Circus of Killers

Chapter 3 | Esryn

I tumbled through the spiraling kaleidoscope of my consciousness like Alice through the rabbit hole, all the world around me ever changing as I slipped in and out of blackness. My head— and, according to my distorted sense of vertigo, my entire body— spun round and round until I felt like a bobblehead doll bouncing along the road. Except I wasn't on a road. I was in a bed, and Clyde, the slimy owner of the Circus, was peering over me.

His breath stank of stale Circus crackers and synthetic meat, and it reminded me that he was paid no better than we were. The vast majority of the Circus's profits went to pad the pockets of the Caian leaders. A given business took six percent of its profits, and the remaining 94% went straight to the government. It was supposed to be redistributed evenly throughout the working citizens of Cai. Instead, we starved in the streets and they got richer. I, like every other Caian, had heard rumors of the Blues, a ruthless terrorist organization that frequently attempted to destabilize our government. Of course, I hid my thoughts on this matter, for to even discuss it could paint one as a Blue, but secretly I was glad they existed. Were I not responsible for my family, I would have up and joined them instead of working for years in this gods damned circus.

As a magic performer I was already hanging from the lowest rung on the ladder of Caian social hierarchy. What harm would it be to be called a terrorist as well?

A rough hand pulled me up and propped me against the wall sitting against the head of the sickbed. "I want you out on that stage tomorrow. You have until then to rebuild whatever shield you had covering that shit before." I frantically pushed myself up to protest and to ask whether or not my family had been taken care of, whether or not I would be paid, whether or not Clyde would turn me over to the Caian authorities. But by the time I had writhed into a sitting position, Clyde had gone.

Heartily sighing, I turned to face Mum. Her face held strong lines and worried creases brought upon by stress. Her lips cracked open to speak. "You should've never done that, Essie. You've put us all at risk." Emotion washed over me. She was right. I should never have been so reckless or so uncontrolled. For a second, on that stage, I'd gotten so caught up in the feeling of really living, of using a part of me that I'd hidden for years. I'd forgotten that there were people that relied on me in the light of the power. Oh, if only I weren't so dangerous. Why was magic so dangerous and hard to control? All it was, was an undiscovered science. Science could be learned and controlled. But magic was so... untamable.

—

I tried to appear stoic as I entered Clyde's office. The scent of cheap buttered popcorn filled the air, its grease coating the various paperwork that lay scattered around the room. Clyde sat on a rickety kitchen chair behind the fold-up table that served as his desk, a pen cap in his mouth as he stared down at a piece of paper. I rapped my knuckles on the wall next to me. "Clyde."

He looked up, eyes wide and brows raised. "Oh— Esryn. What do you need?" My weight shifted from one foot to the other. I bit down on my lip, wondering exactly how I could approach this without appearing greedy. Clyde capped his ballpoint and leaned forward. "Well, out with it, Esryn. What is it you want?"

"A raise." Just like that, Clyde shifted from friendly and comforting to cold and calculating.

"That can be arranged." Apprehension settled into my stomach like a ball of lead. As a boss, Clyde was wonderful, but he wasn't someone I'd go to for a favor, not if I had any other options. "I'll raise you twenty silver a show; I just need one favor." A wicked grin spread across his face.

I straightened my back, pushed my shoulders back, and braced myself for the impact of his next words.

"There's a competition the circus has been invited to take part in— the Practitioners' Match, it's called. Fair warning— no one else is quite desperate enough to even consider entering. The Match is straight-up slaughter: a hundred practitioners are sent to various environments, each one progressively more difficult to survive in, with the task of killing as many people as they can. But if you die, the government will supply your family with enough to live on, and if you live, it's a twenty-five thousand gold." Twenty-five thousand. Financial aid for my family. It took a mere second of consideration to decide this was a good way to die.