“Hmmph.” Jerome eyed him for a few seconds longer before dropping his gaze and scrabbling once more in the desk drawer. He pulled out a rusty key and tossed it across the desk. It hit the pitted wood and bounced once before flipping onto the floor. Elliot bent to retrieve it.
“That key will open every door in the building, although I don’t know if you’ll need it. Ensure you don’t lose it.”
“I’ll trust it with my life.” Elliot didn’t attempt to stop a pointed note of cynicism from entering his voice. “Is that all?”
“Allow no one else to have the use of the key,” Jerome continued, apparently a man who liked to have the last word.
“Yessir.” Elliot turned and stooped again to exit the dusty, cramped office. There was room for only one ego in there and Jerome was welcome to it. Elliot felt no need to prove himself or his character to this unlikeable man and he was surprised that Darcy named him as a friend.
Jerome followed him out and slammed the door behind them. “Oh, I nearly forgot to mention. The key opens every door in this facility except for my office.”
Elliot couldn’t think of a single reason why he would ever want to step foot in that murky room again. “Understood.” He pushed his hand into his coat pockets and touched one of his coffee sachets. On a whim, he pulled it out and passed the pack to the sceptical showman. “Just add hot water for a splendid drink. It’s a guaranteed pleasure.”
“As is time spent alone.”
He should have known that no thanks would be forthcoming but what did it matter. Elliot glanced at the excited crowds scuffing their boots through the sawdust covering the floor, chattering gaily as they jostled their way through the next set of entry doors. “I guess I should go and have a look around.”
“Do whatever you wish.” Jerome tugged at the door handle once more, ensuring it was locked. He again looked Elliot up and down, tucked the sachet of coffee into his pocket, and walked back outside without uttering another word.
Elliot shrugged. The man’s bad attitude was of no concern to him. For now, he had a circus and freak show to explore and if he came across the Knave during his travels, that would surely be a bonus. He fell in behind a happy, laughing family group and made his way to the ticket office. He flashed his yellow badge at the man who had refused him entry earlier, unable to hide his smirk of triumph as the man yanked down his brows into a scowl and waved him through. Elliot waited politely while the last of the family in front of him filtered through the doors and then he himself stepped through and into a bizarre new world.
Chapter Nineteen
There was a far bigger crowd in here than Elliot had first thought, although he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by the amount of people thronging and gawping, each individual fighting for the best view of the numerous stands, exhibits, and stalls. Victorians did love to be entertained and there was nothing like a circus and freak show to excite the enthusiastic punters.
The circus was underway at one side of the great hall and as Elliot craned his neck to watch, a man dressed in a full body leotard swooped down on a high trapeze before flinging himself across the empty space. His partner, a man hanging upside-down from the swing opposite, snatched for him seconds before he plummeted to the ground. The audience oohed and aahed, shrinking back in delighted terror and thrilled to be so close to witnessing the spectacle of death.
Someone jostled against Elliot’s arm and he turned away from the circus to look at the stalls lined up nearest to him. Each stall sat beneath a canvas tent of sorts, replicating an open-air carnival and showcasing each individual display on its own merits. He was standing in front of a large sign proclaiming the wonders of ‘Little Katerina, The Missing Link From The Deepest Jungles of Africa’ in large, attention-grabbing print. He waited until the gasping matron in an intricate hat standing in front of him moved out of the way and then he stepped forward to see Katerina for himself. A small child, probably no more than eight or nine years old, sat glumly on a chair facing the audience. She wore bracelets on her wrists and a cloth nappy to protect her modesty but otherwise she was naked, except for an extraordinary coat of inch-long fur that covered her skin from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.
“Oi, Fur Girl,” a rude man shouted into the little girl’s face. “Is that real? Or is it a trick?”
A thin man with a hooked nose and a cane stepped out from where he lurked behind a drape in the canvas and moved protectively closer to the child on the chair. “Step back,” he ordered. “Step back and give Katerina some space.”
“Yeah, but I wanna know if the fur is real,” the rude man argued. “Is it real or ‘ave you stuck it on with glue?” He reached out a hand as if to touch the child’s leg and her protector rapped him smartly across the wrist with his cane. “Stay back,” he hissed, “Or I’ll have you thrown out.”
Discomfited by the scene, Elliot slipped back into the slowly moving crowd and walked on to the next exhibit. He wasn’t sure if Katerina’s fur was real either but for her sake, he hoped it wasn’t. The world could be a cruel enough place for a young girl as it was without looking so vastly different from her peers. At least her protector seemed to have a modicum of respect for her.
He couldn’t see into the next exhibit because of the crowd clustered around it but from the laughter of the people standing in front of him, this display wasn’t quite as confronting as Katerina and her body fur. He pushed past a chuckling man to give himself a front row view and read the sign – Roland the Tattooed Man. Unlike poor Katerina, the heavily tattooed Roland was relishing his moment in the spotlight. Dressed in a sparse orange loincloth in order to display the optimal amount of skin, Roland posed, preened, and winked at the ladies as he flexed his muscles and showed off his ink drawings to the enthusiastic bystanders. Fantastic pictures in purple, green, and black told a story of sailing ships, sea monsters, and beautiful fishtailed women, all overlooked by suns and moons with grinning, leering faces. Elliot immediately thought of Hortense’s paintings of fantastical creatures and exotic locations that decorated the walls of Darcy’s house.
After a few minutes, he left Roland to his posturing and pressed on. The air inside the hall was thick and stuffy from the breath and perspiration of hundreds of people and the temperature was rising. He unbuttoned his coat and looked around, skimming his eyes over the crowd in the hopes of seeing the Knave. Unfortunately, many of the gentlemen were dressed alike, in black top hats and dark coats, and it was difficult to pick any one man out of the many.
“Look, look! Mama, I want to see the tiny man!” A pigtailed girl with a loud voice dragged her mother across Elliot’s path and drew her close to the next display. Here the handwritten sign named the exhibit as Marvin the Midget And His Faerie Wife Marissa. Elliot looked over the head of the girl with the pigtails to see a red velvet covered stage set down in the middle of the display. On top of the stage stood an exceptionally small and well-dressed man, who stared haughtily out into the hall as if there weren’t several people staring back at both him and his wife from just a few feet away. His wife too was tiny, just as the sign stated. She stood no taller than a large house cat, although her double chins hinted at a fondness for good food. She wore a queenly red gown and twirled a lacy parasol, smiling benignly at the crowd while her husband studiously ignored them.
Still grinning at this pintsize display of matrimony, Elliot stepped away from the exhibit and continued walking through the show. He gazed in awe at the Fat Lady with her buttery, pale rolls of copious flesh, he stood and stared in amazement at the Man With Claws For Hands, and he gasped out loud when he saw the Conjoined Twins From Siam. The World’s Tallest Man made his jaw drop, the Boy With Three Legs made him wince with sympathy – where on earth did he manage to find a cobbler willing to make an identical set of three shoes? – and the Mythological Mermaid, half-submerged in a fish tank with her shimmery tail tucked up beneath her, was beyond compare. He watched in awe beside the circus rail as two acrobats formed flexible feats
, he chuckled as three clowns fought over a hank of rope, and he laughed out loud when he saw his own warped and distorted reflection in the crazy fair mirrors.
He was so swept up in the excitement and buzz of the exhibition hall, was so enthralled and entranced by everything he saw, so captivated by the colours, sights, and sounds of this exuberant Victorian carnival that he almost forgot the reason why he was here. He’d certainly forgotten most of the wonders he’d witnessed in the 21st century for the moment, carried along on the vibrant and lively sense of astonishment that permeated every inch of this venue. For a few thrilling minutes, Elliot was again a simple Victorian chimney sweep who had never witnessed sights like this before in his life.
“Pardon me. Can you point the way to the ladies’ conveniences?” A brusque man with a walrus-like grey moustache poked him roughly on the shoulder. “My wife needs to take some time out from all the excitement.”
Elliot frowned, wondering why the man thought he’d know where to find such a facility, and then he remembered the yellow button on his lapel. The man had mistaken him for someone who knew his way around in here. Elliot gave him a crisp smile and pointed vaguely to a far corner of the hall, even though he had no clue where anything was. “You’ll find them over there.”
The man grunted and walked away without saying thank you or even raising his hat in acknowledgement, while his imperious wife put her nose in the air and tripped along beside him. Elliot hoped he’d sent them on wild goose chase. He lifted his own nose and sniffed the air, following the delicious scent to reach the mouth-watering sight of a popcorn stand with a red-and-white striped frontage and mountains of golden yellow, butter-soaked popcorn piled up high under hot gas lamps. Again, he wished he’d thought to bring some coins with him.
He turned away, ready to explore more of the exhibits or perhaps find himself a seat near the circus ring to watch the elaborately decorated performing horses - and that was when he walked straight into the Knave.
Chapter Twenty
“Excuse me. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The Knave’s deep, chilling voice gave him away immediately. He threw a cursory glance at Elliot and made to move on before abruptly halting mid-stride. He whirled back to face him and a slow smirk spread across the man’s face as he met Elliot’s startled glare. “Elliot Cinder. I was wondering when you would show up.”
“The Knave – or should I call you Jack?” Elliot quickly shut down his own surprise, determined to hold the upper hand from the outset. He’d allowed his mind to drift away from the assignment and allowed his attention to slacken and that should never have happened. This man, this murderer, was the only reason he was here.
A tell-tale twitch of irritation tugged at the side of the Knave’s mouth. “I didn’t realise my name was so important to you.”
“Nothing about you is important,” Elliot replied smoothly. “Your importance is all in your own head.”
The Knave threw his head back and laughed, the throaty sound drawing the intrigued attention of a passing group of young ladies. Elliot glared at the group, silently urging them to look away and move on. He understood the Knave’s attraction to young women but they didn’t know of the danger and heartbreak that lurked beneath the man’s confident demeanour.
The Knave’s laughter snorted to a stop. “If I’m so unimportant, why does my name still linger in the 21st century? Jack the Ripper is somewhat of a folk hero there, if my memory serves me well. My nickname withstands the passage of time.”
“People find it hard to forget true evil.” Elliot’s hand itched and he curled it into a fist and pushed it deep down into his pocket. He ached to punch this self-satisfied villain and wipe the smirk from his face but that would gain nothing.
“Fair enough.” The Knave stifled a yawn behind his hand, feigning boredom. “Have you found much to amuse you here? Most of the exhibits grow tiresome if you dally too long. The elaborate trickery involved starts to become too obvious.”
“You would know. Trickery and deceit seem to be your by-line.” An unexpected bubble of people had suddenly filled this part of the hall, causing an uncomfortable crush of bodies. The Knave, pulled unawares into the animated onward flow of carnival patrons, was already a short distance away from the spot where he’d stood just seconds before. Elliot hurriedly stepped into the wave of humanity in order to follow him, suddenly anxious on behalf of the group of young ladies who had passed by earlier. The Knave was not a man who knew how to play fair. What better place was there to dole out hurt and suffering than in the middle of a huge crowd of people? He could easily make his escape in the ensuing chaos and no one would be any the wiser that he was the one to blame.
Elliot allowed himself to be carried along, pinned deep within the ranks of the thronging crowd as he bounced on the balls of his feet and attempted to keep the Knave in sight. The man was tall, taller than most men here, and his hat remained visible above the heads of the laughing, shoving carnival patrons. An overweight matron waddling along in front of Elliot took a step back without warning and he winced as her heavy heel came down on his instep. She turned her head to simper an apology, her eyes brightening when she saw his face. He grimaced a quick smile in her direction before retraining his focus on the Knave’s hat, which was now astonishingly far ahead of him.
The rush of the crowd had slowed again as several people broke away to look at an exhibit that was now drawing an eager audience. The Knave too had stopped and he appeared to be watching the display with muted interest, or at least that was how it looked from what Elliot could see of his expression. Elliot peered around the couple standing in front of him and tried to see what the fuss was about. The sign read, Mr. Mortanza And His Incredible Talking Puppet Leroy.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Do you mind if I get a little closer to the front of the display? I don’t want to impose on your own view but I’m sure there’s enough room for both of us here.” Elliot politely tipped his hat to the woman, a matron of advanced years who looked as though she has having difficulty seeing Mr. Mortanza and Leroy despite the fact the ventriloquist and his puppet were within touching distance. She eyed Elliot myopically through age-blurred eyes before shuffling a few steps closer to her husband to make a little more space.
Mr. Mortanza’s puppet was a hideous creature, with a badly painted face and hinged jaw that gaped alarmingly as the ventriloquist threw his voice without moving his own lips. The man was clever, Elliot would give him that, but Leroy needed work. However, today’s easy crowd appeared willing to overlook Leroy’s bad paint job and they clapped in delight as the puppet crooned a love song to the blushing and giggling young woman standing next to the Knave.
Elliot kept his eyes on the Knave, watching for any underhand gestures or sudden movements, but the man acted courteously and even took a step to one side to allow the young lady to enjoy the crowd’s attention without distraction.
“Thank you, thank you.” Leroy, with the help of the ventriloquist, took a deep, stiff bow and the young lady and her young male companion moved on.
Elliot sidled around the elderly couple and now he and the Knave were shoulder to shoulder once again. “Can you tell me something?” Elliot blurted out. “How did your obsession with harming women begin?”
The Knave studied his fingernails, as if they were chatting over a cup of tea and he had all the time in the world to consider a reply, while in the background Leroy launched into a theatrical array of mildly bawdy jokes that made the watching men chortle and the women gasp in pretend horror. “Obsession?” he drawled lazily. “That’s a strong word. I prefer to call it dedication.”
He was far too smug for his own good. No man should ever be that smug, especially a man such as this. Disgusted and unable to look into those arrogant eyes for a solitary second longer, Elliot angrily spun away as he fought against a slurry of mixed feelings and emotions. “Watch yourself. You won’t get away with what you’re doing for much longer.”
“Is that a threat?” The Knave pu
rred the words as the audience burst into spontaneous applause for the puppet master and his puppet.
“Take it however you want but I prefer to call it advice.” Elliot took a step back, all of sudden anxious to put some distance between himself and this insufferable man. He was walking against the flow of the crowd now, pushing back against people who didn’t want to be pushed back against. It felt like a metaphor for his own interactions with the Knave. The man infuriated him, made him want to grab him by the neck and shake him. If Elliot was a violent man himself, he’d want to do a lot more than that but stooping to the Knave’s level would solve nothing. He hated and despised him for what he’d done but hate, much like jealousy and other negative emotions, did more harm to the hater than it did to the hatee. Bad feelings had a habit of rotting a person from the inside out.
He groaned his anguish aloud, causing several people to turn and stare at him but he paid no attention to their curious gawping, remaining locked in his own thoughts as he swerved around the exhibits. As the saying went, it should be an eye for an eye and a life for a life but Elliot preferred to imagine the Knave locked away from society, somewhere without the opportunity for a moment’s freedom or for engaging in any normal social stimulation.
Peckham House Lunatic Asylum would be perfect.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elliot and the Knave met again in front of the Fat Lady exhibit, having each walked in opposing directions before circling back to close to where they’d begun, just as Elliot was beginning to wish he hadn’t allowed his trifling burst of anger to send him off in a huff. Remember why you’re here. The overweight lady at the exhibit in question, a Miss Bertha Bartholomew according to the small print beneath the exuberant poster advertising her numerous and voluminous talents, had taken a 15 minute ‘Hunger Break’ if the handwritten sign on the seat of her reinforced chair was to be believed.
On a Night Black Page 10
