Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series)

by Katina French

  Their applause was hers to win or lose. Paolo's job was to prime the pump, and he'd done an admirable job of it. She only hoped she could live up to half the build-up he'd created.

  Paolo hurried off the stage. The lights dimmed again. The crowd quieted.

  ~*~

  A peal of thunder rolled through the tent. The crowd looked around in confusion. The summer skies had been clear all day.

  Slowly, a column of smoke, like a spiraling grey cloud, rose from the center ring. It grew to the height of a man. As the spotlights rose, colored lights could be seen sparkling and dancing within the cloud.

  Gradually, the shadow of a woman's silhouette could be seen within the slowly swirling mists.

  Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and suddenly the cloud was gone, replaced by a young girl holding a striped green umbrella over her head, cocked at a saucy angle.

  The crowd exploded into applause.

  The Amazing Bianca was dressed in a simple, gauzy knee-length frock of pastel shades of green and peach, topped with a cutaway coat of pale green velvet.

  She looked like Spring itself. Her hair was coiled in twists like the petals of a flower around her face. From somewhere unseen, a violin began playing a sprightly tune.

  She leaned forward, still holding the umbrella, and tossed it lightly upward. It hung in the air, bouncing slightly. With a flick of her wrist, a brass baton appeared in her hand, like a magic wand covered with embossed designs.

  She pointed the wand at the floating umbrella, and it sailed towards the crowd. The people laughed in delight as it playfully bounced over their heads, guided by the direction of Bianca's magic wand in time to the music of the violin.

  As the tune reached a crescendo, she made a great flourish. Again, thunder pealed through the tent with a flash of light like the first warning of a spring shower. The umbrella exploded in a flash of sparks, replaced by the softly falling petals of cherry blossoms.

  Oohs and ahhs rose from the audience, as they brushed the pale pink petals from their hair and clothes.

  The music shifted, becoming more intense and stirring as Bianca raised both arms in the air, and executed a series of backflips.

  A blur of movement shrouded in fog, when she stopped at the far end of the center ring, her clothing had transformed.

  Her great coat was now a deeper, clearer shade of green. The flowing pastel dress now bore a short, stiff skirt over a tulle petticoat, resembling a ballerina's, in a bright sunflower yellow and red harlequin pattern. Her legs were clad in tights of the same lush, verdant green as her coat.

  She extended her palm in front of her and waved her wand over it. A ball of flame the size of a large ripe peach appeared.

  With a breath, the ball of flame floated off her hand, bouncing into the air. She stepped forward.

  With another wave of the wand, another ball of flame rose into the air. She repeated the process until the center ring held an entire chorus of dancing flames, circling the beautiful girl. She appeared to be directing them like an orchestra conductor with her wand in time to the chaotic rhythm of the violin.

  The crowd held its collective breath. They could feel the heat from the flames in the close space of the tent, like the heat of the midsummer sun. Bianca ran up to one of the flames. It bounced just before the front row of seats.

  She caught it in her hands, and blew as if blowing out a candle. As her fingers flew outward, fragrant deep red rose petals scattered over the crowd.

  She ran to the next fireball, repeating the transformation until the warm, redolent scent of roses filled the big top.

  Only one ball of flame remained.

  She circled it with her wand, the ball of flame growing larger with each pass. When it was the size of a balloon, it looked like a tiny sun. She gestured with both hands, and it flew high up into the air. She swung her wand in a wide arc as it reached its apex.

  The flame exploded into a shower of colored sparks just as the violin reached a crescendo.

  Another round of applause erupted from the audience at the sight of an indoor fireworks display. The sparks from the first explosion each ignited into their own smaller starburst pattern, continuing outward, each round a bit smaller than the one before it.

  In the center of the sparks, the Amazing Bianca twirled her wand in circles around her, and a dark, roiling cloud once again surrounded and concealed her. Her form could be seen in brief glimpses as flashes of white light danced within the cloud.

  There was a moment of quiet from the violin, then it broke back into a lively tune, perhaps a bit more melancholy than the two which preceded it.

  Another clap of thunder rang out, clearing the cloud and revealing Bianca in yet another costume. This time, the green coat had transformed to a rich russet-colored velvet. A matching top hat had appeared, placed on her head at a jaunty angle. Her gown was now a kaleidoscope of silks in gold, orange and reds, which just reached her knees in front but tapered to a long gathered drape in the back.

  She walked up to a child, perched at the edge of his seat in the front row. Bianca leaned forward, her hand out and palm upwards, as if to blow the boy a kiss. His eyes widened as a scarlet silk scarf billowed out at him from nowhere. Laughing, the boy caught it in his hands, as the illusionist winked at him. "Hold tight!" she whispered so that he alone could hear.

  She ran away, and the silk continued to billow out between her hand and the boy's. Reaching the other side of the tent, she handed off the other end to a wide-eyed girl. The silk seemed to float upwards as if caught by a gentle wind.

  She crisscrossed the tent several times, creating a loose spiderweb of orange, red, gold and brown silks over the crowd.

  She blew one last kiss up towards the center of the web, and the sound of popcorn popping, or perhaps the crunch of autumn leaves on a brisk walk, filled the tent. The silks seemed to break apart into a thousand pieces, falling softly towards the audience. They watched in wonder as real autumn leaves dropped gently into their laps. A warm, musky smell filled the tent.

  Bianca held out one hand, passed the other over it, and a bright red apple appeared in her palm.

  The violin changed tunes once again, this time evoking a dramatic, dangerous feeling. She held the apple up a moment, allowing the gaslights to glow on its shiny scarlet skin. Then she leaned forward and took a bite out of it, tilting her head and giving it a puzzled look.

  She drew the apple towards her chest with both hands, closing her eyes, her body stiffened and fell backwards.

  The crowd gasped, expecting her to hit the ground hard.

  Instead, as she fell, her feet lifted from the ground. A few among the audience had seen magicians levitate an assistant. None had seen one levitate herself, while seemingly unconscious.

  A murmur of wonder rose from the stands, as Bianca's still form rotated slowly in a circle, rising to chest-high from the ground. Her hands fell open on her chest, but instead of releasing the apple, a black clockwork crow flew upwards.

  From the wings of the tent, four white clockwork doves flew into the center ring, each holding the end of a white shroud.

  They dropped it over the floating Bianca, but it didn't land on her body. Instead, the cloth stopped around an invisible, curved rectangular form surrounding her, as if she were encased in a coffin of glass.

  The shrouded magician spun in one more slow circle as the violin wailed a melancholy goodbye. The crowd was silent, enraptured, terrified, and confused.

  The lights in the big top took on a pale blue tint. Tiny white lights began twinkling in the darkened roof of the tent. A chilly breeze began to blow through the stands.

  And then, snow fell.

  Real snow, great, fat flakes of it began falling throughout the circus tent. It melted almost instantly in the summer heat, but the audience stared in amazement as snow began to briefly decorate their hair, and fall into their uplifted hands. It fell on the flower petals and leaves still collected in laps and on empty seats.

  From
the same dark passage as the doves, a dark figure emerged. Wrapped in a cloak of midnight blue, wearing a white flowing shirt, dark pants, high leather boots and black gloves, it was impossible to make out any details. A cavalier's hat with a long white plume held the face completely in shadow. The figure marched to the floating, invisible dais, which slowed to a stop.

  The dramatic figure pulled out a rapier, and sliced the air above and below the draped cloth. The cavalier leapt left and right, slashing the rapier and fighting an unseen battle with invisible foes. Then the cavalier dropped the sword, grabbed the white cloth, and pulled it away with a flourish to reveal . . . empty space.

  The crowd erupted into shouts of surprise.

  The cavalier flung the white cloth upward and around, concealed within it for less than a moment.

  When it dropped to the ground, there stood the Amazing Bianca in the dark cavalier's place, wearing a stunning white version of her autumn garb.

  Lace fashioned to look like snowflakes decorated the edges of an ivory top coat. The same lace overlaid an ivory voile dress with the same tapered skirt as before, and her leggings were made of the same snowflake lace. Ivory leather boots reached her ankles. An elaborate carved ivory comb was tucked into her hair, looking almost like a tiara of snowflakes.

  The crowd roared with applause, leaping to their feet. Whistles and stomps and every kind of noise rattled the stands.

  Bianca waved her wand at her other hand, producing a single white rose in a puff of smoke. She tossed it into the crowd, and made an elaborate bow several times, turning to face each section of the crowd.

  Then she spun on her heel, and disappeared in a final cloud of smoke.

  After the Curtain Falls

  "Brilliant!" cried Brendan. "That was bloody brilliant, Neve!"

  Neve was practically glowing, from the applause and the exertion of her performance. Caught up in the moment, she rushed to Brendan and flung her arms around him.

  "I did it! Oh, Brendan, I really did it! I think my father would have been proud. Listen! They're still cheering!" Her face glowed with joy and excitement.

  "Of course they are, love! There's never been a magic act like that. You were perfect. Flawless.

  "Although I still think you should have let me come out and awaken the sleeping princess. It's really not fair to disappoint the audience like that. I'm sure they were expecting a kiss."

  Neve looked up. Brendan's eyes were sparkling at her with humor and affection. He'd wrapped his arms around her. Their faces were so close, she could feel his warm breath on her flushed cheek.

  "You get enough applause of your own," she said. "No fair trying to steal some of mine." She offered him a dimpled grin.

  "Wasn't the applause I wanted to steal, love. It was the kiss."

  He leaned forward as if deciding to go ahead and steal it anyway. Neve's eyes widened. She twitched the wand still in her hand, and a puff of smoke appeared.

  Brendan coughed, and the next thing he knew, she was across the room.

  "How did you do that? And why? Because frankly that kiss was going to be spectacular."

  "The how is a trade secret. But since we're friends, I can tell you that this wand has a number of secret compartments for concealing alchemical formulaes. I have a button near the bottom and when I tap it properly, it releases and activates them."

  Brendan closed the distance between them, looking at the brass baton with its polished wood handle.

  "Really? That's fascinating. Was it your father's design or yours?"

  He ran a fingertip over the gleaming surface of the wand. Now that he could see it up close, the different embellishments and ornaments were clearly vents and caps covering almost a dozen tiny compartments. He had to admire the clever bit of tinkering.

  "Both, in a way. He had something similar, a walking stick that he used in a few tricks where it would have been inconvenient to hide powders or potions up his sleeve. I just took the idea and pushed it a little bit further. Made it smaller, and turned it into a real version of the old idea of a wizard's magic wand."

  She pointed it at him and waved it as if casting a spell on him.

  "I suppose I should claim it's an ancient magical artifact I was given during my exotic exile across the globe." She laughed. "Paolo was really laying it on thick with that introduction!"

  "Ah, but you have been a princess in exile. And now you've returned to rule the center ring, as is your rightful place."

  He made an exaggerated bow in her direction.

  "Be careful how loudly you say things like that, O prince of blades." Her voice held a teasing tone overlaid with a shadow of real fear. "I'd rather not have the reigning monarch around here get the idea I'm after her throne. Honestly, I'm just happy to be performing, Brendan. The opening act is more than enough. It almost feels like my father is watching from the stands. I feel at home, truly, for the first time in a long time."

  She wrapped a dressing robe around her, before heading back to Monique's tent to get changed from her costume. She couldn't wait to tell her how it had gone. But before she did, there was something she needed to say to Brendan.

  "I don't know if I'd have had the courage to tell Mr. Lang what I could do if you hadn't pushed me. Thank you. I probably do owe you that kiss."

  She owed him her gratitude. In her heart, she knew she'd like to offer him something more. But her voice was still shaky and hesitant. She still felt afraid to express something she couldn't risk losing again. He returned her smile with his own mischievous grin.

  "Don't be silly, love. You did the work. You had the talent. You knew deep down you could do it. I just gave you a gentle shove towards the stage."

  He pantomimed giving her an enormous push and a kick. She laughed and nodded, then slipped past the curtain towards the dressing area. She paused for a moment, just outside and listening. The knife thrower's voice broke the silence.

  "But I'm still collecting that kiss. Sooner or later."

  At that, she bounded off into the night towards the safety of Monique's tent.

  ~*~

  He pulled out one of his perfectly balanced blades, spinning it absently through his fingers. It was a habit, something he did to channel and focus his raucous emotions and energy.

  He imagined zaps of electricity sparking as it flowed from his fingertips into the knife. After a moment, his body relaxed. His mind returned to its usual calm and focused state.

  The knife thrower walked over to a case which he always kept locked. The case held what little remained of his past.

  He opened it to return the knife, admiring the harp carved into the hilt as he always did. His hand brushed against a faded yellow piece of paper, folded neatly against prying eyes. He regarded it coolly, wondering for the hundredth time why he continued to carry it with him.

  It would be smarter to burn it. He didn't know why he hadn't done so already, why he couldn't seem to jettison his past and become fully the man he was today.

  The boy he'd been refused to be silenced. That boy pointed an accusing finger at him in the mirror, condemned him for past sins.

  He laughed roughly at that thought. With his sharp features and neatly trimmed beard, he looked more like his father now than the scraggly lad who'd escaped to the Republics barely ahead of the law. Thinking of his father made him think of Neve. He admired her deep devotion to her own father's memory.

  He wondered what she'd have become if she'd been responsible for her father's death, like he was responsible for his own father's sad end. Instead, she was merely an innocent left behind.

  Brendan Donnelly, as he'd styled himself after leaving his homeland, was many things. Innocent was not among them.

  Future Plans and Secrets Past

  After a sold-out run in Kansas City, Lang & Perrault's prepared for their first show in St. Louis in years.

  Neve had spoken to Andrew Lang. The old gentleman was bubbling over with relief and excitement. They'd had a long talk, with the promise of further
discussions about her career and the future of Lang & Perrault's. He'd apologized for his previous avoidance, telling her he was afraid he'd been a failure in raising her.

  There was something else he wanted to tell her, but he said it could wait until after a few more sold out shows. While she wondered what the big news could be, she was just happy to see her guardian looking cheerful again. He'd filled her ears with plans for finishing out this season in style.

  "All thanks to you, my dear. You're a wonder, just like your father." Tears had clouded his brown eyes, but he'd pulled himself together. Then he'd launched into a list of possible upcoming venues.

  If things continued to improve, a show in Chicago was a virtual certainty. He implied there might even be the possibility of an invitation from the Grand Chief of the Free Nation of Indiana, which would be an enormous honor.

  They were notoriously selective about whom they allowed past their borders. Since those borders were dotted with limestone fortresses and patrolled by shamans and expert archers, Lang & Perrault's would be content to wait for an invitation like everyone else.

  Still, just returning to St. Louis again was so much more than she could have hoped to accomplish so soon. Word was spreading quickly about their new and improved show.

  Rumor had it airships were flying in travelers from other republics, patrons who were anxious to see the show based on the reviews from Kansas City.

  The receipts had grown steadily ever since "The Amazing Bianca" had taken over as the opening act. Even in small towns, people returned each night to see the show all over again. But it wasn't just Neve who was shining in the spotlight.

  Other performers began pulling out additional routines, old ones they'd retired and new ones they'd been hesitant to try out. Everyone wanted to entice the crowd to stay in their seats after Neve left the center ring.

  Even on the midway, the barkers smiled more. A few of the shabbier tents had been replaced and backdrops were being repainted. Roderigo had perked up and stopped committing acts of sabotage out of sheer boredom.