Ned doubted that, but the mention of the Ringmaster reminded him of something.
“Earlier on, during the fight, I saw Benissimo get shot right through the heart, but he just got up and carried on as if nothing had happened. How is that even possible?”
The fur on George’s neck and back visibly stiffened and he checked over his shoulder, before shuffling closer to Ned.
“The thing of it is, old bean, and please don’t tell him I told you, but Benissimo can’t be wounded. Or killed.”
“What?! But what about the scar on his face?”
“Given to him by his bedevilled brother, before his power had fully matured. Benissimo walked away with a cut face, Barba a broken leg.”
“Is he … are they immortal?”
“Well I don’t know that I’d go as far as that, but they certainly don’t seem to age,” explained George.
“Wow …”
“Not, I’m afraid, as he sees it. To Benissimo it’s a curse, something to do with his father. I don’t know if the crime was his, his brother’s or his father’s, but I do know this: Benissimo and Barbarossa were not born the way they are today and only dark magic, Demon magic, could bestow such unnatural powers. Never ask him to talk about it, ever … I’ve seen him turn quite violent with those that have and he’d probably have my head for talking about it now.”
“Is that why he’s so, you know, obnoxious?”
George’s face saddened.
“Imagine a world where you outgrow everyone you love, every friend, every ally. One by one you see them grow old and die. Now imagine that the only constant in your life is your war-mongering brother. That poor man has spent a hundred lifetimes trying to undo his sibling’s wrongs – small or great. Blackmail, kidnap and torture are mere tools of the trade to Barbarossa. What he craves is power, though we’ve never seen him search it out so openly before. Every time Bene goes to battle against his brother, someone loses a husband, a mother, a son or daughter, and Benissimo feels personally responsible for them all. Now imagine doing that forever.”
“There must be some way to stop Barba?”
“The only way to stop him for good would be to kill him and there’s only one way to do that …”
“What?” urged Ned.
“Benissimo. He can kill him. But in doing so he would end his own life, such is the nature of their curse.”
“So he can’t do it because he’d die too?”
“Good lord no, to think that is to not know him. That man would gladly give up his life if it meant saving even one person.”
“Then why?”
“Love,” said the ape, his small dark eyes bright and sad. “Despite everything Barbarossa has done, he’s still his brother. Bene could no sooner take his life than he could yours or mine, and because of that … people are dying. Which of course makes him feel even more wretched.”
Suddenly Ned saw the Ringmaster in a new light. Whatever the curse was, whatever it had made Benissimo, one thing was certain – beneath his obnoxious exterior was a man who had carried the weight of the world for more years than Ned could possibly imagine.
“Do you really think we can beat him, George? Do you think we can stop the Veil from falling and all that means?”
“At this moment in time that rather depends, old chap, on Theron Wormroot and what happens at his Keep. Fairies or ‘Fey’ are magic made flesh, and as wild as that implies. Our sense of right and wrong simply doesn’t apply to their kind. They’ve waged war over a lock of hair, cursed whole bloodlines for mispronouncing their names and are prone to insane bouts of vanity.”
“That doesn’t sound great.”
“It’s not supposed to. But we must put ourselves into his care nonetheless. Just keep your eyes open when we get there; nothing is straightforward when dealing with the Fey.”
Theron’s Keep
Theron’s Keep was not within the safety of the Veil’s protective shroud. Fairies do not abide by any law other than their own and have no need of it to stay hidden. They only exist because it amuses them to do so and no two fairies are exactly the same. Their size and form is defined by the kind of magic that flows through their veins. Theron Wormroot was unique.
He had built his Keep on the top of a hill, surrounded by a circular wall of giant hedgerows. Beyond the “bighouse” as the locals called it, stood the town of Fessler. Fessler was at least a hundred years behind the rest of Europe and its quiet cobbled streets knew nothing of the goings on behind the bighouse’s impenetrable green wall, nor was there anyone old enough to remember actually seeing Squire Wormroot in the flesh.
As a young Fey, Wormroot’s dominant emotion was greed. He had been more than happy to steal the gold from a sleeping man’s filling, but it was not till his two hundredth year that he found his real fortune. The fairies’ most mischievous spell is to make a person forget. On entering their realm you could be made to forget time or your loved ones, only emerging years later, if you were lucky enough to emerge at all. Theron Wormroot had found a way to bottle it. His tonic could make you forget anything. You simply had to think of the thing you wanted to forget as the liquid passed your lips, and it was gone forever.
Wormroot’s tonic was especially popular with those suffering from broken hearts and had been in high demand till the Fey’s Seelie Court got wind of it. Selling fairy magic was forbidden and Theron was stripped of both his wings and his powers, cursed to live in the confines of his Keep till the end of his days.
Because of his change in fortunes, he was always eager to add to his dwindling coffers and had embraced the Circus of Marvels with open and greedy arms. Following Sar-adin’s attack, the troupe’s arrival was the Keep’s biggest visit from the outside world in eighty years and his bemused staff were doing their best to keep up with their needs. The troupe had half-driven, half-dragged themselves and their vehicles to the Fey’s home. But with a good deal of their trailers and caravans burnt beyond liveable use, most of the troupe were effectively homeless. In Benissimo’s absence, it had fallen to Mystero to ensure that everyone had shelter and medical attention. The top floor of the Keep had been turned into a makeshift infirmary and bulged with the wounded. The Glimmerman had been found whimpering in his hall of mirrors and was receiving treatment for multiple burns. Meanwhile Abigail had still not stirred from her strange coma. Below them, those without rooms made their beds on the floors of the corridors and only the Tinker remained outside. His trailer was still serviceable and had been set up on the Keep’s grounds. Apparently there had been a major falling out between the minutian and Mystero, who had demanded to see his air-modulator to check on the messages that he’d been sending. The indignant head of R&D hadn’t emerged from his van since, though he continued to work on an apparently vital gadget for the next leg of their mission.
Amongst all the chaos, Theron eagerly did his rounds whilst keeping a tally. He was overweight, red-cheeked and clammy-skinned, wearing clothes at least two centuries out of fashion and two sizes too small. He was also covered in jewellery and had the yellow slanting eyes of a cat. He was followed everywhere by Berthold, his ‘pen and ink man’, who kept a tally on the arriving troupe members. Berthold had many jobs on the Wormroot estate – butler, cook, handyman and, on rare occasions like this, scribe. He wore a faded long-tailed suit from a similar era to Theron’s, and had a hard, bony head with a long beak-like nose. He looked to Ned almost exactly like a crow.
“Good afternoon, sirs, and welcome to my Keep,” said Theron with a bow as Ned and his sortie alighted from their airship. “A terrible business these run-ins you’ve been having. Please feel free to stay as long as you need, or even longer.”
Benissimo eyed Theron mistrustfully, but Ned noted that his tone was deliberately polite. With or without magic, the Fey were not to be taken lightly.
“Thank you, Squire Wormroot, we are most grateful for your hospitality. I believe my head of security has explained the delicate nature of our business?”
Wor
mroot’s greedy gaze went to Ned and then Lucy.
“But of course. He has been most generous with his explanations. My silence is assured, your Eminence.”
Benissimo smoothed his moustache and turned to Lucy. “Make sure you get some rest; I’ll visit you just as soon as I can.”
Ned did not remember him saying anything even nearly as kind when he’d arrived at the circus, but then there had been no bloodshed.
“Theron. Please see to it that Lucy has a room of her own,” continued the Ringmaster.
“I’m afraid the only room left is mine and—”
“That sounds perfect; your generosity is noted.”
Theron’s mouth dropped open but Benissimo was already at the stairs on his way to see Kitty.
“Whatever you desire,” said Theron eventually, with another low bow. “Berthold! Don’t just stand there, show the girl to her room!”
Ned took in his surroundings. All around them the circus’s battered vehicles were in various states of repair and the air rang with the sound of hammers and drills.
George helped Monsieur Couteau and the rest of the injured to the makeshift infirmary, while Rocky – still one arm down but apparently unconcerned – went to check on his wife. Ned took Lucy’s bag and followed her and Berthold up the stairs, the butler’s crooked walk and the twitching of his head making him look even more crow-like than before. The ramshackle band of circus refugees all gawped and grinned in silence as they passed, knowing only too well who their latest recruit was and how important she was to their cause.
Waiting patiently at the top of the final flight of stairs sat Whiskers, who was doing an admirable job of looking excited, especially for a clockwork mouse. His head bobbed up and down and his little mouse eyes flashed white repeatedly.
“Whiskers! Hello, boy. How was Bene’s surveillance mission? Spot anything good?” asked Ned happily.
Whiskers answered by shaking his head in a “lips sealed” gesture, before leaping off the landing and hopping down the stairs towards them at speed.
“I missed you too, Whiske—”
But the little Debussy Mark 12 had run straight through Ned’s legs, grabbed on to the bottom of Lucy’s skirt and clambered up to her shoulder.
“That’s my, err … was my mouse.”
Whiskers gave Ned a quick blink before nuzzling his nose into Lucy’s neck.
Lucy smiled delightedly.
“Hello, Whiskers, you’re a friendly little thing, aren’t you?”
Berthold led the two of them to Lucy’s room, before excusing himself to rejoin the Squire on his rounds.
Theron’s accommodation, though sumptuous, was of decidedly inhuman design. Bent cutlery and smashed watches were strewn about as ornaments and nearly every surface held some form of hand mirror, like a child’s view of wealth, only turned on its head.
“Well, this is different,” said Lucy.
She sat on the bed and sighed.
“Are you OK?” asked Ned, sitting beside her.
“I’m fine, it’s just, everything’s so, so … much.”
“I know, it feels like that at first, but don’t worry, you get used to it pretty quickly and they’re the best troupe anywhere – you couldn’t be in better hands.” Ned was warmed by the realisation of just how strongly he meant it.
“You mean you’re not from the circus either?” she asked excitedly, before catching herself. “Sorry, Mother Superior didn’t tell me very much about you or her life before St Clotilde’s. I … I think she found it too painful.”
“No. I’m not from the other side of the Veil at all. I’m from Grittlesby.”
“What’s Grittlesby?”
Ned went quiet. Explaining a suburb to someone who’d never seen a city was not going to be easy.
“Ummm … Grittlesby is the opposite of this. It’s boring, really, really boring.”
“You should try living with nuns.”
“They looked pretty cool to me.”
“Yes, they are … pretty cool.” Lucy’s face darkened. Ned guessed she was remembering how many of them had died protecting their wards, protecting her. “Were you sad when you left Grottersbury?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
“More in shock than anything else. I didn’t know about Engineers and the Amplification-Engine, or about the Veil, till the day I left.”
“I don’t know what’s worse. Not being told or always knowing. Did they tell you what I can do?”
Lucy looked around the room and fixed her eyes on a small bunch of flowers on the windowsill. They were old and withered.
“It’s such a simple thing really, but it’s caused so much grief.”
She walked over to the vase and closed her eyes. The shrivelled flowers started to move. It was slow at first. Then their wrinkled leaves and petals began to unfurl and fatten. They flushed with colour. Bit by bit, their stems straightened, as though time was rewinding itself, till they stood in full bloom and as fresh as the day they were plucked. Of all the things he’d seen people do since leaving ‘Grottersbury’, this was the prettiest.
“Wow …”
“Yeah, it’s pretty weird. The nuns helped me to learn how to do it, after I bonded with my ring.”
Lucy looked as lost and alone as Ned remembered feeling when he’d first left Grittlesby. He had an idea. He was still recovering from his explosion in the convent, but he closed his eyes and thought of something he hoped might cheer her up while showing her what he could do. It wasn’t anywhere in the Engineer’s Manual, but Kitty had told him the only limits were those he gave himself – he could do this. Though there would be no Feeling involved this time. He wouldn’t risk that again.
Ned picked up a collection of cogs, springs and wires from Wormroot’s collection of broken watches and held them in the palm of his hand. He Saw the flower’s edges, remembered its shape and began to plan. In front of them both, floating just above his fingers, were the beginnings of an Amplification. It was complex, far more so than anything he’d tried to make till now, but Ned was determined to show Lucy that they were in this together. Perhaps even more than that, he needed to prove to himself that he was capable. Because if he wasn’t …? Well, there was no room for that.
The metal pieces rose into the air before Ned. They began to stretch and bend, then one by one they started to connect, a hinge here, a click there. His ring hummed. Ned thought his head was going to explode from concentration. But as the last flattened piece of metal melded with the bent wire stem, he opened his eyes and to his utter amazement, he saw a steel Edelweiss flower, perfect in almost every detail.
“Amazing,” breathed a delighted Lucy.
“I didn’t know I could do that till just now.”
Feeling rather pleased with himself, his concentration slipped and the flower fell apart in his hand as a mess of separate pieces.
Ned blushed.
Lucy gave a sudden snort of laughter. In the end, Ned had to join in.
***
Being utterly exhausted, both Ned and Lucy had gone straight to bed. For some reason, and despite the ape’s bulk, Ned and George had been given the smallest room in the house. Less of a room and more of a broom cupboard, their tiny quarters smelt of cleaning liquid and dust. Ned slept fitfully amidst George’s snoring, his mind a jumble of worries about his dad, his newly-found mum, but more than anything about the task at hand. Would they find the Source in time, and even if they did, what then? What were Ned and Lucy actually supposed to do? Could he do it? And would the voice return again?
When he woke the next morning feeling extremely unrested, he found George was gone. He got out of bed and peeked round the door. Outside the corridors were empty and the Keep was almost completely silent.
It wasn’t until he heard George’s heavy footsteps padding across the floorboards towards him that he discovered where everyone was. As soon as Ned saw George’s face, which had sagged into a mound of leathery wrinkles, he knew something was very wrong.
“Kitty is … Kitty is …” The great ape could barely speak. “She’s dying.”
Falling Star
“But … but when we left her in Italy I thought she was OK?” Ned stammered.
“Sar-adin’s final outburst did more damage than she let on. The old bird was hiding her wound with every ounce of power left to her.”
Ned felt his heart sink to the floor.
“But what about Lucy? I mean, that’s what she does, right? She’s the Medic. She fixed my mum, you were there – you saw her do it.”
“That dear girl has been with Kitty all night. But she’s beyond even Lucy’s powers, Ned. We’re going to lose her.”
George walked with Ned in stunned silence to the top floor of the Keep. It was painfully quiet and a good portion of the troupe were huddled along its corridors, waiting for news. Mystero did not look up from his vigil at Kitty’s door and the Tortellini boys had replaced their boisterous charm with a teary silence.
A hatless and haggard-looking Benissimo was waiting for Ned and led him wordlessly to Kitty’s suite. It was a stark contrast to Theron’s room and couldn’t have been more fitting. Its walls were a faded pattern of soft greys and whites. Old laces and linens covered a four-poster bed and at its centre lay the tiny figure of Kitty. The old witch had never looked more peaceful or more frail. To see her sleeping like that, without her wicked banter, made her look like something from a picture book, an angel or a saint, albeit one dressed in pink.
“Kit-Kat, dear? It’s Ned, he’s come to see you,” said Benissimo softly.
Very slowly, the old lady opened her eyes and joined them in the room.
“Bene …” Though too weak to move her head, her greyed-out eyes had lost none of their sparkle. “And I sense another … Ned, and that lovely girl, Lucy. Do you know, dear, I’ve been looking for her everywhere, and here she’s been helping me … all night … helping …”
Circus of Marvels Page 20
