Onward to Steampunk World's Faire!

Hello loyal readers!

Apologies for the long break, we have been on temporary hiatus while various Cirque members have been finishing up school and making preparations for Steampunk World's Faire! If you happen to be attending Steampunk World's Faire, look for us wearing red rosettes!

We should be back to our usual schedule for posting shortly after the Faire! :)

Of Tapestries and Secrets

Alexandra was distracted.  After drinking nearly a pot of tea, she had begun her mending only to find that she had stitched the sleeve of a shirtwaist onto vest and sewn two pants legs together at the cuffs. Finally ripping apart an inside-out cloak hood, Alexandra threw the entire basket of mending across the room in frustration.

 “Damn that magician,” Alex sighed, dropping her head into a pile of fabric. She couldn’t focus on anything. She needed something to distract her. Maybe she should visit the castle and Madame Rosamunde to experiment more with the sewing machines. 

The fortune teller wrapped a blue wool cloak around her shoulders, tucked a basket of fabric under her arm and headed off towards the castle. Once inside, Alexandra headed up a set of stairs. She thought she was going in the right direction but, wandering higher and higher into the castle, realized she was lost.

Alexandra was just about to find the when she paused, her eye caught by a peculiar tapestry of a man bathing in the freshly spilled blood of a dragon, and as she stepped closer to examine it she heard a faint whistling sound and felt the fabric sway under her finger tips.

Curious, the fortune teller pulled it back to reveal a pierced metal gate set into the stone wall. And the gate was slightly ajar.

She knew that she shouldn’t pry into the royal affairs, but a secret passage way in a castle; it was too much for her to resist!

Tucking the sewing basket under her arm, she carefully pushed the gate open and slid through into the dim passage. Light filtered through from pierced grates set high in the walls, revealing clean stone walls, paved floor and small wooden shutter spaced irregularly.

Sliding one open, Alexandra found herself looking through the filigree in the frame of a mirror and into a luxurious bedroom with an enormous velvet draped bed. It could only belong to one of the many noblewomen who lived in Mad Ludwig’s palace. Her suspicions were confirmed as the occupant, a clearly tipsy woman with long copper hair stumbled into the room and onto the bed pulling an equally intoxicated gentleman after her.

“Oh my,” she murmured, hurriedly closing the shutter and continuing down the hallway. Alexandra was considering turning around when at the far end of the passage Alexandra heard raised voices coming from a large shutter just around the corner.

Once again her curiosity was piqued and she couldn’t help opening the shutter a crack to see what the commotion was about. Within she saw a duchess and a baron that she recognized from the dinner along with another man she had never seen before. They were standing, shouting loudly in German at another gentleman standing out of view in the shadows. 

Alexandra knew only a few words of German, but she understood enough and from the shouting they were definitely having an argument about death or killing. Or maybe war? And there was something about a person with noble blood or royalty. She always mixed up her nouns.

But from the body language they were upset and angry. And worried, very worried about an assassination or death. They were planning on killing someone.

Alexandra drew back from the gate in surprise as final speaker stepped forward out of the shadows and came into view. It was the prince!

And now, a segue!

“I didn’t cause any trouble or break anything,” Marie protested. “But listen!”

And Asmodeus did. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long draught of the dark rum. This was shaping up to be one of Marie’s typical stories and would certainly require a little more alcohol. He was only half-listening and enjoying a deliciously burning mouthful of distilled molasses, imagining soft fabric remnants and softer flesh, when he heard Marie grind out what must certainly be the German word for assassination. And circus. But assassination! He very nearly choked on his spirits. It could be that Marie misread the missive, or perhaps it’s absolutely none of their business, but the mention of a circus seemed to hint otherwise. Theirs was the only circus in town of which Asmodeus was aware. However his last few brilliant ideas seemed to grate on Asmodeus’ decisiveness, and he did not trust things to go as he saw them in his head. Better he should leave circus business to a higher power. With another swig and a deadpan expression, Asmodeus stared down at Marie. “Well now, I do know what it means and I can assure you it has nothing to do with dung, though it reeks as bad. I believe you should tell your story to Colette.” Marie made face and pranced from one foot to the other as if to protest, but Asmodeus immediately set her at her ease. “Not to worry, Marie. You’re in no trouble; perhaps just the opposite. Come along, then.” Bare-chested and suspendered, he grabbed his coat and hat and made for the ringmaster’s cabin, Marie at his side.

Without so much as a knock, Asmodeus threw open the door and strode the breadth of the room, passing through long shafts of light thrown upon the posh, carpeted floors by the dawn sun, making a beeline for the ornately decorated cabinet wherein bottles of amber-hued liquids would reside. Peering inside he called over his shoulder, “Good morning illustrious leader. Fancy a finger or two of rum, put some color into those cheeks? By the bye, our little Marie has something singular you may wish to hear. Go ahead and tell her what you told me.” And Marie related her tale anew.

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.