Broken People (Serial)

Eleven

"Welcome to The Nightingale Circus!" a voice boomed from the speakers. "Clowns, acrobats, gymnasts ... We have it all! Wild beasts, as well! But that is not what you came for, is it? You came to listen to the Nightingale sing! So don't be shy and come inside! The Nightingale is waiting to take flight!"

The oversized poster propped near the gate announced The Nightingale Circus and its main attractions: the Nightingale, covered in sunshine; the Swan with her delicate feathers; and the Firebird bursting into flames. Then came the aerialist team constantly on the move, and the Blade Masters, throwing knives at each other. At the bottom of the poster was the magician in a pale blue light, and the silver flash of the Rocket Girl.

Dale took a look at the poster and handed two coins to the woman standing in the entrance booth, in exchange for what passed as a ticket. The golden foil cut in the shape of a mask was no bigger than his palm, and was obviously not intended to be used as one. When the token exchanged hands, a flashy sign came to life, alerting the visitors to return the masks before leaving. The rumor in town was whoever entered without a pass disappeared, never to be found again.

The woman smiled, colors swirling on her cheeks and around her eyes as she nodded for him to pass through the gate. Like all of the other circus employees, she wore a mask that seemed to be painted directly on her skin.

Instead of resisting, Dale let the visitor flow guide his path. Food stands alternated with souvenir and game stands, the vendors wearing the same bright orange on their faces, although no two masks were alike. Here and there, small tents broke the uniformity, and people paid extra to be let in by the mauve-faced owners. The rides had been installed on the north side: the big wheel, rollercoaster, the house of horrors, and a few other minor attractions were all grouped together for those less faint at heart.

Rocket Girl's special arena included her giant cannon. Each time, she flew high, did two or three flips, and landed effortlessly. Fireworks shot from her shoulders as she pumped her robot metal fist, and the crowd cheered.

Loud music fell from above while bright spotlights turned the night into day. The power used to run the circus for one evening could serve a small town, but the visitors were too taken by the sights and sounds to wonder where the circus got all that power. It couldn't be, could it? Dale discarded the thought.

In the middle of it all, between the yellow cord and the train cars, reigned the three-story circus tent. Blue and yellow stripes spread down from the top of the pointed roof, widening at the base. Despite the dirty and discolored canvas, the tent never failed to impress with its size and sheer presence, like a battered, but dignified old ship.

From elevated platforms, dancers dressed in flames and sunlight waved at people to go inside while men on stilts patrolled the area in front of the tent's entrance. In between announcements, fanfare music blasted loudly, making it hard for the dancers to keep the beat.

Now and then, customers grumbled because the entrance fee for the main attractions was higher than a night out in the city. It came with a complimentary light bulb the size of a child's fist, which didn't have to be returned. Grumbles or not, everyone paid. The shows were getting better every year, those who saw them agreed on that if nothing else, and those two hours were the highlights of the season before the bleak winter came.

Dale caught bits and pieces while walking through the crowd. The kids let out happy giggles, and the adults buzzed with excitement. The stilt men waved, smiling widely, and one of them stopped in front of Dale. He bent at the waist, as if to get a better look at him, and pointed commandingly at the big tent. In you go.

Two mimes with happy faces appeared on either side of him and escorted him to the entrance, thrusting a light bulb into his hand. Their grip was stronger than necessary and put him on guard. The mimes had felt his weapons when they grabbed him. Could they take him for an unhappy customer, the kind who showed up on the other side of the tracks? They didn't seem too concerned with the security—not counting the occasional man whose face was covered in pieces of obsidian.

He didn't hurry to find a seat in one of the front rows but climbed on the high bleachers, remaining close to the busy aisle. An arena this size took up to twenty minutes to fill. Then the lights slowly dimmed until it became pitch black. Dale fought the uneasy, claustrophobic feeling, but the kids in the arena weren't as successful. Several began to cry, and a few sniffles echoed in the darkness. Those turned into gasps of awe when the light bulbs in their hands came to life.

As if following a command, everyone held the light bulbs up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Nightingale Circus," a shapeless voice spoke clearly, though not shouting. "Let the magic begin!"

A spotlight aimed high above the center of the arena focused on a silhouette walking suspended in the air. As the circle of light increased its diameter and more spotlights were turned on, a red spot that followed the man's steps became visible. In a flash, red, phosphorescent light spread along the rope attached to two tall poles planted on opposite sides of the arena.

The acrobat continued his ballet until a flying shape snatched the man off his rope and flew away with him. Two aerialists fought over their prey, then three, then four. The audience gasped each time the aerialists tossed him in the air.

To an untrained eye, the moves might have seemed random, but Dale easily identified the pattern. Someone with basic physics knowledge, like himself, could visualize the magnetic fields and predict when they would go on and off based on the way the limbs clasped together. The awareness removed the magic from the performance, but it was still an impressive act.

The lights came flashing back on, basking the aerialist ensemble in an array of colors that made their golden costumes and masks glow. The only white spots left on their faces were their teeth when they smiled. Dale couldn't remember the last time he had felt this way. He slipped the light bulb back into his pocket. Its light had long since died.

Other acts followed. The mean tricks by the clowns made the kids laugh. Among them, only Jacko turned out to be a decent juggler. Dogs, monkeys, and egrets chased them off the stage. The contortionists were only slightly better than the clowns. All in green, they curled and leaped like alien frogs.

The act that allowed them a peek behind the curtain unexpectedly came with a pretty ballerina. While following a swarm of butterflies, she danced her way around the stage in her white tutu. The music accompanying her had vocals as enchanting as the dance. Dale guessed this was the famous Nightingale singing. Her voice was hypnotic, and it put people in a trance.

It didn't work on a pair of clowns who came on stage as if out for a walk and, seeing the ballerina, started harassing her. She managed to escape them for a while, but one of the clowns eventually opened a panel in her chest—those in the front rows got a good look at the pump and loose wires inside—and, shoving his hand into the cavity, turned off a switch. The poor ballerina froze in mid-spin, standing on the tip of her ballet shoe, both arms and one leg raised high in the air. The trick worthy of the house of horrors had the audience gasping while the clowns laughed like madmen.

The location of the frozen ballerina became an impediment for the next number so, when the gymnasts took the stage, one of them picked her up and moved her to the side. For the next six minutes, Dale found himself paying more attention to her than the gymnasts. Sure, they were fine in their skin-tight costumes, with emphasis put on muscles, but the idea the audience had already discarded kept nagging Dale. Was the ballerina real or not? She stood like a statue, and while the mask hid any possible blush, her muscles strained, and a vein pulsed along her throat. If she wasn't real, kudos to the master who'd made her.

The gymnasts jumped off, destroying the human pyramid, and took their bows. The enthusiastic applause that followed failed to keep them on the stage. They didn't do encores.

Nicholas le Fleuriste, as the announcer introduced him, brought out his trunk of tricks. He took off his white gloves and picked up a wand, then stopped with a grim expression, looking at the human decoration on the set. Shaking his head, he strode up to the ballerina and flipped the switch back on. He barely had time to close the panel on her chest before she finished her pirouette and danced away, leaving the magician with an outstretched hand holding a red rose.

Dale sank low in his seat. He didn't care for the magic tricks. However, the blue light the magician had made appear when he struck his hand inside the woman's chest was not for show. Dale had seen it before in less peaceful circumstances. Telechargers had fought giant robots on the battlefield for years, and kept dying because of it. The memory got him thinking, and his thoughts drifted for a while. The presence of a telecharger changed things.