The Circus Infinitus Stories Volume 1

by Ethan Somerville

  I want to Join the Circus

  At 12, Willy Brown had just been apprenticed to Barnes and Sons, a small printing factory in East London. Unfortunately Willy Brown didn’t want to spend his days up to the elbows in printers’ inks, sorting through endless tiny letters, cleaning presses or sweeping paper shreds from the floor. Willy Brown wanted to join the circus. And it just so happened that the best circus of all had just set up in Hyde Park.

  Willy had heard rumours of the mysterious circus as it appeared in various places around the country; Blackpool, York, Birmingham, Glasgow. He had even heard stories of it appearing across the Channel. He had been waiting for months for it to show up in London, just so he could join. He was a tall, strong young lad with lots of curly hair who could turn somersaults and walk on a rope. He was sure there would be a job for him at such a large, busy place. Even if they put him to work sweeping elephant manure – he didn’t care! So long as he could just be a part of it. Even the thought of how disappointed his father would be didn’t deter him.

  When I’m an international circus star, then he’ll have to forgive me, Willy thought as he made his way onto the bustling circus grounds. Already the place had him captivated, with its numerous multicoloured tents, stalls, rides and brightly dressed characters wandering about. He marvelled at a man on stilts, as tall as a house, walking as though the long poles were his own legs. He gaped at the tattooed tiger woman, walking with a magnificent six-legged beast. He stopped dead to gape at a group of jugglers who were tossing swords to and fro for the benefit of a fascinated crowd. Then a tall man in a billowing cloak appeared as though by magic outside the big top, and announced that the evening show was about to start.

  Willy had his ticket. He dashed inside where a shabby man with scruffy hair and several missing teeth guided him to one of the cheapest seats up the back. Willy didn’t care about being so far away – it would make his job so much easier later on. The boy sat and squeezed his hands together between his knees with excitement and waited for the curtain to rise.

  The show stole his breath away. He had never seen such a magical display. But he kept his mission in mind, and just before the end he crept out of his seat and stole down towards the stage. He was quick and lithe, able to stick to the shadows. Too busy cheering and clapping the end of the last act, the audience didn’t notice the slender, sandy-haired child duck behind a curtain. When the seedy roustabouts came to usher everyone out, they missed Willy completely. Then workers spent several minutes cleaning up all the rubbish; dropped fairy-floss, toffee-apple sticks, sweet bags and empty bottles. They grumbled good-naturedly as they worked. Willy tried to remain still, but couldn’t stop from shuffling nervously from one foot to another. Then, finally, they were gone and silence fell. Electric lights cut out above, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Strange creaks and groans emanated from the metal. Willy began to fear. He knew the big top only looked like a tent from the outside – except for the big chimneys at the back. But what was it really? He felt like he was inside a giant machine, like the biggest steam engine in the world.

  Gulping, Willy gathered up the courage to poke his head out. A dim glow greeted him, but it was enough to see by. He saw all four of the rings now, with various carnies working on each, cleaning up for the next big day. Fortunately there were lots of dark shadows for him to keep to as he edged his way from the seats down to the first of the stages, where Professor Abbacus had hurled his thunderbolts. Now the machinery was still and silent, save for the occasional tick of cooling metal. Willy needed a good place to hide where no one would think of looking for him, somewhere he could stay until the place moved again. Then they wouldn’t be able to kick him out, would they?

  He noticed a set of steep steps at the back of the room, running up past the huge ring thing against the back wall. Perhaps there was a good hidey-hole up there. He stole across the lab and hurried up the metal stairs. Luckily he had worn his softest shoes. At the top a thin catwalk led off to rooms behind the enormous circle. He noticed clamps and cables coming from the contraption, snaking down to several strange devices positioned around it. What on Earth was it? No – there would be plenty of time to learn later.

  Willy slipped into the first room at the top – and gaped in wonder. He had stepped into a fantastic laboratory full of wonderful machines! He had never seen anything like it! Now he was sure he had made the right decision to run away. But before he could admire the strangeness, an echoing voice reached his ears. He could hear someone stomping up the metal stairs. Desperately Willy searched for somewhere to hide, and dived behind the thick legs of an eight-foot tall toy soldier. He cowered down as someone stomped into the room, swearing like a fishwife in a strange, tinny voice.

  “Damn Del, leaving me to clean up his bloody mess! He knows I hate dealing with this sort of thing!”

  “Do you need some assistance, Professor?” asked another voice.

  “You? You can get out right this instant! I have no need of your help!”

  “Well Professor, I am rather good at this sort of thing you know.”

  From his hiding place, Willy could see a figure in a leather coat and hat with its back to him, arguing with a taller gentleman in a long black coat and top hat. He was wearing half-moon spectacles. Willy recognised Processor Abbacus, the Lightning-Eater and the snake-oil salesman he had seen before the show, spruiking some sort of “Potion of Potence” to crowds of very eager men.

  The Professor sounded about to retort, but stopped himself with a hiss. “Very well Tumblety – you can stay. But don’t do anything rash.”

  “Me?” Tumblety asked innocently. “Never!”

  The Professor swore again, then more voices filtered into the room. Willy heard desperate pleading mixed with brutish laughter. Slowly lifting his head, peering around the tin soldier’s leg, he watched in amazement as a tall, dishevelled looking gentleman was brought into the room by three carnie-folk. The gentleman looked quite normal, save for his fearful eyes and rumpled clothes. But the three carnies could have come right out of the haunted house Willy had very much enjoyed earlier. Two were tall and well built, one swathed in a military-style great-coat and helmet, the other bare-chested and wearing bandoliers. Both were masked. The third – or was it third and fourth? – was a four legged creature with another body growing from its back like some sort of demonic centaur! The lower head wore a smiling comedy mask while the upper head wore a tragedy one. The upper creature held a knife to the quaking prisoner’s throat.

  “’E said you’d know what to do with this fellow, he he,” cackled the carnie with the bandoliers. “This is the thievin’ bastard who-“

  “I know who this is, Busboy you imbecile!” grated the Professor as he stepped up to the terrified captive. “This is Edward Gordon, son of Nicholas, who thought himself a much better businessman than his late father, and tried to swindle the Circus out of ten thousand pounds!”

  “No, no – that’s not it at all!” blubbered Edward. “Gordon Steamworks will deliver your boilers, I swear! But there will be a slight delay-“

  “Oh spare me!” snarled the Professor. “The Ringmaster has told me everything! You even tried to have your father’s former partner killed, too! I‘m not dealing with you. The Gordon Steamworks will be far better off in your sister Rose’s hands. She may be a woman, but at least she is an honest business person.”

  Edward Gordon tried to struggle to his feet. “You have no right to make that decision!”

  “Of course not, but Rose will have no other choice but to take over the company after your death!”

  Edward gaped. “No! You’ll never get away with this! When they find my body you’ll hang, all of you freaks will hang!”

  The Professor brought his face close to Edward’s and hissed; “Who said anything about anyone finding your body?”

  From his vantage point Willy clearly saw a cloud of steam puff out around the Professor’s head. The boy was frozen in terror. He wanted to flee, but knew as soon as h
e moved he would be seen.

  “Who are you? Who the Hell are you?!” croaked Edward in terror.

  “Would you like to see?” The Professor threw off his hat and it rolled across the floor towards Willy’s hiding place. Then he unwrapped the bandages from around his face. Willy stuffed a fist into his mouth. He remembered the Ringmaster telling everyone that Professor Abbacus was horribly scarred, but he never expected this!

  Half of his head was a metal helmet with big rivets stuck in it. One eye was a round glass lens that glowed a demonic red. A metal grill covered his mouth – or where his mouth should have been. A funnel protruded from the back of his head, issuing steam. What skin Willy could see was a wrinkled, inhuman grey. The boy felt sick and wondered if he would even get out of this alive.

  Edward screamed.

  “I’ve had enough of this. Kill him.”

  The four-legged carnie brandished his knife.

  “No – wait. Tumblety, you wanted to watch – you do it.” Abbacus shoved the snake-oil salesman forward. Willy expected the refined looking gentleman in his half-moon specs to back off in horror. Instead a dreadful excitement leapt into his eyes. Then from inside his cloak he produced a dagger.

  “With pleasure.” Tumblety said.

  “Edward – meet Jack the Ripper.” Abbacus gave a dreadful metallic laugh. Edward tried to scream as he struggled frantically against the thugs holding him. But they seemed inhumanly strong, holding him with ease. Tumblety lunged forward and buried his knife in Edward’s chest, right up to the hilt. Only then did the carnies release him. Still gaping at Abbacus and Tumblety in horror, Edward Gordon clutched his chest and fell to his knees, his blood pumping out between his clutching fingers in bright red bursts. Jack the Ripper watched him pitch forward with a serene smile on his face. Then he pulled his knife out and calmly wiped it on the dead man’s trousers.

  It was Abbacus who heard the sobbing with his one good ear. He turned to see Willy Brown collapsed on the floor beside the tin soldier, crying uncontrollably. “What the Hell is this?” Abbacus stomped over to the child and hauled him up with a hand that felt like a steel vice. “It seems we have an audience!” Tumblety turned in surprise. “What are you doing here, boy?”

  Willy couldn’t speak. It was all too much. He wanted to go home and tell his father that he was sorry, and he would never run away again, and that the Circus Infinitus was a dreadful, evil place, but all he could do was blubber. He didn’t dare look into the terrible half-metal, half-human face glaring down at him in case he completely lost his mind. Then Tumblety came over, holding his knife. Some blood still dripped down the blade.

  “Shall I kill him too?” Tumblety asked, still smiling his dreamy smile.

  “Are you insane? He is just an innocent child!” snarled Abbacus. He glared at the three carnies who were still standing around Edward’s body. “Make yourselves useful. Steam Saw and Busboy – rouse the clowns out of their opium-induced stupors and tell them they have a cleaning job to do up here. Comedy and Tragedy – fetch the Ringmaster. It seems he will have to deal with his mess after all.”

  “But – but – isn’t he sorta … indisposed right now?”

  “Do I look like I care? This is far more important than one of his silly little affairs.” Abbacus walked the hysterical Willy over to a stool and sat him down none too gently. The carnies scuttled off to do his bidding. “Oafs,” he growled.

  “What can the Ringmaster possibly do?” asked Tumblety. “The lad has seen too much! And he heard you blurt out that … other name of mine.”

  “You’d be surprised at what the Ringmaster can do.”

  Somehow Willy found his voice. “L-look, i-if you’re not going to k-kill me, j-just let me go – I w-won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

  “No, you’d never be able to keep your tongue still. Stay put until the Ringmaster comes.”

  Suddenly someone screeched with laughter, and Willy nearly fell off his stool. Oh what now? he wondered in anguish. What new tortures do these demons have for me? But the four tiny clowns who tumbled into the room weren’t interested in him. They surrounded Edward Gordon’s lifeless body, cackling with anticipation. They were still dressed in their clown clothes, fully made up. A sweet-smelling smoke surrounded them. Was that opium? Willy wondered. “Ohh, a fresh one!” one cackled.

  ”Still warm, too!” another clown declared.

  Willy realized that the clowns had fangs and claws. He watched in horror as they fell on the fallen body and ripped it to pieces. Cloth and flesh tore. Blood gushed. Bones cracked. The little female clown dropped to her hands and knees and gleefully lapped up the gore. And Abbacus watched as though this was perfectly normal behaviour. Tumblety looked surprised, but certainly not disgusted.

  “They have their uses,” Abbacus declared.

  Willy buried his face in his hands.

  “How could you have let him witness this?” hissed a new voice. “Don’t you two have any souls?”

  “Oh, don’t be so preachy,” growled Abbacus. “Just because your fun night was disturbed.”

  Willy peered up through his tears at the Ringmaster. He didn’t look he’d just been disturbed. He was perfectly dressed in his burgundy waistcoat, striped trousers, cloak and top hat. Not a strand of his shining dark hair was out of place. An aura of peace surrounded him, that seemed to make the horrors of the evening recede to a bearable place. But he did not look at all happy with Abbacus and Tumblety. His glare was so intense that Abbacus actually dropped his odd gaze. And suddenly he didn’t look quite so scary. Tumblety muttered something that could actually have been an apology, and quickly shoved his knife back inside his jacket.

  “I suggest you go and clean that. It’ll leave a stain.”

  Tumblety rushed out of the room, glad to get out of furious Ringmaster’s presence.

  “Del-" Abbacus began. The Ringmaster cut him off with a sweep of his gloved hand. “I realise that you were unaware of the boy’s presence, but that was no reason to keep frightening him. You’ve scarred him for life. He wants to run home and hide under his bed for a month!”

  “So? You can fix him!”

  “Fix him? He is a child, not one of your machines! Come on Willy.” He extended a hand to the boy, who was now more fascinated than frightened, and wondering how the Ringmaster knew his name. He allowed himself to be led from the laboratory, his knees still wobbly.

  Abbacus watched them go, then he turned away and swore.

  The Ringmaster took Willy back down the steep metal stairs to the platforms below, leading him over to the curtain he had first hidden behind. He felt a lot better now, almost as though the Ringmaster was extending a calming influence over him. “You may have noticed that there are no children working in the Circus Infinitus,” he began.

  “Uhhh… I haven’t seen any,” Willy managed.

  The Ringmaster looked down at him. He had the most piercing blue eyes Willy had ever seen. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. He was captivated. “The horrors you witnessed tonight is the reason why. Children could not live here and remain innocent. Behind its curtains the Circus is a dark and dangerous place. Therefore you will forget all you have seen.”

  “But I don’t think I can, sir!” Willy gasped.

  The Ringmaster removed his leather gloves, burgundy like his waistcoat, and cupped Willy’s face in his hands. His fingers were cold and bony, but felt strong as iron. He had long fingernails like claws. The boy couldn’t move. “You will. As soon as you leave here, you will have new memories.”

  Willy gasped as an icy sensation overcame his brain. He felt like had been dipped in ice water. But still he couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his faze from the Ringmaster’s. He had no idea how long the man held him for, or even if he took a breath the entire time.

  Then the Ringmaster released him. “Now go home, Willy. Apologise to your father for running away and accept your punishment.” He spun and stalked off, leaving the boy alone.

  Willy turned and ran f
rom the big top. He remembered seeing carnies behaving badly, getting drunk and falling unconscious, smoking opium and chasing women. He remembered men fighting and knocking each others’ teeth out. He recalled filthy animal stalls and boys younger than he sleeping in manure-filled straw beside the beasts they looked after. He had even seen one of the lads beaten by a cruel master.

  He recalled nothing about a mysterious laboratory, a half-man half-machine creature, Jack the Ripper committing yet another bloody murder or four cannibal clowns disposing of the corpse.

  Willy didn’t want to suffer like those other lads. Better to stay home, where at least he had a warm, dry bed and a loving family. Suddenly his apprenticeship at the printing factory didn’t seem so horrible after all.

  The Monocle and the Morality Police

  Two men sat opposite the small, plump woman in black. They were vastly different individuals with vastly different agendas, but had been brought together by one of the most powerful people in the land. Sir Hubert Fotherington, head of the Morality Police, was a tall, distinguished gentleman with a high forehead and a prodigious moustache. He wore a plain grey suit with a monocle on a gold chain, tucked neatly into his top pocket. As always he held a small pad and a pencil, ready to take notes. He did not look at the man beside him, affronted that he had to be in the same room as this particular individual, let alone working with him. As far as he was concerned, he could do the job on his own.

  The other man was smaller and thinner than the Monocle, with chocolate-coloured skin, piercing brown eyes and a pair of pince-nez perched on the bridge of his beaky nose. He was dressed in a shabby blue jacket and a roughly knotted bow tie around his skinny neck. Despite his audience, he didn’t see any point dressing up. Clothes weren’t important. Only his white turban had been neatly wrapped around his head. He was known as the IntelliGent.