Mirror Sight (35 page)

“T
he circus?” Cade demanded after he jumped out of the carriage, landing beside Karigan.

“Yes, sir, the finest entertainments you will find in the whole empire.” The ringmaster removed his tall hat and extended it toward the big top with a flourish. The walkway was lit with torchlight. “The most amazing, the magnificent, the original, Imperial Circus lays before you!”

Acrobats came tumbling out of the dark. A man appeared before them and inserted a torch into his mouth, then expelled a fiery breath. Karigan and Cade slowly made their way along the path, dazzled by contortionists, jugglers, a woman wound up in a bloated snake.

Karigan was not sure which was worse in the flickering torchlight—the snake or the clowns with their pale faces and false expressions. Whether their painted masks were jolly or grotesque, they all seemed to leer at her even as they cavorted around her.

“If there is all this before we even enter the tent,” Cade said, “I wonder what we shall find inside.”

She had no idea and wasn’t sure she wished to know. From outside they could hear the strains of music, fulsome, metallic tones different than anything she’d ever heard before. It was closer to horns than strings, and deep and powerful.

A harlequin in motley with a half red and half black face bowed them into the tent. All the activity and clamor, the light and color, was too much to take in all at once, and Karigan was glad to have her veil to filter some of the visual assault. Footlights surrounded the entire center ring and were augmented by crystal chandeliers suspended from rigging up above, sending shattered light twinkling across the red and white diamond pattern of the tent ceiling and walls. The tent reminded her of the costume she’d worn to the king’s masquerade. How long ago had that been?

Up above, a tightrope walker balanced her way across a wire. Like Karigan, many guests turned their faces up to watch. She wondered if the men enjoyed the novelty of being able to gaze openly at scantily clad females who didn’t even conceal their faces with veils.

The source of the music was at the far end of the tent. A man sat at a keyboard contraption with four levels of keys and several pipes that rose up into the heights of the big top, spewing periodic hissing clouds of steam. The man operating it not only had his fingers dashing across the keys and pulling levers and knobs, but also his feet never stopped pumping treadles.

“What is that thing?” Karigan pointed it out to Cade. When the man hit the low notes, it made her bones rattle.

“A music steamer,” Cade said. “It can make all the sounds of a band. It means Hadley doesn’t have to pay a whole lot of musicians for the same effect, although it doesn’t sound as good to my ear.”

He did not appear terribly impressed by it, but then he had lived his whole life in this time where mechanicals were commonplace. Karigan wondered fleetingly what Estral would make of the music steamer.

“Hello, hello,” a man said, striding right up to them. Karigan recognized him as the circus boss. “Welcome to the Imperial Circus. I am Rudman Hadley. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure . . . ?”

Karigan started to speak, but Cade cleared his throat and passed her a warning look. “I am Cade Harlowe, and I’m escorting Miss Kari Goodgrave this evening, niece of Professor Bryce Lowell Josston.”

“How interesting,” Hadley said, giving Karigan a second look. Once again she was glad of the veil. What if he recognized her as the “corpse” that had “risen” from his sarcophagus the night she arrived? “Professor Josston’s mysterious niece. Your custodian has managed to keep you sequestered it would seem. Is this truly your first evening out since your arrival?”

She nodded.

“Very good. Enjoy all that Dr. Silk offers tonight—the entertainment, the food, the exhibits.”

He gave a slight bow and moved on to other guests. Karigan thought she and Cade both exhaled in relief at the same time. “Now what?” she asked.

“I guess we do as Hadley suggests—enjoy what’s here.”

Nearby, a burly man in a black mask hurled knives at a woman splayed against a wooden board behind her. The knives thunked into wood, outlining her figure with a precision Karigan could only admire. When he finished, he bowed to a smattering of applause. To Karigan, the one who deserved most of the acclaim was the woman who had stood unflinching as sharp blades flew at her.

Servants passed among the guests with glasses of wine. Cade demurred for both of them. “No spirits for us tonight. Perhaps there is punch somewhere.”

They drifted on past the next attraction, a caged lion with full tawny mane, padding around in circles. Nearby, another cage, this one tall and domed, was draped and guarded. Some of the guests tried to get the guards to tell them what was hidden beneath, but the guards only smiled and told them it was a surprise of Dr. Silk’s.

“Not sure if I like the sound of that,” Cade murmured.

A goodly number of guests filled the circus ring, supplemented by entertainers and servants. It was odd to be among so many women with their faces blanked by veils, but a few wore veils that barely reached their rouged upper lips. They wore gorgeous gowns that bared more of their necks and revealed more of their curves than any attire she’d seen thus far. Jewels glittered on their fingers, hung from their necks and wrists. All the other women, Karigan included, looked staid in comparison. If Mistress dela Enfande had been hoping for Karigan’s gown to make a statement of daring, she had fallen short.

“These women of the Capital,” Cade muttered, following her gaze, “no modesty at all.”

Karigan raised her eyebrow. There was something about these women. They were less reserved. They laughed more loudly and wore the most dramatic colors—vivid reds, and blues, and golds. The Mill City women were almost like mourners haunting a side show with their quiet demeanors and comparatively drab clothing and lack of baubles.

“What about the circus women?” Karigan asked him.

“Huh?”

“The circus women. How is their modesty level?”

“That’s different. They don’t count.”

“Really? Why not?”

“They’re circus performers,” he said, as if that should explain all.

“So it’s all right for them not to cover themselves with veils?”

“It is the way it is,” he said gruffly.

Some of the so-called modest women were giving Cade studied second looks through their veils as they passed by. If they only knew he wanted nothing to do with the opposite gender.

Something caught his attention and without warning he angled off across the ring. Karigan hurried to catch up. Fortunately the sawdust of the ring had been removed and replaced with wood flooring, otherwise her skirts would have raised quite a cloud and all the fine attire of the guests would be coated in a layer of dust.

Cade halted before one of the exhibits Hadley had mentioned. It was a life-sized sculpture of a p’ehdrose—part man, part moose—and enormous. The moose part looked authentic, as if the neck and head of a real moose had been removed, the body stuffed by a taxidermist, and the torso of an oversized man inserted into the shoulders and chest of the moose. The human part was not quite so well rendered, the skin looking like the texture and color of parchment, and puckered, the hair of his beard and head strawlike. The figure held a bow with arrow nocked, as if about to loose it.

“I’ve read about this,” Cade said, an expression of wonder on his face. “It’s part of the emperor’s private collection.”

Karigan had thought Amberhill had better taste than this. The figure was, she thought, grotesque. Then she read the inscription on the brass plaque on the platform that held the figure:
This, the last known p’ehdrose in the world, the chieftain, Ghallos, was hunted and slain by the emperor in the first year of his reign.

“Ghallos’s mate must still be at the palace,” Cade said.

“Mate?” A horrible feeling came over Karigan.

“Yes, her name was Edessa. The emperor hunted all their people to extinction.”

“They’re real?”
Karigan clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent further outbursts. As it was, Cade wasn’t the only one giving her peculiar looks.

“Of course they were real,” Cade said. “You see the evidence before you.”

Karigan was glad she hadn’t had any wine for she suddenly felt ill. The figure before her was not just an artistic rendering of a p’ehdrose, but an actual p’ehdrose. A taxidermied p’ehdrose.

No one in her own time had ever seen one, in fact no one had in known history. They were legends, just like Eletians had been, until the Eletians decided to make themselves known to the world again. It was said that the horn carried by the First Rider had been given to her by a p’ehdrose, but that had been a
story.

She could hardly believe it. The p’ehdrose were
real.
She was both appalled and fascinated by the stuffed specimen and could not help but stare at it, the human part muscular and powerful, the head positioned in a proud tilt, glass eyes shining in the light.

“Admiring old Ghallos, are we?” It was Dr. Silk, and before Karigan knew it, he was bowing over her hand.

“I’ve always wished to see him,” Cade said, “and his mate.”

“Ghallos is on loan for this one special evening,” Dr. Silk replied. “Alas, we left Edessa at the palace as insurance that should some accident befall Ghallos, at least one specimen would remain. He is in good condition, is he not? When he was mounted, though, the technique for preserving the human part of his flesh had not been perfected. A tricky thing, that, the preservation of human flesh.”

Karigan felt even more nauseated and turned her back to the display, unable to look any longer at poor Ghallos. She was thrilled that the p’ehdrose were real, but now they were extinct. Why had Amberhill done that? Why had he destroyed everything?

“I’m sorry, is it too much, the display of this beast?” Dr. Silk asked her. “I know you have, er, delicate sensibilities.”

Cade stepped between the two of them. “Are you all right, Miss Goodgrave?”

Now
he decided to pay her attention?

“They stuffed a p’ehdrose,” she murmured, still incredulous.

“Miss Goodgrave?” He peered at her as if trying to see through her veil.

She shook herself remembering who she was and who stood nearby. “I wish to see something else.”

“I have just the thing,” Dr. Silk said, pushing Cade aside. He hooked his arm around hers and led her away.

At first Karigan stiffened at his touch, but she forced herself to relax. It was a perfectly acceptable and gentlemanly gesture, though in her time she would have been asked for her approval first.

Cade followed so closely he practically stepped on her heels.

“I am sorry your uncle could not join us this evening,” Dr. Silk said.

She doubted that very much, but she nodded as if accepting his apology. “He is busy with work tonight.”

“I’m sure he is,” Dr. Silk said in a voice like a purr. “He is often busy. And what is my esteemed colleague working on these days?”

Karigan narrowed her eyes. Was he hoping to attain some unguarded information from her? In answer, she shrugged, and said very carefully, “Old forks and spoons, I think. Mr. Harlowe would know the particulars.”

“That would be about it,” Cade said, striding alongside them almost too eagerly, Karigan thought. Unlike Dr. Silk, Cade lacked subtlety. “With the Old City closed off to excavations due to . . . due to the recent incident, the students are learning to catalog the artifacts we already have.”

Their host chuckled. “Industry to keep idle hands from finding trouble. I approve.”

He greeted other guests as he led her along, pointedly ignoring Cade. He introduced her to an elderly man, hard of hearing. “This is Josston’s niece, Miss Goodgrave.”

“Good for the grave, you say?” the old man asked, cupping his ear.

“No, this is Miss Goodgrave,” Dr. Silk said in an elevated voice. “Josston’s niece.”

“Ooh.” The old man chortled. “Josston’s niece. I thought you were sending me off to an early grave, young man.” He patted Dr. Silk on the shoulder and moved on in halting steps, chuckling to himself.

“An early grave?” Dr. Silk laughed softly himself. “Wills Barrow is nearly ninety-five years old.”

As Dr. Silk and Karigan approached a display in a glass case, other guests deferentially made space for them.

“Some of my better archeological finds,” he said.

Karigan gazed into the case with interest at corroded pieces of bronze that must have once been daggers and pieces of swords. They had no guards, and nothing remained of the hilts.

“Black Age weapons,” Dr. Silk said. “Or earlier. It’s a very hard time about which to make conclusions.”

“The Black Ages were before the emperor?” Karigan knew when the Black Ages had been. They’d led into the period of Mornhavon and the Long War, but she thought she ought to ask questions as Miss Goodgrave would.

Dr. Silk smiled. “Very good. Yes, my dear, long before the emperor came and provided salvation for our people from despot rulers.”

Karigan tried not to bristle at the insinuation of King Zachary being a “despot.” He’d been—still was—a just and fair ruler.