Firetale (5 page)

Derek entertained the girl as he
could.
The
satyr clearly felt like the emperor of a country in which a lovely
guest had mysteriously appeared, whom he tried to impress in every
way. He talked in detail about the circus, explained how to raise
the tents, listed all the cities he had visited on tour, and, of
course, also danced and sang. The young satyr’s efforts were not in
vain. Between the tents could be heard a ringing girlish giggling
and Derek’s loud laughter. The two teens obviously got along, and
their first day was a breeze. When Mr. Ridby came for his daughter
at sunset, she did not want to leave.

Impressed with the changes in
Eleanor
’s
mood, her father could barely choke back his tears. Before he left
the circus, he thanked Mr. Bernardius and young Derek profusely.
Ellie’s first day at the circus was great. So were the second,
third, and fourth days. Each evening the father took home a
cheerful and lively Eleanor, and on the way, she sang the songs
Derek had sung for her and tried to demonstrate the satyr’s dashing
dancing capers. On the evening of the fourth day, the two
youngsters reluctantly parted. They had only one day left, and the
faces of both showed the sadness of their upcoming farewell, which
overshadowed the joy of that day’s adventures. That night, Derek
was not himself. I saw him sitting, illuminated by moonlight, on a
barrel in the backyard playing an unfamiliar sad melody on his
flute. I felt for him. Only then did I get the idea that he might
be more attached to Eleanor than she was to him. Having recovered
from her melancholy, she would be able to find friends among her
peers. But Derek would remain a lonely teenager.

Ellie
’s fifth day at the circus began as
usual. Holding hands, the children ran to the backyard, discussing
how they might have some fun. Their exemplary behavior, I must
admit, had dulled our vigilance. We were punished for our
carelessness. Mr. Bernardius began looking for the girl before
sunset, when her father would come to pick her up. When he could
not immediately find her, we enlisted the entire circus to help,
but we did not find Ellie. When Mr. Ridby came, we were forced to
admit that we had lost his daughter. The distraught man thought it
was some trick meant to surprise him. When we heard Ellie’s voice
coming from the backyard, he was even more convinced that her
disappearance was some prank. But when we saw Eleanor, her hair was
disheveled and her clothing was stained with grass and earth. Her
dress was torn and missing a sleeve, and her hands were covered
with bruises and scratches. Ellie told us what happened.

She played with Derek as always.
The satyr told her that their last day had to be special.
Derek
invited
Ellie to climb onto his back, and when she did, he galloped away
from the circus. The satyr promised her it wouldn’t take long, and
no one would even notice their absence. At first the girl loved
being carried at a tremendous speed on the back of the satyr. She
felt like a princess from a fairy tale but became worried when she
could no longer see the big top on the horizon. The girl realized
with horror that she had never been so far away from the town.
Derek began to calm her, stroking her head and cheeks, saying there
was nothing to fear. The satyr hugged her and soothed her, but his
palms were strange, not like her father’s when he calmed Ellie
after a nightmare. Derek’s hands were hot, and they were trying to
penetrate Ellie’s clothing. The girl demanded that he stop, but the
satyr did not listen. He hit Eleanor so hard that she fell to the
ground. Derek tried to rip off her dress, but she resisted as best
she could. She was screaming and scratching, biting and calling for
help. She felt a stone on the ground and hit Derek with it. The
blow sobered him. He wiped away Ellie’s tears, and asked for
forgiveness, begging her not to say anything to Mr. Bernardius.
Ellie ran back to the circus. She did not know what happened to
Derek, but as she ran, she heard him crying and
bleating.

We were all shocked by
Ellie
’s
story. Lazarus apologized, but Mr. Ridby would not be mollified.
His expression, usually a bit confused and miserable, changed.
Ridby was angry and threatened that none of us would get away with
this crime. I realized we couldn’t parley with this man. He left
the circus, promising us a proper punishment. I knew what he meant.
Within a few hours, the news about a circus freak attacking a local
girl would fly around the town, and we would have to deal with an
angry, bloodthirsty mob. We had no choice. We began to dismantle
the tents and hoped Derek would return before we left
town.

The satyr did come back, dirty and
tearful, with clotted blood in his hair and on his face. In my
heart, I hoped that the incident was not quite as Ellie had told.
But I knew too well the unbridled nature of satyrs, and, to my
great regret, Derek repeated the girl’s story almost word for word.
The wailing satyr asked us to forgive him and give him one last
chance to see Eleanor, to explain himself. Of course, this could
not be considered. We hid him in one of the vans, under rags and
bits of baggage, and began to break down the circus. Our circus was
still very small, and without Derek’s help, dismantling the tents
could take a long time. We almost made it. We were about to leave
when the mob arrived.

It was headed by Mr. Ridby and
the local priest,
Father McKenzie. Behind them, it seemed, were all the men
of the town, armed not with pitchforks and scythes, but guns. I was
more worried about their torches. A devilish spell makes our
equipment impervious to breaking, but I didn’t know if it could
survive fire. Ridby and Father McKenzie could not decide who they
wanted. Ellie’s father demanded that we hand over Derek and then
leave town, but the priest called our circus a devil’s den that
must be put to the torch. They would have bickered all night, if
not for Derek appearing. The satyr said he was the only one to
blame for the incident, and to punish others for his offense would
be unfair. The crowd was thrilled. People were screaming, and
someone fired a shot into the air. This shot was the signal. Derek
pulled away from the angry mob and took off on his goat legs at an
incredible speed. The locals were confused, not sure which prey
they wanted more, us or the fleeing satyr. Mr. Ridby, unexpectedly,
was more persuasive than the priest, and the crowd rushed after
Derek. Father McKenzie, left alone, looked at us contemptuously,
spat on the ground, and then turned and followed the
others.

Mr. Bernardius
wanted to try to
catch up with Derek, and I had to use all my eloquence to dissuade
him from this idea. Derek’s run gave us a chance to save the
circus, and we could not miss that chance. The ringmaster
reluctantly agreed with me, and we left town and soon left
Kentucky, a state we long shunned. Poor Derek remained there,
becoming a local legend.

“
She stripped to the beat but her
clothes stay on.”

INXS
, “Suicide Blonde”

The U
.S., some town. A year and a half
ago.

“
I can’t believe I let you drag
me into this place,” Bernardius said, his voice full of nobility,
regret, and paternal feeling.

“
I agree, this place lacks class,
but from time to time even you should peep into such a hole, if you
get my meaning, Mr. Bernardius,” Greg said. “I’m sure these places
didn’t exist in your time.”

“
You have no idea what places
existed in my time,” said Bernardius.

They sat at a table in a
roadside strip bar
in another new town, not far from where the circus was set
up. The cramped, smoky room was illuminated with red, yellow, and
blue lights and smelled of alcohol, unwashed bodies, and cheap
vanilla perfume. The dancers were apathetic, and more than a few
looked as if they could have had grandchildren. The blue light gave
a ghastly hue to their bodies, producing the illusion of corpses
dancing around the poles.

Greg didn
’t like the place. It was the kind of
place where bad things tended to happen. Greg occasionally went to
strip clubs in cities where the circus performed. Not that he was a
fan of such places. In fact, they reminded him of his former life,
his life outside the circus, an ordinary life. Eighteen months ago
he had hated that life, but now he sometimes missed it. Greg
wondered if Bernardius missed his former life. The old man was more
than one hundred and eighty years old, although he looked no older
than sixty, and that was mostly because of his long beard. Lazarus
had spent most of his life in the circus, and Greg sometimes
thought the old man had lost all human emotions. Looking at his
companion, Greg wondered if he would ever be like him.

The old man abandoned the top hat and cane
whenever he went out in public, and draped an old-fashioned cloak
over his constant frockcoat. It was the kind of cloak that Greg had
seen only in cheap vampire movies. According to Bernardius, the
outfit helped him blend in with the crowd. According to Greg, an
old man with long gray hair and a beard who wore a black cloak down
to the ankles looked like Count Dracula on vacation. The magician
was glad that the other bar patrons were mostly truckers looking
for fun and loners who missed the company of women. These men were
so enthralled by the girls that they paid no attention to the
tentmaster.

“
Greg, we’re just wasting time
here,” Bernardius said, his usually calm voice filled with
aggravation. “You were here yesterday. We have to go.”

“
Wasting time? The advance team
hasn’t even gone to another city,” Greg said. “Please, Mr.
Bernardius, wait. I didn’t bring you here to admire saggy breasts
and flabby asses.”

“
Then why did you bring
me?”

T
he thundering music stopped and the bar
patrons fell silent. The bright lights went out. On the stage,
bathed in a pure white spotlight, stood a young woman.

“
For her,” Greg murmured, his
eyes fixed on the stage.

The girl was not very tall.
Short blond hair framed her pale face. She
wore blue tights that matched the
color of her eyes. Her eyes … her eyes were pensive and sad. The
music began to play. It was not the familiar rumbling hair-metal,
but a quiet melody, some eastern-like tune. The girl on the stage
began to move. It was a slow dance. Her movements were smooth and
soft, with no hint of lust or seduction. Her hands didn’t slip
along her body, her legs didn’t wrap around a pole. She didn’t
grind or thrust her hips, didn’t toss playful looks to the
audience. While dancing, the girl didn’t take off any clothing, yet
no one in the bar complained. The men at their tables looked as if
they were in a trance, mesmerized by the girl’s dance. Their eyes
were glued to the blonde, as if there had been no other girls
before her.

Greg felt calm. It seemed to him
that his body was light, almost weightless. He forgot about
everything that annoyed him. Even
his inner fire died down, and the magician
was relaxed for the first time in a good while. Greg looked at
Bernardius. The old man seemed to be feeling the same way. His face
expressed awe. The magician glanced at the other visitors. Their
faces, usually hard, tired, irritated, disgruntled, now looked like
the faces of children. Someone’s eyes sparkled as if they were full
of tears.

She continued to dance. Her eyes
weren
’t so
sad anymore, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on her face.
Her movements became faster, but no less smooth. Suddenly she fell
to her knees, lifting her face and arms up, not as if to the
ceiling of a dirty club, but as if to the sky, high and azure. The
light slowly faded, plunging the hall into darkness. Applause and
cheering rose up from the crowd. When the colored lights came on
again and loud music began to play, the girl was gone. In her
place, a mulatto dressed like a cowgirl with a lasso was
dancing.

“
Did you feel it? Did you?” Greg
asked Lazarus in the tone of a boy seeking approval from an
adult.

“
Yes,” Lazarus said, but he wore
a perplexed expression on his face.

“
I don’t know what it is. But it
is definitely what we’re looking for in every town, asking around
about all sorts of oddities and supernatural stuff.”

“
Maybe.”

“
Look, Mr. Bernardius. You said
yourself that our shows aren’t the most important thing. What’s
important is finding people like you, like me. Like
her!”

“
I remember what I said, Greg.”
Bernardius’s calm had returned. “But we must be careful. First, you
need to learn something about her. Come on.” Bernardius rose from
the table and went to the bar. Greg hurried after him.

“
Good evening, sir,” Bernardius
said to the man behind the counter. The bartender’s piggy eyes
glared at the tentmaster with distrust. Few visitors ever wished
him a nice evening, and even fewer addressed him as “sir.” Without
changing his wary expression, he nodded to Bernardius.

“
We would like to ask you about
the girl who performed right before the dancer with the lasso,”
Bernardius said.

“
Martha? Sorry, but she is not
doing private dances. Especially for two customers at once. Pick
yourself another girl.” The bartender shot Bernardius a grin. “We
have older dancers,” he said.