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

by Katina French

  "My friends in the theater troupe managed to sneak me out of jail, and then out of the country. But I left a wanted man, unable to return under my own name.

  "That's my great shame, Neve. That is the secret I have kept. I killed two men. My ego and ambition killed my father as surely as that renegade alchemist's formulaes.

  "So I determined that if my father died for my ambition, I would become a great performer. I would travel the world. If he'd been willing to die to see me find my dreams, it would be a dishonor to his memory not to pursue them with my whole heart. He died to give me the life I wanted. So I was determined to live it to the fullest.

  "And then I met you. You were so different from any woman I'd ever met. You were so humble, not because you didn't deserve applause. Because you didn't need it. It was as if you wore an invisible crown. You were a princess in exile, and no amount of dirt or hard work could tarnish your dignity. In fact, it just seemed to make you shine more, especially next to a brittle piece of glass like Bella.

  "That's my secret, love. Now you know it all. You could probably turn me in for a reward easily in a city this size. They probably have an aether wire in the police station. They could wire Dublin and confirm I'm a wanted man. Or you could release me from this enchantment, and we could go home."

  ~*~

  Neve blinked back tears.

  "Home? How can I go home, Brendan? Let's just say I believe you. I was still right! Performing my act in the circus was dangerous! It was a risk! If what you say is true, and you had nothing to do with the attack, then I'm to believe what? That Bella hired someone to shuttle me off on the nearest barge to wherever? Or that my would-be murderer got scared off by a group of children? I don't have any way of knowing which story is the truth. And I can't prove anything!

  "What happens next time? How can I ever feel safe? How can the circus go back to being home?"

  She paced anxiously across the alley, a crowd of street urchins huddling nearby watching her. He stifled a bemused laugh. "You couldn't go one single day without finding someone to take care of, could you?"

  "I think they were taking care of me, at least for part of it. At least none of this bunch have tried to kill me. Yet." With that, she flung flinty, significant glances at Jim and Toby.

  They both turned a little red in the face and exchanged a sheepish look.

  "So what do you want to do, love? Say the word and we'll leave together. We can forget we ever knew Lang & Perrault's Circus existed." Brendan wagged his head towards the front of the alley, which was probably the best he could do in terms of grand sweeping gestures at the moment.

  Neve bit her lip.

  "I can't do that, either. Andrew Lang took me in. He raised me as his own when I had no one. He gave me the chance to restore my father's reputation. And the circus isn't just my father's legacy in spirit. He bought a third of it. I own a third of it. I can't just walk away and let Bella have it. Lang can't stand up to her, not without me. He never could.

  "Of course I suspect Bella. Everyone suspects Bella. But all we have is suspicions. I need to know if she tried to have me killed."

  She paused a moment, considering another question she'd never allowed herself to ask. "I've never truly believed my father's death was an accident. He was too good to make a that kind of mistake. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always suspected someone may have tampered with his trick.

  "If Bella's willing to kill me now, she might have had something to do with his death back then. I can't let her get away with it. Not any more than you could let that monster get away with killing your father."

  "Then what do we do? Lay a trap for her? Figure out a way to get her to confess her guilt, or reveal her innocence? How do we possibly manage that?" He would have almost certainly shrugged if his shoulders could move.

  Neve thought for a moment. She looked at the children still watching her with cautious hope.

  She'd made them a promise to teach them misdirection. The art of fooling even clever folk. This was just another trick. Another elaborate illusion. Only with this one, her life would depend upon pulling it off without a hitch.

  "Let's go back to my hotel. Just give me a little time. I'll think of something."

  She didn't realize how much she'd missed Brendan's wicked grin till it flashed across his face.

  She nodded to a little girl with brown curls, who stood upon a crate and dumped a bucket of water over Brendan. He nearly tumbled to the ground as the formulae dissolved.

  He shook all over like a dog, spraying water everywhere. He sheathed the knife he'd been holding all this time, back in his vest. She handed him the blade her abductor had dropped, engraved with a harp on the hilt.

  "Where did you get this?" His voice shook.

  "The children. They said the man who took me dropped it."

  "Well, if we had any doubts who was responsible, we can lay them to rest. I keep all my knives locked in a chest, along with a wanted poster. Guess who presented the poster to Lang before I left? She must have taken both, and planned to frame me if. . . ."

  "If my body were ever found? We're still just speculating, Brendan. It looks bad, yes, but it's not proof. The man who grabbed me is probably long gone. Without a dead body, it's hard to prove a murder plot. Not without a confession anyway."

  "How would we ever get her to confess?"

  "I think I have an idea," she said. "But we'll need some help. I can't do it alone."

  "You'll have whatever help I can give. And anything Lang or the Mirror can do as well, most likely."

  "You got our help, Miss Neve."

  "Thank you, Jim. But what I have planned will be dangerous. I don't want you and the others involved."

  "We saved you once! We could do it again." The stubborn set of Georgie's chin made Neve's heart swell. It had only been two days, but she'd grown to love these children already.

  "I know you could, but I can't ask it of you again."

  "You promised to teach us magic. You're not plannin' on ditchin' us, are you?"

  "No, Franklin. I'm keeping my promise. I swear."

  A plan was formulating in her mind. They'd need to sneak back into the circus and contact Lang and the Mirror without anyone seeing her. They'd also need to recruit some help from the local constabulary. Brendan's legal troubles might make it tricky, but a formulae to change his appearance for a few days shouldn't be too difficult to mix up. Especially if the Mirror was as good an alchemist as she hoped.

  In fact, everything hung on the Mirror's skill.

  "Let's go back to the hotel. This is going to require some planning and preparation. If things go wrong. . . ."

  If things went wrong, the children would be in the same fix she'd been in most of her life. She decided a stop at Mr. Parillo's office was in order. She grabbed Brendan's hand.

  "No matter what happens, I'm taking care of these children."

  Brendan nodded, as if that were a foregone conclusion.

  "What do you need?"

  Mourning in Mirrors

  The circus was wrapped in black.

  Inky swathes of black crepe and gauze drooped and slashed across every tent and wagon. The games were shuttered and draped in it.

  The general public was not allowed on the fairgrounds today. The troupe and crew gathered and dispersed in the eerie quiet of a stilled midway, speaking in hushed and saddened whispers. Stories of kindnesses given and sweetness observed were passed like trays of drinks, to be shared and consumed in the vain hope of easing the pain of a bitter loss.

  Everywhere Bella Venezia moved, she left angry murmurs in her wake. Accusing glares struck her from red-rimmed eyes at every turn.

  Lang & Perrault's was in mourning today. By tomorrow, they'd be a lynch mob.

  Even Max had deserted her, claiming sickness. He'd confined himself to his tent, and refused to leave it.

  He'd become unsettled and jumpy, ever since the convict had returned in the wee hours, plopping a bloody, ragged heart to the floor
of the tent where they'd arranged to meet. She'd paid the man, then picked the heart up, put it in a tin box and buried it.

  The morning after they'd been summoned to Lang's omnibus, she could have sworn she saw Max leaving the Mirror of Destiny's tent, his shoulders slumped. He looked as if he'd seen his own tombstone. She had been unable to get him to leave his quarters since.

  Bella had no such luxury. To refuse to participate in the company's collective mourning would have been tantamount to signing a confession of murder.

  She had to show her face, albeit behind a fashionable black veil draped from a massive silk hat. She had to pretend grief for her fallen rival. She had to ignore the barbed looks and the hissing words just barely out of earshot.

  For a woman who lived for the worship of the crowd, she found herself unprepared to face its bald-faced hatred.

  It had been different with Giovanni. Everyone had been shocked and saddened. Everyone had drawn close and tittered their sad tales. But no one had suspected her of any part in his death.

  If some doubted it was an accident, it was nothing more than a vague doubt built mostly on surprise that a man as gifted as Bianchi could've made such a costly mistake.

  This time the sadness was tinged with resignation and bitterness, more than shock. It was clear that to a man or woman, every living soul in the circus believed Bella was responsible for Neve's death.

  Years of comfort and privilege had blinded her to the rough, wild nature of the people she lived among. Circus people were not the tame, domesticated townsfolk she'd grown up around. They were not the placid onlookers who sat in the crowds of her shows.

  She was beginning to see past the greasepaint and stage flats, and what she saw frightened her.

  She could have sworn that freak Nicky Wheeler had purposely almost run her over this morning.

  Her nerves were jarred from discovering what was left of her best peacock headdress.

  Someone had stolen it from the costume tent, done something unspeakable to it, ripped it to pieces, and somehow managed to get the feathery, filthy, reeking debris through the window of her caravan.

  She shook herself from her dark mood. It didn't matter what these misfits believed. They couldn't prove any of it.

  She had won. They might be feral and angry, but she was smart and calculating.

  There was nothing any of them dare do about it. With the little wretch out of the way, she would lead the company back to a triumphant return to Chicago. She would put on the show of her life. Then all of this would be forgotten. She would leave this two-bit traveling show for good.

  That was the new plan. She would garner rave reviews in Chicago. Compared to the remaining acts, she'd shine like a diamond. Then she'd find a grand theater in the city and join as their new featured act. Or perhaps she'd go on the new Orpheum Circuit.

  Anywhere but here. Any troupe but this one.

  She just had to get through this week. Then she could brush the dust of this place from her feet and never look back.

  But first, she had a funeral to attend.

  They had set the girl out for viewing in the Hall of Mirrors, near the center of the grounds.

  Instead of having a formal service, they were doing a private, individual viewing. Each mourner would walk through the hall, pay his or her respects, and then leave, indicating it was time for the next person.

  Bella steeled her spine and walked with her head held high to the entrance of the Hall. The milling mourners parted before her, casting scathing looks as she passed. The old French costumiere spit into the dirt in her direction, barely missing the toes of her expensive shoes.

  She tilted her chin up as Bosworth emerged from the exit, blubbering and swabbing his eyes with a great red handkerchief. Gloria was waiting for him. She tucked his arm through hers, patted him on the shoulder, and led him back towards the animal pens.

  That insipid assistant Stella was standing near the entrance, regaling Jonathan in her loud, nasal soprano with some wildly embellished tale of how Neve had saved her from being trapped in a coffin.

  So much fuss over such a bland, boring girl.

  The hypocrites were acting as though they hadn't all ignored her existence up until the past few weeks. Almost no one was talking about her magical act. It was all stories of stupid, trivial things from before, when she was just the sad little orphan who helped out backstage.

  It was past time to get this whole thing over with and return to the comfort of her caravan.

  The dark door of the Hall swallowed her up, as she bustled towards a reckoning within.

  The silence was palpable, the same unnatural quiet she remembered from the Mirror of Destiny's tent. The woman must have treated the tent with whatever alchemical formulae she used to maintain the privacy of her customers' fortunes. It was as if the fabric itself absorbed the sound.

  She wished it could block out the sweltering summer heat as well. Bella felt swaddled and suffocated in the tent. The very air felt like a funeral shroud. She tugged the veil roughly over her head, hoping she could breathe easier without it covering her face.

  A few steps deeper and the path through the tent turned sharply. Bella was suddenly surrounded by her own reflection. She smiled. Black suited her. Her rich red hair practically glowed from under the veil. Her pale skin looked luminous against the black taffeta and lace. Her ruddy brown eyes glittered like carnelian. She pressed her carmined lips together, then separated them into a wide smile. She was all alone in here. There was no point in pretending grief.

  It was time to exorcise her ghosts at last.

  She walked at a leisurely pace to the central room of the Hall, surrounded by a Greek chorus of short, tall, fat, thin, and otherwise distorted Bellas.

  She was more than ready to say goodbye to the brat. It was time, finally, to be at peace and free from the past. She realized only now how much she had hated seeing the girl every day. It was as if Giovanni's ghost leaned over the child's shoulders, pointing an accusing finger at her. But that was over. Now she could be free.

  They'd laid her out in that ghastly cream-colored costume, the Winter Princess outfit from her performance.

  She had to admit it showed off the girl's caramel skin to advantage. A corset did a fine job of hiding what must have been a grisly hole in her perfectly still chest.

  She had not seen Doc Wellers today. The old drunk must have locked himself in his quarters and started pickling himself immediately after preparing the body.

  She smiled, thinking about the heart resting in a tin box under the practice tent.

  They had twisted the girl's hair into elaborate braids and coils, with the snowflake ivory comb tucked in close to her scalp. Not a breath stirred the air above her face. She touched the girl's cheek and found it cold.

  Bella laughed, an almost delirious cackle. For a moment, she'd been afraid it was an elaborate ruse. That her enemies were trying to trick her into a tearful confession only to discover the girl was still alive.

  But it was no trick, and there would be no tears, because she was glad the girl was dead. Secure within the soundless chambers of the Hall, she could finally say what she'd been holding in for ten years.

  It tumbled out in a flood of bitter words.

  "You should have left this place the instant you turned eighteen. God knows I tried to get you to run away. What kind of imbecile sticks around some place after her family literally dies around her there? You're as stupid and naive as your father. He didn't listen to me either. I tried to tell him he should leave. Oh, I couched it in terms to soothe his fragile ego. 'Move on to greater things' as opposed to 'move out of my way, old man.'

  "He could have been safe and happy with you in some playhouse somewhere. But he wouldn't listen. I was patient, until I heard him talking to Charles and Andrew about buying part ownership. He wasn't ever going to leave. I wasn't ever going to get my chance. Not unless I took matters into my own hands."

  "And I did, sweetheart. A few alterations to hi
s formulae, a few hidden cuts in a prop, and the Magnificent Bianchi wasn't so magnificent, was he? You should have left then. Gone to a home, like any decent self-respecting orphan. But you had to stay, plotting your revenge.

  "You think I didn't see you accuse me with your eyes? You thought you could take this all away from me, didn't you? Everyone thought you were so sweet, working in the crews. But I knew better. I knew you were just biding your time. Waiting for your opportunity to take my place.

  "But it's not your place, it's mine! I fought for it, I worked for it, I killed for it! You tried to get your revenge, and failed. You challenged me and lost. Do you want to know what your pathetic life was worth? A handful of coins dropped in a convict's hand. So enjoy being reunited with your family, Neve. I'm keeping what belongs to me."

  Bella took a deep breath. It was finally over. She need never think or speak of any of this unpleasantness again. Relief washed over her. With that, she pulled the veil over her face and turned to leave the Hall.

  The journey out was a little longer than the trip inside had been. She got turned around, confused by the reflections of herself glinting off the different mirrors. She had been startled by one of them.

  Some distortions could make even her beautiful face look hideous.

  When she emerged from the tent, she blinked in the glare of day. She nearly stumbled over the constable standing in front of her path.

  "I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't see you there." She batted her lashes at him through the veil. He frowned down at her, gripping her arm.

  "I daresay ya didn't, Ma'am. I'm taking you into custody."

  Shock rippled through her body. She wrenched her hand backward, but the burly man had a grip of iron. "Custody? For what? I demand to know what's the meaning of this?"

  "You're being arrested for murder," Lang appeared as if from nowhere behind the constable.