58 ROWAN THE RINGMASTER
It was Rowan and one of her performers,
a rugged man Christian did not recognize, walking by with three freshly-killed
rabbits. Despite the attack and the Fair-folks’ aura of grim resignation, the
ringmaster’s dark face and tawny eyes were as jolly as ever as she made her way
over to their failed fire. Her violet coat was draped over one arm, her top hat
under the other. The ruffled white shirt she wore was torn in more than one
spot but otherwise pristine, and she carried herself as if about to begin a
show.
“Trouble with the flint and tinder
again, eh?” she said to Liza. “Not to worry. We’ll soon have you sorted.”
She took up the flint and steel and
struck them against each other until sparks showered the kindling and a
cheerful blaze ignited.
“Thank you,” Liza said. “I just can’t
get the hang of it.”
“You will, soon enough,” Rowan said.
“Every sword-swallower started off swallowing food, as the saying goes! And in
the mean-time, my dear, I’m more than happy to help.”
Then she caught sight of Christian.
“My dear fellow!” she cried, clasping
his hands. “Whatever are you doing here? I would have thought you’d remain in
the park with your young lady, if you turned up at all after that awful night—”
“It’s a long story,” he said, blushing.
“And she isn’t my lady. My girlfriend. I mean—”
The ringmaster sprawled on the ground
beside him with her long legs stretched toward the fire. She patted the grass
and said to her companion, “Pull up a chair. We’ve time to sit a while.”
The rugged man settled on the grass less
comfortably than Rowan, folding his legs carefully beneath him and keeping the
conies off the ground.
“One again today?” he said to Liza, who
nodded and passed him two small fish in exchange for one of the rabbits.
Christian watched in amazement. He felt he should have guessed that Liza would
make friends amongst the Fair-folks while he was missing; after all, she had
spent a week with them now. But it was bizarre to see her interacting with them
in this way, almost as strange as if he had found out his employer or his
barber or his trash-collector knew about the Fair.
“How do you know each other?” he asked.
“Hasn’t she told you, dear boy?” the
ringmaster cried. “We’re the ones who found her! What a nasty night that was,
wasn’t it, Graham?” (This to the rugged man, who gave the shadow of a nod.)
“Dark and gloomy, raining like anything—but the traps needed to be set, you
know. My troupe has to eat, rain or shine, Goblin or no Goblin! Anyway, there
we were, walking through the trees in the dark and the gloaming, when suddenly
I all but tripped over a person!”
“So you came out at the portal after
all?” Christian said to Liza, but it was again the ringmaster who answered.
“Oh, no, not quite. She was clear on the
other side of our camp. Still, from what she’s told me, I gather she was lucky
to come out that close. Incidentally, my boy, where did you end up?”
“Past the mountains,” Christian said.
“In a bog. It was raining there, too.”
Rowan whistled, long and low. “Past the
mountains! Well, that must have been the wraiths, don’t you think, Graham?”
The rugged man nodded again.
“Wraiths?” said Liza.
“Oh, yes, my dear. Wraiths. They’re not
corporeal creatures, you know—more misty sorts of things, and they love to lurk
about in places that solid beings don’t have much truck with. Portals into
other worlds, fairy rings, the Land of the Dead—things like that. Places most
of us wouldn’t even think of as places. But for all their mistiness, they’re
powerful as anything, when they’ve got a mind to be, and we felt them all over
the portal when we fled from the park—oh, my, yes.”
Rowan shuddered at the thought.
“Dreadful things. I think Goblin put them there to keep us from going back, but
there were so many of us coming through that they couldn’t manage to get us off
course—not many of us, anyway—I came out missing a lion and a dancing bear,
myself, and who knows where they ended up. But however did you get here so
soon, Mr. Abernathy? I understand it’s quite the journey.”
“I had some help,” Christian said,
thinking of Narodnaya. He could feel her lurking on the edges of his thoughts,
not prodding or intruding but gleaning information where she could and making
sure he was alright. She was a friendly presence in the back of his mind.
“Rowan’s been a great help,” Liza said,
putting a hand on the ringmaster’s to comfort her. “She’s brought me a rabbit
every day since I got here, and she helped me find Conrad.”
Rowan waved her gratitude away. The fear
that had crept into her face at the thought of the wraiths cleared as her mind
turned to other things.
“No trouble at all, my dear. We must
help each other where we can.” She leaned close to Christian and said, “And
don’t let her trick you into thinking she’s only so well off for my help, Mr.
Abernathy. A natural-born fisher, wouldn’t you know! I haven’t got a jot of
patience for it, but with a bit of twine and rabbit meat she brings in
practically enough fish for the whole camp.”
Liza’s cheeks purpled as she tried not
to look too pleased at the ringmaster’s praise.
“At any rate,” Rowan continued, “I’m
pleased as punch to see you here, and looking well, too. The two of you simply
must have dinner with my troupe.”
“It would be a pleasure,” Liza said, but
Christian said, “Thank you, but I must decline. I have to find Morrow.”
Instead of looking offended, however,
the ringmaster clapped her hands and said, “An excellent idea, Mr. Abernathy.
We shall of course ask him to dine with us as well. The poor fellow will be
glad of some company. He gets so little at his cabin, you know.”
“You mean—you know where he lives?”
“Why, of course! We are intimate
acquaintances, I assure you, even if these other folk will hardly give him the
time of day.”
“You need me to come with you?” the rugged man
asked Rowan.
“No need, Graham, no need. Tell the
others to set three extra places for dinner. We’ll be back shortly.”
He nodded and moved off into the crowd,
swinging the rabbits by the snares looped around their hind legs. Rowan leapt
to her feet and asked Liza, “Won’t you come along, my dear?”
The balloon-artist’s wife shook her
head. “I need to tend to my husband. He’s—he’s having a bad day today. His
eyes—”
Christian’s heart palpitated at her
words, but he sucked in a breath through his nose and tried not to listen as
she told the ringmaster about Conrad’s plight.
“Very well,” Rowan said at last. “But mind you’re not
late for dinner! Graham works wonders with a rabbit. Come along, then, Mr.
Abernathy,” and she led him into the trees as Liza disappeared into the
darkness of the wagon.
She has come a long ways form the narrow-minded businesswoman.
Points: 12700
Reviews: 160
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