Boom

The sun was shining through the open windows of the magician’s cabin, resting amidst the swaying grasses of the field in which la Vapeur had anchored. It was shaped as a sailing ship of old, with a fanciful, and quite anatomically accurate, representation of a mermaid heading the prow. Masts were replaced by metal smokestacks, and the rigging led to the large black balloon shifting lazily in the breeze above. There were carved wooden railings along the length of the deck, leading to the stern cabin, the captain’s quarters, with paned windows edged in gilt-worked metal. Asmodeus had established this room as his bedroom. Presently, he was hunched over a worktable bolted to the center of the cabin, preparing for the night’s performance. He was clad in his waistcoat and wingtip-collared shirt, the sleeves of which he had rolled up to avoid any unnecessary staining. His performing coat was draped casually across the back of his armchair. In his hands were pliers and a probe, and his face twisted with concentration as he gazed through his loupe, his hands moving with deft precision as he tightened bolts and tested springs. The task seemed more difficult this day, as his thoughts continually strayed to the night before. So there’s another circus what set down ‘ere, he mused. Nothin’ like this’d ever happen back home. Anyone tried pinching customers, the boys’d go rough ‘em a bit. Actually, s’not so bad an idea.

With a grin, Asmodeus conjured the image of his knife protruding from the chest of that insolent bird of a man. To think that someone would have the gall to dress so tacky, upset a fellow performer, and prematurely end Asmodeus’ delightful evening with Alexandra was wholly bewildering; especially the social interruption part. Asmodeus felt he was really getting somewhere with her that evening.

It was in the middle of this combined tinkering and daydreaming that an acrid smell assaulted Asmodeus’ nostrils. It was not any of his chemicals; certainly was not the grease. A tendril of light, wispy smoke had begun to curl its way through his open casement. Tearing the lenses from his face, he jumped from his chair and dashed to the window, in time to see two familiar figures slinking away from Marguerite’s balloon as fast as possible. There was, however, no time to pursue his initial, violent train of thought, for he could see that Marguerite’s balloon had caught fire, and the cabin was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. Taking the stairs to the main deck three at a time, Asmodeus swung down from his ship and hit the ground in a flat-out run. Seeing other members of the crew coming to investigate, Asmoudeus shouted to them. “Marie, go fetch the buckets. You there, form a line.” He would have to report what he saw to Colette, but he hoped she would uphold the old ways of dealing with messengers.