Circus of Marvels

by Justin Fisher

“Well, I wasn’t involved in his training so I can’t be sure,” said Kitty, suddenly wearing a distinctly faraway expression on her face.

  Even Ned could see that she was putting on an act.

  “Kitty, please! I may not be able to read minds, but I can tell you know very well the answer.”

  “Well, but the boy is a natural if ever there was one, took to Seeing right away, so there really is no comparing them.”

  “HOW LONG, KITTY?” barked the Ringmaster.

  The witch stopped smiling and looked up at the ceiling sulkily.

  Of all the people in the room, no one was more impatient for her answer than Ned.

  Eventually, Kitty looked at Benissimo.

  “Eight months.”

  So Jump!

  The meeting had come to an abrupt ending. Only Kitty remained behind with the two pinstripes, who had a private message from Madame Oublier to pass on. Ned left feeling that everything was against them, but nothing more so than their – or rather his – lack of time. Ned’s initial wonder at creating his first grain of sand was long forgotten in the face of the enormous task he now faced in getting his skills up to scratch in time for them to find Lucy and reach the Source before – quite literally – all Hell broke loose.

  And so Ned’s training continued, each circus member taking it in turn to test his skills and pass on what wisdom they had.

  “What are the three main staples of Amplification?” tested George a couple of days later as they sat in his container having their lunch. George was peering at Ned’s Manual over his specs, one huge finger pressed delicately to the page.

  “Seeing, Telling and Feeling,” recited Ned.

  “Nicely done, old bean. And now, what is Feeling?”

  “How about some definitions? ‘Telling’ or Telekinesis; a skilled Engineer can make an object move. The more complex the thing the harder it is to control. Then … ‘Feeling’ is when, by adding one’s own anger or calm to a creation, an Engineer may imbue it with an intent. The results are often unpredictable and highly explosive – not to be undertaken lightly. Learning these forms till they are second nature is the key to advancement. Shall we look at subsections now? The creation of weapons or—”

  “Ned, we have been over every translatable entry a hundred and one times. If you keep going at this rate, your brain is going to combust.”

  “It’s either my brain or the world. You heard what the pinstripe said, George – I have DAYS to figure this out. The newspaper reports are getting worse and—”

  “And how many hours’ sleep have you had since that meeting?”

  “Plenty,” said Ned dismissively, finishing off his sandwich.

  Whiskers looked over at George from where he was sitting on Ned’s bed and shook his head emphatically.

  “Fibber,” rumbled the ape.

  Ned’s ring hummed into life as he brought something into his mind. He was learning fast. Fast enough to See the orange on George’s desk turn into a rock and fast enough to Tell it to fly at the ape’s head.

  “Good lord! That, old chap, is an unpardonable way to treat my second favourite fruit.”

  “I’ve got a grasp on the beginnings, but I can’t manage multiples, George, and Kitty says that until I do, I won’t have enough control to find Lucy or the Source, never mind fix it. Besides, just look at this manual, I’ve still got so much to learn. Benissimo’s been right about me all along. I’m going to let everyone down … and the chances of seeing my dad again … or finding my mum are—”

  “Stop that!” said the great ape, lumbering to his feet. “Don’t be so hard on yourself! I hate to see you rattled like this. What you need is a break from all this confounded studying.”

  But it was no use. The harder Ned tried to be the boy they needed, the more he seemed to fail. When he wasn’t training with Kitty or studying with George, Benissimo had him train with Monsieur Couteau and Grandpa Tortellini, hoping to get his fight and flight skills up to speed. And every day, he would fail at those too. Over and over again, he found himself humiliated by Couteau’s sword, or burnt by Grandpa Tortellini’s rope as his fear of heights got the better of him and he slid back down before ever getting anywhere near the top.

  “Come on, Whatiwhat!” said Grandpa Tortellini. “How am I gonna teach you to fly, if you don’t climb-a da rope?”

  And although Ned had been hopeful that his skills with the blade would improve, even that turned out to be a disaster. In his second session, Monsieur Couteau cruelly paired him with Daisy, the innocent-looking seven-year-old he’d seen on his first day, aka Daisy ‘the Dagger’, who was in fact a military grade assassin.

  Ned didn’t mind being humiliated, or having the troupe know he was scared of heights. He wasn’t proud. What he did mind was wasting time. All of the Veil’s combined circuses were working round the clock to manage the border crossings and prepare their weapons for the inevitable struggle. What was the point? If he was unable to master multiples, let alone connect with Lucy, it would all be over in a handful of days.

  Ned was waiting glumly for Grandpa Tortellini in the big top one day when his trainer bounded in with a particularly sparkly smile on his face.

  “Whatiwhat, what’s-a da matter?”

  Grandpa Tortellini was a half-satyr. He had the horns of his father, but not the mountain goat legs. Even so there was something about his walk today that was unusually springy, as though he had a secret that he was dying to tell.

  “I gonna cheer you up and today we gonna try something a little little, OK?” smiled Tortellini encouragingly, as he led him over to the other side of the big top.

  There in front of Ned was indeed something “a little little”. A thin high-wire had been tightly strung across two short poles, no more than a foot off the ground.

  “You no like-a da heights, so I get rid-a da heights!” explained Grandpa Tortellini proudly.

  Ned smiled at him – it was hard not to – and stepped up unsteadily on to the wire, Whiskers perched as usual on his shoulder. To Ned’s surprise, he found himself laughing. So close to the ground, walking the wire was a completely different proposition. It felt solid and strong. With every step Whiskers gave an encouraging squeak.

  “I’s-a good, no?”

  “Yeah, it is actually.”

  Without the threat of plummeting to his doom, he managed to focus on the task at hand. Walking on a wire at any height was hard, but Ned discovered to his complete amazement, that he was actually quite good at it.

  “BRAVO! BRAVO!” yelled the half-satyr almost bleating with excitement. “Trust yourself, Whatiwhat. See how good you can be when you do!”

  He spent an hour with Tortellini enjoying his new talent. By the end of their session he was walking backwards and had even tried it blindfolded.

  “Good boy, Whatiwhat! Feel your foot on da rope before it lands, feel it in-a your mind.”

  Ned did as the old man asked and his foot followed.

  “How you feelin’, Whatiwhat?”

  “Great! I’m not bad at this!”

  “Why, Whatiwhat, why?”

  Ned stopped on the wire and balanced effortlessly. What had changed? The poles had shortened, but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was at first – the ground was close, so he wasn’t scared. But now it didn’t matter how high or low it was. It was just a wire, and he knew how to do it now. It was Ned who had changed. Something inside.

  “Because … I believe I can do it?”

  “Finally! The Whatiwhat, he’s-a fix his block of a brain! Take off da blindfold, Mr Whatiwhat!”

  His aged trainer was red in the face with excitement.

  “Kitty-Katty, if you don’t-a mind?”

  Kitty walked sideways out of the shadows. She had been there the entire time. She looked at Ned and chanted under her breath. Ned felt his legs wobble. The big top’s stalls, sawdust and floor suddenly dropped away, as though falling through the air. Just as suddenly, they stopped. Ned twisted around to see that the two-foot-high poles
at either end of his wire were now at least thirty feet in length. Grandpa Tortellini and Kitty were far below him, looking up delightedly.

  “Just a little illusion, my newly feathered bird. We thought it might help with your fear of heights,” squeaked Kitty.

  Ned had been up there all along. His head hurt trying to work out the magic, but it didn’t matter. He was high up at the top of the big top and he was … OK.

  “I’s-a little sneaky, no?” bleated Tortellini. “But you feel-a good, no?”

  “I … do!” agreed Ned shakily. “I feel great!”

  “And if you fall, nothing gonna happen, right?”

  Ned looked down at the safety net beneath him.

  “Nothing!” he shouted.

  “SO JUMP!” roared the satyr.

  Ned was dizzy with excitement. His rodent companion was shaking its head in a vigorous “no”, but Ned felt so happy and free, so completely removed from his problems, that he did just as the old man asked. He took his mouse in his hand and leapt off the wire, and as he did so, four words came with him: look before you leap.

  Ned tumbled through the air, wearing the biggest grin of his life. The way he felt now, he could move a hundred grains of sand, hell, he could move a whole truckload if Kitty asked him to. He was an Engineer, the newest recruit of a warrior circus … and he and his wind-up mouse were flying!

  In the blink of an eye he had landed on the safety net, his indignant Debussy Mark 12 beside him. As the bounces slowed, he lay back, eyes closed, and let the power surge through him. Suddenly the air around him began to crackle. His whole body hummed as hot energy flowed between Ned and his ring, coursing up and down his arm. He was dimly aware of Kitty and Grandpa Tortellini, and the small crowd of gathering onlookers who had come to see what the commotion was, but he pushed them from his mind as he focused, and the light folded in on itself.

  Then with a loud whooshing of air, grains of sand began to fall from the big top’s canopy, not ten or twenty, but thousands, tens of thousands. He pushed at them gently with his mind. Not one or two but all of them at once, as though they were one connected body, a universe of yellow stars now gracefully pivoting in different directions. He held them all still a moment, suspended motionless in the air, then let them fall, like rain, landing in his eyes, mouth and even up his nose. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. As his mouse squeaked in approval, Ned whooped and the circus clapped and hugged each other excitedly.

  “Two grains, Kitty,” laughed Ned. “Here’s your two grains!”

  ***

  Word spread like wildfire and those not scouting the perimeter were given the rest of the day off training for a morale boosting celebration. In the morning, he and Kitty would attempt to link with Lucy Beaumont, and the Farseer was quite certain that this time it would work. Until then Ned was under strict instructions to leave his Manual alone, enjoy the party and get a good night’s rest. He agreed reluctantly.

  By the time Ned left the big top, the entire troupe had gathered outside.

  “Well done, Widdlewack!” the Guffstavson brothers chorused.

  “You did it, Whatters!”

  “Way to go, Ned!”

  But it was the Ringmaster’s words that meant the most, minimal as they were.

  “Not bad, pup. Not bad,” he said with a tiny smile and a tip of his hat, before striding off again.

  Scraggs outdid himself by enchanting their food. Great roasts of beef and pork floated out of the ovens. Huge plates of crackling and magically crisped potatoes were stacked sky high on all the tables, and all you had to do was hold a cup and say the word and it miraculously filled with whatever you wanted. When the last plateful had been devoured, they lit fires, and sat round them singing and laughing. Ned’s hair was ruffled, his cheeks pinched and Alice could not be deterred from licking his face, however hard he tried.

  For the first time, Ned felt like he actually belonged in the circus. He had earnt his place amongst them, not by name, but because of what he could do.

  “All right, all right, you drivelling buffoons. Let the poor fellow breathe,” said George eventually, lying flat on his back beside Ned having eaten an embarrassing amount of bananas. Ned leaned into him happily, and thought to himself it was like leaning against a large hairy cliff, and surprisingly comfy.

  By the end of the night everyone had partaken of some of the feast at least – bar four people. Benissimo, who never celebrated, Rocky who would not leave his wife’s side, and Mystero, whose ever-vigilant eyes decided instead to take the opportunity to check the troupe’s quarters again while they were empty.

  It wasn’t long before Ned felt his eyelids droop and decided to make his way to bed. Back at his bunk, he stared at the empty picture frame and the powerless phone by his bed, and thought of his parents, and for the first time since he’d joined the circus, he felt hope.

  He forced himself not to look at his Manual and decided to imagine himself a treat of his own. It was going to be harder than a single grain of sand, more complex in form, but at least this time it was just the one. He meticulously envisaged air being drawn into chocolate, its sugar-coated casing, its soft brown insides, how they came together as one. And there it was, the familiar humming. In a ripple of light, the molecules in the air in front of him were drawn together noisily and reformed into a perfect, crunchy, hard-shelled chocolate drop. He plucked it from the air and popped it in his mouth.

  “Bleuch!”

  Next to him Whiskers squeaked, in what sounded uncannily like mechanical laughter. Ned had never actually tasted slime, but he guessed this came close. He’d created a perfectly brown ball of disgusting goo. He was clearly going to have to work on his flavours, he thought happily and seconds later he drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Chocolate drops, loving mothers and Engineer fathers were not, however, what he dreamt of.

  It started as it always did. A wall of dull, grey fog that turned ever so slowly to smoke. Deep in its oily, acrid shadows, something sinister lurked, waiting.

  Something in the Mirror

  The Glimmerman loved a good party. He’d eaten an extraordinary amount of crackling and was more than ready for the comfort of his bunk, but Ignatius P Littleton III never went to bed without first checking his beloved mirrors. An ordinary Hall of Mirrors bent your shape, to make you look wide or thin, skewed or straight. The Glimmerman’s mirrors took things a little further. When you looked at them, the image in the mirror stayed exactly the same – what changed was the actual person looking. From one mirror to the next, you’d grow a huge belly, or shoot up in height. Some made you older and some a child. He had hand-crafted each one to give just the right effect, walk away and the magic would wear off.

  But there was one special mirror that had a different purpose entirely.

  Deidre was a gateway, a portal which could be accessed from anywhere in the world. You simply had to step through another mirror, any kind would do, and you would be magically transported to Deidre – the basis of the Glimmerman’s circus act. Obviously there had to be security measures. After activating, the path between the two mirrors would close again. How long it remained open was largely down to the quality of the glass. You also needed light, the slightest glimmer would do, but if Deidre was in complete darkness, the path to her would always be closed. Finally, you needed a key. When made, at least one shard of a gateway mirror was always kept aside, to act as that key. Those trying to cross without one wound up with a bloody nose.

  There had never been a breach, at least not until now. Deidre’s cover was on the ground and a small lantern burned brightly beside her. Ignatius snatched at the light and blew.

  ***

  The Demon could smell his fear. He could smell his hair, his fingernails, his sweat. To his kind, there was no fouler stench than that of a human. He had often asked himself: why?

  Maybe it was their endless capacity to love, an emotion that all Ifrits fear and loathe in equal measure. How he longed
to be back in the earth, with the fire and the ash. Back with his own kind’s dark and cruel ways. But he was bound to Barbarossa, given as a gift by his one true Master, to do his bidding until he set him free. And the fat one would never set him free. He needed him for his ship’s great engine and to do the work that the others wouldn’t. Or maybe if he succeeded in this one task for him …

  Behind the Ifrit, a row of pitch-black eyes blinked open – his army of destruction. Though vaguely human in size and shape, gor-balins had none of those loathsome human emotions Sar-adin so hated. His were raised from ash and lava, fire and darkness, they were – much like himself – bred for murder.

  ***

  The air in Ned’s dream stank of sulphur and burned at his lungs, as it had done so many times before. He staggered through the shadows, lost and afraid. There had been no guiding voice, no hope, no anything. Just a perpetual nothingness of ash and grey. His foot struck a kerb. It was hard and familiar. He was back once more, at Oak Tree Lane, though not the one he knew.

  His home was on fire and beyond it street after street raged red and orange. London was ablaze. He kicked at the door to Number 222 and it yawned open.

  “Dad! Dad! You’ve got to get out of here!”

  There was no answer. From the sitting room he heard the television, blaring over the flames.

  “And the answer is … Edelweiss.”

  Smoke started to fill the hallway and Ned pulled his T-shirt up to his mouth.

  “Dad! Da …?”

  Instead of his father, he found a girl. Instantly he knew it was Lucy. She was holding a flower, cradling it in her arms, away from the closing flames. She looked proud and brave.

  “Help us,” she said, without the smallest hint of fear.

  But before he could answer, his knees buckled and his lungs filled with smoke. He closed his eyes to the boiling darkness and waited for the end.

  “Get up, Ned! Get up!” called a voice.

  “Can’t move … the girl, she’s gone …”

  “Get up, NOW!” shouted his Mystral protector.

  Ned opened his eyes to hot stinging fumes, no different to in his dream. George’s container was full of smoke, his beloved bookshelves already ablaze.