“Hello, Bailey,” the girl says. She is standing right behind him. She has taken off her hat, her red hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and she has replaced her white jacket with a heavy black coat and a knit scarf in a vibrant violet. Only the ruffled hem of her dress and her white boots give any indication that she is the same girl who was performing in the same spot moments ago. Otherwise, she looks like any other patron at the circus.
“Hello,” Bailey says. “I don’t know your name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “I forgot that we were never properly introduced.” She holds out her white-gloved hand, and Bailey notices that it is larger than the glove he was given as proof of a long-ago dare. “I’m Penelope, but no one ever calls me that and I don’t really like it anyway, so for all intents and purposes my name is Poppet.”
Bailey takes her hand and shakes it. It is warmer than he expected, even through two layers of glove.
“Poppet,” Bailey repeats. “The fortune-teller told me that, but I didn’t realize it was your name.”
The girl smiles at him.
“You saw Isobel?” she asks. Bailey nods. “Isn’t she lovely?” Bailey continues to nod, though he’s not sure nodding is an appropriate response. “Did she tell you anything good about your future?” Poppet asks, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper.
“She told me a lot of things I didn’t understand,” Bailey confesses.
Poppet nods knowingly.
“She does that,” Poppet says. “But she means well.”
“Are you allowed to be out here like this?” Bailey asks, indicating the steady stream of circus patrons that continues to wander by, completely ignoring them.
“Oh yes,” Poppet says, “as long as we’re incognito.” She indicates her coat. “No one really gives us a second glance. Right, Widget?” She turns to a young man standing nearby, who Bailey had not even recognized as Poppet’s performance partner. He has switched his black jacket for a tweedy brown one, and his hair under his matching cap is just as shockingly red as Poppet’s.
“People don’t pay much attention to anything unless you give them reason to,” he says. “Though the hair helps, too, for looking like we don’t belong in a black-and-white circus.”
“Bailey, this is my brother, Winston,” Poppet says.
“Widget,” he corrects.
“I was getting to that,” Poppet says, sounding a bit cross. “And Widge, this is Bailey.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Bailey says, offering his hand.
“Likewise,” Widget responds in turn. “We were off for a walk, if you’d like to join us.”
“Do come, please,” Poppet adds. “We hardly ever have company.”
“Sure, I’d like that,” Bailey says. He cannot think of a single reason to refuse, and is pleased that they both seem remarkably easy to talk to. “Do you not have to do any more, uh, circus things?”
“Not for a few hours, at least,” Widget says, as they start off down another pathway through the circus. “The kittens need to nap. Performing makes them sleepy.”
“They’re very good, how do you make them do all those tricks? I’ve never seen a cat do a somersault in midair,” Bailey says. He notices that all three of them are walking at the same pace, staying easily together as a group. He is much more used to following a few steps behind.
“Most cats will do anything if you ask them nicely,” Poppet says. “But it helps to train them early.”
“And to give them lots of treats,” Widget adds. “Treats always help.”
“Have you seen the big cats?” Poppet asks. Bailey shakes his head. “Oh, you should. Our parents do the big-cat show; their tent is down that way.” She points in a direction vaguely to the right.
“It’s like our performance, only with bigger cats,” Widget says.
“Much bigger cats,” Poppet elaborates. “Panthers and beautiful spotted snow leopards. They’re sweet, really.”
“And they have a tent,” Widget adds.
“Why don’t you have a tent?” Bailey asks.
“We don’t really need one,” Poppet says. “We can only do a few shows a night, and all we need are the kittens and hoops and strings and things. Anyone who doesn’t really need a tent performs wherever there’s room.”
“It adds to the ambience,” Widget says. “So you can see bits of the circus without having to pick a tent to go into, just wandering around.”
“That’s probably very good for indecisive people,” Bailey says, smiling when Poppet and Widget both laugh. “It is hard to choose a tent, you know, when there are so many.”
“That’s true,” Poppet says. They’ve reached the bonfire courtyard. It is quite crowded and Bailey is still surprised that no one pays them much attention, assuming that they are just the same as any group of young circus patrons visiting for the evening.
“I’m hungry,” Widget says.
“You’re always hungry,” Poppet retorts. “Shall we get something to eat?”
“Yes,” Widget says.
Poppet sticks her tongue out at him.
“I was asking Bailey,” she says. “Shall we get something to eat, Bailey?”
“Sure,” Bailey says. Poppet and Widget seem to get along much better than he and Caroline ever have, and he assumes it is because they are closer to the same age. He wonders if they are twins; they certainly look enough alike to be twins, and he thinks it might be rude to ask.
“Have you tried the cinnamon things?” Poppet asks. “They’re rather new. What are they called, Widge?”
“Fantastically delicious cinnamon things?” Widget says, shrugging. “I don’t think all of the new things have names yet.”
“I haven’t, but they sound good,” Bailey says.
“They are good,” Widget says. “Layers of pastry and cinnamon and sugar all rolled into a twist and covered in icing.”
“Wow,” Bailey says.
“Exactly,” Widget replies. “And we should get some cocoa and some chocolate mice.”
“I have chocolate mice,” Bailey says, pulling the bag out of his pocket. “I bought them earlier.”
“Ah, you think ahead. Very good to be prepared,” Widget says. “You were right about him, Poppet.”
Bailey looks at Poppet quizzically, but she only smiles at him.
“Shall Bailey and I get cocoa while you get the cinnamon whatnots?” she asks, and Widget nods his approval of this plan.
“Certainly. Meet you at the bonfire?” he asks. Poppet nods, and Widget tips his hat to them both and goes off into the crowd.
Bailey and Poppet continue to walk around the bonfire courtyard. After a few moments of amicable silence, Bailey works up the nerve to ask a question, one he’s not sure he’ll be comfortable asking once they meet back up with Widget.
“Can I ask you something?” Bailey asks.
“Of course,” Poppet says. There is a bit of a line for cocoa, but the vendor notices Poppet who flashes three fingers at him, and he smiles and nods in return.
“When … um, when the circus was here last time and I, well … ” Bailey struggles for words, annoyed that the question seems simpler in his head.
“Yes?” Poppet says.
“How did you know my name?” Bailey asks. “And how did you know I was there?”
“Hmmmm … ” Poppet says, as though she is having difficulty finding the proper words to respond with. “It’s not easy to explain,” she starts. “I see things before they happen. I saw you coming, not long before you got there. And I don’t always see details well, but when I saw you I knew what your name was, like knowing that your scarf is blue.”
They reach the front of the line and the vendor has three cups of cocoa in striped cups waiting for them already, with clouds of extra whipped cream on top. Poppet hands one to Bailey and takes the other two herself, and Bailey notices that the vendor waves them off with no money having changed hands. He assumes that free cocoa is a benefit of being a member of the c
ircus.
“So you see everything before it happens?” Bailey asks. He is not sure Poppet’s answer is entirely what he expected, if he expected anything at all.
Poppet shakes her head.
“No, not everything. Sometimes just bits of things like words and pictures in a book, but the book has lots of pages missing and it’s been dropped in a pond and some parts are blurry but other parts aren’t. Does that make sense?” she asks.
“Not really,” Bailey answers.
Poppet laughs. “I know it’s strange,” she says.
“No, it’s not,” Bailey says. Poppet turns to look at him, the skepticism at the statement evident on her face. “Well, yes, it is kind of strange. But just odd strange, not bad strange.”
“Thank you, Bailey,” Poppet says. They circle the courtyard, heading back to the bonfire. Widget is waiting for them, holding a black paper bag and watching the vibrant white flames.
“What took you so long?” Widget asks.
“We had a line,” Poppet says, handing him his cocoa. “Didn’t you?”
“No. I don’t think people have figured out how good these things are yet,” Widget says, shaking the bag. “Are we set, then?”
“I think so,” Poppet says.
“Where are we going?” Bailey asks.
Poppet and Widget exchange a glance before Poppet answers.
“We’re doing rounds,” she says. “Circles of the circus. To … to keep an eye on things. You do want to come with us, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Bailey says, relieved that he is not an imposition.
They walk in loops around the circus, sipping their cocoa and munching on chocolate mice and the sugary cinnamon pastry things, which are just as good as promised. Poppet and Widget tell him stories of the circus, pointing out tents as they pass by, and Bailey answers their questions about his town, finding it strange that they seem interested in what he considers very mundane things. They speak with the ease of people who have known each other for years, and the excitement of new friends with new stories.
If Poppet and Widget are keeping an eye on anything beyond their cocoa and himself, Bailey cannot tell what it might be.
“What’s the Stargazer?” he asks, catching sight of a sign he has not seen before, as they discard their empty cups and bags.
“Up for gazing, Poppet?” Widget asks his sister. She pauses before she nods. “Poppet reads the stars,” he explains to Bailey. “It’s the easiest place to see the future.”
“It hasn’t been all that easy lately,” Poppet says quietly. “But we can ride. It’s only open on clear nights, so who knows if we’ll get another chance while we’re here.”
They step inside, joining a line that ascends a curving stairway around the perimeter, separated from the interior of the tent by a heavy black curtain. The walls are covered in diagrams, white spots and lines on black paper, framed maps of constellations.
“Is it like the way the fortune-teller reads those cards with pictures on them?” Bailey asks, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of seeing the future.
“Sort of like that, but different,” Poppet says. “I can’t read tarot cards at all, but Widget can.”
“They’re stories on paper,” Widget says, shrugging. “You see how the stories in each card go together; it’s not really that hard. But with those you have all different possibilities and things, different paths to take. Poppet sees things that actually happen.”
“But they’re not as clear,” Poppet explains. “There isn’t context, and most of the time I don’t know what things mean until later. Sometimes not until it’s too late.”
“Disclaimers accepted, ’Pet,” Widget says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “It can just be a ride if you want.”
At the top of the stairs they reach a black platform, where everything is endlessly dark save for a circus worker in a white suit who is guiding patrons inside. He smiles at Poppet and Widget, with a curious glance at Bailey, as he escorts them through the darkness into something like a sleigh or a carriage.
They slide onto a cushioned bench with a high back and sides, the door on one side clicking closed as Poppet settles in between Bailey and Widget. It glides forward slowly, and Bailey can see nothing but darkness.
Then something around them clicks softly and the carriage falls just a bit, and at the same time it tilts backward so they are looking up instead of forward.
The tent has no top, Bailey realizes. The upper portion of it is open, with the night sky fully visible.
It is a different sensation than watching the stars while lying in a field, something Bailey has done many times. There are no trees creeping into the edges, and the gentle swaying of the carriage makes him feel almost weightless.
And it is incredibly quiet. As the carriage moves along in what seems to be a circular pattern, Bailey can hear nothing but a soft creak and the sound of Poppet breathing next to him. It is as though the entire circus has faded away into the darkness.
He glances over at Poppet, who is looking at him instead of the sky. She gives him a grin and then turns away.
Bailey wonders if he should ask if she sees anything in the stars.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Widget says, anticipating the question.
Poppet turns to make a face at him but then focuses her gaze upward, looking into the clear night sky. Bailey watches her carefully. She looks as though she is contemplating a painting or reading a sign from far away, squinting just a little.
She stops suddenly, putting her hands to her face, pressing her white-gloved fingers over her eyes. Widget puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Bailey asks.
Poppet takes a deep breath before she nods, keeping her hands over her face.
“I’m fine,” she says with a muffled voice. “It was very … bright. It made my head hurt.”
She takes her hands from her face and shakes her head; whatever distress she had been in has apparently passed.
For the remainder of the ride none of them look up at the star-speckled sky.
“I’m sorry,” Bailey says quietly as they walk down another curving stairway in order to exit.
“It’s not your fault,” Poppet says. “I should have known better, the stars have been doing that lately, making no sense and giving me headaches. I should probably stop trying for a while.”
“You need some cheering,” Widget says as they return to the din of the circus. “Cloud Maze?”
Poppet nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit.
“What’s the Cloud Maze?” Bailey asks.
“You haven’t found any of the best tents yet, have you?” Widget says, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to come back, we can’t do all of them in one night. Maybe that’s why ’Pet got a headache, she saw us having to drag you through every single tent to see what you’ve been missing.”
“Widge can see the past,” Poppet says suddenly, diverting the conversation. “It’s one of the reasons his stories are always so good.”
“The past is easier,” Widget says. “It’s already there.”
“In the stars?” Bailey asks.
“No,” Widget says. “On people. The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now. I can … well, read isn’t the right word, but it’s not the right word for what Poppet does with the stars, either.”
“So you can see my past on me?” Bailey asks.
“I could,” Widget says. “I try not to do it without permission if there’s nothing that jumps out automatically. Do you mind?”
Bailey shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Widget stares at him for a moment, not quite long enough for Bailey to become uncomfortable under the weight of his eyes, but almost.
“There’s a tree,” Widget says. “This massive old oak tree that’s more home to you than your house
but not as much as this is.” He gestures around at the tents and the lights. “Feeling like you’re alone even when you’re with other people. Apples. And your sister seems like a real gem,” he adds sarcastically.
“That sounds about right,” Bailey says with a laugh.
“What are the apples?” Poppet asks.
“My family has a farm with an orchard,” Bailey explains.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Poppet says. Bailey has never considered the rows of short, twisted trees lovely.
“Here we are,” Widget says as they round a turn.
Despite his limited experience with the circus, Bailey is amazed that he has never seen this tent before. It is tall, almost as tall as the acrobat tent but narrower. He stops to read the sign over the door.
The Cloud Maze
An Excursion in Dimension
A Climb Though the Firmament
There Is No Beginning
There Is No End
Enter Where You Please
Leave When You Wish
Have No Fear of Falling
Inside, the tent is dark-walled with an immense, iridescent white structure in the center. Bailey can think of nothing else to call it. It takes up the entirety of the tent save for a raised path along the perimeter, a winding loop that begins at the tent entrance and circles around. The floor beyond the path is covered with white spheres, thousands of them piled like soap bubbles.
The tower itself is a series of platforms swooping in odd, diaphanous shapes, quite similar to clouds. They are layered, like a cake. From what Bailey can see, the space between layers varies from room enough to walk straight through to barely enough to crawl. Here and there parts of it almost float away from the central tower, drifting off into space.
And everywhere, there are people climbing. Hanging on edges, walking through paths, climbing higher or lower. Some platforms move with the weight; others seem strong and sturdy. The whole of it moves constantly, a light movement like breathing.