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 incurred during 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 14

Blood and Bone

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

In the circus camp on the outskirts of New York City

After an eternity or two, dawn broke over the camp. The alien sounds had died away perhaps an hour earlier. Lacey had remained awake, waiting, but when the camp stirred back to life, there were no cries of fear, no sharp crack of firearms.

Lacey rose to her feet and prepared for the day. Her face was calm--but she tucked the hoof pick into the waistband of her riding skirt before leaving her wagon.*

Cook had a pot of plain corn mush on the boil. They'd run out of sweetener and pork fat weeks ago. Despite this, Lacey's appetite quickened as she sat beside the motley crew of early-rising circus folk: roustabouts, Ginger the clown, the girl sharpshooter, the Indian mahout, and animal handlers (not including the snake charmer, who had no need to rise early to tend to her charges). Lacey was surprised to see the mahout; she wouldn't have expected him to have the discipline to rise early.

She said as much to him, though she discreetly omitted the part about lacking discipline.

"It is being very simple," he said cheerfully. "I am finding the morning to be the best time for the practicing of my asana and pranayama. I am usually eating first thing. I am thinking you are surprised because you are usually being with your horses when I am finishing breakfast."

His asana--he must mean the outlandish contortions he employed. She had of course glimpsed his exertions and averted her eyes, as a lady should. It was hardly an appropriate topic of conversation. She smiled noncommittally and dutifully returned her attention to her bowl of mush, which seemed unlikely to do anything improper or even remotely interesting.

The other circus folk ate quickly and without much conversation, but Lacey noticed that their eyes strayed often to the trees. She wasn't the only one whose sleep had been disturbed.

Genevieve Woodward, the girl sharpshooter, ate with hearty appetite. Her rifle leaned against the fallen log she sat on. When she'd scraped her bowl clean, she returned it to Cook and asked, "Any special requests? I'm going hunting."

"Why, yes!" he responded in kind. "Some nice tender lamb would be lovely."

She nodded. "Squirrel it is."

Genevieve came back to camp rather quickly, before Lacey had even finished her corn mush. Cook bustled forward. "You're back so soon! What did you bring me?"

Silently, the girl tossed a dead animal on the ground in front of her.

Judging by its size and long, tattered ears, it had once been a rabbit, but something had savaged it nearly past the point of identification. Blood and fouler liquids matted the patches of brown fur that clung to the carcass. The rabbit's soft underside had been hollowed out. Its ribcage had splintered. Chunks of meat and segments of intestine dangled from the corpse, leftovers of a very messy meal.

"I can't use what's left of this meat!" Cook protested. "It wasn't butchered properly. The meat's contaminated!"

"I didn't bring it to eat," Genevieve said. "But I ain't going back into the woods."

Lacey set aside her porridge--she was no longer hungry--and stared at the mangled creature. "Whatever could have done this?" she asked.

"Can't venture a guess," Genevieve said laconically. She swaggered off to her wagon like it didn't really matter, but Lacey noticed that she kept her hand close by her rifle. She was spooked.

"Perhaps . . . perhaps it was butchered by cityfolk hiding in the woods who didn't know what they were doing," Lacey tried.

Cook squinted at the carnage. "A knife didn't do that. There's no cutting marks."

"An animal, then."

"A crazed animal, maybe," one of the animal handlers opined. "That ain't natural."

Lacey thought of how unsettled the horses had been all night, and of how high the scratches on her wagon were. "We need to leave. Today. As soon as possible. Cook, when people come for breakfast could you keep them here? We need to persuade them. It'll be easier to do it in one go."

"You could just tell them we're rolling out," Cook said. "It would save time--and me having to corral them."

"We decide things as a group," she said sharply. "I'm not in charge."

"Aren't you, though?"

She ignored him. She had to. She couldn't be the one to run the circus. It wouldn't be . . . proper.

"Leave that--" she pointed to the mangled corpse, "--right where it is. It should do my arguing for me."

And so it did. Most of the circus folk had slept badly. Those who had not were happy to take the word of the others, particularly after a good look at what was left of that rabbit--though they no longer wanted their breakfast after.

"Good," she said, once they were all in agreement. "It's decided. We'll camp in New York City tonight, in the space on the Rumsey Port dock that the Commissioner has so generously offered us."

When he heard the name of the port, the mahout snorted a surprised laugh.

Lacey looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

"They named the port after the inventor of the aether-powered steamship," he explained.

"How do you know that?"

The mahout appeared to recollect himself. His accent thickened as he spoke. "In India, I am working for an American sahib with much interest in such things. A very peculiar man." He shook his head. "I am thinking that now the sailors are cursing Sahib Rumsey and saying a rakshasa* is possessing him to invent such a terrible thing."

"Perhaps. However, the port is our best option now."

"You don't want to scout it out first?" One of the roustabouts looked confused, and she didn't blame him. Before entering New York the first time, she'd lectured them all on safety in numbers and always scouting places out before going in.

She didn't much like it either, but she really didn't like the idea of sticking around to find out what the--the things from last night were capable of.

"We did scout New York," she said briskly. "The Commissioner appears to be very much in control. If we follow his rules, we'll be safe."

"What about the fortune teller's wagon?" the mahout asked. "You are not finding her in New York, or there would have been being a hullaballoo when you are returning. Who will be driving her wagon into New York?"

Lacey frowned. "How did you know she was missing? There hasn't been talk of it around camp."

"Oh. I heard it from Isaac the animal handler."

"Ah." She smiled tightly. She supposed expecting discretion from a simple animal handler was asking too much, but really! "We'll take her wagon, of course. She may find us in New York. Even if not, we can't afford to lose anything of value."

"What about Isaac and Christopher? Where are they?" chimed the aerialist with a purple ribbon in her hair--Pamela Dyer-Bennet, her name was. She clutched the hands of her orange-ribboned partner.

"We will probably meet them on the road to New York, but we should leave them a message just in case." Lacey looked over to where the girl sharpshooter was cleaning her nails with a hunting knife. "A warning carved into a tree?"

She waited. Genevieve kept cleaning her nails.

"Perhaps you could carve it now, if you're not otherwise occupied?"

Genevieve lifted her hand and squinted at her nails. "Done now."

She walked over to a tree near the center of the circus camp, sank her knife into the bark, and carved, "Gon Newe York" into the trunk. She picked up the savaged rabbit carcass and strung it up beside her message. Seeing Lacey's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "You said a warning. I ain't no hand at writing, but I figure that'll do. Cook said we couldn't use it, so I ain't wasting food."

Lacey glanced at the hanging body and away. Yes, that would do.

#

Lacey had never seen circus wagons packed so fast. She sat on her white mare and enjoyed a small upwelling of hope. A breeze brushed her cheek. The sun warmed her shoulders. Beneath her, the mare snorted and shifted. Perhaps the fortune teller would be found unharmed. Perhaps the Commissioner would cause them no trouble. Perhaps their performance run in new New York would be a fabulous success and they would be able to trade for all the supplies they could ever need. Perhaps--

Something clattered among the trees behind Lacey. An uncanny rasping call mocked her and sent her mare dancing sideways. The hoof pick in her waistband pressed hard against her flesh as she reined the mare back and pulled her into a tight pirouette.

A squirrel jumped from one branch to another. Nothing else moved.

"There's something in the trees," Lacey called out. "Keep an eye on your neighbors and stand ready to help if it attacks!"

"We always do," the snake charmer said lazily from where she lounged on her high driver's seat. A small and--Lacey hoped--non-venomous snake poked its head out of the snake charmer's bosom and flicked its tongue inquiringly. "If somebody hollers, 'Hey, rube!' we'll all come a-runnin'. Promise." Her shockingly low-cut green silk dress shifted to bare even more creamy white flesh as she raised her hand in a mocking vow.

"Of course," Lacey said, feeling heat rise up her neck.

In the end, leaving the warning at the campsite turned out to be an unnecessary precaution. Just as the bridge to New York came into view ahead of them, so did two travelers walking in their direction: Isaac the animal handler, and Christopher the ringmaster-in-training.

Pamerla squealed happily and darted in the newcomers' direction, the purple ribbon in her hair bouncing as she ran. The aerialist came to an abrupt stop just short of Isaac. "What took so long? We were worried! Didn't you find your monkey?"*

"I did, sorta, but--" Isaac shrugged, "--it's hard to explain. I couldn't bring him back with me just yet."

Pamela reached up and picked something out of his hair. "Where have you been? You got a leaf in your hair!"

He looked rather stunned, as if she'd whacked him over the head instead of just plucking a leaf from his hair. "I didn't even give you an apple slice," he said faintly.

She frowned. "What?"

He shook his head quickly. "Nothin'. I just, um--you need any help unpacking your wagon? Um, like, lifting any chests--uh, heavy boxes?"

Lacey didn't roll her eyes, but really! Men were so clumsy. She would have told Pamela the thrilling tale of their city adventures, but there the boy was, offering to lift her chest!

"Maybe later," Pamela said coyly.

Isaac blushed. "Oh,yeah, right. Wouldn't make much sense to unpack now. Since we're not there yet."

Upon hearing that exchange, Christopher winced. "Christopher," Lacey rescued him, "why don't you ride with me and tell us what you've learned."

Pamela at least seemed to find Isaac's lack of sense pleasing, since her response was to tuck her arm through his.

By the haste with which Christopher followed her suggestion, he was happy enough to leave the lovebirds. Ginger the clown also rode up alongside Lacey's wagon to listen to his protege's story.

Christopher had gotten as far as their adventures on the dock, and the circus procession was halfway to the bridge, when rustling and an unearthly rattling noise in the underbrush interrupted him.

"What was that?" he asked.

The image of the butchered rabbit flashed through Lacey's memory. "Something with a taste for rabbit," she muttered.

"What?"

"Some creature was skulking around our camp last night, and the girl sharpshooter found a dead rabbit this morning. Hopefully it won't bother us in the daylight."

Christopher shrugged. "I'm no rabbit."

"No, but--" Lacey stared hard at the trees and the underbrush, but she couldn't spot anything amiss, "--that rabbit was butchered like nothing I've ever seen. Hya!" She slapped the reins, urging her wagon horse to go faster. Around her, she heard others doing the same.

The protective wall around the bridge might only be half-built, but in that moment, Lacey wanted to be on the other side of it with a longing so intense it felt like homesickness. It would hardly be their usual grand entrance into town. Nobody wanted to stop and gussy up before they were safely onto High Bridge.

It wasn't until they were traveling at speed that she realized how they must look, barreling down on the bridge.

The laborers working on the wall looked up, saw the motley cavalcade approaching, dropped their tools, and scattered. The policeman sitting on the edge of the wall dropped his sandwich, bolted upright, and seized his musket. He aimed it uncertainly in their direction.

"Whoa!" Lacey shouted, reining in her horse as she approached. "My apologies for startling you! We come in peace--our circus has permission from the Commissioner to set up in Rumsey Port and perform."

The policeman did not look convinced, even as the rest of the circus straggled to a halt. His gun wavered, but he didn't lower it. Lacey didn't blame him. She counted herself lucky he hadn't fired as soon as they came into range.

"Honestly," she added. "You can check."

"You look peculiar enough to be circus folk," the policeman allowed, "but that don't explain why you came galloping up like an invading army!"

The snake charmer eased forward. "Let me," she murmured as she passed Lacey.

The policeman's eyes widened as the silk-swathed charmer sauntered toward him. Her exotic beauty was undeniably compelling, though Lacey knew it was just as undeniably contrived: when the snake charmer wasn't putting on foreign airs, her accent was as Southern as a magnolia blossom.

"I am pleased to see the bridge so well guarded!" The snake charmer leaned forward and gazed soulfully into the policeman's eyes, managing to expose more cleavage as she did so. "I was so frightened. I feel much safer now."

The policeman stood taller, but Lacey didn't miss the nervous jerk of his eyes as he glanced in the direction the circus had come from. "Of course, Miss, I can protect you, but--. Um. From what?"

"I do not know. We've been followed by something strange that we cannot see. It is terribly unsettling." She shuddered daintily, allowing her neckline to slip a fraction lower.

The policeman's eyes riveted on the tenuous hold her dress was maintaining. He swallowed hard.

The girl sharpshooter guided her horse close to Lacey's and leaned forward to murmur in her ear. "Something moving in the trees back there. More than one something. They're getting closer."

Lacey kneed her horse forward. "We have permission from the Commissioner himself to set up our circus. May we pass?"

"Yeah, sure," the policeman mumbled, his gaze still locked on the snake charmer.

The snake charmer smiled sweetly, though her face wasn't where the policeman was looking. "Thank you so much."

The policeman visibly shook himself back to attention. "Hey!" he shouted to the laborers who had fled at the circus' dramatic approach. "Get back here or I'll have your rations cut, see if I don't!"

Some of the workers were too far across the bridge to hear his call, but the closer ones slowed their flight, hesitated, and began returning. They stared at the circus procession as it passed, but nobody, not even the children, smiled.

Tough crowd. Of course, the circus wasn't putting on much of a show. They hadn't taken the mud-spattered canvas covers off the wagons. None of the circus folk wanted to stop the caravan until they were on the other side of the river and preferably far into the city, well away from any uncanny creatures that stalked the countryside. The gilt and mirrors on the wagons were covered. The animals slumbered in their concealed cages. The signs that advertised miracles and freaks of nature were folded up inside the wagons.*

One of the ostriches poked its head from behind the canvas flap and blinked long eyelashes at a little girl walking by. The little girl blinked right back and then giggled and ran ahead to tug on the hand of an older boy. "Jonah, look!"

"We got to get to work," he told her, wearily. He didn't even glance toward the circus.

Lacey bit her lip. She could at least give the onlookers a little piece of wonder.

"Help me untether my horses," she said to the girl sharpshooter.

"Giving 'em a show?" Genevieve nodded approvingly. "I got some targets in my saddlebag, too. I could toss 'em up and shoot 'em!"

"Ah . . . no. I don't think we want to risk any misunderstandings." Lacey glanced back at the policeman. "In fact, you should probably keep your guns out of sight except when you're performing. They have strict rules about such things here."

Genevieve cheerfully pantomimed being strung up. "Right. Wouldn't want any 'misunderstandings'." She turned and trotted back toward Lacey's string of horses at the end of the procession.

Lacey dismounted, tightened the girth on her mare, attached her horse's headpiece, and fixed the rather bedraggled plume in place. Hadn't Christopher mentioned something about a zoo? She wondered if she could persuade them to part with a few peacock feathers. She pulled out her trick-riding straps and began attaching them to her saddle.

A musket boomed. Lacey dropped the strap she was holding and whirled to see what had happened. The laborers were staring over the wall. Some--creatures--sprinted toward them.

Deer? she thought. But no. The shape of them was not right, though she was too far away to see precisely what it was that seemed so wrong about their flesh. They moved with a lurching, awkward speed, power replacing nature's grace. No deer had ever grown antlers that huge and twisted. And no deer had ever charged a wall lined with people.

The policeman fired again. Then the screaming started.

Lacey snatched the last strap from the ground and jerked it into place with unnecessary force, startling her mare into crow-hopping sideways. She leapt into the saddle and pulled her mare into a tight caracole turn to face the direction they'd come from.

"Run!" the snake charmer screamed at Lacey, as she followed her own advice and goaded the horses pulling her wagon into an awkward gallop.

The other circus wagons streamed past Lacey, heading for the safety of the city.

At the end of the caravan, Genevieve struggled to re-tether the horses that she had just untethered. Their eyes rolled and their ears were laid back. One of them even reared without being commanded to do so. Unthinkable, after all the training Lacey had put into them! If they bolted. . . . Lacey reined her mare around and galloped back to save her horses.

She executed a flying dismount and seized the tethers from Genevieve.

"Circle up!" she commanded the horses. As soon as they bunched together, she tied all the tethers into a rough knot. "Pursuit!" she said sternly, watching the horses to make sure they'd understood the command. A skittish gray gelding reared his head, his eyes rolling. She seized his bridle and pulled his head back down. "Pursuit," she said, as calmly as she could. "Pursuit." His ears pricked forward. Good. He would focus on the act now. She thanked all her stars that she'd rehearsed it recently with them.

In the ring, Lacey would "flee" on her mare. The other horses pursued her while maintaining a perfect circle. It wasn't her flashiest act, but it was a good solid piece of performance, especially when she threw in some zig-zags and jumps that the unridden horses mirrored perfectly.

Now, they would flee in earnest. She glanced over at the wall.

Laborers streamed away from it, running along the riverbank or bolting onto the bridge in hopes that the creatures wouldn't follow them.

The policeman who'd fired the shots was down. Not so good at protecting us after all, the analytic part of Lacey's mind noted. He wouldn't be protecting anyone ever again. He'd been trampled into a bloody mash of shattered bone and torn flesh beneath the hooves of the hell-creatures. The only way she even knew it was him was the useless musket lying nearby and the scraps of blue fabric clinging to the misshapen muzzle of the animal nuzzling the corpse.

The deer-thing jerked its head up and tossed something into the air, then snapped it up like a crocodile. Even from a distance, Lacey saw the blood dripping between its teeth.

Not deer, no. Deer don't attack. Deer don't run people down. Deer don't--. She shuddered and looked away, clapping her heels to her mare's sides and shouting, "Hiya!" to goad the mare to a gallop.

When Lacey heard clattering hooves on the bridge behind her, she risked a glance over her shoulder, rising in the stirrups to see better.

The deer-things stampeded onto the bridge. Those laborers who had fled to the bridge in hopes of safety were diving off the side into the uncertain safety of the river below.

One elderly man was too slow to get out of the way. At first, she thought the deer would race right past where he cowered. He was not so lucky. Two of the deer broke from the pack and lowered their heads. The old man screamed. They charged. The old man's scream turned into a wail of mortal anguish as both deer skewered him on their unnaturally long and twisted antlers.

The deer tried to back up, but their antlers were stuck, trapped by their own viciousness. One of the deer tossed his head. The motion jerked the old man up, pulling the other deer along. The old man howled and blood trickled from his mouth as something vital ruptured inside him. The deer tossed their heads and jerked and tugged, trying to free themselves. Every movement wrung another scream from the old man until he fell silent. Dead or passed out, either was a mercy.

Thanks be to God everyone else fled. Even as Lacey had the thought, the girl sharpshooter galloped back past her, unlimbering her rifle.

At first, Lacey thought Genevieve had run mad--and then she saw the small figure in the center of the bridge, huddled against the railing. It was the little girl who had giggled at the ostrich. She was alone and frozen in place.

At a gallop, Genevieve aimed and fired. A blossom of red sprang from the chest of one of the creatures, but it didn't even slow its pace. Again she fired, and again, to no effect.

The child was doomed.

"Not if I can help it," Lacey said through gritted teeth. She shouted a command to keep her string of horses racing across the bridge, and then she wheeled her mare around to face the horror.

(To be continued in Episode 15: The Value of Chocolate)

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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 costs of 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 very generous donation of Brad Roberts.

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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