The Book Man, Chapter 75 (Revised)

75 KISSING

It took a long time for them to mass their scant forces after Morrow awoke and rallied them with the ringmasters’ help. The uninjured circus-folk scrambled to douse their fires, collect their tent poles and chains and cookware, and groom their ponies. The injured circus-folk tended to the injured beasts and quarreled over food. The babble of their conversations washed over Christian as he slipped through the crowd toward the wagon to see Conrad.

“That’s my piece of cheese, now, I saw it first—”

“Fight you for it.”

“Idiots. Don’t you think you’ll get enough fighting when we leave?”

As the two strong men began punching each other over the piece of cheese, the contortionist who had called them idiots slipped in and stole it. Christian skirted around them and pressed on.

“Does it hurt when you walk on it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Might be able to splint it real quick—”

A tiger grunted and roared as its handler pulled away its bandages to check the gash on its leg, so close that Christian jumped. The handler patted the tiger’s head and laughed.

“Easy now, my beauty,” and then to the accountant, “She won’t hurt you—”

Christian hurried away. The crowd was nothing compared to the Fair, but packed into the small space of the cobblestone courtyard, running back and forth between fires and piles of shoddy weapons and the mermaid’s pool, it seemed he would never escape it. Finally, however, he squeezed through a final arguing pair and stumbled out of the crowd. He straightened himself on his cane only to find Liza standing in the wagon doorway.

“Good,” she grunted at the sight of him. “He was making a big stink about not seeing that you were alright, threatened to get out of bed again and find you himself if I didn’t do it for him. Come on up.”

Christian could not think of anything to say that might not antagonize her further, so he decided not to say anything at all as he followed her into the wagon.

The balloon-artist’s left leg now ended at the knee, where a quickly-whittled branch had been strapped as a makeshift prosthetic, but at the sight of his friend, he sat up in bed without his muscles trembling.

“You’re alright!” he said hoarsely. He tried to get to his feet, but Liza pushed him back down.

“Oh, no you don’t. You promised you’d stay in bed until it was time to move out.”

“Which it almost is,” Conrad said, but he stayed on the bunk and let Christian come to him instead. The two men clutched each other’s arms. Tears trickled down the balloon-artist’s face and into his beard.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he said. “I’m so sorry. It was supposed to be me that did all this. If I could’ve just—”

He pursed his lips and stopped speaking, but Christian said, “I’m glad you got me into it.”

For although his hip still ached and he walked with a limp, had it not been for Conrad showing up at his door the night of the first hellhound, he never would have had an adventure, never would met Minerva or Narodnaya or the ringmasters or Morrow. Never would have gotten unstuck from his static life.

There was a knock on the doorframe, and Mr. Catcher appeared outside the wagon with Minerva on his arm. The two garden gnomes that had joined them on the night they’d brought the wagon to the park—oh, it felt like a lifetime since then—squatted beside them.

“Knock, knock,” the old man said. “Someone wanted to say goodbye before we all moved out.”

“Well, come in and have a sit,” Liza said, moving things around to make seats for them all.

Mr. Catcher helped Minerva into the wagon. The garden gnomes hopped up after them. “She’d gladly come along, but she needs her rest. Our friends here are staying with her, just in case.”

“Can’t you?” Christian asked. The garden gnomes bounced in place and folded their arms.

“Not that I don’t think you’ll do a lovely job,” he told them. “But, Mr. Catcher, couldn’t you—?”

“There’s no need to worry,” Minerva said. “I really feel much better. Here.”

From the folds of her tunic she pulled the slingshot she had used to scare off the crow that had attacked Christian on his first night in the park. She handed it to him and said, “I’d feel even better if I knew you had this. I know it’s not much, as far as weapons go, but—”

“It’s as much of a weapon as I’d ever care to handle,” Christian said, slipping it into his pocket. The plan would require him to handle a much deadlier weapon in a much deadlier manner, but he shoved the thought from his mind. “Thank you.”

Mr. Catcher patted Minerva’s hand.

“I’m sure you are much better, but we’re not going to risk it. I’d stay myself, but I’ll never live it down if I sit here safely by the fire while my sisters ride into battle.” His voice shook as he added, “And I’d rather not have to wait here to find out what’s happened to them if—if anything does happen to them, you know.”

“Nothing will happen to them,” Liza said, her anger melting into concern for the old man and his sisters. “They’re impervious to trouble, you know. I’ve never met anyone quite like them.”

Mr. Catcher’s mustache curled into a prideful smile. “Thank you, my dear. They are singular, aren’t they?”

Minerva touched his arm and said, “Can’t I at least come with you to the edge of the gardens?”

The old man shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. Best to move as little as possible, with an injury of this caliber, and the edge of the gardens is a much farther trek than the far side of the courtyard.”

At that, Liza’s lips pursed in renewed anger, but she remained silent.

“Alright,” Minerva said humbly. “I just thought I might ask, while we were discussing it.”

Christian’s mouth had gone dry again; his heart thundered in his ears.

“Then I’d better do this now,” he said, and before he could lose his nerve he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. His nose bumped into hers, and his hands fluttered uncertainly at his sides, but her lips were soft.

When he drew away again her eyes were wide with surprise (Mr. Catcher looked rather triumphant), but then a smile curled across her face and she asked, “Would you do that again?”

“Oh,” said Christian happily, “well, if you insist.”

They stood there kissing each other until Conrad laughed and rapped his friend on the back of the head.

“Ouch,” said Christian.

“Plenty time for that later,” the balloon-artist said, “not that I’m not glad it happened.”

Liza’s lips pursed together tighter and tighter until they loosed and let her voice explode into the wagon, surprising everyone except her husband.

“Didn’t you hear him?” she asked. “An injury of this caliber, he said. Don’t you think your injury’s of a greater caliber than hers? But she’s not going into battle. She’s staying here and resting like she’s been told.”

“Now, Liza—”

“Don’t you dare ‘now, Liza’ me, Conrad Smithson!”

Her shouting blurred into the background as Minerva looked at Christian with burning eyes.

“Is he going into battle?” she asked.

He thought he knew what was coming, but he said, “Yes. Liza wanted to take him home. I guess he wouldn’t let her.”

She stood straight and tall, though she wobbled a little without support, not yet used to balancing her body with only one arm.

“Then I’m going, too,” she said.

Mr. Catcher frowned. “My dear, I wouldn’t advise—”

“You’re going,” Minerva said. “You can hardly run ten paces without losing your breath, but you’re going. And he’s going, on one leg, and he hasn’t even healed as much as I have. And Christian’s going—” tears welled up in her eyes, but she went on—“and I’m the Caretaker, and I was supposed to keep the fairies safe in the first place, and I didn’t, and if everyone else is going, with all their injuries, then I’m going too.”

Mr. Catcher gestured helplessly at Christian, but a giant, stupid grin blossomed across the accountant’s face. He leaned down and kissed her again joyfully, and when he pulled away she looked utterly astonished (though not unhappy, by any means).

“What was that for?” she asked.

“Do you know,” he said, “you are absolutely the bravest and most beautiful and most wonderful person I’ve ever known, and I love you for it.”

Her cheeks pinkened, but she passed over his pronouncement and said, “You’re not angry? She’s frightfully angry that he’s coming.”

Christian nodded. “But you’d come even I was angry, the same as he is. At any rate, I’m glad. If I’ve got to go into battle, I’d rather have you with me.”

“Well, then,” she said, and she smiled and gave him a kiss of her own.

Mr. Catcher blinked and adjusted his glasses as they grinned at each other, oblivious to Liza’s shouting.

“Well, well,” he said to himself. “If that isn’t the funniest turn I ever saw in my life.”