Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Nine

The matinee audience was larger than the night before, no doubt a combination of the warmer daytime hours and the curiosity sparked by last night's events. The evening shows promised to be packed houses, so between setting up for the show and preparing camp for the train's arrival that night, the gentlemen, both metallic and human, were so busy they took little heed of Pete's mood. Had they been less intent on other things, the oncoming storm that was brewing in his thoughts might have been noted. He had acquired his father's almost unholy penchant for throwing himself into whatever subject was dearest to his heart, and at this moment, his single-minded goal was to have just one moment alone with her. His head was awash with overlapping fantasies, all involving her, wide-eyed, fearful of the dread knowledge that her sins had been visited back upon her. Several times during the day, he stopped and calmed himself, but inevitably something would trigger his mind to turn to her and his aching desire to possess her would twist into scenarios of having her at his mercy.

His stomach clenched tighter as the sun began to near the horizon. Their last show was standing room only, a few of the people even singing along. It was, to be fair, the most successful show they had done to date on the road, and yet Pete noticed none of it. His eyes had only one goal. Though he saw many faces he'd seen before none were hers. As the show ended, he moved to stand at the edge of the carnival grounds, looking out across the town, fighting to keep himself from finding out where she lived and ... and what? What did he really want to do?

He wanted to scream and vent his anger at her for looking down on him and making him feel so conflicted. For stealing his focus and putting ideas in his head that made him ache for luxurious carnality. He wanted to shake her and wipe that smile off her lips, wanted to see her looking up at him like she did last night, shocked and afraid, but even then he was sure he was not the only one who wanted the kiss to resume. Or was that just his wishful thinking to purge his conscience of guilt? In the end it didn't matter. In a few hours they would be gone and he'd never see her again. He told himself over and over once they were gone and he'd find himself right as rain in a few days. In the distance, the sound of a locomotive intruded on the fringes of his consciousness. The cloud of steam marked its progress, sweeping along the far edge of town, coming to a slow rest beside the fairgrounds. His heart dropped into his stomach with a surge of panic, aware that time was no longer the sands sifting in the curves of an hourglass, but a glass shattered and upended, pouring a hemorrhage of silvery grains over his hands, slipping through his fingers. With a gritting of his teeth, raging inwardly against the wild thoughts of snatching her away as the hero in Hull's novel had.

When the final patron had drifted out of the fairgrounds, the real work began. There were not many hours of light left, and a lot of work to do as the whole of the fairgrounds needed to be emptied to ensure the field was clear for the baseball game after tomorrow's church services. The stage re-purposed as the ramp to the storage car, the chairs were all folded and carried inside the car to be hung on pegs, then tied tight against the walls. Peter retrieved his banners, seeing they were put in his car to be inspected and touched up if needed on the journey. Then the tent had to be dismantled. It was sweaty work, for the humans anyway, and both brothers had stripped down to their undershirts before they were done. The ropes wound up and coiled, the wall panels and roof laid flat and rolled into bundles that were, one by one, stacked in the train car beside the trough for the long smooth poles which had supported the tent.

When the last of the tent poles were stacked, he and Peter walked side-by-side down the ramp, pausing at the bottom to stretch, hands pressed against their lower backs in an identical fashion. His body ached, but the work had stripped him of some of that deep belly tension. The last of the ropes and the crates of pegs were strapped down against the walls and all that remained now was to push the stage up into the car and close the door, a job well done though by now the sun had vanished behind the horizon and the stars were beginning to twinkle into existence. He ran his hands up through his damp hair when he heard The Spine's voice drift on the night air, carrying easily over the sound of machinery that marked his movement. "Good evening to you, Miss Mary."