The Ringmaster's Revenge

The Ringmaster's Revenge: Phase Eighteen

Phase Eighteen

The Ringmaster’s Revenge

“Right this way!  Don’t be afraid to step right up!  Because, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Geeks and freaks and otherworldly beasts of all ages, you are only moments from feasting your eyes on the rarest of spectacles!  Welcome, one and all, to the greatest show on Eyrth!  The Black Circus presents, the first ever, Battle of the Blood!  Splendid savagery, animalistic antics, delicious death, these are only a few of the wonders you, the crew, will witness tonight.  Buy your tickets while they last!”

The Talker finished his bally, the first of several, to a chorus of forced applause.  In his hand he held a role of red betting tickets.  The show itself was free.  Not only that, but attendance was mandatory to all employees and slaves.  The Black Circus had finally reached it’s destination but instead of setting up, the evening was spent preparing for a greater sport.  The ringmaster’s revenge. 

When Aviraz had first woken from deep within the cold body of Covet, he’d not been sure what to expect for his last sight before fleeing the sun had been the pummel of his sword knocking Grift unconscious.  He’d been ordered to deal with each prisoner in the same manner before retiring for the day and had been given no hint as to what would happen to them once he’d gone dormant.  As soon as he’d woke, he had cautiously peered out his new master’s eyes to survey the depressing scene before him.  A circle had been formed by the cars of the train and within it was a ring of creatures ranging from Moonchild to Mason.  Before them a field of dirt and sawdust had been constructed.  It had been lit with a bevy of torches for the easy viewing of the mirthless audience.  Unable to spot any familiar faces, Aviraz shifted himself ever so slightly to peer out an ear hole.  Unfortunately, Covet had noticed the stirring and commanded his slave to stop freeloading.

Aviraz had poured out of his hiding place to stand beside his master, who was sitting atop a throne made of iron beams.  Shrinking away from the metal, the shade had nearly fallen over the side of the special effects car they were perched on.  A bright white and scalding flair went off to his left, lighting up Covet’s grinning face.  Then another had flashed on the opposite side of the tin roof.

“Festive, isn’t it?” said Covet, before sending Aviraz off on several dull errands.  They ranged from hanging posters to buying tobacco from the nearby town.  When the Shadowmynn had returned it was nearly midnight and he was once again called to stand beside his master, who said, “Empty your pockets, shadowfilth.”

Instead, the shade willfully sealed them shut and replied, “Why, it seems I have no pockets to empty, Master.”  A burning feeling under the skin had eventually brought him around and he’d spilled the treasures housed within his left pocket at the paws of the laughing Motteh Doo surrounding them.

“Good Chaos!  And your left one too, stupid,” said Covet.  Confused, Aviraz patted the pocket he’d just cleaned and Winston mumbled something into the ringmaster’s ear.  “Really?”  Covet lifted his hands and made two L’s with his index fingers and thumbs.  “Are you sure?  I thought the left hand made the L.  Unless… Which way does an L face in this damn sphere?  That way… really?  Empty you’re right pocket too, shadowfilth.”  A handful of feathers, a rabbit head, seven kinds of poison, two dead mice, a tattered beaded bracelet his daughter had made, a leather purse full of coins, three buttons, a Motteh Doo paw, a tooth Grift had lost and ordered his charge to hang on to until they had a pillow to put it under, four stolen rings of keys… all these fell from his sorry hands.  Then, he’d reached back in for his precious black candle and watched helplessly as it rolled off the roof, still burning.  For the moment. 

Once it was finished, Covet had clasped a velvet-padded iron collar around the shade’s throat, told him to remove his sword, then ordered him to go wait in the ring.  Which was exactly where he was pacing when the Talker began his lecture.  Aviraz ignored him for the most part, as he did the crowd of strangers.  They seemed about as pleased to be there as he was, but at least they weren’t minutes from fighting to the death.  And who or what he would battle the shade still did not know but feared the possibilities.  This trepidation doubled when a small cage, just large enough for a chimp, was brought out and set in the center of the field.  The velvet curtain draped over it trembled as the poor creature inside rattled the bars and gave a terrible cry somewhere between a whimper and a howl.  Soon, another cage, built for a lion, rolled out of the menagerie car.  It had no fabric to hide the two masons inside it.  Wynne was standing with her fingers wrapped around the bars.  Her white hair catching the wind as she struggled for balance while she called for her son.  Her companion, Blaze, was still and somber in the corner.  As the boy’s absence confirmed the shade’s fears, a worm of nausea creep through his stomach.