by V M Jones
Then Jamie darted in, seeming to catch Blade by surprise — and he was gone. I blinked. Blade was staring round in disbelief; slowly, weapons at the ready, she circled, scanning the arena. Suddenly among the crowd there was a murmur; then a ripple of delighted laughter. An extra pair of booted feet was protruding from beneath Blade’s cloak, circling in exact time with hers. A grin pasted itself over my face — and I understood.
‘It’s a clown show!’ whispered Gen. ‘A carefully choreographed clown show — that’s what they’ve been practising all this time!’ Jamie had ducked out from his hiding place, and Blade had turned and seen him. The chase was on; it was clear whose side the crowd was on — and it wasn’t Blade’s.
One outrageous move followed the next, Jamie bouncing out of trouble time after time with a beleaguered Blade in hot and hopeless pursuit. Gradually, impossibly, it was Jamie who was getting the upper hand. Blade was engulfed in her own cloak, groping blindly for her adversary … A wicked death-lunge from her dagger skewered nothing more fatal than an apple Jamie happened to have in his pocket … Jamie’s shield, sword inserted in a special slit, was sent spinning in pursuit of Blade round the arena, Jamie puffing behind … and then too soon it was over, a beaming Blade presenting Jamie, pink-faced and victorious, to the howling crowd.
Coins rained into the arena and the cry rang out again and again, a rolling tidal wave of sound: ‘BLUNderBUSS! BLUNderBUSS!’ The noise was deafening.
I guess that’s why we didn’t hear the rumble of wheels as the wagons rolled down the cobbled street behind us. It was only when the chant broke up and trailed away to silence that we followed the gaze of the crowd and saw the still figure silhouetted against the sky.
Another circus had come to town.
The Circus of Beasts
‘So — you applaud this mockery of the noble circus arts.’ Scorn flooded the arena like ice water. Jamie’s grin froze on his face and he dropped his upraised arms to his sides as if he’d been slapped. I glanced at Blade: there was an absolute stillness about her that sent a stab of fear through me. Instinctively I looked across at Lyulf; his face was set in stone. They knew this man — whoever he was.
‘Are you men — or children?’ His voice was a whiplash. Faces that had been open and laughing moments before were covered in confusion, eyes downcast as if they were ashamed. ‘Are you proud Borderlanders, thirsty for blood, or milk-sucking merchants of the Coastlands?’
The mood of the crowd was changing — had already changed. And Blade knew it. She was edging Jamie towards the exit, hoping no one would notice their departure.
‘So be it.’ The stranger shrugged. ‘If foolery and horseplay amuse you, this is no place for me. I will move on … and take the Circus of Beasts with me.’
A ripple ran through the crowd. A voice rang out, followed by another, and another: ‘Stay! STAY! The Circus of Beasts! THE CIRCUS OF BEASTS!’
The man raised his arms in a gesture that mirrored Jamie’s moments before, and the crowd stilled. ‘Those who wish me to stay, say Aye.’
‘AYE!’
He put a hand to his ear. ‘Did you speak? I thought I heard the wind whispering in the tree-tops … Those who wish to see the Circus of Beasts, say Aye!’
‘AYE!’ The barrage of sound was followed by a vacuum of silence, every eye on the stranger.
There was a hand on my arm … Lyulf. ‘We’re leaving. Help pack up — quick.’ Something in his voice told me there was no time for questions. Already Rich and Jamie were piling the weapons back into the chest, Kenta and Gen hustling Gloom into his harness, fastening the buckles with fingers clumsy with haste. Only Borg was still staring into the arena, Blade beside him, tense as a bowstring. But the Masked Man … where was he?
Lyulf grabbed Blade’s arm and spun her round. ‘Come. We’re going — now.’
‘But I —’
‘Now!’
I picked up an armful of musical instruments and headed for the wagon … and the man’s voice went on, cutting across the silent arena. ‘But wait — let us not forget we have another gladiator troupe in town. The most famed gladiator troupe in the Borderlands, I believe: Troupe Talisman. Who here would wish to see a battle to the death between beast and human, between the invincible Candalupus and mortal man? Who here would wish to see entrails spilled — carnage and destruction — bloody defeat — glorious victory? Who here —’ his voice was drowned in a deluge of sound.
‘Adam, come on!’ Gen’s eyes were wide and scared in her white face.
‘Who is he?’
‘Thrax.’ Lyulf’s single word fell like the blow of an axe. ‘We must leave, while we can.’
But it was already too late. ‘But will any among the famed gladiators of Troupe Talisman be man — or woman — enough to accept the challenge?’
I saw Blade step forward, as if in slow motion. Her voice rang out over the crowd, slicing the air like a sword. ‘I will.’
‘No!’ I couldn’t bring myself to look at Lyulf, but Blade turned to face him, her eyes burning with a terrible, fierce joy.
‘Yes!’
Already the crowd was chanting: ‘Blade! Blade! BLADE! BLADE!’
She stepped into the arena, lithe as a panther, proud as a lioness … and even from where I stood there was no mistaking the flash of triumph in the stranger’s eyes.
We had no idea what kind of creature it was that Blade would fight.
Feeling sick, Richard and I parted the sacking and peered through, but all we could see were massive shrouded cages with steel-shod wheels drawn by great beasts like shaggy oxen. They spilled out into the street behind and out of sight. And the sounds … the sounds coming from them made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. Growls and grunts and guttural roars; the creaking of wood strained almost to breaking point by the weight it bore; the crunch of steel on crumbling cobblestones — and the stench of festering wounds and raw excrement.
We huddled together in the entranceway. My mouth felt dry; my heart had gone lopsided. ‘What’s a Canda … Canda …’ Richard was whispering.
‘Candalupus,’ said Jamie automatically … and then a quiet voice spoke just behind us: Lyulf.
‘Circuses such as these are peopled by age-old creatures of myth and legend, and by newer forms that have mutated. And now there are yet more terrible beasts: monsters of the imagination, spawned I know not where, and the Candalupus is among them. They say it is half an armoured creature like a bear, half wild wolf-dog …’
‘Karazeel’s monster!’ Jamie’s eyes were like saucers. ‘Remember, on the computer.’
I remembered. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality. The creature we’d seen at Quested Court had been small enough to fit on a computer screen, then — shrunk down and cloned — as tiny as a marble. There’d been no way of telling what size it would be in real life … but I guess I’d thought it might be my height at most.
There was a hoarse shout behind us and a spine-chilling rattle of chains. ‘Make way! Give way if you value your lives!’ A roar rent the air; the ground shook. I threw my arms out, pressing the others back against the earthen wall. We froze there, staring.
The creature lumbering towards us would have dwarfed a rhinoceros. It moved four-footed with an awkward, rolling gait, and as it passed it turned its head, stared me straight in the eyes and snarled. The head was shaggy and wolf-like, overlapping scales interspersed with moulting fur that hung in shreds. Black lips peeled back from yellow fangs the size of sabres. The eyes that met my own were blood-red and burning, radiating savagery, hatred, hunger — yet I recognised in them a twisted, almost human intelligence. Here was a creature in which the worst of man and beast had been merged.
A tick-infested mane of coarse hair gave way to overlapping plates that covered the rest of its body and legs. The scales were tarnished gold and rigid-looking, narrowing from the depth of a hand near their base to finger-thickness at the scalloped edge. I had no idea what they could be made of — something
like tortoiseshell or horn, perhaps. But as the creature shambled past it made a squealing, grinding sound that set my teeth on edge: a sound like a thousand knives being sharpened. The scales were metal. Armour, thick and impenetrable.
The weight of it made the ground shake. I quailed to think of the strength it must take to move that giant body, the strength that would soon be pitted against the slender form of Blade.
‘Lyulf,’ I croaked as the monster vanished into the arena; ‘Lyulf — we mustn’t let her. Can’t you —’
We were standing shoulder to shoulder. He didn’t turn his head. ‘Have you ever tried to stop Blade doing something she wants to do?’ His voice was flat, expressionless.
‘No, but … she can’t want —’
‘It is more than a want. This is in her blood, what she lives for. I am not her master — no man is. Blade will do as she pleases. All we can do is watch — and pray.’
First blood
We stood on the high bank above the cutting and watched.
The Candalupus shuffled to a halt in the centre of the arena; behind it, at a safe distance, followed a man cradling something in his arms, swathed in a cloth that even from this distance reeked of rancid oil. Something heavy, by the look of it …
He circled the beast warily, pulled the cloth away and proffered what it had hidden. It was a weapon, the length of a long-sword but broad and heavy, made of dark, dull metal. Vicious-looking curved serrations ran down both edges of the blade like a double-edged saw. I stared, sickened, as the creature reached for a weapon it couldn’t possibly need: its groping talon was armed with claws that could have disembowelled a man with a single sweep. The creature rose awkwardly to its full height, fumbling two-handed with the weapon for a firmer grip. I felt a glimmer of hope. Lethal as those clawed talons might be, they weren’t made for holding a sword.
‘And he is slow and clumsy, and will be quick to tire,’ Lyulf murmured beside me. Every strength has a weakness…
Blade had been standing in the shadow on the far side of the arena, waiting and watching. Now she strode forward, a spring in her step, head held high. She drew her sword with a ringing hiss of steel; silver flashed in the sunlight. With her free hand she unbuckled her sword-belt and tossed it aside, drew her dagger and moved towards the monster, her body falling naturally into a crouching guard, weapons crossed.
The Candalupus roared and rocked from side to side, scraping its great clawed feet through the sawdust. Slowly it advanced. Just as slowly Blade backed away, never taking her eyes from the apparition that towered before her, circling to draw it after her and avoid being trapped against the side of the arena.
Suddenly, too fast for the eye to follow, a bright blade flashed out and there was the ringing clash of steel on metal; then Blade was leaping out of range again, both sword and dagger in her left hand, opening and closing the right as if to regain the feeling. She’d struck out, trying to penetrate that armour …
And now the monster was after her, lurching forward with great, grunting strides. His weapon swung like a scythe, one of his steps equalling four of hers. Blade back-pedalled swiftly, drawing him after her, her right arm hanging limp. Suddenly she tripped and fell backwards, just as Jamie had done … and with a roar the great beast was over her, sword raised for the death-blow.
Faster than light Blade’s limp hand sprang to life and grasped her sword; thrust up from underneath, between the overlapping plates of armour on the monstrous thigh. As easily as a knife into butter the slender sword slid home, deep into the bowels of the beast.
A roar of rage and pain shook the stadium. A stumbling step back, and the mighty hacksaw smashed down in a cloud of dust and purple blood. I wanted to close my eyes but could only stare transfixed as the Candalupus staggered in a drunken circle, snarling and gnashing its teeth, rooting for its prey.
Then I saw her, on the far side of the arena. No sooner had she struck the blow than she must have rolled and sprung away; the saw-toothed sword had fallen on empty ground. The blood was the monster’s. Now, groaning and slavering, it was hobbling across the arena after her. Blade’s sword-hilt protruded from its inner leg, angled sharply upward, slick with sticky blood.
Closer and closer it came, and still Blade stood her ground. The only weapon she had now was her dagger, and to use it she’d have to be close … too close.
Up came a hand; the wrist flicked, as if tossing sand into the creature’s eyes. The great head twitched back; he blinked, raised one arm to his face and gave a roar of agony. Blade stood poised, out of reach, watching empty-handed.
It seemed to take a long, long time for him to fall. It was as if the realisation that he was dead — beaten by a creature a tenth his size — took longer than the steel blade of the knife to penetrate his slow brain. But finally he swayed, took one unsteady step back … and fell. He hit the ground with an impact that shook the stadium like an earthquake. He lay still, his purple blood soaking into the sawdust.
Silence stretched on. At last the first voice came, reed-thin, uncertain: ‘Blade! Blade!’ Others joined it: ‘BLADE! BLADE!’ The arena was pounding with the chant, like the beating of a gigantic heart: ‘BLADE! BLADE! BLADE!’
Wearily, with dragging feet, she made her way towards us. If there was joy in victory, you couldn’t see it. Her vanquished opponent lay face to the sky, one outstretched hand still clinging to the sword. She walked past him as if he wasn’t there.
And then it happened. With the speed of a snake, the monster rolled and struck. The barbed edge of his sword bit deep into Blade’s back, any sound it might have made swallowed by the chanting of the crowd.
For me, it was as if suddenly the whole arena was silent. All I saw was Blade falling, graceful as a swan, seeming to float down to rest on the soft sawdust as if it were a cloud.
Fire-tongue
We took her back to our campsite, pale and still as death. Lyulf carried her like a baby into her small caravan. Though the Masked Man made a gesture as if to help, he would let no one else touch her. The five of us stood in a silent cluster outside, waiting, Kenta hugging Blue-bum close for comfort.
After what seemed a long time the door opened slowly. Lyulf stood there; he must have drawn the curtains, because the room beyond was dark and still. There was something lost about him — the first sign I’d seen of the child that lay beneath his hard exterior. He raised both hands in a small gesture of helplessness.
It was Richard who spoke. ‘Is she …’
Lyulf shook his head. ‘Her clothes … I can’t …’ His voice cracked.
It was Kenta who understood. Stepped forward, and gently took his arm. ‘Of course you can’t. Gen and I will do it. Go with Adam and Richard, light a fire and boil some water; we’ll call you as soon as we can.’
At last Gen came to fetch us, her face grim; she met my eyes and gave her head a tiny shake. Together we squeezed into the single room of the caravan and stared down at Blade, our eyes adjusting to the gloom. She was lying on her front, head turned towards us, eyes closed. The girls had undressed her; a light woollen blanket covered her from the waist down. The right-hand side of her slender back was coffee-cream and perfect, smooth muscle a silken covering over a tracery of ribs. But the left side …
Kenta was speaking, her voice steady and matter-of-fact. ‘I’ve checked as best I can that nothing’s been left in the wound, but the impact seems to have driven fibres from her clothes …’ she swallowed, and carried determinedly on. ‘It won’t stop bleeding. We need to apply pressure, but her ribs are broken, and I’m scared they might puncture … And the sword has left stuff inside, like grease; it has a strange smell. Once the water’s cooled we’ll swab it, but we need antiseptic, antibiotics … she probably ought to have a tetanus shot …’ Her voice trailed away.
None of us looked at each other. What Blade really needed was a sip of healing potion … but there wasn’t any.
At last Lyulf spoke, in a mutter almost to himself. ‘Fire-tongue … how can it be
that we have still not come upon it? Yet it grows this far south …’ He turned to us. ‘Do you know it? It also goes by the name of wound-wart; it staunches bleeding and banishes the ill humours that cause a wound to fester.’
‘We don’t know it,’ said Jamie staunchly, ‘but we’ll find some, if you tell us where to look. You can stay and take care of Blade.’
The terrible flatness had left Lyulf’s eyes. He lifted one hand and rested it for a moment on Blade’s tangled hair. ‘Look for a straggly low-growing bush — you will think it a weed. It bears long seedpods that turn from green to red as the season advances …’
‘It sounds like capsicum — cayenne pepper!’ said Rich. ‘My Grannie grows it in her veggie patch and puts it in everything. It burns like the blazes.’
‘Fire-tongue! That’ll be it!’ yipped Gen. ‘Let’s not waste any more time — and don’t worry, Lyulf, we’ll be back in a flash!’
But we weren’t. The afternoon wore on into evening, and still we searched. Once Rich found a plant he thought might be right, but all it had were a few green nubs that might or might not grow into seed pods. All of us would have given up hours before if it hadn’t been for the thought of the look in Lyulf’s eyes when we returned empty-handed.
