by Colin Forest
Your friends want you back. Your return would give you the perfect opportunity to raise the alarm quietly. Oswald is still in the early stages of corruption. The longer the delay, the more difficult it will be for him to be cured. What is your decision, Felina? The cat turned to regard Suresh. And what is your decision, Suresh? Do both of you agree to assist me?
There was still a look of doubt on Felina’s face, but she nodded. Suresh growled softly. The cat’s eyes brightened as it moved forward and crawled up Felina to drape itself over her shoulders.
“That’s the real reason you’re here, isn’t it?” asked Felina with a slight tilt of her head.
Who is to say that this partnership is not a form of companionship? she heard the cat’s reply in her head.
Felina stubbed the burning branch into a patch of earth, extinguishing the flame. After making sure that there were no smouldering embers, she discarded the branch and ripped off the items lashed to Suresh’s shoulder. Satisfied that everything was all right, she returned to her seat atop Suresh. The Spindle Cat opened its third eye and the forest was filled with a brilliant golden light which challenged the hazy glow of the afternoon sun.
Run, commanded the Spindle Cat, and Suresh leaped within that field of light before disappearing from view.
The Noble Grimoire lay on the bed, open to the page bearing Necronis’s name at the top in large letters. Oswald had scanned the pages, hoping to re-discover anything he might have forgotten. But the book revealed nothing new to him. There was no mention of the qualities Necronis takes whenever he goes to the realm of the Lonely House.
Oswald held a mirror up to his face. He pulled the lower lid of his left eye down. He knew that there was nothing out of the ordinary to see: the drop of Necronis’s blood was minute, and he had wiped most of it away. It occurred to him that he did not even remember the colour of the blood. Whatever residue that found its way inside him was a part of him now. But he felt rejuvenated, much livelier than he had felt in a long time; and he knew that was due to the effect of the blood. He looked more deeply in the mirror, going over his face with meticulous scrutiny. There appeared to be fewer lines and his face seemed fuller and less haggard. Releasing his grip on his eyelid, he held his fingers before the mirror and looked at the reflected image. His fingers looked more youthful; the skin seemed less waxy and papery. They also felt more nimble. He wiggled them quickly, like a pianist performing finger exercises before playing the pianoforte. He then clenched his hand; the knuckles produced sounds of cracking when pulled tight into a fist; but otherwise, his fingers felt strong.
A golden track stretched before Suresh. All around was swirling mist. The track burned with the same golden incandescence as the Spindle Cat’s third eye, which now glowed like a beacon.
“Does your third eye create the path, or does it merely show what’s already there?” asked Felina.
I see the swiftest path to the fulfilment of our aspiration, and follow it, the Spindle Cat answered.
“So your eye shows you what’s there?” asked Felina.
No, there is nothing here, replied the cat.
“But you just said you see the swiftest path,” said Felina.
There are numberless possibilities of paths. With each step we take, we create a new path for ourselves. I see all the possibilities and take the best path.
Felina frowned in confusion. The Spindle Cat’s explanation hovered at the edges of her comprehension. Once or twice, she thought she was close to grasping it but in the end, it eluded her.
“You said Oswald can be cured. How?” she asked another question, one she felt she would get a straightforward answer for.
By expelling the corruption from him.
“How do you intend to do that? The essence of the god would have penetrated every part of his being by now.”
One particle of his body at a time.
“Do you have such power?” Felina wondered aloud, but the cat did not reply. She turned her head to gaze into the eyes of the Spindle Cat. In the glare of the glowing third eye, the cat’s two other eyes were dark orbs, impenetrable as ever. But at that moment, uncalled for, an understanding came to Felina. The revelation shook her so that all that she could do was stare at the cat silently.
So the journey proceeded with Felina perched atop Suresh and the Spindle Cat perched atop Felina: a cat on a cat on a cat following a golden thread on their way to the circus.
The Ringmaster sat on a stool by the entrance to the big tent, watching the motionless Ferris wheel. His top hat lay on his lap, with his hands resting on top. A wind had picked up, rustling leaves and blowing locks of his hair over his eyes.
“Everything’s prepared. Just give the word and I’ll set the Omniportallis machine running,” said Icarus as he took out another stool from inside and set it down next to the Ringmaster. He had a piece of coal which he tossed from one hand to the other.
“Thanks,” the Ringmaster replied softly. He had a pensive look as he pulled a lock of hair away from his face. Icarus expelled a puff of smoke which dispersed forlornly in the wind.
“This place that we’re going to: how much do you know about it?”
“No more than what I’ve told you. Have you ever been to Scotland?”
“No. Couldn’t see the point of going there.”
A soft rattling sound emanated from Icarus’s torso. The smoke from his chimney came out in weak bursts. Icarus opened the compartment to his chest, threw in the piece of coal and latched the door shut. A sudden sound as of air being sucked grew and a jet of smoke wafted out of his chimney in a steady stream.
“Ahhhh. That’s more like it,” he said.
“How are the repairs going?” asked the Ringmaster.
“The Fiji Mermaids are all right, but the tank still needs work. I’m having trouble procuring parts for it. Then there’s the damage the giant did. It’s never-ending. Sometimes, I wonder whether running this circus is worth the trouble.”
Icarus’s chest rattled again. He gave it a few knocks and it died away. “Some of these parts are starting to be a bother,” he sighed. “There’s been too much excitement of late. Remind me when things have settled down to perform an audit. I definitely need to change a few parts.”
“Since when have things settled down?” asked the Ringmaster with a wry smile on his face.
“Touché.”
For a few minutes, neither man spoke.
“I want you to do something,” said the Ringmaster suddenly. “I want you to watch over Oswald.”
“I’ll be like his shadow. Is there … something I should know?”
“He touched my mind. He knows about Kenneth Monckton.”
“He has the gift?”
“Only recently, I think. Since he fell ill. The cat also came to him, and he apparently drove it away.”
“That can’t be good.”
“No.”
A burst of golden light in the distance caused the Ringmaster and Icarus to pull up sharply.
“Trouble?” asked Icarus.
“Best to be prepared,” replied the Ringmaster.
“I’ll get the others ready,” said Icarus.
Icarus stood up, and as he was about to troop off, the Ringmaster gave a short sharp bark.
“Icarus! Wait!”
“What is it?”
“I feel something.”
“That’s got to be the cat,” said Icarus.
“Undoubtedly, but there’s something else,” said the Ringmaster as he held up an arm to halt Icarus’s leaving. After a while, he suddenly gasped, “Felina! And Suresh! It’s them.”
“Why would they come with the cat? Has anything happened to them?” he asked.
The Ringmaster concentrated, and smiled a few moments later. “No. They’re fine. Come.”
They went past the boundary of the circus and plunged into the woods. Icarus followed a few steps behind the Ringmaster, who wove among the trees, picking his way past low hanging branches and brushing aside
twigs which raked about his face. A few times, Icarus had to untangle the Ringmaster’s cloak from the clutches of shrubs which were all around them.
The Ringmaster led Icarus further on. He walked with confidence through the woods, following a trail only he could sense. The world around them fell silent. The only sound they heard was the crackling of leaves and twigs underfoot.
A shadow passed their sight very briefly. A shape lunged out at the Ringmaster. The intruder struck the Ringmaster squarely in the chest and both of them tumbled to the ground. The Ringmaster’s top hat flew off his head and landed on top of the crown of a low-growing bush. Caught by surprise, Icarus sent electricity running up and down his arm.
“Suresh!” came the Ringmaster’s delighted shout. “You’re all right.”
“Felina!” Icarus called out when he saw her emerge from behind a tree. She had the Spindle Cat around her shoulders. When she saw Icarus with his hand raised, and the shower of electrical sparks discharged from it, she halted in her tracks.
“Icarus, wait. The cat is our ally,” she said.
Icarus held his hand steady. The Ringmaster disentangled himself from Suresh and rose to his feet.
“Are you daft? Haven’t you seen what they’ve done? What do you mean the cat’s our ally?” demanded Icarus.
“Something’s happened to the man, Oswald. He’s been corrupted. The cat’s here to get him back and cure him.”
“Felina, what can the cat do?” asked the Ringmaster. “I saw the giant fight the god whose blood corrupted Oswald. He lost.”
“You think the giant Fanfer’s the god. That’s where you’re mistaken, Ringmaster. The giant’s the familiar. The cat’s the god.”
Chapter 11: A Glamour Broken
Oswald strode across the circus grounds towards the Ringmaster. The Ringmaster’s summons had seemed quite urgent. It was early, and the morning’s yellow light shone golden on Icarus’s metallic parts. Icarus walked towards him, nodded once in greeting and then disappeared into the darkness of the big tent. Oswald approached the Ringmaster warily. The image of Kenneth Monckton drowning in the water tank came unbidden to his mind. He could almost feel the cold water.
He steeled himself, greeting the Ringmaster cordially and without averting his eyes, though he was tempted to do so.
“Oswald,” the Ringmaster returned the acknowledgement. “I see that you are well. That is good.”
“Thank you. Your doctor has given me excellent care.”
“Mmmm,” the Ringmaster nodded. Oswald perceived that there was something the Ringmaster wanted to say, though he took his time broaching the subject.
“Is there … anything in particular you wanted to say to me? Why have you called me out here?”
“Walk with me,” said the Ringmaster, as he led Oswald. “Oswald,” the Ringmaster began slowly. The look in his eyes seemed to suggest kindliness, but Oswald had seen what the man was capable of; he remained distrustful. “I must confess that I’m interested in how you managed to repel the cat. You know through your association with the cat and the giant that I carry the mark of Necronis. I fear that more attempts will be made on my life.”
“I’ve already told you: I don’t know how I did it.”
The expression on the Ringmaster’s face grew shrewd. “What would you say if I tell you I might have an answer for that?”
“Go on,” Oswald replied slowly.
“How’s your eye?” asked the Ringmaster quite unexpectedly.
“My eye? My vision’s fine, thank you for asking,” said Oswald.
“That’s good. The effect of Necronis’s blood on you was worrying. We had no knowledge of how to treat you. When Arcanus and I saw you after you had woken up, I was very surprised by the speediness of your recovery. And when you touched my mind and glimpsed some of my secrets, I have to admit that I became quite alarmed.”
Oswald recoiled slightly.
“What you probably didn’t know was that I glimpsed some of your thoughts as well. I felt how you felt: the exhilaration of newfound strength; the uncertainty; the fear. And the hope that you might have found the means of escaping the cat.”
Oswald listened, engrossed.
“You see, I think you already know that it’s Necronis’s blood that gave you the power to repel the cat. And you hope it will be enough to help you escape the agreement you made.”
“Oh?”
“The agreement to repay a favour. You asked for Necronis’s followers to be destroyed, and got me involved in your play of vengeance. And now that it’s time to settle the account, you want to renege on that deal.”
“I told Fanfer that you weren’t involved, but he wouldn’t listen,” said Oswald, wringing his hands. “And besides,” he added in a tiny voice, “they didn’t get all of Necronis’s disciples. They didn’t fulfil their part.” He looked distraught and fearful, but at the same time, there was a glimpse of defiance in his eyes. “It wasn’t my fault. Fanfer can be so pedantic.”
“What was the favour?” asked the Ringmaster.
“The cat wanted my help to get Fanfer.”
“He’s gone.”
“Taken to Necronis’s realm. Alive. The cat said that it’d be hard on me to go as I am. So I had to be bonded. I didn’t like the sound of that. So I said no. But the cat wouldn’t take no for an answer. So it tried to force itself on me. I didn’t set out to repel the cat. I only wanted to protect myself. And I didn’t know I’d have the strength I did. Or that I’d have such strong emotions about the cat.”
A bonding? mused the Ringmaster. Did the cat lie? Would it? Oswald’s explanation filled the Ringmaster with disquiet. “Necronis is a god of corruption, isn’t he? Do you believe the effects of his blood to be benign? What if it corrupts? What if the cat can cure you?”
“Cure me!? Why would I want to be cured?” Oswald asked in a frenzied pitch. “I have a strength I’ve not dreamed of!” He stopped suddenly, eyeing the Ringmaster with deep suspicion. “Why would you … You’ve come in contact with the cat!”
He took a few steps back. “You’ve lured me out here on purpose,” he said. Then he turned and ran back the way he came. “My book … my book,” he muttered.
The Ringmaster ran after him. “Oswald! Wait!” he yelled. But Oswald sped ahead with otherworldly speed.
Icarus paced to and fro in the Omniportallis chamber.
Icarus! He heard the call in his mind as if it were uttered next to him. Oswald’s bolted. Do it now!
Immediately, he sprang to the controls of the Omniportallis machine. With the settings already in place, he switched it on. The sound of electricity crackling filled the air. The concentric rings of the Omniportallis machine began to spin. They went slowly at first but they gathered speed with every cycle until they were nothing but a whirling blur.
The light coming in from the high windows wavered slightly, the sky looking as if it were seen through corrugated glass. The machine thrummed with activity as Icarus pulled more levers and pushed more buttons and switches. Icarus smiled in satisfaction.
Del, he sent out his thoughts. It’s done. I’ve set the circus to move through three locations in a loop without materialising fully. Oswald won’t be going anywhere.
Oswald stopped in his tracks when the sky suddenly turned dark. It was now evening, when it was morning just moments before. The view he was accustomed to was gone: the scenery of trees with their rich, verdant foliage was replaced by one of a featureless wintry landscape. He looked up and all around him, and down at the snow-blanketed ground. He could not believe what his eyes told him. He rubbed his foot to see if it was really snow he stood on. He held out his hand with palm upwards, allowing the snow to land there. He clenched his hand, and as the snow melted, the water ran cold between the channels of his fingers. The entrance to the big tent was just a few feet away. It gaped like the entrance to a cave. Inside, someone was busy with the lights for it now glowed with warmth.
“Oswald,” he heard the Ringmaster’s call bef
ore he saw the form with the cloak pulled tight like a cocoon. Oswald’s face was a patchwork of worry, fear and anger as the Ringmaster approached.
Oswald turned towards the entrance, but he was blocked by Icarus.
“Were you trying to get this?” asked Icarus, brandishing the Noble Grimoire in his hand. “You’ll have to get through me first.”
Oswald’s eyes burned with outrage.
Christophe rested his arms on the gate to Octavius’s pen. Octavius had his head immersed in a bucket. The sound of munching echoed with a metallic hint. Busboy stood by the stable gate watching.
“Blimey, I wouldn’ta believed it if I ‘adn’t seen it,” said Busboy to Christophe.
“He’s special too. Just like these ones you have here.”
“Too right. They’re all special. That’s why they’re ‘ere. Wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way.” Octavius removed his head from the bucket and looked up at Christophe, his eyes twinkling and his ears twitching playfully. He licked the remnants of meat from his rows of teeth and gave a soft grunt.
“Ah, Octavius,” sighed Christophe. “Sometimes, I envy the life you have, boy.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Busboy’s question intruded suddenly. “Why’ve we moved?”
The light streaming in through the large doors had gone dim. A blast of cold wind blew in from outside. Christophe felt a shiver and noted his misted breath with surprise. He turned his head to the door to the sight of a flurry of snowflakes drifting to earth. Frowning, he went to the door. He pulled his clothes closer around him. Beside him, Busboy crossed his arms over his bare chest, his flesh marked with goose pimples.
An electric arc shot into the sky, blazing white.
“That’s the professor!” said Busboy, as he ran off. “C’mon!” he bellowed. “We could use yer ‘elp.”
Christophe followed in Busboy’s wake. He ran with his clothes still pulled tightly around him, his breath visible in puffs. Busboy did not seem too bothered by the cold, running at full speed until he seemed to blend into the snowy air. Another shot of electricity lit up the sky, revealing the dazzling colours of the circus paraphernalia hidden by the murk of the winter evening.
