and, as I suspected she had intended, Asher offered his arm to me. “Allow me, Astrid.”
We followed the polite, orderly procession into the arena. It perfectly resembled a circus tent with a large ring in the centre for the performers. Hoops, chains and nets hung from the pointed ceiling, awaiting the aerialists and funambulists that would make use of them. Red velvet padded bleachers lined the room in a semi-circle. The other half of the tent was dark, and I sensed movement in the shadows. The guests exclaimed in delight as they took their seats, eager for the spectacle to begin.
We selected a row of benches near the shimmering curtain. I have found that, when one is on the job, there is often occasion to slip away whilst everyone else is otherwise occupied. We were not the last to select our seats. As the last of the lingering party entered the arena, the tent went suddenly completely dark. I sensed movement again and then heard the shuffling of the performers moving into the centre ring.
A roaring blaze illuminated the large chamber and a row of torches circling the ring lit as though touched by an invisible hand. In the centre of the ring, Pietro Augustus Flaire lifted his arms to accept the crowd's delighted applause. “Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen!” His voice boomed through the arena as though amplified, but he was not holding his brass trumpet. His face seemed lit from within. “Welcome to the Cirque du Flaire! Magnificent thrills and spine-tingling chills await you in our ring where clowns cavort, funambulists rollick, exotic beasts ramble and you, my dear friends, will transcend to planes of consciousness hitherto unexplored by the ordinary man!”
At this, I turned my head to Xander, who was peering back at me. His interest, as mine, was piqued by these very provocative words. Perhaps Eitenne had not been so completely mistaken, after all. Flaire's promises sounded slightly sinister, even with his wide, gleaming smile. Asher shifted in his seat and leaned to speak in my ear.
“Transcend to planes of consciousness hitherto unexplored? What, precisely, does that mean?”
“I've no idea, but I must admit, my interest is piqued.”
The crowd murmured excitedly as Flaire stopped speaking, beaming around at them. He lifted his hands to the pointed ceiling, and the crowd fell instantly silent. The air was charged. As Flaire dropped his hands, the lights blinked out and plunged the room in pitch blackness once again.
Soft, playful hurdy gurdy music tinkled through the tent, sounding tinny and antiquated. The music soared in an almost startling and impossible crescendo, and a tiny light flared in the centre of the ring, as though it were floating in mid-air. Faces appeared suddenly in the flash, and it seemed to grow almost imperceptibly until an army of clowns with metallic-painted faces and strange, protruding brass goggles over their eyes or pushed into their wild, shock white hair emerged from the shadows into the sudden brightness. They leapt and cavorted over each other in a silly, peculiarly graceful dance, tweaking each others' noses or falling into somersaults and back flips as their fellows tripped or shoved them to the glittering floor.
Despite the amusing pantomime, the creatures evoked a strange, creeping sensation along my spine. Xander, as well, seemed quite rapt with horror, but Vera clapped and laughed as the clowns struck each other and fell backward onto the waiting backs of their brothers. The clowns, however, were merely a prelude to the odd spectacles to come.
The light blinked out again as suddenly as before. The music changed, slipping from the playful hurdy gurdy to a dark, ominous dirge. When it flared again, the clowns gathered in a tight bunch, carrying between them what appeared to be a stretcher with a still and silent figure covered in a white sheet that shimmered in the faintly flickering torch light. The clowns bent and waved their arms over the figure as though it might suddenly rise up from under the sheet.
From the shadows, another clown emerged, dragging a small, square gleaming brass machine with gauges, copper wires and two long, red tubes that terminated in thick, black paddles. The clowns around the figure shrunk away from their fellow, who clapped the paddles together, emitting a shower of sparks. He nodded and bent suddenly to thrust the paddles against the covered figure's chest. The figure jerked briefly, but it did not rise from the stretcher.
The clown struck the figure again and again, as though the machine were some sort of strange, decorative defibrillator. The audience gasped as sparks flew from the paddles onto the figure's inert chest. Then, abruptly, the figure shot up from the bed, and the sheet fell away. It was not another clown, but slender man covered from head to toe in gold covering.
For a moment, he stared around at the crowd. Then he leapt off the stretcher and began to dance. It was a strange, jerky dance, as though his body were constructed of metal and clockworks, which ticked and turned in a motion so inhuman, so uncanny, he appeared to be an automaton of some kind. He produced three shining metal balls from out of the darkness around him and juggled them with the same short, automaton-like movements, tossing one then another into the air and catching them seconds before they dropped to the ground.
As he danced and juggled, the clowns around him faded away into the darkness, stepping backward one by one into the shadows so quietly, so unobtrusively, I almost failed to notice until they had completely gone. A chain lowered slowly from ceiling above. The clockwork man tossed the balls into the air, where the shadows swallowed them. They did not return to his grasping fingers. He lifted his hand to catch hold of the chain, and it dragged him up, out of the light and into the shadows.
The room went black once again. I felt Asher's suck in a sharp breath beside me. Vera clapped with the others, exclaiming in delight over the eerie tableau. The applause died down as the darkness persisted. The audience fell silent, breathless and eager to see the next episode. I was anxious for the lights to return. I had witnessed strange and bizarre theatre shows in the past, but there was an uneasy sensation thrilling down my spine. Perhaps Eitenne's assertions of hypnotism and mind-control had settled somewhere in the back of my mind and were exerting unexpected influence over my mood.
As though in answer to my silent anxiety, the room suddenly illuminated, and a cacophony filled the formerly silent air. Flaire stood in the centre ring, grinning around at the audience as what appeared to be the entirety of his troupe gambolled around him. The funambulists tumbled over each other on the floor, executing dazzling flips and spins in the air. The clowns leapt and pantomimed their choreographed fist-a-cuffs while the clockwork man danced in and out of the others. Above Flaire's head, trapeze artists soared across the ceiling, twisting and writhing with such magnificent grace they might have been birds or made simply of shadow and dreams. A procession of exotic, brightly adorned animals circled the others whilst costumed performers rode upon their backs or cracked their whips to keep the more dangerous beasts from darting into the audience and snatching up an appetizing-looking guest.
The music pitched and crashed across the audience, so loud I could scarcely hear Asher speaking into my ear. “So which one is our client?”
I lifted an eyebrow and tore my gaze from the bright, noisy spectacle before us to look at him. “Our client? I beg your pardon, Ash, but this is, after all, my engagement.”
He rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, but I have, most graciously, agreed to offer you my assistance. As such, I believe I deserve a little consideration, don't you?”
“So you have. Yes, then. I suppose you do.” I peered up at the aerialists diving from bar to bar, writhing upon chains and walking tight ropes above our heads to scattered gasps and cheers. Eitenne was as distinct among his peers as he'd been on the street outside Lady Mandragora's shop. He was, I was pleased to note, most impressive. He moved with an easy, practiced agility that confounded the eye and seemed almost to defy the very laws of physics of which my dear Nathaniel and young wards were so fond. I pointed him out to Asher. “There is our man.”
“He's a bit fey, isn't he?”
“Well, he is that. But what do you think so far, Asher? Do you sense anything sinister in the clockwork
s of the Cirque du Flaire?”
“It's difficult to think so, but I have often been amazed by the villainy hiding in the places you least expect it.”
“Indeed, that is often so in our line of work.”
For a moment, we turned our heads to admire the stunning, noisy, boisterous scene. Flaire spoke in his trumpet, introducing the performers as they flew past, the animals as they paraded across his vision. I didn't recognise most of the names, but I did look when he introduced Elodie. I was hard-pressed to identify her amongst her tumbling and spinning brethren. For several moments, we enjoyed the visions, gasping and exclaiming with our fellow guests.
“Oh, Astrid, look!” Juliana cried, reaching across Xander to clutch my arm as a funambulist with long, flowing black hair dropped from the ceiling, landing upon the back of an enormous, gilded elephant. She lifted her arms and smiled brightly at the crowd as the elephant tromped in slow circles around the ring. Then she lifted back up in the air as though she had somehow defied gravity. I blinked in surprise at this until I noticed the thin wires attached to many of the performers. As though her trick had been the cue, several of the tumblers below rose up beside her, twisting and turning in