Stage Two: The Performance

The black iron-bound wheels of the carriage clattered noisily along the cobbled streets of Orleans, rising above the din of the sidewalks on either side; merchants as they packed away their wares for the evening, and the calls of the girls as their own nocturnal business began. The bulky steam engine mounted to the back axle pumped away rhythmically, keeping time with the passing lanterns as they flickered to life. A thin tail of gray smoke curled its way along behind the carriage, drifting up into the fading twilight. Two figures rode in this carriage; one’s mood fuming like the smokestack behind them, the other’s seemingly as cool as the breeze whipping past.

Alexandra sat leaning against the carriage wall, as far back in the corner as possible, glaring out the small windows. She was laced into a black velvet bodice, with tails spilling over a red bustled skirt of finest satin. She clutched a small fan in her black lace-gloved hands, waving it furiously before her face both to keep from fainting and from having to look at her companion.

The other occupant of the carriage shifted uneasily in the awkward silence. Beyond the windows was a city alive and active, but to Asmodeus all within the carriage was as an abandoned mausoleum. For their night out he had chosen a dove gray suit with a top hat to match; a monocle perched upon his cheek. He adjusted the leg of his trousers and glanced out the window as the world passed by, but his gaze always returned to Alexandra.

The fan dropped violently into Alexandra’s lap, and with an exasperated sigh, she finally said, “Honestly, how could you, of all people, be late?! You said to be ready by seven, and I was. Have you any idea of how restrictive this outfit is?”

Asmodeus glanced sidelong at her. “Naturally, no, but it couldn’t be helped. Have you any idea how hard it is to find such a brilliant status symbol at this hour,” he asked, reclining against his cushions, his arms spreading to indicate the dark upholstered benches and stained wood frame of the carriage interior.

Alexandra looked disdainfully about her. “Was it really necessary? I think it’s a waste of time and money.”

Asmodeus looked taken aback. “It was absolutely necessary. We have to keep up appearances, after all. Wealthy couple like us; wouldn’t do to ride up in any old wagon.” With a look of feigned innocence, he added, “Besides, we wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t been tossing your clothes about for so long. I merely attempted to afford you ample time to prepare yourself.”

Alexandra’s eyes widened and her mouth moved to voice several sentences at once, none of which bore friendly thoughts, when a hiss of steam and a whine of metal told them the carriage was slowing to a halt. Outside the carriage lay the main tent for Cirque de la Hirondelle, currently the site of an exodus. Droves of the well-dressed and well-to-do were vacating the cloth enclosure, most with handkerchiefs held to their noses. Asmodeus turned to Alexandra with a self-satisfied expression. “See, darling? Right on time. We’re on.”

Asmodeus signaled to the footman to open the door, climbed out, and turned to offer his hand to his consort, who made sure to hold it just a little too hard. Asmodeus winced, but retained his composure, set the top hat upon his head, and spoke in a loud voice. “Honestly, what kind of circus allows their cages to descend to such depths of squalor? Surely, there can be no other reason for such a horrid reek!”

Alexandra responded. “I staunchly agree; simply wretched.”

“I had heard there is another circus in town, not too far from here, with fresh material; never before seen acts.”

“Well, that’s fortunate, but what about our tickets for Hirondelle?”

“This other circus, Vapeur, is accepting them as half-off coupons. It will only cost us a schilling!”

Those nearest to the pair had by now started paying closer attention to the conversation, and began passing along this bit of news. Asmodeus grinned at how effective it was. He looked back to Alexandra, and a thought struck him. All evening he had been admiring her; the cut of her bodice, the low neckline, her very regal bearing. He felt he could not let the chance pass him by. Leaning in close, he whispered to her, “Now kiss me.”

Alexandra recoiled, looking shocked. “What?!”

“We’re a married couple. It’s expected.”

“I never…”

“Woman!” he snapped under his breath. “Do you want this plan to fail?!”

Alexandra set her hands to her hips, ready to set her flail of a tongue to chastising the cad. “You sir…”

Asmodeus quickly slipped his arm around her waist, his hand on her cheek, and cut short her outburst with his lips. For the span of a heartbeat, Alexandra let herself fall into his embrace, tasting his lips on her own, smelling his sweet breath, letting it intoxicate her senses.

For just a heartbeat.

With his eyes closed, Asmodeus never saw the hand coming. There was a cracking sound as Alexandra’s palm made contact with his face, and his world reeled. Gathering her skirt, she stormed up the steps into the carriage and motioned the driver to go, leaving Asmodeus, dazed in mind and wounded in pride, standing in a cloud of dust before the laughing crowd. He watched her ride out of sight into the gloom, then waved down a passing horse-drawn carriage to return him to the Vapeur. In the end, it was worth it.