Language Lessons

Marie had thought the prince had left already when she started picking up fallen plates, a small gesture against the dismaying mess, but she turned around and there he was, almost causing her to drop them and have to start all over again.

 "Your friends seem to have left without you," he said, quite pleasantly. "Perhaps I could walk you back?"

Marie thought quickly. This presented a possible golden opportunity, combining two of her current favorite activities: being around the charming German boy, and being away from the rest of the cirque. "Oh, I'm not the least bit tired yet, and if I go back they'll make me go to bed," she said. "Maybe you could show me around the castle for a bit first?"

The prince laughed and agreed, on the condition that she take him around the circus grounds sometime before the show, which of course Marie couldn't object to at all, except that they would have to take caution to avoid the acrobats' cabin, because they might see him and invite him inside and then who knew what would happen?

Marie didn't say that, of course, but she laughed and blushed a bit at the mental image. The prince was offering her his arm, and she blushed all the harder to think he might have mistaken her laughter to be at him. She would have to ask Lottie for advice on interacting with non-circus boys at practice.

They strolled through the castle, and Marie amused herself in her usual way; as the prince described boring portraits and old furniture for her, she scanned the rooms for hiding places, secret tunnels, things that could be used to scale the outside wall were one to escape out the window. It was something between a hobby and a habit of hers, and the castle was a fantastic new challenge.

"It's beautiful," she said, responding to the prince's description of a tapestry, though really she was thinking of how one might climb up the bookcase next to it and jump on someone coming through the door, giving plenty of time to get out of the room despite the lack of other exits.

The tour was short; soon enough, the prince unlocked the door to his study, and suggested they call for tea, and she could tell him about life in the circus. They settled down in a pair of chairs by the fire, and he started to ask about where they had recently traveled. She was just through the story about how they'd been run out of town by the police for nearly murdering a competing circus's ringmaster, embellished quite a bit and her own role somewhat exaggerated for the prince's benefit, when there was a knock at the door. The prince opened it, and Marie saw an unfamiliar man - someone from dinner, perhaps? - standing outside. He whispered in German, and the prince nodded.

"Please excuse me," he said. "I'll be back in just a moment."

He'd hardly closed the door behind him when Marie jumped to her feet. She didn't understand how people stood still for so long as they seemed to expect them to here. And her cleverly tied up dress was becoming less and less comfortable by the moment as her careful layers loosened. She adjusted it, and then, when the prince hadn't yet returned, decided to do some looking around. The room was impeccable - nothing out of place, hardly a painting on the wall, just a lot of heavy wood furniture and thick books on shelves. But there was a note left out on the desk, and Marie supposed it to be fair game, if he'd left it out like that. She decided she would try to practice reading, and impress Asmodeus with her German.

Soon enough, the prince returned, exclaimed at the time, and called for a servant to walk her home. He seemed somewhat distracted, not even apparently noticing that Marie had left her seat (though when she heard him turning the knob, she'd moved to the bookshelf, to pretend to read the titles.) Marie thought to remind him that he'd offered to walk her himself, but his friend was waiting just outside, and he seemed anxious to leave, though he smiled just as graciously as ever, and kissed her hand when someone arrived to walk her out. "Good night. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope?"

Marie, rendered inarticulate, blushed and nodded.

Alexandra's room was, well, occupied, so Marie slept in the acrobat's cabin, where both Lottie and Lin were, well, elsewhere, probably also occupied.

Alisa woke her with a cup of tea and a piece of toast. "Are you all right?" she asked as Marie groaned and pulled herself upright. "I heard you got in trouble, and then you were here instead of with Miss Lupei, so I worried..."

Marie groaned again, this time at how quickly word of last night's fiasco had spread. "Oh, whoever told you was exaggerating. It was fine," she assured Alisa, through a mouthful of toast. "The prince even took me on a tour of the castle! I saw his room, and... oh!" She closed her eyes suddenly, leaving Alisa no less concerned. Marie had successfully deciphered one word on the prince's note, and had been working on another one, and she wanted to remember to tell Asmodeus about it. It took a moment, but eventually she pulled the two words back up, and, feeling quite triumphant indeed, jumped to her feet.

"Thank you for breakfast, Alisa!" she said, and hurried out of the cabin to Asmodeus's just a few yards away.

She pounded on the door, and to her surprise Asmodeus opened it quickly - she'd half-expected him to be still asleep and hungover, and had been looking forward to waking him. "I'm sorry," he said, before she could even open her mouth. "I didn't mean to leave so suddenly, I just --" he stopped, then looked down to spot Marie. "Oh. You're not Alexandra."

"I'm not," Marie confirmed, raising her eyebrows. "What did you..."

"Nothing at all," Asmodeus cut her off, before she could finish her question. "Can I help you, Marie? I'm a tad busy." He held up the bottle.

"Yes!" Marie said brightly. "I was reading the prince's papers last night..."

"You were what?" Asmodeus interrupted again, his generally downcast expression turning into a somewhat more alarmed one.

"Well, he invited me into his room," Marie said, as if this explained it all.

"He did what?!" Asmodeus exclaimed. "Marie, you can't... I mean... Did you..."

Marie, who had been too distracted to think of untoward things which one might suppose to happen to an unchaperoned young woman alone in a young man's room, even just his study, had no idea what Asmodeus was babbling about.

"I didn't cause any trouble or break anything," she sighed, certain he was accusing her of knocking over a lamp or something. "But listen! I was looking at his papers trying to sound out the letters, like Alexandra was showing me. And I figured out one word - it said "zircus," which I think must be "circus," like us - but then there was one, and I figured out what it sounded like, but I didn't know what it meant, and I thought you might." She frowned with the effort of remembering. "Er... mor... dung. That was it. I thought it must be something gross, since it has "dung" in it, but I wasn't sure. Do you know it?"

Waking Up With Asmodeus

The rising sun shone through the cracks of the shutters, filtering past the half-closed curtains around the large built-in bed and into Alexandra’s eyes. With a small moan she rolled over and buried her face into Asmodeus’ neck, dragging a quilt over her shoulders to banish the morning chill.

Stirring from his own sated sleep, Asmodeus draped his free arm over Alexandra’s naked back, absently stroking her soft skin. The magician grinned down at her voluptuous form draped over his. He must be imagining it. He’d had so many dreams like this, waking up with bare limbs tangled around each other... Completely nude…

Asmodeus suddenly sat bolt upright, frantically reaching for clothes that weren’t there. He glanced under the sheets and found he, in fact, had not a single stitch of clothing on.

He looked quickly down at Alexandra who was, mercifully, still asleep and curled up in the nest of blankets and pillows. With utmost care, the magician slowly began to slide out of the bed. Delicately untangling his legs from hers and sliding them out from under the blankets to silently step to the chill wood floor.

Asmodeus crept towards the winged arm chair, over which his fine wool pants were draped, and pulled them on. Turning to grab his shirt off the metal furnace, he paused. While Alexandra had not drunk enough wine for a full hangover, he knew she would appreciate a nice hot cup of tea when she woke. The magician fiddled with the dials for a few moments, starting the furnace and hooking up the water heating contraption for the tea kettle. As he fumbled around for his waistcoat the furnace finished heating and began to whistle.

Alexandra stirred at the shrill sound, lifting her head blearily towards the magician. “Hmmm…As-Asmodeus? What are you doing in my cabin…?”

“Nothing, Alexandra,” said Asmodeus, hurriedly shutting off the whistling steam and setting the furnace to keep the water hot, “don’t worry, I was just leaving.”

“But... Asmodeus,” she slurred sleepily, turning away from the too bright morning light, “why don’t I have any clothes?”

The magician froze, his eyes wide and hand halfway to the tailcoat draped over her sewing basket. “Um… Hot water for tea is ready…” He fumbled for words, knowing he had to make his escape before she fully woke up.

Briskly, Asmodeus bundled the waistcoat under his arm, picked his cane up off the floor, and grabbed the top hat from its perch on a nearby teapot.

“I’ll see you later, Alexandra!” Asmodeus said as he hastily rushed out, leaving the fortune teller still looking very confused behind him.

Distractedly, Asmodeus ran a hand through his hair as he hurried away from Alexandra’s ship and towards his own. The sun was still only half over the tree line and very few of the Cirque crew or cast were up yet from a night of partying.

His mind kept wandering back to Alexandra’s cabin and along her many distracting curves... But he had to focus. What was he going to do when she finally remembered last night?

Tom Sry was strolling across the grass, hands in his pockets and whistling, when he spotted Asmodeus. The stagehand tipped his hat and called out to the magician, “Good morning, Sir!” Then, seeing the magician’s shirt falling open to reveal several small bites and scratches that marked his broad chest, Tom jovially asked “Long night?”

Asmodeus nodded cordially, tipping his hat to the young man, “No, no, just out for a brisk stroll. Lovely morning isn’t it?” As he passed Tom, his hands went automatically to fasten the shirt before running into anyone else, only to find that most of the fine pearl buttons had been ripped off in the previous night’s passion, probably by Alexandra herself. “Damn,” the magician grumbled to himself, “now I’ll have to go back to Alexandra to fix this... I could never sew those bloody things on.”

Tom paused, watching Asmodeus mutter as he walked briskly to his own ship. The stagehand turned, looking at the star and moon bedecked ship that the magician had come from before shaking his head and continuing his walk and whistling.

***

When Asmodeus finally reached the sanctuary of his own cabin, he grabbed a half-empty bottle of black rum from the back of a cabinet and sank into a chair.

He had finally, after almost 2 years of attempted seduction and longing, he slept with Alexandra. And that night… Oh, what a night!

But what about Alex? Why had she changed her mind? Not the alcohol; she hadn’t been that drunk. He tried to think of anything that was different between them. The fortune teller had always avoided flings with cast or even audience members, unlike the rest of the Cirque. So why now?

Asmodeus took a long drink from the bottle before burying his face in his hands. “Oh god, and what am I going to do when I see her again?”

***

Across the field, Alexandra numbly wandered around her cabin. She had made tea so frequently that she didn’t even have to think, her hands automatically carried out the task of making a strong Assam as her mind wandered in remembering the previous night.

She couldn’t decide if the decision to invite Asmodeus back to her cabin had been a crazy one or a completely insane fantasy. The fortune teller knew she’d been drunk, the wine at the King’s table had been too good to pass up even a single offer for a refilled glass, but Alexandra had drank that much before at Cirque parties.

It must have been that dammed tailcoat. With the imported black brocade and the ruby red satin lining, in addition to the impeccable tailoring done by one of the finest sewing shops in all of France, that coat was breathtaking. Yes, Alexandra decided, she would in fact blame that coat for her downfall. Of course the silk waistcoat and white cravat didn’t help either. Very few men could tie a cravat as neatly as that.

Alexandra sighed, taking a long sip of the brisk tea. She had been an idiot to sleep with the magician. Now she could feel the old pang of longing for Asmodeus grow into a bone deep ache and she wanted nothing better than to run to his ship and reenact the night all over again. The problem was that she had no idea how he felt. Was this all just a fling or had his almost kiss during the dinner and the following passionate night been the sign he felt something more for her?

Pensively the fortune teller finished her tea and poured herself another cup, letting the fragrant steam soothe her worries. She would just have to wait until she saw him later in the day to gauge his feelings towards last night. In the meantime, there was plenty of tea and mending to keep her distracted.

"A Drunken Stumble" or "Someone for Everyone" and possibly also "Who's Up for 'Tea'"

Asmodeus, freed of Colette’s wrathful claws, breathed a sigh of relief, made easier as he loosened his cravat. The king was pleased, the food was wonderful, and Asmodeus had a toasty feeling hazing the thoughts behind his eyes. In all, it really was a successful evening out.

A chuckle drew his attention, albeit slowly (it took a moment for his eyes to catch up to his gaze), and Asmodeus looked down to see petticoats and bustle rocking back and forth as Alexandra tried unsuccessful to extricate herself from the floor. With a short laugh, Asmodeus reached down and took her hands, helping her unsteadily to her feet and very nearly bringing himself crashing down on top of her again. Giggling, Alexandra fell into his arms as Colette marched up to the pair.

“Well, Mister Brazier, I still blame you for this catastrophe.”

Before she could protest, Asmodeus threw an arm around Colette’s shoulders, reeling her in close. His breath was perfumed with the sickly sweet of too much wine. “Cast-a-trophy? Nonsense! It was a splendid fete. I’m happy, the king’s happy, you’re… never really happy, I suppose. But! In my expert opinion, this was a truly magnificent event.” He punctuated this statement with an expansive wave of his gold-tipped cane, allowing Colette to step back a few paces to recover some amount of personal space and clean air.

“Oh yes, all a bunch of laughs and good times, wasn’t it? And what will we do about the show? His Majesty seems to expect some kind of slapstick comedy hour in addition to our ordinary routine, which can’t be ordinary anyway because you contracted us to nobility, and I swore I wouldn’t go that route again, and what if he gives us a bad review, and how are we going to devise any new spectacles in such a short time, and what are we going to do about Marie, and…”

Colette paused to take a long draught of wine from a glass astutely handed to her by Asmodeus, whose sangfroid manner belied his desperate internal battle with balance. To put her at ease, Asmodeus came at her with his default response to Colette’s issues. “Relax, ringmaster of mine,” he slurred, playfully shoving her shoulder. “You worry entirely too much about what could be. Enjoy the moment while we have it.”

Alexandra, gazing dreamily up at the magician, tore her gaze away long enough to nod her head in concurrence. “For once I agree with Asmodeus. It’s a lovely evening. We’ll deal with each challenge as it comes.”

Colette crossed her arms, tapped her foot a little as she chewed thoughtfully on her lip, but authority won out. “Well, it would appear one of us has to be the adult in charge. I still have a lot of work to do tonight: planning the show, helping to check equipment, figuring our finances. I’ll be heading back to my ship. I’ve told Marie she’s to stay behind and help clean up this wreckage of a dinner. I hope you all have a splendid night.”

Asmodeus snorted in defiance. “Nonsense! There’re servants enough to handle that - it’s how they earn their pay - and the party seems to be over anyway. Why, the young prince is already halfway to the door with our Marie.” Giving Alexandra a squeeze, still nestled under his arm, Asmodeus added, “Allow me to escort you and the other ladies to their ships. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Colette looked over the inebriated couple standing in front of her, and cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “The gentlemanly thing, is it? Sure there’s not some ulterior motive there?”

Pride wounded by this perfectly honest accusation, Asmodeus disentangled himself from Alexandra and took on a defensive posture. “I have only noble intentions. What if some ruffians accosted you? You would be in need of a man of action!” He took a swing of his cane at imagined foes, stumbled, and managed to keep off of the floor by means of a propitiously placed chair back to brace himself against. Colette grinned at the act she knew so well. “Are you certain it’s not the other way around; you needing the escorting? You’re barely sober enough to walk, you old lush.”

“I assure you, madam; I’m in top form, so let’s gather Marguerite and be off. For that matter, where is she?”

In the aftermath of confusion, nobody had seen her leave. Alexandra peered cursorily around the room. Colette coolly answered her unspoken question. “She headed out ahead of us on the arm of that charming engineer.”

Alexandra grinned up at Asmodeus. “Then I suggest we follow her example.” With that, she took Asmodeus’ arm, which resulted in the two of them tottering sideways, propping one another up as they shambled, giggling, towards the exit.

What followed was an uneventful walk down through the castle courtyard then out along the winding wooded path, illuminated by the soft glow of electric lanterns staggered along the edges. Max explained that these were specially commissioned by his father from a Frenchman a couple of decades back; he grew up thinking the whole world was lit by electricity.

Colette remained in the vanguard, striding between the boles with a determination to just get back to the safety of her own cabin. Marie, helped along by the prince, followed behind, excitedly relating to Max the splendors of a life unfettered. Covering the rear, and playfully pinching at it, were Asmodeus and Alexandra, slipping apart one moment only to come crashing together the next, never losing hold of one another.

“Well,” bubbled Asmodeus, twirling his cane, “I enjoyed those little puff pastries in the second course. They were so small; I could eat a tray full.”

Alexandra chuckled into Asmodeus’ shoulder. “Speaking of too many pastries, did you see that countess toward the end of the table? Someone did some fine tailoring to keep all of that woman confined.”

Asmodeus playfully poked Alexandra, full knowing that corsets are a woman’s equivalent to plate armour. “Well, not all women can have a figure as stunning as yours.”

Alexandra snuggled closer to him. “Oh my, was that a compliment?”

Asmodeus feigned surprise. “Was it? Couldn’t have been; obviously a miscommunication.”

“For that matter, what was that on the floor in the dining hall?” To Asmodeus’ startled look, she continued, “You know, I wasn’t quite as drunk as you think I was. Not quite that drunk.”

Asmodeus fell silent as they walked, eyes distant, rallying his thoughts against this new revelation. Yes, he had tried to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her and never surface; drown in ecstasy.

Pinpoints of light began flickering beyond the trees; the circus encampment, under Tom Sry’s direction, was established and preparing for the night, be it sleep or shenanigans. Snatches of fiddle and squeezebox melodies drifted on the air like smoke from a campfire, peppered with the laugher of carefree souls. It seemed to tip the scales of Asmodeus' conscience already heavily laden with wine.

Alexandra broke in on Asmodeus’ musings. “It occurs to me that I have a dilemma. I would ordinarily require Marie’s assistance getting into and out of this outfit, but she seems delightedly indisposed at present. It’s dreadfully difficult, you know, undoing all the hooks and laces. Perhaps there are some deft hands somewhere to spring this cage. Know anyone who’s good with a corset?”

“I might know a fellow.”

“Maybe you could stay for tea?”

Asmodeus gave her a wink and they both quickened their tipsy pace as they reached the edge of the circus clearing, making a beeline for Alexandra’s ship and abandoning the other members of the little parade to their own devices. Marie, seeing them running, dragged the prince into a loping gait after them, shouting something about wanting a cup as well. Colette let escape a weary sigh and peeled off towards her own dark cabin.

A worn wooden door, painted to resemble a crescent moon cradled in the edge of a jovial sun, closed fast in Marie’s face. Undaunted, she tried the knob, only to find it inconveniently locked. She knocked… loudly… and repeatedly, but to no answer. “I suppose I’m sleeping with the acrobats tonight,” she remarked to Max. To the stolid door she yelled, “Can I at least have my pajamas?” The door popped open the smallest of cracks and a bundle of clothing came vaulting into Marie’s startled grasp before shutting just as fast. “Thank you,” she shouted, answered only by a soft thump and giggling.

Royal Intrigue

With each course of the meal, Marguerite ensured that she consumed at least a glass of wine. By the time the king spoke with her, she transitioned from German to French without notice. Even though she was certain the king had to converse more with her hand gestures than her words, Marguerite did notice something suspicious.

The king was preparing for a fight.

Marguerite knew a fair bit about men preparing for fights. They developed a shifty air when they discussed her work, proposing hypothetical limits, laughing too easily, and pointedly overlooking her grip on a wine glass. Froderick, on the other hand, anxiously followed each sip she took, and even tried to draw the servants away from refilling it.

Once the commotion of Marie’s entry and inevitable disruption passed, Marguerite tucked the syringe back in its place among her skirts. Froderick cast a questioning glance at her.

“I should hope we have stayed long enough to be polite,” she said.

“I believe we have.”

The hallways echoed Marguerite’s giggles as she and Froderick distanced themselves from the royal dinner. He began a game of finding the things she had hidden in her skirts. He would reach under a fold, and she would scold him, dancing away a few steps. She was glad she chose her practical boots for the evening. The silly things Alexandra left for her would have left her flat on her back by then. Though given the nature of this evening’s last game, Marguerite thought, that might not be such a bad thing.

“You have yet to see my rooms, Rita. I’ve a few hidden treasures there,” Froderick said, having successfully found Marguerite’s garter. He pulled her close.

“Oh, Froderick, I am not the kind of woman to leap at the sound of a trinket. You must intrigue me.”

“I must intrigue you, you say. And what intrigues you, my lady?”

“What weapons has the king asked you to build?”

Froderick paused in his amatory advances, but did not recoil. Marguerite read his wary glance towards the dining hall, and let him lead her to his rooms after all.

“He only asked recently,” Froderick began once they occupied an inner room of his apartments, clearly a study.

Marguerite sat upon a large desk across from a table strewn with drawings and documents. After a brief but sudden desire to have her own papers again, Marguerite focused on Froderick.

“He wanted some display pieces at first, functional for celebratory events, pageants and the like. Then he asked me to forget them. Keep the notes, the drawings, but eliminate any public records and dismantle any models I kept in the hangar. I moved on to my usual projects until a few months ago. He asked me to continue the project in private, and to request assistance only at the last possible moment.”

“I presume, then, that his curiosity about my own work did not escape your notice.”

“No, it did not.”

Marguerite stared past her lover at his notes. The wine trailed slowly through her mind, drawing vague connections between the drawings, Froderick, the king, the Cirque... then it took them away before she could make sense of it.

“Has he mentioned it since we arrived?” She asked.

Froderick shook his head. Marguerite sighed.

“A matter for sober minds to ponder,” she said. “My dear, I think I have had enough for one night.”

“Of course. I will escort you to your ship.”

Marguerite scoffed.

“Please, do not be such a gentleman. My lady-honor would suffer more from my current state than if I were to stay here.”

Froderick smiled.

“So, your lady-honor doesn’t mind spending the night in a castle?”

“There was a time I was not a circus performer. In fact, I still have a reputation as the best manipulator of earthly bodies this planet is likely to see for generations.”

“A manipulator, you say?” Froderick said, guiding Marguerite to his bedroom.

“Oh yes. Had I not rushed myself so early on in my work, I would have no need to travel with these people. My creatures are not intended for sideshows. They are modern marvels.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“Froderick.”

“Marguerite.”

“I’ve killed a man.”

Froderick stopped short of pulling down the bed covers.

“He was a very tiny man when I killed him, but I did. And I’ve no intention to do so again, if I can help it.”

“That’s quite… um…”

“I didn’t mean to, Froderick. I didn’t know better at the time. My methods were not yet perfected, and I was working with limited means. His tiny little man organs were perfect, but he couldn’t take it. He was too frightened, a little man in a large world... Anyway, help me undress?”

She struggled to remove her clothing by herself. Froderick assisted cautiously before finally readying himself for sleep. Marguerite crawled into the bed, and was well cocooned under the covers by the time Froderick joined her.

“Rita.”

She snored in response. Froderick sighed and continued anyhow.

“Rita, I work for a royal family. There are worse crimes than killing a man.”

He placed an arm around her, and joined her in sleep.

Colette Photoshoot!







In Which Marie is Yelled At

As soon as Colette's troop was clear of the nobles, she seized Marie by the ear. "You, walk with me. Now."

Marie followed, being well experienced with being dragged by the ear, the grin she'd gotten at the delightfully unexpected ending to the evening falling promptly. She thought about opening her mouth to protest - it had gone WELL, all things considered - but she was familiar with Colette's anger and kept her mouth shut.

 Colette shook the girl lightly, letting go and crossing her arms. "What the hell were you thinking?"

It was a loaded question, Marie knew, so she considered it carefully, then gave up. "I wanted t' see the prince," she answered, honestly, adapting an appropriately ashamed-looking face, though she couldn't resist glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still there, and blushing with relief when he wasn't. "He seemed glad to see me," she added, unable to resist a bit of stubbornness.

"Selfish," Colette muttered under her breath, reaching up to push a few sweaty tendrils of hair away from her face. "Marie. You made an incredibly poor... judgment call tonight. I expected better, after all I've tried to teach you."

 Marie cringed a bit. Colette was breaking out the Disappointed Voice. She was well practiced with yelling and smacking, but the Disappointed Voice was a cruel and unusual technique. "It worked out, didn't it?" she tried again.

"You crashed a royal banquet!"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Marie. It worked out. As in, we were not executed, exiled, or arrested. By some miracle. I'm sure you knew ahead of time that toppling over food at the king's table while wearing stolen clothes would enamor us all to the court. Congratulations on your foresight."

 Marie recognized the sarcasm, but couldn't think of any response that would end well. At any rate, her ear was free, and while it had never occurred to her that they could have been executed or exiled or arrested. She glowered, realized that wasn't an appropriate response either, and then attempted an endearing smile instead.

"You need to think, Marie. You're not a street urchin anymore. Your actions affect your troop. Your family. Me. I took you in, I trained you the way my brother trained me." Colette could hear her voice cracking slightly, but she shoved that sadness away and turned it into anger instead. "If you want to be part of this family, you need to act like it. I won't let one silly girl with a crush bring my airship crashing down."

 Chastised, Marie lost the endearing smile and sighed. She immediately thought of all sorts of responses - I'm not a silly girl, to start with, and somewhere beyond that, if I'm part of the family why didn't I get invited to the party, though she recognized that that was a silly-girl kind of thought - but she bit her tongue. "Sorry," she muttered. Though she couldn't resist adding, under her breath: "I don't have a crush." Crushes were certainly silly-girl things, And she was decidedly not a silly girl.

 Colette sighed, reached out and touched the girl's shoulder with a soft hand. "You need to trust me, cherie. I'm trying to do right by you. You know that, right? But I also have a business to run. I can't let you have everything you want. Not at the cirque's expense"

 Marie nodded. Again, with the things she wanted to say: For example, she was a grown-up, so didn't that mean she got to do things she wanted? But she seemed to have avoided an explosion, and did feel properly embarrassed at having caused trouble, so she said nothing. The servants were swooping in to clean up what was left of the dinner party, giving the lingering Cirque members - and everyone was lingering, watching Colette from a safe distance - looks and a wide berth. "Do I have to help clean up?" Marie asked, wincing at the very thought.

 Colette nodded once. "Please." It was rather mature of Marie to offer, though Colette knew the girl was hoping for a swift dismissal. "And you'll have to do something about Alexandra's clothing."

 Marie sighed and nodded. "Sorry Alexandra," she added, standing on tip-toe to call across the room to the seamstress. She had lived with her long enough to assume that the look on her face meant Alexandra would be shouting at her next, and might have started that very moment had she not been by the distractingly close presence of Asmodeous, waiting, composed as ever, to escort the ladies back to the cirque. Suddenly, Marie was not so worried about the time it would take to clean. Perhaps she might even get back so late that she would need to sleep in the acrobat's cabin instead.

Colette smoothed her rumpled clothes, and gave Marie one last order. Just to remind her--and maybe herself--that she was ringmaster. Boss! Not a friend and certainly not a mother substitute. Her heart did twinge at the girl's face, though. Maybe she'd teach the girl some new flips on the trapeze tomorrow, or let her have a go on the russian bar she'd been eyeing. "Help clean up here and then head back to camp. I'm going to speak with Asmodeus now. I expect you to arrive at practice early tomorrow to help set up." She pauses. "If you're going to be incredible, you're going to need to push harder. And I know you can do it." She quirked a half smile. "I did, and I caused twice the damage you did, more than once."

Colette cast one last glance around the wreck of the room. Marguerite had disappeared with her new friend, unsurprisingly, but Asmodeus--faithful albeit slightly drunk Asmodeus--was waiting on Alexandra and herself. Colette felt a slight twitch of unhappiness. Marguerite and Froederick. Asmodeus and Alexandra. And now, Marie and this prince! She chided herself for her sudden flight of imagination. There was nothing between Marie and the young royal. And even if there was--jealous, of a sixteen year old? Really? She could almost hear Aurele's gentle jibe in her ear. "I do miss you," she murmured softly. She sighed, turning away from this latest disaster, and strode to Asmodeus's side.

Now it's a train wreck... or is it?

 Enthralled by Prince Maximilian’s charming rescue, Marie practically levitated across the dining hall, oblivious to the varied reactions of her circus family and the decidedly negative ones from the King’s other guests. As Alexandra groaned a second time at her passing, Asmodeus inquired, “Marie? Our Marie? Are you certain?” Glancing up from his near-empty plate, he added, “Doesn’t look like the Marie I know,” and went back to the last bites of a perfectly fried schnitzel.

Muffled through her hands, Alexandra muttered, “It’s definitely her… and in my favorite day dress.”

Looking a second time, Asmodeus’ raised his brows in surprise. “Ah yes! Quite right; that is your day dress.” Leaning back, Asmodeus gazed off into the past. “Oh, the times I’ve wanted you out of it… but never quite like this.”

Alexandra’s eyes peeked out from behind her fingers in to shoot daggers, aimed first at Asmodeus, but immediately finding a new target in the heedless Marie. “I’m dreaming. This has to be a dream but I know better! If that misfit gets even one stain on my clothes, I’ll…”

“Have me to willingly, nay, gladly restrain you,” purred Asmodeus as he pushed the empty plate away from his immediate vicinity. “We should give her a chance. At the very least, she tried to dress herself for the occasion. And she’s spunky enough to have followed us at risk of the wrath of Colette.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Alexandra conceded, “but I have a bad feeling about this. Mark my words we should have locked her in her room.”

After the general scuffing of chairs and murmurs of disproval over Max’s new dinner guest, Marie was firmly entrenched between the warm, inviting eyes of Maximilian and the darkly manic eyes of her ringmaster. Timidly, Marie opened her mouth to tell the prince a story, any story about circus life, but no sound came out. She just stared at his smiling face while the world around him melted into a trifling. Down the table, Asmodeus casually nudged Alexandra and nodded in Marie’s direction with a sly wink.

Colette, silently berating him with a glare, verbally jumped in front of this imminent train wreck. “Your majesty, what are those delightful confections I see coming out of the kitchens”

Maximilian glanced back, and explained to Marie, with a note of pride, “You’re lucky you arrived when you did, Fraulein. You are just in time for dessert which, I might add, we Bavarians exceed at.”

Marie blushed slightly at the prince’s attentions and meekly remarked, “Well I must say dessert is my favorite meal of the day. I could almost swear I followed the sweet smell of cakes and pies to find this place.” She looked around her with a grin and a nervous chuckle, only to be met by the stern glares of the dour politicians, but Ludwig’s rich, rolling laughter convinced them it might be in their best interests to get the joke. A resounding chorus of mirth echoed through the hall.

With a sigh, Ludiwg wiped a tear from his eye and handed a bowl of steaming broth to Marie. “Before the sweets, you should really try the Pfifferlingesuppe our chef prepared. It’s wonderful.” Marie thought she heard ‘soup’, and was willing to give the dark broth a try. She leaned over a large spoonful, inadvertently submerging her necklace, letting it dangle amongst the fungi. Several nobles shifted away from a deep growl emanating from somewhere around Alexandra.

After such a startling entrance, the assembled dinner guests gradually returned to their conversations. Maximilian had a glass brought and a servant began filling it with a delightfully dark, sweet wine. Marie, enjoying the wine’s flavor and newfound cover for her giddiness, never noticed the waiters on hand to refill the glass, content to attempting small talk through burning cheeks. Marguerite, having found a remarkable intelligence in the king, returned to explaining some of the more technical aspects of her research to a rapt audience. Meanwhile, Colette was engaged in a discussion with her neighbor, a lesser noble from a nearby city, over the best and worst locales in her travels. She was currently remembering an ill-fated event in the Arabian deserts. “And that, lordship, is when our magician over there rerouted the gas in the balloon through the boiler and out of a pipe he had shoved out the back window, allowing us to escape those blood-thirsty dervishes. Now, avoiding crashing and ending our lives…”

Asmodeus raised his glass in mock salute, his lips cocked in a wry smile. “We made it out alive, didn’t we?”

Marie suddenly perked up, having heard this story before and realizing they were telling it all wrong, turned from Maximilian so fast she upset her fourth glass of port. Affecting a high-brow mannerism, she interjected, “Wait! Isn’t that the time when Asmodeus found that completely inebriated girl with the tight corset ad too much blush and he took her…”

Alexandra gave Asmodeus a glare and a solid kick to the shins. “Home!” he interjected hastily into his glass, nearly choking on the fine Gewuertztraminer perched at his lips. “I took her home! It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.”

“But Asmodeus,” Marie continued, “That’s not what happened. I distinctly remember you saying… ouch! Colette, what was that for?”

There was a muted ‘thud’ from beneath the table. With a snarl, Colette whispered through clenched teeth, “Shut up and eat your food. We’ll talk about this later.”

Marie was daunted… for mere moments. Perhaps it was the wine, the atmosphere, or the fact that nobody had thrown her out.

“You know,” she said conspiratorially to Max, “I can tell you the whole story later. It’s really quite thrilling, and requires a lot of flexibility but as an acrobat I can appreciate it and show you all the moves…”

“And you’ve had enough,” declared Colette, taking hold of Marie’s glass and gently pulling it away.

Marie, however, had other ideas, tugging forcefully by the chiseled stem of the crystal goblet. “No, I have not, thank you very much!”

With a violent wrenching Marie freed her glass from Colette’s clutches, only to hurl the ruby liquid in a shower over herself, the rumpled yellow dress, and Prince Maximillian’s dinner jacket. A resounding gasp arose from the assembled dignitaries, some looking incensed, others like they had eaten something sour. The wine was as blood to Alexandra as it eclipsed the sunshine of the day dress; a grievous injury to a once vibrant and youthful article of clothing. The color drained from her face; she could already sense the cotton fibers dying an irrevocable shade of mauve. With a sigh, her eyes unfocused and went skyward, her body thudding to the floor. Asmodeus would have caught her, should have caught her, but was instead dumbstruck, the spoonful of a delicious custard hovering just outside his mouth now sliding slowly back into its bowl with a resounding ‘plop’. Marguerite leaned back into Froderick’s arms, casually sipping coffee from an ornate gilt-edged cup and saucer, surveying the chaos, and Alexandra’s despair, with a grin. The courtiers held their breath, afraid to make even the slightest sound. Tears glistened on Marie’s eyelids, the glass falling forgotten from her fingers to shatter on the cold floor. Colette winced in visible pain, seeing in her mind’s eye the evening’s events, her social standing, and her desperately maintained patience collapsing alongside the shards scattered at her feet. Had King Ludwig, a deep scowl settling over his face, not been seated between them, Colette felt she might have sprung upon Marie and throttled her then and there. As it turned out, this might have been a recommended course of action, for it would have prevented what happened next.

Apologizing incoherently, Marie snatched at her napkin which in turn upended the bowl of soup, sending it sliding and gliding across the table into Colette’s lap. She jumped to her feet, but not fast enough to avoid being decorated in wet mushrooms. Her arms, as if of their own volition, flew into the air, catching the duke sitting next to her square in the chest and sending him, chair and all, tumbling over backwards… into the path of a servant laden with dishes. As servants are wont to do when confronted with an obstruction not entirely visible or expected, the liveried man tripped on the duke, throwing his arms out to catch himself and simultaneously hurling the remnants of a cake at the duke’s wife.

The Duchess stared, open mouthed, as the pastry arced toward her, soaring straight into her face. With a cry muffled by delicious whipped icing, she frantically clawed at her face, endeavoring to remove the offending baked good before it could do anymore harm, and thus slinging it wildly in all directions. Asmodeus gasped, the thought of cake marring his favorite vest simply appalling, and nimbly dodged from his seat, taking two steps only to trip over Alexandra’s inert form. He sprawled face-first on top of her, bringing her out of her unconscious retreat. Dazed, she reached up and gently caressed his cheeks and eased the wrinkles from his startled brow, a smile creasing her lips. “Well good evening handsome. Come here often?”

Asmodeus, close enough to feel the soft tickle of her breath across his face, to become wrapped in her intoxicating scent, closed his eyes and leaned closer, preparing to give himself over to her and his desire. Alexandra could feel the soft bristles of his moustache brush her lips. She felt his heart pounding through her corset. Her eyelids fluttered in anticipation.

And then Asmodeus was airborne. Something grabbed hold of Asmodeus’ shoulders, wrenching him from the ground and forcing him to his feet. Lips still puckered, he opened his eyes to a visage twisted with rage and eyes alight with a burning desire to hurt something. He knew this face quite well.

Colette was furious, sputtering incoherently. After a moment, she seemed to get her thoughts in order and her hands around Asmodeus’ throat. “You,” she growled. “This is your fault. Let’s go to Germany. We’ll perform for the King. We’ll go to a fancy dinner.” She began to shake him to and fro, shrieking, “You let Marie find out.”

Marguerite, still lounging languidly against Froderick, set her cup and saucer on the table and looked up at the engineer. “I suppose I should calm her down; no telling what she’ll do. Please excuse me, dear.” Reaching under her skirt she produced a syringe already loaded with tranquilizer and was just standing to wrangle her ringmaster when laughter thundered in her ears.

All those within the dining hall turned at the sound. Marguerite stopped midway out of her chair. Colette stopped throttling Asmodeus; he stopped choking. All eyes turned to the head of the table, where Ludwig stood, arms akimbo. He stuck his finger in a nearby cake, and playfully smeared a line of dark chocolate across Max’s cheek. “Spitze! Wunderbar!” he cried. “This was the most fun I’ve had in some time. My usual guests,” he gestured at the nobles staring wide-eyed and terror-stricken, “are often such a bore, but you are so talented… especially this little one!” He gave the tipsy acrobat a good natured pat on the back. “You even had my son in on it. If your act is half as exciting, then we are in for a real treat.” With a final chuckle, Ludwig stepped away from his throne, one hand on Max’s shoulder, face beaming with a smile. “Now, my guests, the night’s festivities have drained me. If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the evening. Thank you, my guests, and goodnight.” Turning on his heel, cape swinging majestically, Ludwig left the room amidst a forest of bowing bodies, the great carven doors thudding closed behind him to leave the hall in eerie silence. Maximillian removed Marie to arm’s length. “Well, maybe that’s enough excitement for one night. No, do not worry about the jacket. It can be cleaned. Come, I’ll see you safely home.”

Marie turned to look at Maximillian through half-lidded eyes and simply replied, “You have… beautiful… eyes,” before falling asleep, head dropping against his chest.

Now it's a Party

Getting dressed had taken Marie a little bit longer than she'd anticipated, in part because Alexandra had the most readily available fancy things but was not at all Marie's size, and in part because one of the stage hands had seen her changing when the cabin door swung open and she'd had to chase him down at punch him. She'd torn the too-long hem of the yellow day dress she'd chosen in the process, but she was convinced that it wasn't noticeable - she'd tied the extra length up in the back into something that to her mind looked like a bustle. The extra fabric at the waist was held back by a bright red sash. She'd also borrowed a black boy's waistcoat from Tom, which, buttoned closed, almost hid the bunching of the dress at the chest where it was sized for someone rather better endowed than herself, and had looped a long costume necklace several times around her neck, which she thought distracted from this slight problem of fit but perhaps just served to draw attention to it.

She thought she looked quite dashing, though she'd given up on the pair of shoes she stole from one of the other acrobats halfway up to the castle, and had been unable to do anything about the dirt on her ankles from the walk. It was dark. No one would notice.

"Um. I'm sorry I'm late," she said hopefully, after the long beat of awkward whispers which met her arrival. "I... Uh..."

Marie, normally the queen of excuses, found herself somewhat at a loss amid all the grandeur. Fortunately, and to her eternal delight, the Prince swooped to her rescue, standing up. "My fault entirely," he lied gracefully, such that everyone could tell he was lying but no one would dare bring it up. "I was so eager to hear about Fraulein Mary's act that I invited her, but I must have failed to give directions, and you know the castle can be baffling to those unfamiliar with it," he addressed the king with a slight, apologetic nod. "I still get lost sometimes,' he added to Marie, smiling, then turned to the servants. "Another chair, please?"

This put everyone in the terribly undignified position of scooting to make room, which they did with only a minimum of huffing and the mutual understanding that this would never be spoken of again except in gossipy whispers or when intoxicated.

"Thank you," Marie said, blushing as she sat - next to the prince! Her stomach was so a-flutter that she thought she might not be able to eat, but then she smelled the food coming out and quickly changed her mind.

"You're welcome," he replied, and Marie was so captivated that she failed to notice pretty much everyone at the table glaring at her. "Now you owe me some exciting stories about circus life."

Dinner with a King

Madame Rosamunde resettled the woven basket of neatly folded clothes on her hip after she finished the climbing down the stairs from her sewing tower to where the Bayreuth Swan Ship was docked. She paused outside the ship when she heard a muffled thump and the sound of falling furniture.

Pausing, Rosamunde called out, “Froderick? Are you all right?”

There were more muffled thumps before a voice finally yelled, “Just a minute!” The mechanic emerged from the ship with only a brightly coloured paisley curtain edged in thick fringe wrapped around his waist to protect his modesty. “Yes?”

 “Ah, I see you are testing how comfortable all the furniture is?” The older woman asked with a knowing smile. “I know you worked particularly hard on improving the collapsible bed.”

The tips of Froderick’s ears started turning a bright shade of red and Rosamunde, taking pity on the mechanic, handed him the basket full of clothes. “Here, I just finished getting a proper outfit together for Marguerite and I also brought a new waistcoat for you, your old one is getting rather worn. Also, you might want to hurry in getting dressed, the dinner is supposed to start in an hour and you don’t want to be late.”

Froederick, balancing the basket and the strategically wrapped curtain, thanked the seamstress and went back into the ship to Marguerite. The mechanic found her lounging comfortably amid a pile of blankets and cushions on the aforementioned large, ornate and collapsible bed. Marguerite stretched contentedly and slid to her feet, greeting Froederick with a kiss and a seductive pull at the curtain wrapped around his waist.

Laughing, Froederick kissed her and occupied her hands by giving her the basket. “I’m afraid we have to be dressed for the dinner and not undressed.”

 Rita sighed picking up one of the skirts in the basket, “Very well, as you help me get into this ridiculous outfit.”

After half an hour of much cursing and struggling with laces, Marguerite was dressed in a fine black and blue taffeta dress. The underskirts were heavily pleated sapphire cloth; the top of the dress was a fitted black corset with straps with a black over-bodice striped with blue cut to look like a man’s coat with broad folded tails that fell neatly over a small bustle.

Froederick was dressed black wool dress pants tucked into practical, but neatly shined, boots. He wore a crisp white shirt and a blue and black striped waistcoat, similar to Marguerite’s dress. Overtop, he wore a fine wool dress coat lined in black satin with gold accents. Despite Rita’s dislike of fancy clothing, she had to admit that the outfit Rosamunde picked from the castle storage was better than she had imagined being forced to wear. And she discovered Froederick looked as good in fancy dress as he did out of it.

Once Marguerite and Froederick had finished fidgeting with their clothing, they walked from the hanger and back to the castle. On the way, they discussed the “safe” topics that would be appropriate at the dinner table. “So, no talking about circus daily life?” Rita asked him.

“No, at least not unless the King asks specifically about it. I think your exploits in opium dens and bars might be a bit too exotic for him unless he really wants to hear about it. Do talk about your tamer experiments though, like your miniature animals. He loves to hear about that type of new science. It intrigues him, I think, as he can’t do any of it himself. And he enjoys listening to about unusual ideas.”

They arrived first to the grand dining room where the butler showed them to chairs on the opposite side of the table from the King’s throne, much to Marguerite’s relief. She warily eyed the opulent gilt picture frames and the heavy wooden furniture upholstered in jewel bright brocades that stood around the room.

Seeing Marguerite’s discomfort, Froederick squeezed her hand underneath the table and murmured, “Don’t worry, the dinner shouldn’t last much longer than a few hours. And there will be plenty of other guests here to entertain the King.”

The carved mahogany doors swung open to reveal the next couple to arrive: Asmodeus and Alexandra who both looked elegant and comfortable in their surroundings. The fortune teller and the scientist avoided each others gaze while the gentlemen nodded to each other as the couple was led to a pair of seats down the table to the left of the King.

Colette was the last one to arrive, dressed in her fanciest tail coat in the Cirque’s signature colours of red, gold and green. She was seated directly to the left of the King’s chair and the exchanged slightly nervous looks with the other family members of the Cirque.

A staff rapped three times on the marble floor as the ornately carved and inlaid wooden doors swung open and a herald announced, “King Ludwig Otto Friedrich Wilhelm of Bavaria.”

The King, the prince and favorite courtiers all processed in and took their respective seats. From his golden throne, the Ludwig proclaimed to the table, “Ah, leaders of the Cirque de la Vapeur! I am glad you have all joined me for dinner. My chefs have prepared a delicious feast for us tonight so let us eat and enjoy each other’s company!”

Chefs dressed in spotless white coats and hats wheeled in carts laden with trays covered in silver domes. They walked around the table setting small gold rimmed plates containing delicate hors d'oeuvres and oysters shining in liquid on half shells in front of each guest. Everyone eagerly started on the first course, especially the members of the Cirque who rarely got such luxurious food.

Chatter amongst all the guests started out slow mostly due to the language barrier until each found smatterings of French, German and English in common and the conversation started in earnest. The courtiers were fascinated by the Cirque members: their exotic clothes, their various circus acts and the stories of the many other cities they had visited. And by the time the second course, consommé Olga and cream of barley, was placed in front of them the Cirque family could barely keep up in answering the questions of the courtiers.

At first the King listened as Colette told one of the Barons about how they had to fight off bandits while doing a show in the wilds of mountainous north Italy with improvised flame throwers made from spare hot air balloon parts. But as the third course of poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers was removed from the table, Ludwig rose from his seat and held his wine glass up in a toast.

“Honored guests, thank you for joining me in my beloved castle and celebrating with me and my friends. I eagerly await your performances in the upcoming weeks and I hope you enjoy your time here in my fairy castle.”

The prince rose from his small throne to the right of Ludwig and held his glass high, “Prost!”

The entire room joined him, standing, raising their glasses and echoed the toast in a loud cry that echoed off the tall ceiling, “Prost!”

As they all returned to their seats, the fourth course of filet mignons lili, sauté of chicken lyonnaise and vegetable marrow farci came and went. Eating was interspersed with more excited conversation as the courtiers continued to ask about the Cirque’s adventures until the next was wheeled in on silver carts that creaked with weighty platters of lamb with mint sauce, roast duckling, apple sauce, sirloin of beef, chateau potatoes, green pea, creamed carrots, boiled rice, parmentier and boiled new potatoes.

Seeing the multitudes of platters Alexandra turned to Asmodeus, one hand pressed to her stomach, and murmured to him, “How many courses will there be? I fear if I eat much more my corset seams will burst.”

“Don’t worry,” the magician laughed, “only five more courses to go!”

“Ugh,” Alexandra resignedly sighed, “at least it’s all delicious.”

“There are advantages to dining with royalty,” Asmodeus said, eagerly digging into the delicate slices of duck on his plate.

As the chefs wheeled the carts of empty fourth course dishes away, the large mahogany doors swung open and everyone turned to look at the small figure that was silhouetted in the doorway.

“Oh good Lord,” Alexandra groaned dropping her head into her hands, “it’s Marie. And she’s wearing my clothes.”

The Spectacle

Normally, as the evening approached, the circus would calm down - even at a new site, everyone would have made sure their own beds were accessible for the night, and would be thinking of getting dinner and turning in. But tonight, even with the big tent up and no plans for the night, the cirque was abuzz.

And Marie wasn't even involved.

Really, the whole situation was horribly infuriating.

Asmodeus had wrangled Marguerite, calmed Alexandra. Colette had calmed down enough to allow herself to be dressed appropriately, and was practicing polite things to say under her breath. Tom Sry and the boys were making jokes, planning a night of revelry to, quote, 'make the King's dinner look like cribbage with Marie's nuns,' and she had punched a few of the smaller ones for the insult. The acrobats were moping that they weren't invited to dress up as well, and, ah, entertain.

And, having had the terribly important task of delivering news of this exciting event, Marie was now entirely shut out.

And the PRINCE would be there!

Marie had pointed this out to no less than three different people, and they had all insisted that she couldn't possibly go.

So, naturally, when they started parading up to the palace - Colette leading the way, Asmodeus and a still-slightly-bristling Alexandra shortly behind, Marguerite having already run off with that scary man - Marie followed. She took even greater care than usual, doing her best to avoid Asmodeus in particular, and when they went in the front doors, she paused, counting in her head until they had to be suitably far away, before slipping in, putting on her most charming smile and trusting any observers would find her suitably circus-looking and allow her in.

The doors to the dining room were open, and Marie hovered outside, peeking around at the spectacle of it all. A giant fire roared in a fire place at the far end of the room, and while the table setting wasn't terribly large - maybe a dozen seats total, between the King's entourage and the Cirque group - the glittering outfits of courtiers who didn't get to show off very often and performers who weren't practiced at how to show off when not covered in glitter and feathers made the room seem full and sparkly. And right next to the king was the prince, looking completely charming and only a little bit bored as the meal began.

Oh, she had to get in on this. Marie scampered away, wondering how quickly she could find proper clothes.

Colette's Tailcoat!

Finally, Colette's tailcoat has been completed! (Aside from a few final details and matching sleeves, that is). The coat is based off the front of Butterick B5232 and the back from Butterick B4929 with a lot of modification and a muslin mock up for fitting and details.

Fights and Flirtations

Alexandra fumed as she stormed out, down the stairs, through the hallways trying to find her way out of the castle. She and Marguerite had had their disagreements before, as all friends, families and co-workers do, but in her mind none were as bitter or as close to the truth as this one.

Rita had never been fond of Society, at least outside of opium dens, brothels and laboratories, while Alexandra reveled in it. She loved the luxury of high society and how moving in those circles came naturally to her, partially due to her skills in dressmaking.

But it was Marguerite’s last words that really hit home: “If you took that silk off of your eyes you might find your own ship and tinkerer.”

Alex knew well who she would like to have courting her. In fact, that very magician had made it plain he was interested, but the fortune teller knew his habits with women. And she personally preferred a familiar lover over a new one in every town like many of the circus folk did.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she stumbled and almost fell as she turned the corner at the bottom of a spiral staircase when a pair of strong arms caught her.

“Slow down, Alexandra,” Asmodeus murmured as he held onto her until she righted herself.

The fortune teller straightened sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t kill yourself. These stairs can be rather steep.”

“I’m fine Asmodeus!” The fortune teller yelled suddenly, turning her back to him, “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” The magician grabbed her by her shoulders and spun her around. Alexandra glared daggers at him. “So, why?”

“Because, I…” the magician paused, carefully choosing his next words, “I’d rather not see you get hurt.”

To his surprise, Alex neither slapped nor yelled at him. Instead, she just stared.

Encouraged, Asmodeus slipped an arm around her waist and started guiding her down the hallway to an exit of the castle.

“Look, Alex, don’t take Rita’s words too hard. You’re a part of this family you’re the only one who knows how to properly dress all the acts. And I don’t think your fabric is just a collection of rags, we need it to properly clothe the Cirque.”

The fortune teller half smiled, “I do suppose Colette would still look like a ragamuffin I hadn’t come along…”

“Exactly,” Asmodeus continued. “Also you have your own ship, a rather fine one at that. And as for a “tinkerer” I know you’ve had offers before…” Asmodeus trailed off, a sly grin on his face.

A reddish tinge coloured Alexandra’s cheeks at his words. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

“Of course, none of them are quite the caliber as I am…” He said squeezing her corseted waist fondly.

Alexandra elbowed him sharply in the side, stepping out of the circle of his arm. The magician winced, laughing, “All right, all right...”

They walked in relatively comfortable silence out of the castle and across the field to the Cirque. The sun had started slanting through the trees as Alexandra and Asmodeus neared where the ships were anchored.

The magician bowed and opened the door to her ship. “Come on, we need to hurry to get ready in time for dinner. You’re the only one besides me even remotely knows how to behave around royalty. And we need to get you out of those regular clothes and into something fit for dinner with a king.”

The fortune teller stopped, turned and glared at the magician, “you’re not getting anywhere near my corset laces.”

Asmodeus grinned fiendishly, “I wouldn’t dream of it. So, I’ll meet you here in ten minutes, it shouldn’t take that long for you to find something proper to wear.”

“Very well, I’ll see you shortly.” Alexandra replied before firmly shut the door to her ship and hurried to her wardrobe.

The fortune teller hadn’t been in this high of society lately, as the recent fortunes of the Cirque had lead them to choose smaller cities to perform in, but she still had her finer dresses neatly stored in a cedar chest. Alexandra quickly sorted through them, trying to find one that would be suitable for dining with a king. Finally, she settled on an old style blue watered silk dinner dress with a full, high bustle. The fortune teller loved the deep square neckline and elbow length sleeves both edged in antique gold lace and a graceful waterfall bustle.

Quickly changing into the fancy dinner dress, Alexandra fixed her hair with gold pins, wrapped a fine black lace shawl around her shoulders and hurried out of the ship to meet Asmodeus.

“Ah, perfect timing!” He greeted her, gesturing with his ebony and gold tipped cane. The magician looked dapper in a subtle black brocade tailcoat lined in flashy red satin. His waistcoat was fine gold silk and his pants smooth wool. A red jeweled cravat pin flashed from the intricate knot of white silk.

Asmodeus offered Alexandra his arm and, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it and they walked together back up to the castle for dinner with the King.

The Seer and the Scientist

Marguerite cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

“My new ship is acceptable. I will need help adapting a portion for the menagerie, of course, but considering our unusual venue at the moment, there is time to accommodate for the new space.” She looked from Alexandra, who was staring blankly at her spattering of German, to Asmodeus. “What is it?” She said in German, patting down wild strands of hair. She felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, wondering at the expectant looks of her visitors, and very aware of Froderick approaching from the front of the ship.

“You are invited to attend dinner with the king this evening,” Asmodeus replied, switching to French.

“What?” She said with greater earnestness. Froderick appeared beside her, straightening his shirt.

“The king discussed such a dinner with the Cirque’s leaders,” he said. “I suggested that your company might make matters more comfortable. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I mind. What would I do at a formal dinner?” Marguerite said.

“Wine and dine, as tends to happen at these events,” Asmodeus said.

“Absolutely not.”

“No? I suppose you could bring your animals. Not sure how the king would take to them running about the table, though…”

Marguerite frowned at Asmodeus.

“Alexandra, kindly explain to this gentleman that I will not be attending this dinner.”

“I think it would be fitting to see those creatures terrorize the royal hall. I had to put up with it for long enough.”

“You are not still upset about a few accidents,” Marguerite said.

Alexandra fumed.

“A few – you managed to ruin at least one of every kind of fabric I possessed in that tent!”

“There is enough fabric in your possession to clothe a city. I don’t see how my short stay with you could ruin all that much.”

Asmodeus and Froderick exchanged looks. Neither cared to see the result of the current conversation, nor did they care to know what happened if they intervened.

“Those were my best materials, meant to add to the experience of my divination. I must look respectable, unlike other side shows in this circus.”

“I don’t deceive my patrons into thinking the animals can tell their future. I also don’t see how you can make a living, buying all that nonsense that you do.”

“At least I have something to show. What do you have now? A magical ship and a mechanic? Will you prance about with those and your little pests at dinner tonight? You probably didn’t even have a fitting wardrobe for a king before the fire, let alone now.”

Alexandra’s words stung. Marguerite held her hands behind her back and stuck out her chin.

“Then at least I do not hide what I have – a man at my side and a vessel to carry us in. You wouldn’t admit to that much even if your dainty collection of rags were threatened with incineration, blind as you are to everything but other people’s matters and bits of cloth. If you took that silk off of your eyes you might find your own ship and tinkerer.”

Alexandra’s jaw dropped. Marguerite maintained her cold composure until her friend closed her mouth and stormed away from the ship.

“Rita, you’re shaking,” Froderick said.

Asmodeus watched as Alexandra ran out of the hangar.

“This should make dinner even more interesting… so are you going?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Be there at six. I am sure Froderick will know someone who could find you something to wear.”

Marguerite watched him run after Alexandra. Froderick placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I have problems with social formalities,” she said.

“I see.”

“That means I don’t want to go to dinner.”

“But it’s the king.”

“But I’m a scientist. And a poor excuse for a friend, it seems.”

After a pause, Froderick spoke again.

“The king has allocated me space for a lab, which you have permission to use if you go to this dinner. I am sure you could mention some of your work to the king as well.”

Marguerite managed to forget the hurtful words for the moment, thinking instead of the notes she was almost done recreating.

“I have not seen a proper lab in three years… Are you sure you want me there, knowing I tend to destroy things?”

Froderick smiled.

“I hope you don’t think this ship began as a neat little frame. I had the hangar cluttered with parts for so long I was nearly banned from working on any other projects until it was finished. No one else could find their way around the place.”

Marguerite’s composure relaxed as she laughed at the image. She turned to the mechanic and leaned against him.

“Fine, I will attend dinner. But don’t expect thrilling dinner conversation.”

“I think you would have brilliant dinner conversation.”

“I certainly would. I just don’t have any appropriate outside the company of scientists, drunkards, and opiates.”

“Let’s start with making you look appropriate.”

“That means taking off clothes.”

“I believe it does.”

“And we have a while before the need to put any more on.”

“Perhaps we should find something appropriate for you to wear, first.”

Marguerite sighed. “Oh, I suppose. To the royal seamstress, then.”

Maybe I won’t chase this one off, Marguerite thought to herself as they left the hangar.

In Which a Murder is averted, or perhaps delayed...

Marguerite was instantly taken with the Wagnerian aircraft – or was it the mechanic? – so Asmodeus politely excused himself from Ludwig’s small hanger and allowed his feet to meander back to the castle. Up the wide, winding path he walked, in the shadow of the white stone outer walls, crenulations zigzagging along the top. At the top of the hill the path curved back on itself to face the large, red-bricked gatehouse. As usual, the portcullis was up and a steady stream of villagers and servants ebbed and flowed through the gaping maw. Asmodeus deftly slid into the throng, passing under the watchful, if somewhat bored, eyes of the castle guards, halberds gripped ceremoniously in their gauntleted hands while all-too-efficient pistols hung from their belts.

Once through the tunnel Asmodeus found himself in the sunlit world of the main courtyard; white marble dazzling in the afternoon sun. Seeing him, a familiar face approached purposefully from across the space, nightgown exchanged for a fitted suit with a hint of the military in its cut. “I must say, Didi, this is more of what I expected when I saw you.”

Didi bowed at the compliment, explaining, “I admit I was disheveled, but you do have that effect on people. I seem to recall a poor innkeeper in Tunis…”

Asmodeus waved his hands in surrender, smiling fiendishly. “Alright, no need to bring that up. Lord knows I was very drunk.”

Didi grinned in return, retorting, “True enough. I only hope the palace fairs better than that poor tavern.” He held out his hand, in which rested a white envelope sealed with the coat of arms of Bavaria.

Asmodeus accepted the parcel with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“A message from His Majesty,” Dieter replied mysteriously.

Asmodeus carefully broke the envelope’s seal and divulged its contents: a folded sheet of stationary. Spidery lines of ink scrawled in loose formation across the surface, a testament to Dieter’s transcriptive abilities in French. Asmodeus peered at the garbled shorthand. “Well, your handwriting hasn’t improved.”

Dieter assumed a nobler posture. “Have you ever written in a second language as you translate from your native tongue? Just read it.”

A brief moment gave Asmodeus the gist of the letter. It was only a few seconds of mental processing later that gave him the intimation. His eyes grew wide; with terror or joy, he could not decide. “We are to dine with King Ludwig this evening,” he asked in a halting manner. “But we’ve only just put things in order!”

Dieter stood at his ease. “I understand, and I apologize for any inconvenience, but the King is very excited. He wanted to get to know your Ringmaster and a few of her choice performers a little better. As you made it possible for the cirque to be here, I felt it fitting you should be present.”

Asmodeus’ fingers fidgeted with the invitation as his teeth made to worry a hole in the side of his lip. “I’m glad you felt that way, though this letter should really go to Colette’s hands. She’s ringmaster, after all. Still, she’ll be none too thrilled. Colette doesn’t seem the regal-dining type; much more relaxed in a dark, back-alley dive.” After a few more seconds thought, he continued, “At any rate, I suppose I should round up the ‘family’ and tell them the good news.”

At that moment something fast and brocade bumped into Asmodeus, sending him a few steps to regain balance. From behind bolts of vary-hued fabrics came a muffled “Excuse me”, while two fiercely burning eyes peered out from between silks and canvas. Asmodeus blinked in confusion. “Alexandra?”

Piles of fabric fell to the ground in a nearly-organized heap as Alexandra gripped him by the arms. “Asmodeus,” she cried in awe, “It sews sails.”

Asmodeus leaned back in her grasp to put a few feet between his face and hers. He always liked being close to her, just not like this. Warily, he asked, “What exactly does?”

“The sewing machines,” Dieter explained, suppressing a chuckle. “It would appear your Freundin has found His Majesty’s costume shop.”

Asmodeus’ eyes went wide like an owl’s, and his gaze swept back and forth between Alexandra and Dieter, while he babbled, “Girlfriend? Well, I… that is to say… you know…”

Alexandra had continued to rant, “It runs on steam and works at least twice as fast as I do by hand. I could mend costumes, repair sails…” but once she heard Dieter’s assumption translated, her eyes snapped into focus and her arms immediately dropped as she reached to pick up her many bolts of color, all the while explaining, “Us? No, certainly… I mean, really…” She and Asmodeus glanced at each other, blushing furiously. Dieter merely chuckled.

Alexandra finished gathering her bundles of cloth and made to head into the keep. “Well! I have a meeting with a seamstress, so if you gentlemen will excuse me…”

“Actually, that’s gonna have to wait.” Asmodeus handed her the summons.

Alexandra gave it a quick read and held it up in front of Asmodeus. “I would say I saw this coming but that would be cliché. You know Colette’s going to kill you for this.

“Yeah, I had a feeling. She’s mad as a hornet about being here. What if we just don’t tell her?” Alexandra leveled a reproachful glare at him. “Yeah, didn’t think that was a valid solution. I guess first thing is to see that Colette gets this invitation and I don’t really want to be nearby when she reads it. I’ll have to find a messenger; someone she won’t attack on sight.” He looked hopefully at Alexandra.

She shook her head. “Not a chance. I drugged and bound her, remember?”

“Hm…” Asmodeus pondered for a moment. A group of children, laughing as children do, ran by, playing some esoteric game. Asmodeus stopped the smallest one, who was lagging behind and waving an oversized pretzel in his hand. Asmodeus crouched down and handed him the stationary, explaining, “Hier ist ein paar Pfennig fuer dich. Sucht das Maedchen von unsere Zirkus. Gebt ihr dieser Breif.” The child nodded quickly, stuck the pretzel in his mouth, took the letter and coins, and ran off, looking in all directions. Asmodeus stood up, triumphant. “Now Colette gets the invitation and I don’t get killed.”

Alexandra looked skeptical. “And what if he finds Marguerite?”

Asmodeus shrugged smugly. “Well, then it’s Marguerite’s problem. She’s invited, anyway.”

Alexandra nodded patronizingly. “And what if he finds Marie?”

Asmodeus dropped his grin. “I hadn’t thought of that; cute little scamp, but not very appropriate for a first impression. I can see her sitting at the king’s table, poking her food around the plate.” Asmodeus’ expression lightened. “On the bright side, if I can barely read Dieter’s French, then I doubt Marie will have any better luck.”

Scowling at this attack on his penmanship, Dieter reached over and took the bolts of fabric from Alexandra, reassuring her that they would be waiting for her in the tower after dinner. “So it’s settled,” he said with a smile. “I will inform his Majesty. Supper will be served in the main hall at six o’clock, sharp. I shall see you all there.” With a click of his heels, a deep bow, and a meaningful glance at Asmodeus, he turned and walked briskly back into the castle, leaving the two standing alone in the courtyard.

Alexandra looked sheepishly at Asmodeus. “What did he mean by girlfriend? What have you been telling him?”

Asmodeus kicked a wayward pebble, muttering, “Nothing. Nothing at all. I mistranslated, assuredly; simply a German word meaning ‘friend who happens to be a girl’.”

Alexandra made a show of pouting. “Well that’s too bad. My cabin is quite comfortable, and I could have poured us some of my special blend of tea.”

Asmodeus’ eyes lit up. “Really?”

“No.”

Asmodeus hunched slightly at the rebuke. Oh, he silently mouthed. Looking up at Alexandra, he continued, “Because, if you wanted…”

Alexandra squared herself, arms akimbo, eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“You’d have a collapsible bustle after we got done.”

Alexandra moved to an aggressive stance, hand already extending towards Asmodeus cheek, when he clapped his hands together, fixing an unsteady smile on his face. “Which is why it’s good that we have a job to do. Shall we go find Marguerite? Last I left her she was inspecting her new acquisition, not 20 minutes ago.”

Alexandra relaxed slightly. “Certainly, ‘friend who happens to be a man’.” With a wink, she brushed past Asmodeus and out the front gate, Asmodeus in tow.

It did not take long to reach the hangar, the downhill angle lending speed to their steps. A short while later the two were standing before the thick solid oak doors of the hanger, one side left slightly ajar to allow access to the ships within. Asmodeus stepped reverently to the side, indicating Alexandra should go first. She hiked up her skirt fronts and sidled through the opening only to stop immediately inside, staring at the monstrosity before her, for in Alexandra’s opinion, it was surely a monstrosity. No other word quite captured the essence of it. A pastel-shaded white swan of enormous proportion, wings partially outstretched, neck curved back in an ‘s’, squatted ponderously upon the dark stone floor of the hanger. Stained glass eyes stared vacantly to either side, while a sumptuous, if overly embellished, interior was visible through the intricate stained glass portholes along the hull, each depicting great moments of Germanic epics. Couches and divans bearing striped upholstery and thick imported carpets turned a rainbow of hues through the colored panes. Skilled hands and precise eyes had carved ornate scrollwork and minute figures along the railings on the deck, as well as some of the larger beams, while gilt work held sway over all. Alexandra felt something akin to nausea come over her and for a moment seemed fit to faint. Asmodeus, misunderstanding her reaction as awe, moved to check her fall, asking merrily, “Isn’t she among the finest aircraft you’ve ever seen? Took Froderick months just putting the windows together.”

Alexandra, oddly enough, did not feel in the mood to crush his opinions… this time. Ordinarily she delighted in arguing trivial matters, pointing out his flaws or his poor taste, but something in his eyes made her think twice. Or perhaps she was overwhelmed with displeasure and unable to put her opinions into words. Whatever the case, she remained silent, until she realized something was missing. “Asmodeus,” she began, taking a few tentative steps toward the avian. “Where’s Marguerite?”

“Why, most likely touring the ship. I’m sure Froderick’s showing off his mechanism again. He’s quite proud of it.”

Alexandra turned a questioning eye on Asmodeus, then approached the ship, calling, “Marguerite, are you within?”

There were a couple of soft thumping sounds, a stifled giggle, and Marguerite appeared in the doorway to the cabin, fastening the final button of her coat.