Broken People (Serial)

Eighteen

"Not so fast." Dale caught up with Cielo before she disappeared into the crowd. Oddly enough, she limped less when she ran.

Cielo slowed to a walk, her eyes ever watchful. The mask was back, the same golden shade as her flowing dress, swirling around her delicate features with a life of its own. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but didn't stop.

Dale automatically took the lead, something he was used to, and moved ahead, constantly aware of the small girl's presence behind him. In front of him, the crowd parted while he advanced towards the large tent.

"What is it that you do here?" he asked. "I didn't see you during the show."

"I have the most important job in the world." Her words chimed, and when Dale glanced back over his shoulder, waiting for her to continue, Cielo grinned. "I'm the seamstress!"

The mask hid her face, but not the smile which gave her a mysterious air. Dale's gut told him this couldn't be the whole truth. Rake and Spinner wouldn't have asked him to guard a seamstress. And she looked nothing like them, so their concern couldn't be explained by blood relation.

"I know what you're thinking," Cielo said, the smile never leaving her face. "You obviously never worked in a circus. With those stunts they do, the costumes need repair more often than you'd think. And the appeal of the acts greatly decreases without the costumes. I mean, who would want to see what's underneath? The girls freak out every time a thread tears. That's a lot of work!"

"There's one act that doesn't need costumes."

People said no one had ever seen the Nightingale perform. No one knew who the singer was or what she looked like. Dale would have been tempted to believe it was only a recording, tailored to fit each act, if he hadn't heard her with his own ears. The songs didn't matter, but the message they sent did. Whoever sang had to be there each night to get the pulse of the crowd. In his work, Dale had encountered people able to target subjects one by one, but never someone working crowds this large. Lucky for them, The Nightingale Circus was in no danger of getting lynched—not that it was any of his business.

Cielo's green eyes flashed at him. "We all wear costumes when the fair is open—"

"And masks." And not only the ones moving on their faces.

"And masks. It's all part of the act."

It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech, so Dale pretended to fall for it. There was no time to question her more because Renard welcomed them at the back entrance of the tent, a worried look on his face. "What happened? Did someone break into the factory?"

"Yes, but everything is all right now," Cielo said.

Not really. They still had to deal with two catatonic bodies, and there was also the question of what effect the gas had on Cole, but no one asked Dale.

"Good." Renard nodded. "Get in. They need you."

Cielo disappeared into the tent with a flurry of yellow skirts.

His task completed, Dale turned to go back to Cole. The icy dew crunched under his feet.

"I better see what happened," Renard said, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

"The lab is still standing," Dale said.

"It's not the lab I'm worried about." Renard's mutter confirmed Dale's suspicions. The machines could be repaired and the equipment replaced. It was harder to explain two dead bodies if the police came looking for them.

Still, Renard smiled and nodded at people as they passed by, stopping to shake hands on the way. He was as popular as someone who ran a circus would have been expected to be—maybe too popular. Well-mannered and educated, he didn't quite fit into the scenery. And, unlike all the other performers, he wasn't wearing a mask.

"No mask?" Dale asked.

The magician raised a hand and wiggled his gloved fingers. "The audience is more prone to believe an act it knows can't be real if you go out of your way to prove you have nothing to hide."

"So it's all smoke and mirrors?"

"More or less," Renard said. "We're not so keen on mirrors. That's why we got rid of the ordeal of putting on makeup."

"Those masks are ... quite something."

"Yeah, though you'll have to talk to our specialists if you're curious. I was never good with technology, not the kind we use anyway."

Such a statement coming from someone whose work relied on highly advanced technology made Dale shake his head. The man was either very modest or used to a different type of technology. He ran a factory of spare parts, for God's sake.

Once they left the cone of light surrounding the fair and stepped into the darkness separating them from the train, Renard tapped his walking stick against a rock. A faint glow lit up the stick's handle. It bothered Dale's eyes more than helped, but the magician obviously didn't have Dale's enhancements.

They crossed the last couple of meters in silence, and Renard placed his hand on the logo painted on the side of the car before climbing inside. That gesture likely triggered a sensor to keep track of visitors, since there was no door to open anymore. What did that mean in terms of security? Would the gas have gone off if Cole had been alone, or had Cielo released it? Not like any of them would have volunteered the information if he asked.

In the last compartment at the end of the car, Spinner hummed quietly to himself, checking data on the screens in front of a shelf filled with vials. "This one ... this one ... and this one ... No, not this one ... Ah, this one, yes ..." He picked out colorless vials and set them aside.

Renard's light footsteps made him look up. "Oh, it's you ... boss." He cast a glance at Dale. "Umm, we had a bit of a problem, but it's all taken care of."

Broken glass had been swept away, and the place looked pristine again. A clueless visitor wouldn't have any idea of the horrors that took place in there, hacking people up to fix them and putting them back together. Exhibit number one lay unconscious on his bed, but Rake was absent, and so were the intruders.

"Do you expect more problems of the same nature?" Renard asked.

"No, we'll be prepared if they return," Spinner said.

"So you can proceed as planned? I'm sure Mr. Armstrong is concerned."

Dale settled for a nod.

"Absolutely," Spinner hurried to say. "Rake has gone to bring another door from the storage. We'll install it and, after the show, get to work."

"I'd like to stay," Dale said.

"Not here," Spinner said decisively. "What we do is not for the faint-hearted, and we don't want to add any risk of infection."

"If you insist, you can wait in my car," Renard said.

"But it will take all night," Spinner said. "There's no point in waiting. We'll inform you in the morning how it went and what we plan to do next."

With both of them clearly wanting to get rid of him, Dale prepared himself to insist, but Rake came in.

"All done," the taller knife thrower said, his face impassive.

"You don't need me here. Please excuse me." Renard headed for the door. "Don't be late for the show."

Dale took one glance at Cole, then turned to Spinner. "Tomorrow. I want news as soon as possible."

"Yes, we'll send word," Spinner said. "Then you can come if you want, but we intend to keep him under sedation for several days until we complete the grafting."

It sounded like a complicated and painful procedure, so Dale had no choice but to agree with their terms.