Ned’s Circus of Marvels

“I’m me. Why am I still me? If Dad’s this Engineer character, then shouldn’t he have horns or something, and shouldn’t I be like him, you know, like everyone else in this freak show?”

“No, boy, you’re both quite human, and that will be the last time you use the word ‘freak show’ in my presence,” said Benissimo with a clear note of warning in his voice. “Being human does not however mean that your dad can’t have magic in his blood. Sometimes it happens that someone is just born with magical ability, like your dad, or given it. I was quite human myself once …” At that the Ringmaster paused for a moment, as if in thought. “And Kitty is completely so. Human, minutian, elven or troll, good, bad or somewhere in between, there are all kinds behind our beloved shroud. Now, please let go of the Tinker’s head. We have serious matters to discuss. Besides, I need it in one piece almost as much as I need yours.”

Ned unclasped his fingers and slumped back on to his stool.

“What is he? I mean, being an Engineer, what does that mean? Why is it so important?”

“Engineers can control atoms with their minds. With strong enough focus, air can turn to fire, wood to metal, and water to stone. But it doesn’t end there. The creations can be shaped to any variety of complex structures. The possibilities are endless. It’s a hard concept to grasp, especially for a josser who is new to our ways, but his skills together with the Medic’s are unique. Add one to the other, and their combined purpose is to mend, to rebuild and heal. I need to make that happen. The Veil is failing and I need them to mend it.”

Ned looked up at the Ringmaster. He was torn between the loyalty a boy feels to his past and the almost certain knowledge that his past is not what he had thought it was. More precisely, that his father was not what he had thought he was. What had his life been like as an Engineer? What kinds of things had he seen and done? Why had he never told him? The questions hurt too much to want answers, at least not from anyone except his dad, and for that to happen, he was going to have to trust a man who clearly thought very little of him and join his troupe of oddities.

“So let’s just say I’m not mad. You, the Tinker and everything you’ve told me is all real.” Ned paused for a second to gather his thoughts. “If we go to this Fidgit and Sons place, and we find the girl, and she and Dad do whatever it is they’re supposed to do … then I get him back for good and life goes back to normal? Like, Grittlesby normal?”

Even as he said it, it surprised him. He wanted his father back just the way he was. Even if it meant being bored, even if it meant being fussed over and forced to stay in. He would do anything for that right now, anything at all.

“I can’t promise normal, but with enough wind behind us …” the Ringmaster sighed and looked him up and down yet again, “… and a great deal of luck, yes, you’ll get your dad back.”

“I’m going to ignore that look you just gave me, if you promise not to do it again.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Ned gritted his teeth. “Fine. When can we go?”

Benissimo’s mouth turned towards what might have been a smile, though it ended up with just a hint of sadness.

“Perhaps you’re more like your father than it first appears … though while you’re with us, it’d be for the best if you kept him to yourself. Just a few of the troupe know who you really are – let’s keep it that way. Tell me, did the clowns see you?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

“Well, ‘don’t think so’ will have to do. That said,” continued Benissimo, “it does not guarantee that prying ears or eyes won’t find out about you. There’s a rot in my circus, a spy or spies that are trying to hamper our progress. Until I root them out, you keep your head down, understood?”

“Understood.”

“For now we’ll say you’re a runaway. We get a lot of recruits that way and no one will pay someone like you much heed.”

Ned felt another flicker of anger. Why did the man dislike him so much?

“By ‘like me’ I guess you mean ordinary, right?”

“I had something else in mind, but ordinary will do.”

Ned had a pleasing vision of yanking Benissimo’s moustache, then setting it on fire with one of the Tinker’s gadgets.

“Tinker, a message to Oublier, if you will?”

“Right you are, boss!”

Ned seethed quietly as Benissimo’s head of R&D opened two windows at the back of the truck and picked up a large device shaped like a trumpet. Directing one end out of the window, he started to speak in a mixture of slow drawn out tones and revolting nasal snorts, all the while contorting his face and lips horribly.

“N e w … l e a d … f o u n d … F i d g i t … a n d … S o n s.”

A large gust blew up, swirling leaves into a pillar of spinning greenery, before launching itself over the forest’s canopy and away from the truck.

“What’s he doing?”

The Ringmaster gave Ned a withering glare. “Hush, boy, it’s an air-modulator. He’s harnessing the wind to send a message.”

“Who is he messaging?” whispered Ned in amazement, but they were too deep in concentration to hear him, or to reply.

The Tinker continued to work the machine, twisting dials and pressing its keys to change pitch. Finally something else happened. A dozen wind chimes, both crystal and wooden, started to sound on the truck’s roof. Outside a gust of wind was blowing in over the treetops. And then it came, in soft blowy whispers. A reply.

“H … U … R … R … Y .”

“Well, we’d better get to it then,” said Benissimo, “it’s time for tear down.” And taking Ned’s blood-key for safe-keeping, he charged out of the Tinker’s vehicle.

Ned followed closely behind, having no idea what he was talking about. But as Benissimo called for the troupe to gather round, he soon found out.

“All right everyone! Pull your tent pegs and fire up the engines …” he called. “We’re going home!”

***

Much further than the crow flies but only moments later, a meeting was held between a spy and his master. The master was holding an apple, which he cut carefully, his sharp knife making perfect incisions across its golden skin. He was a great dark hulk of a man, with a deep, unsmiling voice.

“Sister Clementine’s ‘ending’ was unfortunate. She was the closest we’ve come in years,” brooded the master.

“Yes … but now there is the boy,” whispered back his spy.

“A lucky turn of events. Tell me, does he know?”

“Not all of it, no. Bene has kept nearly everyone in the dark for fear of your watchful eyes.”

“And fear them he should!”

“How shall we proceed?” asked the spy from his shadow.

“Everything depends on the boy’s key. I believe it always has. Do you remember the tale of the Parnifer tree?”

“Vaguely.”

“You of all creatures should. In the story, the King’s son was taken by a terrible affliction and could not be woken. The King cried for a hundred days and a hundred nights, till his tears formed a river. By its banks, a tree sprang up from the ground.”

“The Parnifer tree.”

“Precisely. They say a single seed from the tree’s fruit could cure anything. The girl is like the seed. If she were to meet with the Engineer …”

The master put down his knife, before crushing the apple in his fist, its wet pulpy flesh oozing through his fingers.

“The seed, must, be, crushed. I’ll send the devil himself if I have to.” He gazed for a moment at the fruit falling from his hand. “In the meantime, we’ll be needing some leverage. With the boy’s spirit-knot and enough time, we could do extraordinary things. I’ll leave that up to you. Watch, observe, slow them down if you can. When the moment is right, we’ll make our move.”