ringmaster in this throng, Astrid? It will be quite a challenge to get close enough to him.”
I smiled blithely. “Indeed, I am certain it will, but I believe the crowd may prove to be to our advantage. It is not the famous Flaire to whom we must get close, I suspect. It is Miss Allard. In any case, I do even more firmly suspect the threat exists mostly in our young client's head. I intend to thoroughly enjoy the show. I do hope Eitenne is a greater funambulist than an evaluator of people.”
The crowd advanced suddenly forward, and we cheerfully joined the queue to board the fantastical ship. An ostiary stood at the entrance, which resembled a tent flap that opened into a large, brightly lit anteroom. He was an unnaturally large man, broad and resembling oddly an oversized metal and synthetic flesh automaton. His face was smooth and so evenly, plainly featured he looked as though he had been assembled from stock pieces. The fine, stubbly growth of fuzz upon his perfectly spherical head was nearly colourless. The only remarkable thing about the man, excepting his peculiar size and plasticine features was his outrageous raiment, which resembled that of a very confused clown. His broad chest strained the buttons of the red and white striped vest, and the plum purple trousers were too short for his long, thick legs. He wore enormous floppy yellow shoes.
He did not speak. He examined my reservation and held the tent flap aside so my wards and I could step into the brilliance of the lobby. The sun filtered through the red and yellow walls, casting the assemblage in bright, festive colours, as though they were all a part of the spectacle. Just inside the door, a quite ordinarily-sized porter waited at a podium to check our reservations. I wondered that the young, dark-haired and pleasantly red-suited young man did not simply await his guests at the entrance, but perhaps the circus had such appeal, the strangely constructed ostiary was necessary to keep out the stowaways and riff-raff.
“Ah. Mrs Darby,” the porter greeted. He bowed low to me. “I am to show you to your suite.”
“Indeed? Why, we would be most grateful, sir.”
“Come this way, if you please, sir and mesdames.” His step was swift, as though he wished to dispense of this bit of hospitality as hastily as possible. Nevertheless, I did enjoy the particular treatment as he led us through a corridor off the main lobby that appeared to form a perimeter around the lobby and likely the circus rings in the centre of the big top.
The suite into which the porter bowed us was not as grand as our accommodations in London. It was, in fact, two small adjoining rooms draped in colourful hangings and quilts. The suite resembled most delightfully a circus caravan wagon. It glowed red as the sun filtered through the brightly coloured canvas walls. Most conveniently, a small water closet abutted the two bedrooms. It would suffice for a single evening.
“Ah. Lovely. This will do, won't it?” I smiled at my two wards. “Xander, you may take the smaller room without the bureau. Juliana and I can share this room quite nicely, I expect.”
Xander and Juliana looked slightly disappointed. I understood their fondness for each other, but, unless I had been most grievously inattentive on that particular day, my dear wards had not yet announced any intent to marry. It would simply not do to allow them to share a room. I did take my guardian duties quite seriously in regard to the young lady, though she seemed most determined to defy me in many such matters. I did so like Juliana. She reminded me quite often of myself.
“Shall we dress for dinner and cocktails?” I smiled brightly at them. “I am most eager to get a look at the place. Aren't you?”
“You aren't honestly going to wear that hat, are you, Astrid?” Xander asked.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Well, it is a party, isn't it? A grand spectacle. I believe a little pageantry is in order, don't you?”
“I quite agree,” Juliana said. “I, for one, intend to make the most of it. If you would be so kind, Xander, we ladies do require our privacy.”
He rolled his eyes and ducked out of the room. I did not hold out any hope that the young man would uphold the spirit of the evening, but Juliana, at least, did enjoy a bit of show now and then. Her gown was most outrageous, a brilliant blue with large silver spangles adorning the collar, hem and sleeves. The hoop skirt was so wide, she could hardly navigate the small room without rebounding off the furniture. She perched a miniature top hat over her hair and drew the sparkling silver veil over her eyes. She curtsied smartly. “I do wish I had time to purchase a new hat, Astrid. Yours is quite delightful, under the circumstances.”
“I do thank you, Juliana. Will you fetch Xander?”
There was no need. He could hear our voices through the thin canvas hangings that separated the two rooms of the suite. He stepped smartly out from around the blue and green striped hanging curtain and bowed. He looked quite flash in a black pin stripe tuxedo and top hat. “I am quite ready.” He offered his arm to Juliana, but her skirt prevented him stepping any closer to her. As it should be.
“You look quite dashing, Xander.”
He winked at her. “Why, thank you. It is a special occasion, after all. And I have been waiting for an opportunity to wear this suit.”
“I am most impressed with your spirit, cousin. If we are all agreed, shall we be off, then?”
The corridor teemed with revellers moving excitedly towards the grand ballroom. We joined the throng as it carried us into the large, colourful lobby. The atmosphere was boisterous and festive. Guests in bright, gilded costumes chattered gaily to each other in small groups, sipping colourful cocktails and flutes of champagne. Laughter tinkled from every corner.
“Sir, mesdames? Champagne?” A waiter in a red suit paused beside us carrying a tray of the pale, bubbly liquid.
“Ah. Yes, I think so.” I accepted the delicate flute and sipped appreciatively. I laid a shilling coin on the young man's tray. “Much obliged, sir.”
Juliana, as well, took a glass of the dry, bubbly champagne, but Xander frowned at us disapprovingly. “I recommend moderation, ladies. We are, after all, on the job.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hardly think a glass or two of champagne will affect our keen skills, do you, Xander? You should enjoy one yourself. It is most delectable.”
“Do you see our client anywhere, Astrid?” Juliana asked, peering curiously around the room as though she expected young Eitenne to emerge, bejewelled and tumbling about the room like a clown.
“No. I am sure he is preparing for the evening's performance. I would not expect to see him until after the show.”
A murmur like the soft, insistent buzz of bees filled the room as all eyes turned to the tall man who had just appeared in a flash of brilliant yellow smoke. He wore a handsome, shiny red and gold suit, and his figure was fit indeed. He had the look of a bodybuilder or a former fighter, though he wore the suit like a gentleman. He had once, perhaps, been one of the circus performers. He was not an old man, but he appeared quite distinguished and mature. His fine-looking, deeply tanned face boasted a most elegant handlebar moustache and a trim, pointed beard. Upon his dark, overlong curls, he wore a tall, brilliant gold top hat in a jaunty sort of way that made him seem insouciant and cocksure.
“Ah,” I said, smiling. “And here must be our illustrious host, Pietro Augustus Flaire.”
Juliana lifted an eyebrow. “He is rather fine, isn't he?”
Xander scowled. “He is our subject, Juliana.”
She laughed. “Indeed, but that does not prevent me admiring him, does it, Astrid?”
“I believe I have never discovered an instance in which admiring the subject negatively affects the outcome of an investigation. That is, unless one becomes too closely involved with the subject, and I assure you, once is well enough to learn from the mistake.” I felt my cheeks heat slightly, though I did not suspect there was any danger of my young ward repeating my own errors in judgement. She was quite clever in that regard.
“He looks as though he's seen the world,” Juliana added.
There was a distinct aura of excitement and sophistication, an ai
r of adventure about the ringmaster. Something about him reminded me almost forcibly of Agent Asher Key, whom I had always admired for the sense of dash and escapade about him. There was always a certain sort of risk to life and limb when one was in the company of Asher Key. Perhaps Pietro Augustus Flaire often enjoyed the thrill and danger of adventure. Perhaps he had merely spent much time traversing the globe in his flying circus and seen many extraordinary destinations.
“I'd like to get a closer look at him,” I announced. “You two enjoy the festivities, yes? Ta.”
Many of the revellers gathered tightly around Flaire, clapping and cheering merrily as he smiled out at them with pearly teeth that looked peculiarly sharp. He bowed low to them. “Thank you all for coming. It is my very deepest pleasure to see you all here tonight.” He stepped forward into the crowd, and they seemed to swallow him up, shaking his hand and exclaiming over the delightful smoke trick.
There did not seem anything particular sinister about the man. He was certainly flash, and his enthusiasm seemed likely put on a bit, but his smile was quite guileless. He looked like any other performer eager for the praise of his audience. As I watched him, I grew more deeply certain by the moment that young Eitenne was, in fact, quite mistaken about his master's dark intentions.
“It is the hat, isn't it?” The voice was