you make my back teeth hurt. Don't you think that's what we need to speak with someone close to the mayor?"

"I--I shall do my best."

Jonathan coughed to conceal a laugh.

"And for the second person--" the fortune teller's eyes gleamed through her veil, "Jonathan Matzke, the skeleton man."

Jonathan tried to swallow his laugh, but it went down the wrong way and wound up as an all-too-genuine coughing fit.

#

When Jonathan and Lacey disembarked from the ship, they descended into chaos. Children and women climbed aboard ships or held up their arms, pleading to be taken away. Sailors' wives and favored dockside tarts got equal treatment. In at least one case, the same sailor pulled both aboard. Even the chickens and geese stacked in crates on the wharf squawked hysterically, as if begging for passage.

Men wheeled handcarts back to their ships, the contents piled high and hidden with tarp or sheet or tablecloth. Jonathan's eyes gleamed. It was a lovely opportunity for a little look-see around the cargo to be loaded. If only he weren't with the equestrienne.*

No hackney cabs waited near the docks

"We shall have to walk," Lacey said, her tone slightly dismayed. "Fortunately, I decided that walking dress would be the most appropriate attire, since we didn't know what we'd find."

"Oh, aye, couldn't have you wearing the wrong dress," Jonathan agreed.

"We shall need an escort. I would bring the strong man, but the appearance of a free black might cause trouble with things so unsettled." She gave Jonathan an assessing once-over.

"I may not be the strongest--" Jonathan began, but he spoke to empty air.

Lacey walked up to a burly man heading back into Boston proper. "Excuse me, kind sir," she said.

Jonathan edged closer, fascinated by the bemused expression on the sailor's face. A strong smell of saltwater and fish came off the man, but the long voyage back from India had left them all well-acquainted with the scent of seafarers.

"Um, yes, miss?" the sailor said hesitantly, after a glance around to make certain he was the one being so addressed.

"My companion and I find ourselves in need of an escort to City Hall. On School Street?" she added hopefully.

"I know where it is," the sailor admitted.

"Thank you so much! You are a true gentleman." Lacey leaned in and placed a gloved hand delicately on the sailor's arm. "I shall feel so safe in your company."

Still somewhat confused, the sailor puffed up his chest nonetheless.

"And of course, we will compensate you for your trouble," she added.

The presence of a lady and the promise of compensation seemed to reconcile the sailor to being shanghaied*.

Jonathan soon grew glad of the larger man's presence. A prickling feeling along his back warned him that not-so-friendly eyes watched their progress. Men roamed the streets in packs, eying each other like dogs deciding whether to fight.

Jonathan could handle himself in a situation that called for a quick escape or a quicker stick with a knife, but the sailor's size kept such situations from even arising.

Flies buzzed around dead animals in the gutters. Jonathan caught glimpses of human bodies in alleys and closed shops. He did not look more closely. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Stores, factories, and homes all stared down at the street with darkened eyes, though furtive shadows moved behind some of those windows.

From Lacey's demeanor, a body would think that nothing out of the ordinary occurred around them. Jonathan found himself grateful for that pretense of normality.

When they reached School Street, they found that someone had made an effort. The street was clear of corpses and refuse. Oil lamps burned behind windows. A dozen coppers walked back and forth along the street, clearly on guard, and just as clearly not guarding other places: groceries and confectioneries and butcher shops and dry goods stores and bakeries and. . . .

At Jonathan's sigh, Lacey looked back over her shoulder at him. "We're nearly there. See?" She pointed along the street to a building whose granite exterior gleamed in the sun. The massive doors stood open, revealing a darkened maw inside. Jonathan shuffled his feet, staying behind Lacey and their fishy escort.

As they walked up the path to those huge doors, the statue of Benjamin Franklin gazed down upon them from his pedestal with serious, considering eyes. All very well for him, Jonathan thought. He was safely dead. They still needed to avoid joining him prematurely.

The sailor coughed. "I'll wait outside, ma'am." He nodded toward a bench under a tree.

"Thank you," Lacey said, nothing in voice or deed betraying any awareness that the sailor might abandon them to make their own way back through the haunted streets.

Inside City Hall, Lacey paused. Jonathan stopped just in time to keep from barreling into her. Squares of sunlight fell from the tall windows and illuminated the entrance. Gentlemen hurried through the halls. It seemed a hive of activity.

A young man clutching a sheaf of papers stopped when he saw them. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, "but City Hall is closed to regular petitioners today." He pointed. "If you see that gentleman, he'll record your name and information, so that we may contact you once--once the current crisis is past."

"Oh, we're not petitioners!" Lacey said. "We're from the Loyale Traveling Circus and Museum of Educational Novelties. Our ringmaster had an appointment with the mayor's assistant, a Mr. Roderick White?"

An appointment? Perhaps Lacey wasn't so propriety-bound as to be useless after all. Jonathan wouldn't queer her pitch.*

"Circus?" The young man blinked. For a moment, the weariness in his face gave way to an echo of childhood delight. "Perhaps this will lift the mayor's spirits. Please wait here."

"We have no need to inconvenience the mayor. We only wish--" Lacey began, but the clickety-clack of the man's boots faded before she could complete her sentence. "--to see Mr. White," she concluded feebly.

"Looks like we'll have an appointment with the mayor," Jonathan said.

She visibly rearranged her expectations. "If that is so, it will be an honor. But I'm certain such an important man will have other responsibilities, in this--current crisis."

It appeared not, however. When the young man returned, he radiated expectant pleasure. "This way, please. The mayor will see you now."

The mayor's well-appointed office held books that spoke of learning, paintings that spoke of wealth, and a tall stack of paperwork that spoke of importance. The mayor paid attention to none of it. When they entered, they found him standing beside the window, his back to the door, rubbing his right arm absentmindedly as he stared at the thick pillar of smoke they'd seen from the Aether's Bounty.

"My city is burning," he said quietly. He faced them. His patrician bone structure may have been bred to hold the hopes of millions, but his pale blue eyes were shadowed and sad.

"Mr. Mayor," said the young man, "these are the personages from the, uh, Loyal Circus and Museum, Miss--." He floundered.

"Miss Lacey Miller and Mr. Jonathan Matzke," Lacey rescued him, "from the Loyale Traveling Circus and Museum of Educational Novelties."

The young man cleared his throat and repeated their names. "And this is Mayor Arthur Padgett."

Mayor Padgett nodded and the young man disappeared as quickly as he could.

"Forgive him," Mayor Padgett said, "he's not my regular assistant."

"We did not mean to intrude," Lacey said. "In truth, we'd hoped to see Mr. White. Our circus ringmaster had a list, and Mr. White's name was written beside Boston."

"Had?" Mayor Padgett raised a finely carved brow.

"Mr. Loyale died at sea before we docked."

Jonathan admired Lacey's careful omissions, but not so much that he didn't notice a precariously balanced dip pen beside the inkwell on the mayor's desk. The pen had a lovely feather design etched into the handle. He edged closer to it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Mayor Padgett said gravely.

Lacey nodded acknowledgment.

"Alas, Mr. White was among those taken from us by this crisis."

Lacey sagged. Jonathan shifted a little closer to the dip pen. His fingers itched to caress those curving lines.

"Forgive me, but--what has happened?" Lacey asked. "We have been at sea and only docked this morning."

"You must thank Providence for that. Yesterday, a terrible and uncanny storm struck our fair city. Uncounted numbers died. I fear their corpses still line our streets."

Jonathan fumbled and the pen fell to the carpet. He froze.

The mayor bent, quite naturally. He picked up the pen, and set it back beside the inkwell.

"Animals and even humble plants died in equal proportions." He pointed out the window. "Vandals have looted homes and set fires all over the city. With police numbers so reduced by the storm, my ability to maintain order is negligible. The whole city is a powderkeg."

While Lacey and Mayor Padgett gazed out the window, Jonathan deftly slipped the pen into his pocket and eased farther back from the desk. Satisfaction thrilled through him as he ran his finger along the lines of the engraving.

"I thought I could do nothing to draw the city together. But now--you come."

"We come?" Lacey echoed.

"Something wonderful and joyful and wholesome. Something that will remind Boston's citizens of happier times."

Wholesome. Mr. Loyale would have loved to hear that. He had added "Museum of Educational" to "Novelties" to give that impression, along with introducing Biblical tableaus to the menagerie: The Garden of Eden, The Lion and the Child, that sort of thing. His measures had prevented small-town ministers from preaching against the immorality of the circus, but they'd never actually been called wholesome by anybody but sign-painters before.

"I fear you lend us more importance than we have," Lacy said. "Yet, if you believe our presence can provide hope in a dark time, we shall do our humble best."

"Can you get the circus set up by this evening? I fear that another lawless night will rip this city apart."

"I--it usually takes us a full day to set the circus up!" Lacey protested. "But, yes, I suppose. If we must. As I recall, the last time we were here we set up in Boston Common. Does that still suit?"

"Refugees from the North End--that's where the big fire is--have taken up residence in the Common." Mayor Padgett paused. "All the better for my purpose, I suppose. Yes, the Common is an excellent choice. You have my personal gratitude and the gratitude of the City of Boston for your assistance."

Jonathan shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the pen in his pocket.

"We're honored," Lacey murmured. "I hesitate to impose, but would it be possible to use your telegraph machine? Under the circumstances, I fear the telegraph office is closed."

"My dear, I'm sorry. All our aetheric devices failed or exploded. As you value your health, stay away from all such things. The telegraph's demise was less dramatic than most, but it is impossible to send or receive any messages. I've sent a messenger to the mayor of New York to beg for assistance, but it will take him more than four days to reach the city, and longer for any aid to return."

"No telegraph."

Mayor Padgett patted her gloved hands, momentarily resembling the benevolent patriarch Boston had elected.

Lacey withdrew her hands coolly. "No matter. Thank you for the information. And I do hope you can make it to our opening performance."

"I am so sorry I cannot help more. Please allow me to show you to my assistant's desk. Perhaps Mr. White left some message for your ringmaster."

Lacey thanked him, and they proceeded into the adjoining room. Mr. White's desk was more modest than the mayor's, but the stacks of paper were even higher. Lacey, with a quick apologetic look directed at Mayor Padgett, began sifting through the papers.

Jonathan rifled the drawers. The contents bored him: nothing shiny or colorful or edible, not so much as a tin of mints. He sat back on his haunches and scowled at it.* Above him, Lacey continued reading the documents sitting on top of the desk, but he knew better. Nothing really interesting would be left out in plain sight.

He flopped down on his back, ignoring Lacey's startled exclamation, and wormed his way under the desk to stare up at the middle drawer. A cobweb clung to his face, but he brushed it aside. Something jutted out from the back of the drawer.

Using a delicate touch, he felt around until he found a spot that gave slightly under his fingertips, pressed it, and caught the hidden drawer as it fell into his hands. He emerged from under the desk triumphant, if with a low opinion of the maid's cleaning skills.

The hidden drawer held a Bible and a small parcel with 'Loyale' written across it.

"That's Mr. White's handwriting," Mayor Padgett said, leaning forward with interest.

Lacey reached out her hand for the parcel. Jonathan clutched it closer.

"Open it, then," she said.

Reluctant to lose the savor of the moment, he unwrapped the parcel as slowly as he dared. His eyebrows raised. He looked up at Lacey and Mayor Padgett to find that their expressions of blank amazement mirrored his own.

In his hands, he cradled a bundle of hundred-dollar treasury notes, more money than he'd ever seen in one place before. The urge to tighten his grip and bolt past Lacey and Major Padgett swept over him. He resisted until it faded, leaving him sweating. With all the coppers in front of City Hall, it would only take one shout from Mayor Padgett to have him arrested. And even if by some miracle he escaped the coppers, the state of the city didn't seem friendly to a thin, feeble-looking man on his own, especially one carrying anything valuable.

Lacey kept her composure. "Ah, he must have been passing along monies from one of the investors to the circus. Is there anything else?"

Jonathan shook his head.

Lacey smiled at Mayor Padgett. "Thank you so much for your assistance, Mayor. I'd best get back to the steamship so that the circus can prepare."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Miller." The mayor rubbed his arm again.

Lacey tilted her head slightly. "Likewise, I'm sure. Are you feeling well, sir?"

"As well as any." He laughed mirthlessly. "My arm still throbs sometimes. It's nothing."

They departed the mayor's office and reached the Aether's Bounty in safety. Lacey gave a few coins to the burly sailor who had escorted them, along with her thanks and two tickets to the circus. Still looking a bit bewildered by the whole affair, the sailor gave his cap a respectful tug and struck off along the dock.

In their absence, the crew of the Aether's Bounty had organized a watch to stand guard. A sailor walked the length of the ship, rifle in hand. When Lacey waved to him, he hurried over and let down the gangplank.*

Jonathan tried to follow Lacey to see where she would hide the ringmaster's bounty. After only a few minutes, though, he stepped on a creaky board. Without looking over her shoulder, she called, "Go back and get ready for the grand entrance, skeleton man! I'll tell the others."

Discouraged, he went back to his room and sulked--until he remembered that he still had secret papers from the ringmaster's locked chest, and better than that, nobody cared what happened to the ringmaster's sausage. What was left of it. Jonathan had just nipped into the ringmaster's cabin and hid the bag of tasties under his tailcoat, along with a few other small items, when he heard the fortune teller and the whiteface clown coming down the passageway talking about packing up the ringmaster's belongings.

Jonathan dodged out the door and scuttled down the passageway in the opposite direction. Around a bend, he stopped, pressed his back to the wall, and listened. No outcry sounded. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was just enough time for a quick snack before he went to take his place in the grand entry procession.

He passed the animal trainer's assistant leading one of his new charges, a red-bearded langur monkey*.

"Come along, Mr. Doom," the assistant said.

Jonathan stopped. "The monkey's name is Doom?"

"Ben Doom." The assistant shrugged sheepishly. "It seemed like a funny idea at the time."

"Our audience isn't in the best mood today. They might take it the wrong way."

They might take anything the wrong way. Jonathan pressed his hand to his waistcoat and felt the reassuring outline of the knife he'd taken the opportunity to secrete in his clothing, just in case.

The assistant sighed. "Come along, Ben."

Jonathan nodded and continued on to the circus wagon line-up.

In the depths of the ship, he heard the steam calliope* start. It traditionally traveled last in the procession, but its music carried for blocks and blocks, summoning people to see the parade.

The sparkling silvery trim on the white circus wagon Jonathan shared with the fat lady always reminded him of sugar sprinkled onto a cake. He sat on the high carriage seat, while she sat in the back. They contrasted each other nicely and, he supposed, his slight weight helped keep the specially reinforced carriage from buckling under her poundage. He counted them lucky that the black Clydesdale that pulled their wagon was among the horses they'd taken with them to India. Not long after their return, Lacey had stalked by fuming about how impossible it was to buy or hire the necessary horses to haul the wagons.

The circus folk were arrayed in all their gaudy finery, the mud tarps pulled from gilded circus wagons, and the menagerie staring out from behind the bars of their cages (or, in the case of the snake charmer and her charges, the glass walls).They jockeyed into order for the grand processional, and then--the ship's crew lowered the gangplank. Jonathan found himself holding his breath as butterflies danced in his stomach.

The aether-powered elephant led the way. Brass chimed and clanked as its weight swung from side to side. The planks shook beneath its ponderous steps, but the mahout rode atop the massive animated elephant skeleton with rajah-like indifference.

Behind the elephant came the snake charmer's wagon. She dressed in green silks with an Egyptian-ish tiara on her forehead, and snakes twined around her arms and legs. They coiled against the glass sides of the wagon, pressing against it as if they tried to break free and spill out into the street. Jonathan shuddered.

Next came the ostrich cage. Their plumage gleamed in the sun. Improbably long necks stretched up above the top of the wagon, curving and bending as the ostriches bobbed their tiny heads. They eyed their surroundings, looking for something interesting to gobble up.

Jonathan and the fat lady's wagon followed, and after them, the lion cage. Whenever the procession rounded a corner, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure the lion still sat majestically in his cage.*

Silence fell across the dock as the circus passed. The only sound was the whistle of wind and the strains of the calliope organ. Sailors and their women, tarts and wives alike, stared as if at the ghost of a former time. Jonathan smiled and waved and doffed his stovepipe hat to anything remotely female.

When the circus proceeded into Boston, the difference from the normal welcome* they received was marked. Curtains twitched in darkened windows. Faces appeared, wraithlike, in shadowed alleys. People who dared the street stopped to watch when the parade went by, but they didn't cheer and they didn't smile.*

Ginger the clown, in full whiteface makeup and fiery orange wig, strode alongside the wagons*. "Come one, come all, see the greatest circus of them all!" he called. "The Loyale Traveling Menagerie, Hippodrome, Circus, and Museum of Educational Novelties! Witness amazements and wonders unlike any you've seen before!"

A grimy child of indeterminate gender peered around a lamp post as Ginger passed.

Ginger stopped and bowed so deeply his hat fell off. "Dear Mr. Lamp Post," he said. "How good it is to see you again! How is Mrs. Lamp Post keeping?"

The child stared, but didn't flee.

Ginger did a double-take. "Goodness, there's a child! Is it a young lamp post?"

Solemn-faced, the child shook its head.

"Let me see--." Ginger reached into his hat. "Could you taste this for me?" He handed a horehound candy to the child.

Eyes wide, the child stuck the candy in its mouth. The clown tilted his head. "Now, was that candy or a marble I gave you?" he asked, sounding very concerned.

"S'candy," the urchin admitted.

"That's such a relief!" The clown clapped his floppy-gloved hands to his chest and appeared to trip over his own feet. He took a pratfall*, flipped up out of it to land on his feet, and kept going. Behind him, the child broke into a surprisingly white-toothed grin as it gurgled with laughter.

When the first circus wagons reached the Boston Common, they halted abruptly. The circus parade disintegrated into milling confusion. Jonathan craned his neck to see around the ostriches in front of him. Instead of a wide expanse of green, a patchwork of quilts and tarps and blankets sprouted across the Common. Fallen tree branches fueled cooking fires. Living trees formed the center beams for makeshift tents.

Lacey trotted up, riding the white mare she favored. She reined in when she saw the spectacle presented. "I see the mayor was not exaggerating." She ran her fingers along the brim of her hat, checking its straightness, and then pointed at a wide swath of green inhabited by only a couple of squatters. "That will do nicely. I'm sure they can be persuaded to move in exchange for free tickets." She glanced at the sky. "We had better hurry. There's not much time to get everything set up before sundown."

That there wasn't. As soon as the roustabouts raised the tent he shared with the other human oddities, Jonathan unfurled the canvas poster painting of "The Skeleton Man"--a flattering likeness, despite the attenuation of his waistline--and hooked it onto the rings at the top of the tent wall. He arranged his extra-wide chair (the better to appear narrow next to, my dear), and set his fife on the footstool beside it. A little pipe music helped to lure in the townies, and the long narrow instrument contributed nicely to the skeleton man act, just as his tall stovepipe hat did.

Then Jonathan made himself scarce, lest he be drafted into the war against the setting sun. Tent men unloaded the big top's center pole, attached ropes to it, and pulled. Once they'd raised the king pole*, they hitched draft horses to the smaller poles and levered them up into alignment while stake men pegged down the base of the tent and canvas men laced together the pieces of canvas to form the walls. Too much was going on, in too short of a time, for any available hand not to be drafted, so Jonathan took himself and his hands off to lurk in the shadows among the animal cages. The animal handlers had eyes only for their charges as they soothed them, fed them, and prepared them for their acts. Jonathan found a darkened corner between the hippopotamus and the alligator wagons and settled down on a straw bale to wait.

When he heard voices on the other side of the hippopotamus, he peered around the corner. The hippopotamus flicked an ear as if to shoo away a fly, but didn't give him away.

The fortune teller and Ginger the clown had buttonholed the equestrienne. Behind them, the snake charmer lifted her giant boa from the glass-sided wagon and draped him over her shoulders. "There, there, Goliath," she cooed, as she stroked the snake's head.

"Who do you think the new ringmaster should be?" the clown asked Lacey.

"I don't know," she said. "Shouldn't we vote on it?"

"There's hardly time, dearie," the fortune teller said.

The snake charmer turned from stroking her boa, clearly interested in the conversation. "Why not you?" she asked Lacey. "You have authority in the ring."

"A woman? Don't be absurd. They would boo me out," Lacey said briskly.

"Somebody has to be first."

"Not today. Today has to be the show as usual. We need a man."

"With a fine suit," the fortune teller said. "And some authority in his presence."

Jonathan drew himself up, fluffed out his frock coat, and straightened his cravat. He was about to step forth from the shadows when Lacey said, "The doctor!"

He deflated.

"An excellent idea! I'll ask him directly."

Jonathan sulked away.

Miraculously, the circus came together just as the sun lowered to the horizon. The tents were raised, the posters hung, the freaks in their positions, the menagerie arranged, the acts prepared, the performers in costume, the lemonade seller fully juiced, and the barkers* poised to unleash their spiel.

The circus was ready to awaken wonder and delight--and now, oddly enough, a sense of normality.

#

Beacon Hill, earlier that morning

When William's mam saw that he'd brought Robert and Lena back to Dr. Fallon's house, she opened her arms and said, "Oh, poor children! Come here!"

Lena ran to her and burrowed under her arm like a rabbit. Robert took stiff, jerky steps until he stood beside her. When she wrapped an arm around him, he bowed his head and his shoulders shook with sobs that he didn't let himself voice. If hugging them hurt her ribs, William's mam didn't show it.

William wanted to curl up in his mam's arms. He wanted to tell her about all the awful things he'd seen and let her kiss it better. But the words couldn't fit past the lump of indigestible anger in his throat. It choked out his happiness at finding his mam doing better, and his relief that Robert and his sister still lived, and his gratitude to Dr. Fallon for tending to his mam.

So he didn't say anything. He just went and sat on the floor beside his mam's chair, leaned his head against her knee, and closed his eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her voice washed over William.

After the other two children were all cried out, she took them into the dining room. Robert and Lena fell upon the boiled potatoes, cold meat, and rolls. By the time the pace of their eating slowed, their eyes were closing. William's mam led them into a servant's bedroom, empty for reasons that none of them asked, and tucked the two into bed. It was barely afternoon, but Robert fell asleep between one breath and the next. He must have been exhausted from standing guard over his little sister all night, knife in hand.

William's mam sat in a chair beside the bed. William lay down on the carpet but kept his eyes open. He feared the dreams that sleep would bring. Eventually, he heard his mam's breathing slow and deepen. He stared at the ceiling and tried to think of nothing. His body ached with tiredness, but he didn't close his eyes. When he found his mind drifting and his eyes shut, he opened them again as fast as he could.

After an eternity or two, William's mam woke. She stood and moved around the room, straightening a picture frame here or dusting a shelf there. When the rustling of her skirts woke Robert and Lena, she led them back to the kitchen. William trailed wordlessly after. She washed their hands and faces with a pitcher and basin, she brewed another pot of hot tea, and she began cooking soup. Robert and Lena kept close to her skirts. William sat in the corner. Once or twice, his mam looked at him with a concerned furrow between her brows. When Lena burst into a storm of tears, however, all his mam's attention went to the current catastrophe and William was able to exit unnoticed.

He flitted from one room to another . . . and another. He couldn't settle. He picked up Dr. Fallon's knicknacks and set them down again. He sat on the couch, but only on the edge and only for a moment. He climbed the stairs, leaving a trail of squeaks behind him. On the landing, he stopped and gazed out over the lawn.

His not-sleep had felt like eternity. From the position of the sun, it had actually taken most of the afternoon.

The majority of the refugees camped out on Dr. Fallon's lawn had vanished. A steady trickle of those who remained were shouldering their burdens and marching off, like ants forging a trail to a new nest. Soon, only the injured would remain.

"Where are they going?"

William jumped. Robert had come up behind him and caught him unaware. "Where'd you come from?"

"I followed the noise," Robert said mildly. "You Irish can't do anything quietly."

An urge to laugh bubbled up inside William, but it didn't seem right, not looking out over the dying city. He smothered it. "They're going to the Common. Plenty of room for everyone, and it's safe."

"They're as safe here as anywhere--Beacon Hill isn't burning."

"It might." Any urge to laugh died. "And how safe do you think our kind really is, anywhere? The Irish are dogs for everyone else to kick."

Robert looked at him, eyes distressed. "I'm not Irish. And I don't kick dogs."

"I--no, of course not." William swallowed hard. "Do you want to go see how they're doing in the Common? It'll be safe, I know the men who are--who are helping them."

"Could we?"

William's relief at hearing that we kept him from thinking too much about fire--and who should burn--until they'd walked far enough to see the Common. The trees' gold-green autumn finery glowed as the sun sank. Refugees littered the grass. Some huddled together under quilts. Others just sat and stared into nothingness. William averted his gaze hastily, lest he remember the horrors that danced in front of their unseeing eyes. His eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep. The feeling got worse when he looked at the refugees. So he didn't.

Around them, the sun's last rays struck the city. Where they touched, they created the illusion of fire. That, William could watch unflinching.

Robert gasped.

His eyes still on the city, William said, "Aye, it looks like fire."

"No! It looks like a circus!"

William blinked. Robert pointed at one of the dark tents, and just like that, William's understanding of it shifted. Instead of being nearby, it had been raised on the other side of the Common. Instead of being small, it was huge. And it was not alone.

A circus?! Zebras and elephants and candy and clowns stampeded through William's head. The memory of a tent filled with wondrously fabulous creatures--and animals, too--drew him down and into the Common before his fears could catch up with his feet.

"William! Little man!" Patrick waved at them.

"Who's that?" Robert asked.

"A--friend," William said, watching Patrick bend down and speak earnestly to two little girls with their arms wrapped around each other.

Patrick pointed to a scarlet blanket hanging from a tree branch and shooed the little girls in that direction. To one side of the blanket, Dr. Fallon scowled at a redheaded man holding his arm. On the other side, a woman round enough to withstand a minor famine stirred a huge steaming cauldron. She was the Irish cook from the mansion next door to the one Valentine's gang had taken over. When she saw the little girls walking timidly toward her, she beamed and dug out a couple of metal bowls as she waved them closer. Even Dr. Fallon attempted a smile, though it would have scared the little girls off if they'd had eyes for anything but that soup cauldron.

"Hallo, boys!" Patrick said when they drew near. "Are you going to the circus, then?"

"Yes!" Robert said.

"No," William said glumly, as he realized the truth of it. "We can't spare the money."

"Now, it would be a shame if that stopped you," Patrick said, frowning. "You just wait here, and I'll be back along in a minute. Happens I know some people who'd be delighted to help you lads out."

Patrick loped off to begin a circuit of the Common. Now and again, he'd stop and chat for a minute with one or another of the men from Valentine's gang. When he came back to the boys, his hands overflowed with fractional currency*, little scraps of wartime money printed with "3 cents" or "2 cents" or "5 cents."

"Here you go," Patrick said, grinning broadly. "Enough to buy you both tickets to the circus and the menagerie--and peanuts and lemonade besides. It's twenty-five cents to see the circus, and five for the animals, and the lads came up with almost thirty-five cents for each of you. Hold out your hands!"

The whispery paper money didn't feel real in William's hands, it was so light. But the clink of coin was real, and the weight of it, when Patrick added a scattering of half-pennies and even a couple of shiny nickels.

William looked around and found newly sharpened eyes looking back.

"Could you walk us to the circus?" William asked Patrick.

"Sure and I can! You could ask a lot more of me than that!"

William didn't. Yet.

At the ticket booth, William and Robert waved goodbye to Patrick. A wizened old man took their sweat-dampened, scrunched-up notes, gave them tickets to the big top, and warned them that the show would not start until full dark. Trumpets would sound to warn the crowds.

William and Robert wandered past the candy seller, and the ring-toss game, and a man selling brightly colored fish in jars, and the fortune-teller's tent--there was an awfully long line in front of it--and a little girl telling a story while she cut shapes out of newspaper, and all kinds of interesting things. William didn't want to waste his money, but he did buy a lemonade that still had a tiny bit of lemon floating on top and only tasted mostly like water.

Shadows pooled at the base of the tents as twilight settled over the circus. The last sliver of sun dropped below the horizon. For a few minutes, the only illumination came from the oil lamps carried by roustabouts and the torches the fire-eater juggled.

Then the tents bloomed Chinese-lantern bright. A heartbeat later, circles of aether lamps ringing the tents glowed to life. For a moment, all William thought was how magically the pale flickering lights lit the circus.

A man screamed.

William remembered the sideways rain of crystal shards when the chandelier exploded, and he yanked Robert away by the arm. "We have to run!"

"What?"

"All the aether is messed up! Those lights will blow up!"

The crowd around them stirred, restive. "What?" an improbably redheaded woman said. "What did that boy say?"

"He said the lamps would explode!"

"What?"

"Dear folk," a deep voice said, "do not be afraid. I have been personally assured that the aether lights the circus has were unaffected by the freak aether storm we have been so devastated by."

Robert stopped letting William pull him away. "That's the mayor."

William paused, unconvinced.

"My daughter is with me," the mayor continued. "Would I have brought my only surviving child here if it was dangerous?" A wide-eyed, brown-haired child clutched his hand.

"Doesn't he have two sons, too?" William whispered to Robert.

"They must have died in the storm."

"Oh. Yes, I guess maybe they did."

The mayor rubbed his arm. "None of us have escaped unhurt, but there's nothing to fear from these aether lamps. Enjoy the circus while it's here!"

The crowd still muttered and eyed the lights suspiciously, but nobody left.

William and Robert bought menagerie tickets and went inside the tent to see the animals. A giant hippopotamus whorrfled at them as they entered, and they backed away until their backs hit bars. Something behind them yawned. A huge gust of hot breath washed over William's neck. When he looked over his shoulder, a lion grinned at him. William yelped and jerked Robert into the center of the tent. They admired the zebras, even if the stripes were so similar from one to the other that Robert said they must have been painted on. They made faces at the monkeys, who made faces back. They whistled at the birds-of-paradise, who didn't whistle back. They dared each other to touch the glass wall that kept the snakes from pouring out of their cage into the tent, and they were pretty happy that the snakes didn't touch them back.

Even if they'd missed the trumpet announcing that the big show would start soon, they would have heard the ostriches hissing like angry cats in response. Giant angry cats. William and Robert edged past the cage, keeping careful watch on the ostriches' bobbing heads and beady eyes.

"Don't mind them," the carnie sitting on a stool next to the cage said, smiling. "They just don't like that trumpet. Go on!"

They left the tent in a hurry but slowed down when they reached a small crowd clustered around a wagon whose sides were painted with advertisements for the Great Doctor Panjandrum's miracle remedy. Doctor Panjandrum* himself stood on the high seat, holding aloft a bottle filled with green-gleaming liquid.

"Excellent for toothache, neuralgia, and sore chests! It will make women's hair more lustrous and prevent men from losing theirs! A sure-fire cure for rheumatism and inflammation! Good for muscle aches and nervousness or weakness of the constitution!"

"How about--um--too much energy? Tremors?" a burly man at the back of the crowd called.

"Absolutely!" Doctor Panjandrum adapted. "It's soothing and strengthening. It balances the humors! Regular internal application--along with a strengthening routine," he riffled through the stack of pamphlets beside him, "that is described in this pamphlet--will decrease the severity and frequency of tremors."

A female dressed in a scandalously short, bright bue riding habit that barely reached below her knees interrupted him. "Doctor," she said. "We need you elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, good people," the doctor said, handing out bottles to the last people with their money out, "but I must depart. Tell your friends of the Great Doctor Panjandrum's amazing remedy!"

William trotted after the doctor, hoping to ask if he could buy just a little of the remedy with his remaining coin. If it was as good as that, then surely it would be a grand help for his mam?

"I'm glad to see you," the doctor told the lady in the riding habit. "At least I don't need to put on an act just to escape these people." He looked over his shoulder at the dispersing crowd but paid no attention to the small boy dogging his heels. "They're so desperate for any doctoring, even this worthless snake oil, that I almost sold out. I'll need to get more gin and herbs before tomorrow."

William frowned and dropped back, but not so far that he didn't hear the lady's reply. "We may not have time for that."

"You don't understand. Normally, I sell twice as much the second night, after my--patients--tell their friends that they like my tonic. If I've sold out, they get upset." He lowered his voice, and William could barely hear his next words. "I don't want to see what they'd do if they got upset now. Did you notice the bodies as we rode into town?"

"Yes, of course."

"Did you notice the fresher bodies?" the doctor asked as they walked out of earshot.

William didn't want to hear more about bodies, so he waited for Robert to catch up and then they went inside the main tent and sat. The aether lights inside still made him nervous--with so many people jammed together, it would be a slaughterhouse if the lamps exploded.

"Do you think they'll have an elephant?" Robert whispered. "I heard they had one, but it wasn't in the menagerie."

The answer was: not exactly. A monstrously elephantine bone and brass creature marched into the ring with two passengers, a dark-skinned man with a turban and a white man wearing a frock coat and top hat. The elephant's long, ivory tusks gleamed menacingly, and glass tubes filled with bone aether lined its ribcage. William gasped and heard his reaction echoed by the crowd around him. If the mayor of Boston hadn't already assured them that the circus aether devices were fine--if that mayor weren't sitting right at the edge of the ring with his daughter--.*

The turbaned man raised a long stick and tapped the elephant's skull. The elephant bent bone knees and lowered itself to the ground with a clatter of bone and metal. The befrocked man slid down the side of the elephant and bowed deeply to the crowd, doffing his hat as he did so.

William squinted, but it wasn't until the man spoke that he was sure it was the Great Doctor Panjandrum.

"Welcome to the Loyale Traveling Menagerie, Hippodrome, Circus, and Museum of Educational Novelties," Doctor Panjandrum said pompously. He still sounded like he was selling something. "Our aether-powered elephant, which you have seen, returned with us from India, along with--"

He spoke a bit too fast and not quite loudly enough, and he kept looking off at one corner of the tent, until William looked in that direction too. There wasn't anything interesting there, though. Doctor Panjandrum talked on. William fidgeted and glanced around the crowd. Most of them weren't paying attention to the ring, either. William looked at the mayor. He expected to find him drumming his fingers, ostentatiously consulting his fob watch, or using one of the hundred other tricks the rich had for letting you know you weren't worth their time.

Instead, the mayor was simply watching his daughter. Seeing the mix of thankfulness and sorrow in his expression made William feel raw inside. The little girl laughed then, pointing at the ring. The mayor's face rearranged itself into a mask of benevolent approval as his gaze followed her pointing finger.

As Doctor Panjandrum pontificated, a clown had crept out of the shadows of the tent and snuck up behind him, placing each oversized shoe with excessive care. He put his finger to his lips to ask for silence, but a wave of laughter answered. Doctor Panjandrum halted, startled, and then continued his awkward and overlong introduction of the first act. Behind him, the clown pantomimed broad exaggerations of the doctor's mannerisms.

The clown was mid-strut, his fingers hooked under his suspenders, his chest puffed out, when Doctor Panjandrum whirled around and caught him in the act.

The crowd held its breath as the two stared at each other.

Finally, Doctor Panjandrum invited the clown into the center of the ring with a broad sweep of his arm. The clown shrugged his shoulders and wrung his hands until Doctor Panjandrum repeated the gesture. Then the clown stepped forward, struck a pose, opened his mouth to speak--and nothing came out. He stepped back, thumped his chest a few times, cleared his throat, and tried again. Nothing. He made a sad face and turned to Doctor Panjandrum, shooing him forward.

Doctor Panjandrum started to speak and then stopped, startled, when the clown bent down and tugged at his feet. He shifted position until the clown was satisfied, opened his mouth--and stopped when the clown took hold of one of the doctor's arms and rested it on the doctor's hip, then raised his other arm in an oratory pose. The clown gripped the doctor's shoulders and pulled up until the doctor straightened, then pushed his shoulders back a bit more.

The doctor waited. When no further adjustments were made to his person, he began to speak. The clown reached out and pushed his palm hard against the doctor's diaphragm, sending his voice booming out into the tent. Once the crowd's laughter died, the improvement in the doctor's voice was noticeable.

And so the performance went, with Doctor Panjandrum announcing the acts and the clown correcting him to properly ringmasterly behavior. The doctor's face reddened a few times, but maybe it was just from being in front of the hot lights.

The aether elephant did tricks. The lady in the blue riding habit came out standing on the back of two horses, with one foot on each as they galloped around the ring, and then she rode through hoops of fire. A man stuck his head inside a lion's mouth. Acrobats flipped and rolled and twisted in ways that made William wonder if they had any bones at all.

During the grand finale, three trapeze artists swooped down on swings suspended from the tent poles. The girl in the green costume smiled hugely as she dove down out of the dark. William caught his breath. Their fragile limbs flashed through the air as they circled and dove and performed acrobatic twists high above the hard ground, with no net to save them if they fell.

The girl in green flipped up into a one-armed handstand that had her audience cheering. Then her hand slipped.

She plummeted. As one, the crowd gasped.

William wanted to close his eyes. She would die. She would hit the ground and her back would break and she'd die in front of them, all twisted up with blood streaming from her eyes and her ears and her nose and her mouth and--the other trapeze artist swung down out of the shadows and caught her. He hung upside-down, anchored only by his feet, and he caught her arm as she fell past. He grimaced at the weight, but he didn't let go. He drew her up until she could grasp the trapeze swing and pull herself up to stand on it, and then he hauled himself up to stand beside her--no fancy acrobatics this time!

William gulped in air. He'd forgotten to breathe. His eyes smarted, and his cheeks were wet. He wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand, sneaking a glance at Robert to see if he'd noticed. Robert's face was buried in his hands, and his back shook as if he were learning how to breathe again, and doing a poor job of it.

William looked across the shadowed crowd. The mayor was also doubled-over, his face in his hands.

As if he'd suffered like the poor!

The mayor's daughter patted his back. His only child, now.

Well, and maybe he had.

Robert chattered away as they left the circus tent, but William stayed quiet until they were outside, walking across the Common, and he saw Valentine leaning against a tree as if he'd been waiting for them. Valentine's gang didn't accompany him, but he held his shillelagh by his side.

"Hello, Valentine."

"Hello, little man," Valentine said, falling into step with them. "Did you see much that was interesting at the circus?"

"Oh, all kinds of things!" Robert burst in. "There was a huge bone elephant, and they had the best clown!"

William only nodded.

"Did you have something you wanted to talk to the lads about, William?" Valentine asked.

William shook his head. "Robert and I are just going back up Beacon Hill to stay with my mam and Dr. Fallon."

"That's a good thing, that is," Valentine said. "Being together is the only way we'll all get through this."

#

The next morning, the circus sat on benches and dug into a hearty breakfast. As a sort of celebration of their first breakfast on dry land again, the cook had fried up a mess of sausages and eggs to go along with their porridge, and the delicious smells made the day seem promising. The sky was bright and blue, and the trails of smoke above the city thinned as the fires died.

Jonathan eschewed the porridge entirely in favor of a mound of eggs and so many sausages that the cook gave him a dirty look and muttered about 'wasting good food'. Jonathan took his breakfast and sat on the bench near the equestrienne, the doctor, the fortune teller, and Ginger the clown.

"I'm sorry, doctor," Lacey said, "but I think you're better off as our doctor than as our new ringmaster."

Jonathan stifled a laugh at the understatement. He'd snuck out of the freak tent to watch part of the show, and the doctor was terrible. The ostriches would have done a better job.

"To be honest, that's a relief," the doctor said. "I don't know what I would have done without Ginger."

"Yes, Ginger, you did a very nice job getting the doctor to act as a proper ringmaster ought," the fortune teller said. "Though I suppose that makes sense."

"You really saved the show," Lacey said thoughtfully. "I'm sure we could find a fine suit that would fit you...."

"Oh, no!" Ginger said. "You won't get me up there with a naked face in front of all those wit--those people."

"You may be our best option."

"Oh no, I'm not!"

"Then perhaps you're the best one to find our new ringmaster and train him properly," the fortune teller said, squinting at her sausages.

"Divining from your sausages?" Ginger asked.

"Just picking the best one." She speared a fat sausage and bit into it with relish.

A boy barely old enough to shave approached them hesitantly, a wrapped box in his hands. "Miss, are you the equestrienne?" he asked Lacey. "The mayor wanted you to have this." He handed the box and a card to her and then retreated.

"With thanks for your circus' fine performance," Lacey read. She opened the box and frowned. "A pen holder?"

Jonathan fingered the mayor's pen in his pocket and eyed the pen holder. It would be his as soon as nobody was looking at it.

The doctor spooned up his last bite of porridge and stood. "If I'm not going to be the ringmaster--thank God--then I'd best practice my profession. And there's one task I have to do that shouldn't wait any longer."

"What's that?" the fortune teller asked.

"An autopsy." The doctor walked away, leaving the circus members sitting in a spreading silence.

(To be continued in Episode 5, The Harvest)

#

Afterword

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

Acknowledgments

This episode is brought to you by the generous donation of Patrick Sullivan.

The Circus of Brass and Bone is written and recorded by Abra Staffin-Wiebe (that's me). My main website is at www dot a s w i e b e dot com, and I blog at cloudscudding dot livejournal dot com.

Music is courtesy of Vermillion Lies. Go to their website at vermillion lies dot com to hear more.

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