The Ringmaster's Revenge

The Ringmaster's Revenge: Phase Thirteen

Phase Thirteen

2days: 16hours

Until the Ringmaster’s Revenge

Wynne

“Thanks, Roob.”

“No problem.” Wynne scratched the dog’s head and gave him an old hunk of meat as payment for playing lookout.  Then she squeezed past him into Blaze’s prison car.

“Eh, Wynne,” shouted the carnie, listening closely for her slight footsteps.  “You come for the grand unveiling?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Two weeks had gone by with Wynne riding the rails, and in that time she had learned all she could about the circus.  Unfortunately, she still had no idea how to escape it.  So Wynne had taken to visiting Blaze while his eye’s healed, hoping he could shine some light on her problem.  Rubin provided a willing accomplice to her schemes for the small price of occasional leftovers and grooming tips.

Though pleased the man was well enough to remove the bandages he’d been wearing for weeks, Wynne worried what he would say once his eyes adjusted and he saw her for the first time.  She had never bothered to inform Blaze of her condition but instead enjoyed the fact he assumed she was normal.  Soon, he would know otherwise.  Would he be disgusted?  Afraid?  Intrigued?

Biting her bottom lip, Wynne stepped closer to help untie the thick knot at the back of his head and unraveled several layers of bandanas.  When she finished, she stepped back to study him.

“How do I look?  I ain’t disfigured, am I?  Hate to join the ranks of side show act or have to do make a living doing blindfold drives.”  Blaze blinked over and over in her direction and she smiled imagining him dressed as a blindfolded clown driving around the Hippodrome track in a tiny car.  It had taken some time but she was slowly starting to understand the carnie’s jabber.

Squinting in the dull light, Wynne frowned at the white skin forming a raccoon like mask around the man’s pleasantly blue eyes.  She said, “Your eyes look alright.  The skin around them is a little… splotchy.  Can you see anything?”

Grinding his palms against his face, Blaze replied, “Slowly, poplolly.  Real slowly.  Most the world’s a blur.  Try taking those flaps off the windows and letting some light in so I can see that pretty face I’ve only been able to dream about.”

Wynne crossed the room to peal back the boards and clothe pinned over the gaps.  As sunlight streamed in, Blaze focused hard.  First on his hands.  Then the distant sky.  And finally his eyes rested on her.  He grinned, showing a flash of surprisingly orderly, white teeth and said, “How about that.  Either my wink-a-peeps are playing tricks or I’ve landed myself a real fair haired maiden.  You aint a mime, right?”

“No.  I’m albino.”

“As long as it’s natural and you ain’t a mime.  Can’t stand them,” said Blaze.  He didn’t seem at all troubled by her affliction.  “I reckon you’d be pretty in any shade, my dear.  But I suppose that answers the question of why you got recruited for the circus.     

“I’m the new freak,” Wynne spit at the thought.  “And in a few days, worse then that.”  Taking a seat beside her friend, Wynne told of him of her new career as well as her plans for escaping a life of slavery and prostitution at the ringmaster’s hands.  When she finished, he nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, if running off is your aim then you are going about it all wrong.  You don’t wanna get off the train.  You wanna get up and out,” he said.  “Here is the thing, Wynne.  Even if you’re lucky enough not to have your legs snapped off once you hit the ground, the dogs will surely come after you.  If you manage to escape them, then the gunners will mow you down. You see, every few cars there is a crank-gun fixed to the roof.  They’ll fill you full of steel quicker then you can say collywobbles.