Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Two

The open field, usually home to baseball and football games and church picnics, was now was packed chock-a-block with wooden booths and colorful tents, turning the faded green and brown of the space into a patchwork of color and noise. As she walked along the main thoroughfare, she paused here and there to offer greetings. A few minutes spent complementing the Ladies Auxiliary on the quilts made to raffle, indulging in a deep inhale of the various cakes set out by the Home-Ec. department of the Women's Seminary. Tonight they would be cut up and served by the slice to earn money for a new set of stoves. The Boy Scouts, busy hammering their booth's sign onto the uprights got their first nickle toward their yearly spring camping trip in exchange for a tepid and overly tart Dixie cup of lemonade which was quickly dumped when out of sight, the cup crumpled and dropped into a large trash bin.

Though she seemed outwardly to be merely meandering, she had a goal in mind the moment she'd stepped through the gate. At the far end of the fairgrounds stood an tent unlike any she had ever laid eyes on before. It was three times as large as any of the other tents which surrounded it, and unlike them it was not dull natural canvas or even a soft muted color in its stripes. It was black and red... no, such words seemed paltry. The tent was ebony and crimson. Already there were half a dozen kids fighting to get a peek through the canvas at whatever lay inside. She sincerely hoped it was not anything too ribald. As if on cue from fate, the answer to her question fell from the sky. Or rather, it fell from the top of the tent where a previously unseen man had been securing the rolled canvas to the support. Unleashed, it fell a good four feet wide and ten feet long, the weighted end swinging back and forth as it settled into place a foot above the ground, sending the children to scatter.

The sign, like the tent, was done in a theme of black and red. The crimson field bore ink black silhouettes painted, a trio of masculine shapes with glowing eyes of green or blue, or in the case of the one front and center, one of each. Looking more closely, you could see faces painted, a lighter shade of dark charcoal on the black showing the variation of each face. Beneath the silhouettes, in bright lettering edged in copper, silver, and golden paint, it read P. A. Walter's Steam Man Band.

"Good morning!" a warm, masculine voice spoke from above.

"Good morning, Sir."

The man descending the ladder was a lanky sort, Wide-shouldered but narrow hipped and long-legged. Beneath his Gatsby, black hair fringed against the nape of his neck. His ruggedly handsome jawline frankly could use a bit of a shave, but it was nothing too great to worry over. He wore tan trousers and vest and a white shirt in a casual manner. Everything about him seemed comfortable and at ease.

He smiled and tipped his cap at her, dropping off the ladder and avoiding the last few rungs. "Didn't frighten you did I, Miss?." He motioned toward the tent and then set his cap back upon his head, taking a lean on the ladder, one folded arm slid through the space between rungs.

"No, Sir. I was well back." She looked over the painting again. "Steam Man Band?" She inquired, taking another step forward, to ensure she did not have to lift her voice as they conversed.

"Oh yes indeed." He nodded, shifting his arm to encircle the ladder, a little huff and he settled the rung atop his shoulder, walking across to the other side of where, she assumed, the tent flaps would be undone so there was a door for entry. "The Original Singing Automatons. They're amazing, if I do say so myself." He leaned the ladder against the tent and began climbing, pausing at the top to look down at her with what she suspected was his most charming smile. "The first time they've performed since before the war. The show isn't until this evening, but I have some sway. I could let you get a little peek, if you like." He grinned as he pushed the sign off to unroll downward revealing a black banner on which faces were painted. A silver face with a dark mouth and heavy brows, one of which was slightly cocked, a glittering gold face framed by waves of curling hair pouring from beneath what appeared to be a top hat, and a third, copper, with what she could only describe as an impish look to him and a red bandanna around his head. Above it read "The 8½th Wonder of the World!" and beneath "They Play! They Sing! They Live!"