Skyborn

by Sinéad O'Hart

  “Look at that, Wares,” she gasped as a fire breather looked skywards and blew, the flame exploding from his lips as though he were a dragon. Alice felt herself grinning, and everywhere she looked all she saw were shining eyes and smiles. Nobody’s looking at me, she realized. Nobody cares about my face – not here. The next act to pass was equally entrancing – four shining horses, their coats like polished pearl andmanes that seemed made of rainbows, and two dark-haired, beautiful women doing acrobatic tricks on their backs.

  After the horse ladies came six richly dressed animal handlers, sinewy, quick-eyed men, whistling and calling to one another as they walked. Each of them was holding a long pole and Alice grimaced to see their sharp-spiked tops. Between the men, utterly uninterested in the crowd, plodded the largest creature Alice had ever seen. She’d never been so close to an elephant before and the sight stole her breath. Its tusks were hung with garlands and on its head it wore a crown. Behind its blinker, the animal’s eye was wet and sad – and then it was gone.

  A sound caught her ear and Alice stepped back as a tumbler came spilling up the path, inches from where she stood – a tall, muscular man in a sparkling red costume, he was bald as an egg and wore dramatic make-up, made more so by the darkness of his skin. He was so close that she could hear his controlled breathing and smell his greasepaint. Then he too was gone, his legs flying over his head one moment and his entire body bouncing along on one hand the next.

  Alice felt her heart skitter in her chest at the beauty of it. There, a pale woman covered in bright tattoos, her dress cut scandalously low at the back; here, a huge man on the back of a slow-moving float with his beard in two red braids, each as thick as one of Alice’s legs, holding an anvil in each hand. As his float passed by, he lifted the anvils into the air to resounding applause. Then there was a display of acrobatics by a troupe of children, each of them dressed in green. They ran, jumping and spinning in midair, landing on one another’s shoulders for long enough to draw applause before tumbling to earth once more.

  One passing wagon looked ordinary enough until, at a shout from a man nearby, its sides dropped to reveal a pair of prowling tigers held in a cage, its bars a little too far apart for comfort. Alice, along with everyone else nearby, gasped in fright; Wares bared his teeth and yapped fearlessly at the bigger of the tigers, who gave him a laconic growl.

  Next came a group of clowns, their face paint as garish as their clothes, followed by jugglers and knife throwers and a woman, her hair in faded yellow curls, who sat inside a large silver ring suspended from a tall metal arch, looking down upon them all with an inscrutable expression.

  Alice had grabbed one of the flyers as they’d fallen from the hands of the stilt walkers and now she took the chance to look at it properly. It showed a rearing horse wearing a plume, a woman in a sparkling costume which looked, Alice thought, rather uncomfortable, and a growling lion with one great paw raised – all of them standing inside a gaily painted ring.

  She glanced back up at the passing parade. It was almost over now. A line of trotting miniature ponies brought up the rear, each with glittering harnesses and plumes on their heads. After them, all Alice could see was the dust of the path and the running children playing in the circus’s wake, fired up with imagination after what they’d seen. Around her, the crowd began to grow restless, drifting away in clumps, and she realized two things: her opportunities to stay out of sight were vanishing, and so were her chances to put the rest of her half-thought-out plan into action. Her tummy rumbled unexpectedly and she sighed. And I need to find something to eat too.

  Alice slipped her hand into her inside pocket, feeling for the trinkets and the ring she’d stolen from Mrs Palmer. Come on, she told herself. You’ve got enough to make it to London. But something was sticking her feet to the ground. The circus music lingered in her head, and Oxford with its domes and spires and silent squares seemed a million miles away. He’ll never think to look for me here, she told herself, her grandfather’s face floating in her mind’s eye. I could be safe, for a while.

  Alice glanced at the parked wagons and the men busily moving between them, and her gaze landed on a wagon with a half-door – the bottom part of which was swinging slightly open.

  And then, before she could allow her second thoughts to drown out her first, she made her move.

  Bastjan had just shovelled a forkload of fried egg into his mouth when the ringmaster appeared in his peripheral vision. In his hurry to chew and swallow he began to cough, finally spluttering down his mouthful of breakfast with a swig of hot tea. Quinn pulled up a stool next to him and watched, with barely controlled patience, as he tried to get his breath back.

  “Good work out there this morning,” the ringmaster said, at last. “You and the rest of the kids.” Quinn paused, scratching at his beard. “But the patron’s here, ahead of schedule. He wants to take a walk around the camp, have a look at the big top, and he wants to watch you rehearse.”

  Bastjan stared into Quinn’s eyes. There was something in them which was even more frightening than his anger – hope. Trust, even. Quinn gave a cautious, tight smile and clenched his fist nervously.

  “Me? What’s ’e want to watch me for?”

  Quinn waved a hand. “He was a fan of your mum’s, apparently. I told him you were part of the troupe now and he was fascinated to hear it. So you an’ Nanette have got to put on something a bit special today during practice. Right?”

  “Right,” Bastjan mumbled.

  “Good lad. Good lad,” Quinn said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  The ringmaster got to his feet and looked around the crowded mess tent, raising his voice as he kept speaking. Every face turned to him. “Our benefactor has arrived early. I know this throws us out a bit, but I need you all at your best. Is that understood? He’ll be present for rehearsal; he may even stay for tonight’s performance, if his business doesn’t take him back to London. Either way, we’ve got to perform like the queen herself was sittin’ down among us. There’ll be no matinee performance today, which leaves some of you free to rest, and others to train.” He looked down at Bastjan. “After breakfast, we’ll see you in the ring.”

  As soon as Quinn was gone, Bastjan turned back to his food. The eggs now seemed to swim in a bath of grease and his toast had gone cold. His stomach turned at the sight of it.

  “Let’s get you ready, then,” said Crake, his words muffled as he crunched down his last morsel of bacon. Bastjan glanced at his friend.

  “I’m not my mum,” he whispered, looking at Crake with worried eyes.

  “Nobody will ever be,” Crake said, getting to his feet. “And all you can do is your best, lad. Come on, now. Chin up.”

  They walked side by side back to the wagon, and Bastjan was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the bottom of their half-door was slightly open until he put his foot on to the steps. His heart froze.

  “Crake,” he gasped. He turned to the strongman, who’d gone pale.

  “I mustn’t have latched it after me earlier, before the parade,” Crake said. “It’ll be all right, son.”

  But Bastjan was gone, up the steps in a flash and through the door. He raced to his bunk and thunked down on both knees, shoving his hands beneath the mattress – and finally, his head fell forwards on to his blankets.

  “Is it … is everythin’ all right?” Crake sounded like he was a hundred miles away, through the rushing in Bastjan’s ears.

  “It’s there,” he said. “Mum’s box is there, an’ her book. No one’s took ’em.”

  The wagon dipped beneath Crake’s weight as he climbed in. “Why would they, son?” he said, as gently as he could. He sat on the bed beside the quaking boy, patting his head awkwardly.

  Bastjan looked up, the weight of everything on his mind finally growing too heavy to bear. “I need to tell you somethin’, Crake,” he began. “About Mum’s things. It’s not just a box of old tat. It’s—”

  But Bastjan was interrupted by an unexpecte
d sound – a sneeze, which someone had desperately been trying to hold in. It was followed by a scrabbling noise, like claws on wood, somewhere inside the wagon.

  Bastjan’s eyes widened and his shock was mirrored on Crake’s face. The strongman pushed himself up off the bunk, standing between Bastjan and the wagon’s open door like a wall. “Show yerself!” he shouted, his hands curling into two great fists.

  There was a muffled thump from Crake’s cupboard. Bastjan pulled open the door and there, folded up behind the kettle, the contraband half-empty bottle of whiskey and Crake’s squeezebox was a person with two bright eyes, a shock of raggedy dark hair and a deep red birthmark on one cheek. Tucked, somehow, against her body was a small, friendly-looking dog, his tongue lolloping out and one ear poking up inquisitively.

  “It’s you!” Bastjan said, his mouth falling open.

  The girl blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘it’s you’? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “I saw you earlier. You chose some humdinger of a hidin’ place, didn’t ya? If one of those rolls of tarp had moved, you’d’ve bin squashed flat.” He made a rude-sounding noise to indicate what being squashed flat might have sounded like.

  “Yes. Well. I’ll count my blessings,” she replied, raising her eyebrows.

  “Come on out of there, child,” Crake said. “Let’s see what we’re goin’ to do with you.”

  “Nobody,” said the girl, sounding strained, “is going to do anything with me, thank you very much.” Bastjan moved aside as a leg, wearing a scuffed boot, popped out of the cupboard, quickly followed by another. Next, the girl shuffled forwards on her bottom, plopping out on to the floor in a most undignified manner. She pulled her head free, her dog still clutched tight to her chest, and looked from Bastjan to Crake and then back again, her green eyes wary. Crake sat on Bastjan’s bunk, making it creak beneath his weight, and gazed thoughtfully at their uninvited guest.

  “I din’t think folk actually did it, y’know,” Bastjan said, after a minute.

  “Did what?” the girl replied, frowning.

  “Ran away to the circus.” Bastjan gave her a grin.

  “I’m not running away,” the girl said, putting her dog on the floor. He began, cheerfully, to sniff his way around, and Crake watched him with a careful eye. “Not really. I’m running to something. I just don’t know what, yet.”

  Bastjan shrugged. “Sounds about right. Here, you ain’t some sort of princess, are ya? Only, you talk like one.” He pursed his lips, pulling his face into a snooty scowl. Crake tapped him smartly on the back of the head, just enough to get his face to pop back into its usual shape.

  “Oi!” Bastjan said, staring up at his friend. “What was that for?”

  “Remindin’ you to keep yer nose where it belongs,” Crake replied. “Now. What can we call you, lass?”

  “Alice,” the girl replied, before wincing, as though she’d thought better of giving her real name. Bastjan raised his eyebrows at her, amused, and Alice stuck her tongue out at him.

  “You got a family name, Alice?”

  The girl glanced up at Crake. “Just Alice will do.”

  “Just Alice,” Crake said, with a nod. “An’ who’s this fine young fella here?” He reached out to rub the dog on the top of his shining head.

  “His name’s Wares. And all we need is a place to stay for a day or two.” She tightened her lips. “Well, a week. No more than that, I promise.”

  “We’d best pass you by the ringmaster,” Crake said. “Mr Quinn, to you. He’ll probably want to—”

  “No,” Alice said, her face paling. “No, please. I have to stay hidden.”

  Crake and Bastjan shared a look. “Are you in trouble, lass?” the strongman asked kindly.

  Alice sucked on her lips, her gaze flicking between Bastjan and Crake. “I just don’t want to be found,” she finally said.

  Crake exhaled heavily. “Right,” he said. “It’s not something I like – and I want to make clear you won’t be a captive here, you can come and go as you please—”

  “Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Alice said eagerly. “Thank you.”

  “I amn’t agreeing to a thing yet,” Crake said, raising his shaggy eyebrows. “If we’re to split our rations three ways, we want to know what we’re gettin’ into.”

  “Splittin’ rations?” Bastjan said, staring at Crake incredulously.

  The girl shoved her hand into an inner coat pocket. “I have … I’ve got some money. Some things you can sell?” She pulled her hand out and sitting in her palm was a tarnished gold ring, some coins and a lump of lint. Bastjan reached out to touch the ring and Crake cleared his throat meaningfully.

  “What?” Bastjan said, but Crake made no reply. Bastjan dropped his hand again, muttering to himself.

  “We don’t need payin’, child,” he said. “Just some questions answered. Firstly, will keepin’ you with us put us in any danger?”

  Alice blinked. “No,” she finally answered, though she didn’t sound sure.

  “Will it put you in any danger?”

  The girl shook her head, but this time her “No” sounded even less certain.

  “Do you promise to do what you’re told?”

  Alice bristled. “Well, I don’t know if I can promise that,” she said stiffly.

  Crake harrumphed quietly. “I’m assuming you’re not here to rob us, or you’d have done it and made off by now,” he said.

  “There’s nothing worth taking, anyway,” Alice answered, without thinking. “I mean … there doesn’t look like there’s anything worth taking.”

  Bastjan hissed. “I knew it,” he said. “Mum’s things – she’s been through ’em! Her book was in the box when I left it earlier, an’ it ain’t now – it’s just shoved in beside it.”

  “All right, yes, I found the key,” Alice said, holding up her hands. “I had a look in the box. But I didn’t take a thing, you can check.”

  “You looked in my smalls drawer?” Bastjan asked, his voice a squeak. “Crake, she looked in my smalls drawer! I was hidin’ the key there,” he protested.

  “I was looking for something to eat,” Alice said hotly. “You’d have done the same.”

  “Ain’t no chance you’d catch me lookin’ through no girl’s—” Bastjan began.

  “All right! Enough, the pair of you,” Crake bellowed. “It don’t matter who saw whose smalls, let’s just get back to the important stuff here.”

  Alice coughed politely. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Bastjan. “I didn’t mean to pry. But I thought the box was pretty. And then when I found the book, it was so interesting that I had to look. Everything’s still there, though. I promise.”

  Bastjan sniffed. “I’m interested in it, an’ all. Shame we can’t read most of it,” he said.

  The girl blinked in confusion. “Why not?”

  Bastjan looked at her. “In another language, in’t it?”

  “Not all of it,” Alice replied. “Didn’t you check the last few entries?”

  Crake’s mouth dropped open. “What are you sayin’, lass?”

  Alice looked up at them, confused. “I’m saying, there are pages and pages in that book, all written in English.”

  Bastjan stared at his mother’s notebook, which lay open in his lap. On one side of him, Alice peered at the slanted, elaborate handwriting and on the other, Crake did the same.

  “I can’t make anythin’ of it, son,” Crake said, blinking and frowning. “It might be in English but the way it’s written has my eyes in a knot.”

  “I can read it,” Alice said. “Or some of it, at least. She talks a lot about her baby. That’s you, isn’t it?” She looked at Bastjan. “You’re her son.”

  Bastjan nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What happened to her?” Alice asked gently.

  “An accident,” Bastjan said, running his hand over the page. “She fell.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alice said quie
tly. “My mum’s gone too. And my dad.”

  Outside, a whistle blew, and Crake and Bastjan both leaped at the sound of it, looking towards the door.

  “That’s the five-minute warnin’. We’ve got to get to the ring,” Crake said, slipping off his glasses and sliding them on to a shelf. He turned to face Alice. “I know you want to stay out of the way, but I don’t really want to leave you here on your own, girleen.”

  “You could come with us,” Bastjan said, closing the notebook. “We’ll get you in backstage, no problem. There’re tons of spots around the ring where you can watch us practisin’, all of ’em well hid.”

  “I don’t know,” said Alice. Her long hair hung down over her birthmarked cheek and she tucked it back behind her ears. Her jaw was set, defiant and proud, as she stared at Bastjan and Crake as though expecting them to challenge her to a fight. “It’s not like I blend in.”

  “I noticed your firemark,” Crake said, his tone respectful. He looked Alice in the eye. “It’s a good thing, in the circus.”

  Alice let her hair fall back over her face, her fingers trembling. “Really? Well. That’s unexpected.” Wares gave her other cheek a lick and the girl smiled, briefly and sadly, down at the dog. “Why is it good?” Alice finally said, her voice tight. “My – whatever you called it. The mark. Why is it good?”

  Crake thought for a moment before answering. “It’s a mark of power, given to the best among us – or so they say.” He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Certainly nothin’ to be ashamed of, not round here anyways.”

  “I wish everyone thought so,” Alice muttered.

  “Listen,” Crake said, getting to his feet. “If ever you’re goin’ to blend in anywhere, it’ll be in a circus. There’s odder’n you here, believe me. So come with us an’ we’ll put you somewhere where you’ll get the best view. It’ll be somethin’ to keep you out of mischief for an hour or so. What do you say?”