Mirror Sight
Page 100
Acrobats came tumbling out of the dark. A man appeared before them and inserted a torch into his mouth, then expelled a fiery breath. Karigan and Cade slowly made their way along the path, dazzled by contortionists, jugglers, a woman wound up in a bloated snake.
Karigan was not sure which was worse in the flickering torchlight—the snake or the clowns with their pale faces and false expressions. Whether their painted masks were jolly or grotesque, they all seemed to leer at her even as they cavorted around her.
“If there is all this before we even enter the tent,” Cade said, “I wonder what we shall find inside.”
She had no idea and wasn’t sure she wished to know. From outside they could hear the strains of music, fulsome, metallic tones different than anything she’d ever heard before. It was closer to horns than strings, and deep and powerful.
A harlequin in motley with a half red and half black face bowed them into the tent. All the activity and clamor, the light and color, was too much to take in all at once, and Karigan was glad to have her veil to filter some of the visual assault. Footlights surrounded the entire center ring and were augmented by crystal chandeliers suspended from rigging up above, sending shattered light twinkling across the red and white diamond pattern of the tent ceiling and walls. The tent reminded her of the costume she’d worn to the king’s masquerade. How long ago had that been?
Up above, a tightrope walker balanced her way across a wire. Like Karigan, many guests turned their faces up to watch. She wondered if the men enjoyed the novelty of being able to gaze openly at scantily clad females who didn’t even conceal their faces with veils.
The source of the music was at the far end of the tent. A man sat at a keyboard contraption with four levels of keys and several pipes that rose up into the heights of the big top, spewing periodic hissing clouds of steam. The man operating it not only had his fingers dashing across the keys and pulling levers and knobs, but also his feet never stopped pumping treadles.
“What is that thing?” Karigan pointed it out to Cade. When the man hit the low notes, it made her bones rattle.
“A music steamer,” Cade said. “It can make all the sounds of a band. It means Hadley doesn’t have to pay a whole lot of musicians for the same effect, although it doesn’t sound as good to my ear.”
He did not appear terribly impressed by it, but then he had lived his whole life in this time where mechanicals were commonplace. Karigan wondered fleetingly what Estral would make of the music steamer.
“Hello, hello,” a man said, striding right up to them. Karigan recognized him as the circus boss. “Welcome to the Imperial Circus. I am Rudman Hadley. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure . . . ?”
Karigan started to speak, but Cade cleared his throat and passed her a warning look. “I am Cade Harlowe, and I’m escorting Miss Kari Goodgrave this evening, niece of Professor Bryce Lowell Josston.”
“How interesting,” Hadley said, giving Karigan a second look. Once again she was glad of the veil. What if he recognized her as the “corpse” that had “risen” from his sarcophagus the night she arrived? “Professor Josston’s mysterious niece. Your custodian has managed to keep you sequestered it would seem. Is this truly your first evening out since your arrival?”
She nodded.
“Very good. Enjoy all that Dr. Silk offers tonight—the entertainment, the food, the exhibits.”
He gave a slight bow and moved on to other guests. Karigan thought she and Cade both exhaled in relief at the same time. “Now what?” she asked.
“I guess we do as Hadley suggests—enjoy what’s here.”
Nearby, a burly man in a black mask hurled knives at a woman splayed against a wooden board behind her. The knives thunked into wood, outlining her figure with a precision Karigan could only admire. When he finished, he bowed to a smattering of applause. To Karigan, the one who deserved most of the acclaim was the woman who had stood unflinching as sharp blades flew at her.
Servants passed among the guests with glasses of wine. Cade demurred for both of them. “No spirits for us tonight. Perhaps there is punch somewhere.”
They drifted on past the next attraction, a caged lion with full tawny mane, padding around in circles. Nearby, another cage, this one tall and domed, was draped and guarded. Some of the guests tried to get the guards to tell them what was hidden beneath, but the guards only smiled and told them it was a surprise of Dr. Silk’s.
“Not sure if I like the sound of that,” Cade murmured.
A goodly number of guests filled the circus ring, supplemented by entertainers and servants. It was odd to be among so many women with their faces blanked by veils, but a few wore veils that barely reached their rouged upper lips. They wore gorgeous gowns that bared more of their necks and revealed more of their curves than any attire she’d seen thus far. Jewels glittered on their fingers, hung from their necks and wrists. All the other women, Karigan included, looked staid in comparison. If Mistress dela Enfande had been hoping for Karigan’s gown to make a statement of daring, she had fallen short.
“These women of the Capital,” Cade muttered, following her gaze, “no modesty at all.”
Karigan raised her eyebrow. There was something about these women. They were less reserved. They laughed more loudly and wore the most dramatic colors—vivid reds, and blues, and golds. The Mill City women were almost like mourners haunting a side show with their quiet demeanors and comparatively drab clothing and lack of baubles.
Karigan was not sure which was worse in the flickering torchlight—the snake or the clowns with their pale faces and false expressions. Whether their painted masks were jolly or grotesque, they all seemed to leer at her even as they cavorted around her.
“If there is all this before we even enter the tent,” Cade said, “I wonder what we shall find inside.”
She had no idea and wasn’t sure she wished to know. From outside they could hear the strains of music, fulsome, metallic tones different than anything she’d ever heard before. It was closer to horns than strings, and deep and powerful.
A harlequin in motley with a half red and half black face bowed them into the tent. All the activity and clamor, the light and color, was too much to take in all at once, and Karigan was glad to have her veil to filter some of the visual assault. Footlights surrounded the entire center ring and were augmented by crystal chandeliers suspended from rigging up above, sending shattered light twinkling across the red and white diamond pattern of the tent ceiling and walls. The tent reminded her of the costume she’d worn to the king’s masquerade. How long ago had that been?
Up above, a tightrope walker balanced her way across a wire. Like Karigan, many guests turned their faces up to watch. She wondered if the men enjoyed the novelty of being able to gaze openly at scantily clad females who didn’t even conceal their faces with veils.
The source of the music was at the far end of the tent. A man sat at a keyboard contraption with four levels of keys and several pipes that rose up into the heights of the big top, spewing periodic hissing clouds of steam. The man operating it not only had his fingers dashing across the keys and pulling levers and knobs, but also his feet never stopped pumping treadles.
“What is that thing?” Karigan pointed it out to Cade. When the man hit the low notes, it made her bones rattle.
“A music steamer,” Cade said. “It can make all the sounds of a band. It means Hadley doesn’t have to pay a whole lot of musicians for the same effect, although it doesn’t sound as good to my ear.”
He did not appear terribly impressed by it, but then he had lived his whole life in this time where mechanicals were commonplace. Karigan wondered fleetingly what Estral would make of the music steamer.
“Hello, hello,” a man said, striding right up to them. Karigan recognized him as the circus boss. “Welcome to the Imperial Circus. I am Rudman Hadley. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure . . . ?”
Karigan started to speak, but Cade cleared his throat and passed her a warning look. “I am Cade Harlowe, and I’m escorting Miss Kari Goodgrave this evening, niece of Professor Bryce Lowell Josston.”
“How interesting,” Hadley said, giving Karigan a second look. Once again she was glad of the veil. What if he recognized her as the “corpse” that had “risen” from his sarcophagus the night she arrived? “Professor Josston’s mysterious niece. Your custodian has managed to keep you sequestered it would seem. Is this truly your first evening out since your arrival?”
She nodded.
“Very good. Enjoy all that Dr. Silk offers tonight—the entertainment, the food, the exhibits.”
He gave a slight bow and moved on to other guests. Karigan thought she and Cade both exhaled in relief at the same time. “Now what?” she asked.
“I guess we do as Hadley suggests—enjoy what’s here.”
Nearby, a burly man in a black mask hurled knives at a woman splayed against a wooden board behind her. The knives thunked into wood, outlining her figure with a precision Karigan could only admire. When he finished, he bowed to a smattering of applause. To Karigan, the one who deserved most of the acclaim was the woman who had stood unflinching as sharp blades flew at her.
Servants passed among the guests with glasses of wine. Cade demurred for both of them. “No spirits for us tonight. Perhaps there is punch somewhere.”
They drifted on past the next attraction, a caged lion with full tawny mane, padding around in circles. Nearby, another cage, this one tall and domed, was draped and guarded. Some of the guests tried to get the guards to tell them what was hidden beneath, but the guards only smiled and told them it was a surprise of Dr. Silk’s.
“Not sure if I like the sound of that,” Cade murmured.
A goodly number of guests filled the circus ring, supplemented by entertainers and servants. It was odd to be among so many women with their faces blanked by veils, but a few wore veils that barely reached their rouged upper lips. They wore gorgeous gowns that bared more of their necks and revealed more of their curves than any attire she’d seen thus far. Jewels glittered on their fingers, hung from their necks and wrists. All the other women, Karigan included, looked staid in comparison. If Mistress dela Enfande had been hoping for Karigan’s gown to make a statement of daring, she had fallen short.
“These women of the Capital,” Cade muttered, following her gaze, “no modesty at all.”
Karigan raised her eyebrow. There was something about these women. They were less reserved. They laughed more loudly and wore the most dramatic colors—vivid reds, and blues, and golds. The Mill City women were almost like mourners haunting a side show with their quiet demeanors and comparatively drab clothing and lack of baubles.
