by Wendy Nikel
“You ought to stay. I’ll admit, I feel rather responsible for you. If I hadn’t distracted you while you were climbing down that pole—”
“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your new boss.”
“Oh, never mind him,” she says, waving a hand carelessly. “I’m always taking in strays: lost dogs, abandoned kittens. Peeps there is a sparrow I’ve been nursing back to health; he’s just about strong enough to go free. Viggo and I grew up together, so he understands. And if not—” Here she shrugs carelessly. “Then I’ll just make my way down to Chicago and find work there. There’s bound to be other performers at the World’s Fair there who need assistants. I’d really like to be an acrobat, mind you, but everyone’s told me Barnum and Bailey won’t even take a second look at anyone without some experience in showbiz. I figured I’d spend a year on the circuit with Viggo first, and he was gracious enough to give me the opportunity.”
“Well if your acrobatic skills are anything like your climbing skills, I’m sure you’d do great.”
She glances over her shoulder. “Do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t mention that to Viggo.”
“About the competition? Why not? You were fantastic.”
“I wasn’t supposed to win.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s one of his rules. He said I could play the games at the fairs and carnivals we visit, but I’m not supposed to win. We’re supposed to let the locals take home the prize, but I got a bit carried away. I wear a wig on stage during the magic show, so I don’t think anyone else would recognize me. Oh. You don’t think those men who helped you in here will make the connection, do you?” She bites her thumbnail thoughtfully.
“Nah,” I assure her. “But what about the ax-throwing and butter-churning?”
“I might have gotten carried away on those, too.”
Her expression is so sincerely remorseful, so innocent, that I laugh. My head throbs and I press the heel of my hand against it. “Ouch.”
“Sorry! Sorry,” Juliette says, sliding down from the chest of drawers. “I ought to let you rest, rather than chatting your ear off like this. I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.”
Before I can protest, Juliette slips gracefully from the wagon, flicking the canvas tent flap shut behind her and leaving me alone with nothing but the muffled noises of the fair around me and her lavender scent upon the pillow.
CHAPTER FIVE
I wake, my head still throbbing, to a redhead standing over me with a piping hot plate of food. It isn’t until I look into her eyes that I recognize Juliette in a wig and a bathrobe.
“I’d stay and eat with you,” she says as she flutters about the room like a startled moth, “but I have to finish getting ready or I’ll be late for the first show.”
My head swims as I try to sit up, and by the time I’ve accomplished that task, she’s gone.
I eat quickly, not wanting to miss any of the act, and afterward, I weave my way across the dusty fairground, following the crowd of eager townsfolk to a small stage with a scarlet curtain drawn across it and a banner bearing the name, “The Amazing Velés.”
As I wait for Juliette’s entrance, my thumb finds the smooth surface of the Wormhole Device in my pocket. I wonder what Dodge is doing right now, then have the gut-churning realization that Dodge won’t be born for two hundred years, that he isn’t doing anything right now, at least not in the physical sense.
You’d think I’d be used to this time travel stuff by now: this strange, in-between experience where I can pinch myself and know I’m alive, but no one else I’ve ever known is yet.
The Amazing Velés takes the stage just as the sun dips itself into the bay, and as he performs his opening acts, I study the crowd. Men in bowler hats smoke pipes and exchange jokes. Women shush small children clinging to their skirts. Young men jostle one another playfully. Everyone is in a pleasant mood, and no one stands out as suspicious. Still, if Dr. Wells believes that TUB is coming for Juliette, I’d better keep my guard up.
Finally, the Amazing Velés—a tall, thin young man with a handlebar mustache, whom I’d only been half-watching—announces that he’s going to make his assistant appear from behind a magical curtain. He raises it above his head, pulls it aside with a flourish, and there she stands.
In addition to the curly wig and a face full of makeup, which makes her expressive eyes and lips look even larger, Juliette is wearing a red dress adorned with feathers and a matching headdress. The crowd—particularly the men—hoot and whistle, but she’s got the poise and confidence of a pro, and her smile doesn’t waver.
Over the next half-hour, the Amazing Velés levitates her, saws her in half, and locks her in a trunk where, upon opening the lid, she disappears, only to appear moments later at my elbow. She winks and tweaks me playfully on the shoulder before parading back to the stage. It isn’t the greatest magic show I’ve seen—in any century—and I’ve read enough on Harry Houdini to know how most the tricks work, but with Juliette’s gaze flicking over to meet mine throughout the show, I can’t look away.
“For tonight’s final trick,” the Amazing Velés announces, “my assistant will be performing a feat of daring and courage, of quickness and skill… one of the most dangerous stunts known to mankind. The bullet-catch!”
The Amazing Velés pulls out an ivory-handled pistol, and my stomach drops. He makes a show of loading the marked bullet while Juliette positions herself in front of a bullseye target, one hand on her hip and her smile still unwavering.
One of the most dangerous stunts known to mankind…
I push my way forward in the crowd, cursing myself for arriving so late. I can’t let her go through with this. People have died (will die, from the viewpoint of this era) when this trick went wrong. And if there’s someone out there, someone associated with TUB, who’s trying to kill Juliette, well, this would be the perfect opportunity. All it’d take is a bit of sabotage: a squib load or swapping the blanks for live rounds. I press forward, ignoring the irritated looks shot my direction. This is what I’m here for: to protect her.
The Amazing Velés loads the pistol and raises it, pointed directly at Juliette’s outturned palm. I find a burst of speed and accidentally knock over a man with a cane.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m nearly at the edge of the stage.
“Stop! Don’t do it!” I yell, but amid the excited crowd’s countdown, my voice is lost.
“Five… four… three…”
I look around. What should I do? What can I do?
“Two… one…”
Ignoring the protests of those around me, I hoist myself up on the stage. The pistol lets out a deafening crack, and I fling myself at Juliette, knocking her to the ground. I land on top of her in a flurry of red feathers and curls.
“Chandler?” She grabs onto her slipping wig. “What are you doing?”
“Close the curtain! Close the curtain!” the Amazing Velés demands. His face turns a bright red as he looks out on the crowd, whose cheers have warped into a noisy mixture of laughter and booing. He’s frozen in place, obviously horrified and uncertain what to do with my unexpected interruption.
“Get off.” Juliette shoves me with one hand while straightening her wig with the other. She faces the crowd, smoothing down the ruffled feathers of her skirt and beaming out at them with her brilliant smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announces. At her words, the crowd falls silent. “As you see, not everyone trusts my skill as much as the Amazing Velés does.”
Chuckles and grumbles ripple throughout the crowd, and I groan at being the butt of the joke. I’m pretty sure when Dr. Wells sent me back here to keep her safe, this wasn’t what he had in mind.
“However, even with the interference of my dashing knight in shining armor—” She pauses here for the crowd to laugh appreciatively. “—I still managed to pluck the bu
llet from the air.” She holds up a small, silvery object for the crowd to see, and immediately, their grumblings turn to applause. The Amazing Velés sidles up beside her and grabs her arm, holding the bullet higher. He seems to have overcome his shock and closes the show as if nothing’s wrong.
I, meanwhile, receive a nudge in the ribs with the toe of someone’s boot. From behind the curtain, the obscured figure hisses, “Get off the stage, you idiot!”
Groaning, I roll to my knees. A wrinkled hand shoots out from backstage, grabs me by the shoulder, and—as the magician and his assistant bow and the audience’s applause roars—pulls me from the stage.
CHAPTER SIX
I sit on a crate backstage, my head in his hands, trying to sort out what I’m going to tell the Amazing Velés, and how I expect to get a job from him now, after such a rocky introduction. It’s not the worst situation I’ve ever gotten myself into—at least I’m not tied up, unconscious, on a space colony that’s about to explode—but when Juliette ducks behind the curtain and whispers, “What were you thinking?” I somehow feel worse than I did then.
“I don’t know. I just… It’s a dangerous trick. I don’t think you should do it.”
“He fires a blank,” Juliette says incredulously. “You didn’t honestly believe I was catching it, did you?”
“No, but—”
“And what business is it of yours which tricks we do? Who do you think you are, anyway?”
Raised voices approaching from the side of the stage interrupt our conversation, for which I’m grateful. There was no way I was going to come up with a satisfying answer to that question without showing all my cards.
When the Amazing Velés strides in from around the corner, followed by the gray-haired man who’d pulled me backstage, I rise to my feet.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the magician asks. His face is still flushed, and he pulls off his gloves and his jacket as he speaks and slaps them down on a trunk. “Juliette, who is this idiot?”
Juliette opens her mouth, looks over at me, and sighs. “His name is Chandler. We met earlier today at the fair. He’s harmless, Viggo. Just a little… overenthusiastic.”
I’d prefer descriptors like “heroic” or “brave,” but I suppose “harmless” and “overenthusiastic” will have to do for now. At least I’m not “unwelcome” or “creepy.”
“I ought to have you driven out of town for causing such an uproar. And you—” He turns to Juliette. “What on earth were you thinking, running your mouth like that on stage? What did I tell you? The assistant is silent.”
“You seemed flustered,” she says, obviously taken aback by his criticism. “I was trying to help.”
“That’s not your job.”
“Well, technically—” I start.
“You. Enough.” Viggo turns on me, his face reddening. “I ought to—”
“Now, now, Viggo.” The gray-haired man, who’s been watching the whole scene with a frown, steps between us. “I’m sure the gentleman meant well. You think if he intended harm he’d still be sitting here?”
“He ruined the finale, Father.”
“He caused a scene, that’s true, but what have I always taught you? The show must go on. No one was harmed, and frankly, I think it added a bit more excitement to the final trick. An element of surprise. A heightened sense of tension.”
“Thank you, Mr. Velés.” Juliette turns to me with a look of profound weariness. “I think it’s best if you—”
“—come with you.” My interruption startles everyone, most of all me. The others gape, and Viggo is the first to respond.
“Come with us? Are you mad? You ruined my show and now you want… what? A job? So you can bother Juliette further?”
“Yes. That is, no. I don’t have any intention of bothering Juliette. Or anyone else. But I do want a job.” The conversation isn’t going quite as I’d hoped, but I turn up the charm anyway, flashing a smile as if I know what I’m doing.
Confession: I rarely ever know what I’m doing.
“Obviously you need some better security,” I say, “someone to watch the crowd and make sure no one else interferes with the show like I, regrettably, did this evening. Your magic is simply too convincing; I thought the lady was in danger. I know now that there was nothing to fear, but you take this show on the road, and surely I won’t be the only gentleman who tries to leap to the lady’s rescue.”
Juliette opens her mouth as if to protest, and Viggo lets out a cry of disbelief, but the gray-haired man places his hand on his son’s shoulder. “He’s right. Imogene was a fine assistant, but you must admit, she wasn’t nearly as convincing as Juliette. You saw the pull she has on the audience—the gentlemen in particular. You’re busy onstage, Viggo, and I must remain behind the curtain to ensure everything runs smoothly; it may be wise to have a man out front with his eyes on the crowd to make sure no one oversteps their bounds, especially if we’re going to bring the show to larger cities. Besides, we could use another set of muscles around here for moving the equipment around. Give these old bones a rest.”
“Then we’ll hire a laborer,” Viggo says between clenched teeth. “Someone else. Just look at his hands; this man’s never worked a day in his life.”
I’ve honestly never paid much attention to my hands, but as I look at them now, still scraped and raw from climbing the tree trunk, I have to admit that Viggo has a point. I do most of my work at a computer—my fingers flying through holographic projections—not as a laborer. Growing up, my hands had a worn, hardened look from climbing real rocks, riding real bikes, and building things, but when was the last time I’d had so much as a blister? With so many things—including exercise, work, and recreation—automated, is it possible the 22nd century has made me weak?
“I’m stronger than I look,” I insist. “Let me prove it.”
“You should’ve seen him in the pole-climbing competition this afternoon,” Juliette says. I shoot her a grateful smile. I don’t know why she’s taking my side, but I’m glad.
“Did he win?” Viggo taps the toe of his shining black shoe.
Juliette glances at me, her eyes wide as if she’s suddenly realized her mistake in bringing it up.
“Almost.” I meet Juliette’s eye. I won’t tell her secret.
Her lips curl up in a tiny smile that quickens my pulse.
“Then it’s settled,” the older Mr. Velés says. “You’re hired. You’ll be provided room and board—such as it is on the road—and five percent of the show’s earnings. Do a good job and in a few months, we’ll see if we can increase that.”
“Father,” Viggo hisses. His displeasure at the arrangement is obvious, and I can’t help feeling a bit smug. “Don’t you think we ought to discuss this first?”
“My mind is made up,” Mr. Velés says.
“But five percent?”
“It’s not your concern how I spend my money.” He turns to me. “Come this way, and I’ll show you the wagon where you’ll be staying.”
I move to go, but Viggo catches my arm. The magician leans in, his breath hot in my ear and his nails digging into my skin. “Stay away from Juliette. She doesn’t need a man like you skulking around.”
I smile as I pry his fingers from my arm, then turn and wave to Juliette before following the old man from the stage.
That night, I lie in my designated bunk as Mr. Velés snores on the mattress below. It’s harder to fall asleep here than I expected. Apparently, I’ve gotten used to ambient white noise humming from my ergonomic bed’s speakers and my climate controls being set to exactly the ideal temperature and humidity for a good night’s sleep.
Our wagon is larger than Juliette’s, but it seems much less roomy, due to the narrow bunk beds on either side. It hardly has space for a small table, and locked trunks sit at the foot of each bed. When asked if I’d be bringing along any personal possessions, I merely smiled and assured Mr. Velés that I traveled light.
Outside the tent, Viggo’s dog barks.
“Shut up, Brutus.” I recognize Viggo’s voice approaching, though it sounds somewhat less refined and steady than when he was on stage. He’s probably been out enjoying one of the small town’s numerous drinking establishments. Good ole’ Midwest.
The dog barks again, then something makes a thumping noise and the dog whines. “Don’t wake the old man.”
“The Amazing Velés,” a second male voice says, chortling, “traveling the country with his old man.”
“Shut up, Harrison. It’s not like I had a choice.”
“No, no, of course not. Not much you can do when the old man’s the one holding the purse strings. You’d better ask for an allowance next time you’re in town, though. I’m not paying for your drinks again.”
I close my eyes as the footsteps approach, feigning sleep.
“Next time I’m in town,” Viggo says, “I’ll be a rich man. One way or another.”
“Right. And that fine young assistant will be sharing more with you than just the stage, am I right?”
The other man’s crude laughter fades into the distance as the canvas flap of the wagon slaps open. Viggo stumbles about the small space for a few moments as he pulls off his shirt, and then he collapses into the opposite bunk. He’s snoring long before my fists unclench and my pulse slows back down to normal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. Velés puts me to work immediately the next morning, hauling equipment back and forth, standing guard at the corner of the stage during each performance, and cleaning up afterward. When Juliette performs the bullet catch, I watch obediently from the side of the stage, though my heart leaps at the sound of the pistol firing.
The manual labor is exhausting work, using all sorts of muscles that somehow are overlooked by my gym’s automated training equipment, and it doesn’t take long for my palms to become scraped and chapped. A few more days of this, and I’ll have some nice calluses.
