The Beginning of the End

"You are here to see for yourselves the famed Vapeur--perhaps because we are the very cirque that brought even the Shah of Saudi Arabia to his feet in awe mere months ago. Or perhaps you heard not of our Arabic successes... perhaps you are here because you heard tell that the Star Brittania had awarded us their Gold Standard--the highest compliment a humble cirque such as ourselves could hope to achieve, craved by the finest of performers across all of Europe!" Her voice rang out across the still air in the circus arena, and the crowd practically buzzed with anticipation.

"Or perhaps!" Colette paced, hands on her hips, leather whip coiled against her flank. "Perhaps you were inspired to feast your eyes upon the cirque so magnificent that in what could very well be an act of God Himself, terrible "accidents,"--Here, she leaned conspiratorially towards the crowd, sending a wink and a nudge their way. "...have taken place, that we might be unable to travel on."

"Though you may have your doubts, I am sure that these occurrences are of the purest coincidence. In no way could they have have been made to happen upon our camp by our competitors, who quake and tremble in their cots at night, sure that their fame and fortune shall be stripped away by our triumphs!"

Her voice echoed imperiously, but she cracked a grin. "Of course not. For to tease the Vapeur in such a way would be as dangling red silk before a bull--a feat that our lion tamer attempted in Barcelona only recently, entirely at the mercy of a bull so wicked he was rumoured to have been an incarnation of the Devil himself!"

She turned, and added almost as an afterthought, "Though that has been said of the Lion Master as well." The women in the audience tittered, and Colette shrugged, smiling indulgently once more. "Needless to say, the bull was no match for our Master... as no other cirque could dare compare to the fabulous, the famous, and the feared Cirque de la Vapeur!"

She crossed in a sweeping arc before the three rings. "You have come for many reasons, my friends, but tonight you shall all bear witness to the same miracles, carefully assembled from all regions of the Earth and each with a talent unmatched by any man who lives--for if a man of such talent were known to exist, he would be working with us within the month. Not for the food, you see--don't tell my cook--but for the chance--" She paused as the crowd chuckled slightly, waiting for the hush to fall once more so she could continue in a more somber voice.

"For the chance, dear friends, to be amongst performers truly blessed with supernatural talents. What you are about to witness may shock you, may terrify you, may even render you speechless for days to come. I personally counseled a woman, in my private chambers after one performance, who felt that she might never again to be able to speak! Needless to say, that when she did loose her tongue, it was to sing the praises of this, the finest Cirque to ever visit the city of Orleans--nay, France--nay--Europe!"

She tipped her hat. "Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages...I am Auréle le Conquerant, and this...is the night of your lives."

She bowed slightly, stepped back onto a slightly raised platform, and shouted. "Allons-y!"

Four horses charged in barely brushing by her as they raced full tilt, two by two, muscles rippling under gleaming white coats. Their backs were bare, but around their necks and draped over their rushing haunches were cascades of heavily embroidered fabric, shimmering under the swinging spotlights and sending fragments of colour bouncing over the walls in a violent assault of noise and sudden clamour. Colette's platform which began to spin counterclockwise in a slow movement and cranked up, inches at a time.

The horses whipped by as fast as lightning, and the pedestal on which Colette stood ratcheted up in speed and height. Her feet were slightly spread but she looked perfectly at ease, as if her intent was to sail right up into the heavens. She spread her hands in almost celebratory, almost joyous pride in her troupe.

"From the farthest corners of the Arab lands, these acrobats have come. In tune with their steeds from the day each animal was born, able to speak to them and understand their nature as no other human alive can--they defy death daily, and tonight they push even their heroic limits. They are the Fabled Four, a family in spirit and sentiment if not in blood, princes of the equine, queens among riders--"

And now the audience was able to make out: hunched so low on each animal's back, nearly moving at speeds too rapid to be registered by the eye were four acrobats adorned in white, bare shoulders glinting darkly against the whiteness of the horses' skins.

Their arms and feet were bare, but dressed in white and spangles, they glinted and shone in tune with the animals; it was nearly impossible to make out where the rider began and ridden ended.

Colette reached up with one hand, snaked her wrist through a loop of nearly unseen black silk, and was hauled up into the shadows at the top of the tent. Her boots hit the catwalk with a slight jar, and she nearly stumbled. A stage hand caught her elbow, and she nodded her thanks, retreating to one side of the catwalk to watch the show from above.

The horses raced tirelessly, throwing heaps of soil up as their hooves dug into the earth. They spiraled towards the center of the ring and simultaneously, as if controlled by one mind, they slammed to a halt.

Their riders rose from their hunched positions, standing fully upright on the animals' backs, arms held high above their heads.

They flipped backwards in tandem, landing on their hands on the animals' rumps, and the horses stepped forwards, bowing their front legs slightly as the acrobats began flipping, cartwheeling and slinging themselves from one horse to the next. They whipped by in a tangle of legs and arms, looking like ice crystals sent sailing on a stiff breeze. The animals rose up, began to pace forward, first side by side, and then in a wave that slowly peeled off and began to run about the ring once more, gathering speed as the acrobats tumbled and swung, supporting themselves from the barest of harnesses and the strength of their arms. They crossed paths, the riders flipping from animal to the ground and running a few steps, swinging from ground to animal in the easiest flicker of motion. They were like a tapestry of movement being woven before the crowd's very eyes.

Colette bit her lip. She was asking a lot of her team tonight, and that meant bringing out never-before seen tricks that were not as practiced as others. Of course, all their acts had an element of danger, and all their tricks had associated risks, but there were some that even her professionals were reluctant to perform in front of crowds without extensive practice first. In this show, she had been unable to give her performers the time they usually needed to work a difficult maneuver into an already complicated and sometimes fatal act.

But they trusted her, and that trust weighed heavily in her mind. Finally, there was a shift in the music, and the lights flickered. The Arabian music faded out, and a bright tune replaced it, and the horses began trotting slowly and elegantly in a smaller circle, nearly floating from step to step. A few laughs rang out as a series of large rings emerged from the scaffolding at the top of the ring--a carousel scene, depicted with live animals. How clever, how fun.

The horses trotted gaily under the rings, their heads lowered and their backs arched slightly, gliding forward as if mechanization and not living, breathing beasts. The riders sat up a little straighter, smiling, waving at the crowd, reaching up to tap the rings lightly in a parody of the popular game.

One rider pulled his beast aside, and another dismounted swiftly, allowing her animal to continue trotting in the small circle to the bright tune.

She vaulted up behind her accomplice, and both stood on the horse's back, smiling at the crowd. The woman looked about for something, while the man comically fretted and parodied anger at her, but ah! There. With a coy smile, she reached a few fingers into the clinging bodice of her spangly adornment--a few whistles from the crowd--and withdrew a white silk scarf. She tied it around the man's eyes--he willingly bent his head for her to do so--and she mimed hitting him in the face once, twice, and then smacked his cheek lightly. He was surprised, by it, flailing his arms slightly and nearly falling off his horse--an act, of course, but the crowd roared with laughter.

She spun him about, and he plopped on his horse facing the wrong way. She backflipped neatly off the animal, smacked its rump, and sent it cantering around the ring. She found her own horse once more, launched herself onto its back, and rejoined the ranks.

The single blind folded rider made his way around the ring once, twice... brought himself up until he crouched upon his horse, rocking with the motion and bobbing his head slightly. He rose into a diver's position, and as the horse crossed under one of the rings, he threw himself backwards, neatly sailing through the ring and landing on his hands upon the horse's shoulders. He brought himself forward into a plank before lying upon his horse's back, bringing himself around a few times in a flash of windmilling white until he faced the right way again.

He, still blind folded, rounded the turn once more, and with an inaudible ripple of hissing air, the ring caught fire.

His companions all rose to their feet on their animals, and first one, then another, and then the third executed neat swan dives through the hoop, landing on their feet and clucking their horses to a standstill stage left. The single rider, still blind and according to all evidence oblivious to the impending danger, smiled at the crowd, waved, and neatly flipped through the ring, landing in a fluid roll and bouncing to his feet, ripping the silk from his eyes and bowing deeply. Behind him, the four animals also cocked their legs and tipped their heads, and the riders swung back onto their animals, turning and filing out in a single file to riotous applause.

Fire. That was the key. Take the evil that had been done to their camp, use it in the show, prove that they had no fear. Fire was something that Colette was deeply afraid of, but tonight nearly every act would incorporate flames in some way, replicating the explosion and twisting it to their own benefit.

Colette smiled as the jugglers tumbled in, already tossing shining golden balls to each other, almost in a joking manner as if hoping that someone would miss. They executed difficult throws and catches of balls, scarves, little toys. They hurled the items at each other, grinning to each other and the crowd as they caught items behind their backs, flung them up from under a cocked leg, chucked something at the back of a juggler's head only for that person to reach up, snag it, and send it spinning again.

With a subtle twist of their hands, the scarves transformed into flashing blades, and the audience gasped. The knives flew back and forth, handles pearly and shining, blades sickeningly sharp. They zinged through their air, slicing through with a metallic song that chilled the crowd to the very bone.

They still continued in their capricious manner, casually playing with the fine edge of death as if it were their very best friend. And when the torches came out, flickering gently in the dim stadium, little licks of flames leaping and spinning and dancing in mid air, the audience was riveted, as sparks reflected in their eyes and danced in their minds. The jugglers, naked from the waist up, bodies glinting in the firelight, seemed to have risen from the hell directly below the cirque, toying with the elements in an inhuman manner.

As the jugglers tossed blades that now reflected swathes of amber, gold, and crimson of the somehow tamed, inferno, the dazzling effect seemed to enliven the crowd as well, and they cheered, called out, hissed and groaned and gasped in fear and delight as the sweat rolled down the jugglers' brows.

In the dim tent, the effect of the tossed torches was a dazzling light show of flickering illusion, an intricate pattern that grew and twisted like a living thing as jugglers handed the flames hand to hand. Two jugglers slowly caught the torches, and the audience sighed in disappointment, but with a soft "hup!" one leaped upon the other's shoulders and balanced lightly there, like a little bird.

Now the opposing pair of jugglers did the same, and with the rest scattered around, the light show became a two-level masterpiece, with torches whipping back and forth in curved patterns, slinging low at colossal speeds and launching upwards, defying gravity. With the delicacy of a master painter, from the angles and sparks the men crafted a spinning flower in midair--an illusion that echoed the rosette made famous by the Cirque's Rosette emblem.

They caught the torches at once, dropped them low into pails of water. The image was burned into the audience's iconic memory in the sudden dimness, and the water hissed and spat out steam.

In the ensuing roll of mist, aided of course by huge vats of dry ice hidden offstage, the jugglers disappeared.

The Parade

The crowds had mostly disappeared into the tent by the time Marie had returned the animals to Marguerite. Marie sprinted across the grounds, muttering annoyed things to herself. "Has the show started yet?" she yelled at a stage hand as she passed.

"They're heading in now," the stage hand yelled back, but Marie was already back to the main tent and could see the parade filing inside, to a huge swell of the brass instruments already playing, the sound bouncing off all the metal rigging with tinny enthusiasm.

The acrobats were towards the back, which Marie enjoyed for several reasons. For one thing, it meant that she could slide into her place and have half of a second to fix her hair and scowl in response to hissing questions from the other acrobats before stepping into the glowing, echoing, tightly-packed tent. For another thing, it meant that she could see all the other acts as they wrapped around the stage.

The horses ran in first – slowly enough to keep pace with the parade following them, but still managing to look like a dramatic, spangled and sequenced stampede of four, their trainers walking between them and waving. The jugglers followed, juggling colorful balls back and forth. The lions, padding calmly as can be with their trainer behind them, casting lazy glances as the gasping crowd. Marie personally liked the real-sized lions better than the little ones - though they could certainly act scary when it suited them, they were often quite sweet. Their trainer was an odd, quiet man who mostly kept to himself and chatted with his animals, but in his colorful costume and with a broad grin on his face, he looked every bit the showman. Other animals followed behind - the snake trainer and belly dancers, all four helping to carry an enormous banana python, and then the bird act, with a few bright peacocks flocked by a whole host of bright little songbirds. Some were real, and as brightly colored as jewels themselves, their songs clashing with the orchestra's music; but others were little mechanical marvels, that flapped a bit more stiffly and were decorated with actual jewels and sequins.

The tumblers and contortionists reached their place on the stage in all manner of fantastic jumps and flips and turns. Behind them, the fire eaters followed; the nature of their act wasn't immediately visible except for the flames embroidered on their pants, but their lack of shirts made up for the corresponding lack of theatrics. The acrobats paraded in behind them. Marie often thought they could have put on a better show - why not jump in at the back of the parade from the ceiling or something? But they mostly just spun a few little ballerina-like tricks and smiled charmingly, looking half-naked and delicate. Some of the other girls had tried to explain to Marie that if the acrobats looked half-naked and delicate, the audience found it that much more shocking to see them fly through the air, ever an inch from a long, dangerous fall. Marie thought they were just lazy and liked parading around half-naked, but she had learned to keep this opinion to herself. She made a face and Asmodeus, walking behind them in a particularly extravagant hat, smiled at her.

When all the performers had filed into the tent and circled the edge of the state, they waited for the appropriate point in the music and struck a variety of exciting poses. Marie made a concerted effort not to cough as she threw her hands above her head. The stands were packed, which was of course wonderful, but they were packed with people who had recently been exposed to stink bombs and were now sitting close together in an enclosed space. Marie glanced over at the girls next to her and noticed with amusement that their noses were wrinkling, too; Marie herself probably didn't smell terribly fantastic.

There was a creaking of machinery underneath the music, and a cloud of steam hissed out and floated across the stage. A platform in the center spiraled up, until Colette appeared in the center of the circle of performers. She waited until the machinery had clicked into place and the music quieted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Colette said, loudly enough that her voice echoed through the tent, though she didn't sound at all like she was yelling. "Welcome to Cirque de la Vapeur!"

The Show Must Go On: Finishing Touches

Foul smelling patrons bustled past Marguerite. She drew in a deep breath, cataloguing the results. The Vapeur tent would smell tonight, but much less than Hirondelle. Now she was left to wait. Father Edgar’s key was a cold weight in her normally warm pockets. Marguerite shifted, removing the key from her pocket and rubbing it nervously. The priest should have shown by now, and while she had the upper hand with Andre at her side, she worried about his other companions. The last thing the circus needed was a bad reputation among underground scientists in addition to a rival.

A few circus goers glanced at her as they passed, noting her ashen smell and dusty garments. Even more raised eyebrows or stared openly as she crossed her arms and legs while leaning against an outlying post. Her lab coat was unbuttoned more than usual, and her lace collars were all lost in the fire, leaving her neck and chest bare down to her bodice. If she had worn pants that day, the looks would likely have been nastier. As it were, she wondered if advertising herself so boldly as the victim of Hirondelle’s violence was a wise move for the circus. Marguerite was not one to take kindly to this kind of public eye. Her show lived on the edge of the circus, and her best social skills were in scientific showmanship and flirtation. Her animals also produced enough fear and doubt about her science from viewers that she knew her animals ranked just as low as certain other shows offered by the circus, ones that usually involved fewer clothes and a male audience. For all that science was reputable, a woman’s science was not always nearly as welcome, and Marguerite knew both kinds of audiences all too well.

Tiny animal noises drew Marguerite’s gaze to Marie, approaching with the basket.

“They smell of the jar of stuff that you sent more than the other stuff, and I think a few might be somewhat tossed about since I ran back and the basket was bouncy, but none of them are missing or hurt… I think,” she said in a single breath. “I hope not, anyhow,” she muttered after taking another breath and offering the basket.

Marguerite took it. The animals did, in fact, smell of the meat drippings she placed in the jar, but the scent of the stink bombs was certainly less than she had expected, considering that they were the deliverers.

“Thank you, Marie.”

Marie nodded, then wound her way into the crowd. Marguerite watched until she was lost amidst the people, which did not take long.

“Pardon, mademoiselle, but would you be the circus woman?” Said a man in simple clothing. “I am Brother Zadok, sent by Father Edgar to retrieve a very precious key.”

Marguerite pursed her lips. The man certainly had the poise of a clergyman, but his dress and manor suggested otherwise. His thin beard and moustache, for instance, were far too clean for her liking, as were his fingernails, when he gestured.

“I was not expecting such an indirect exchange,” she said. Brother Zadok smiled and stepped well into her personal space.

“I am somewhat of your trade, Marguerite Dubois, though I do not look it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve, unfolding it to reveal a snake the size of a worm. He slipped the creature into her pocket, and tucked the key up his sleeve with the handkerchief before she could protest. “Father Edgar does not much care for the way in which you do business, though.”

“Please inform him that if he presented a more professional front to his business, he would find his customers less troublesome.” The animals shifted in her basket, and she felt the snake move to poke its head out of the pocket.

“Do stay in touch, Marguerite. My little friend will be enough to help you find me.”

Brother Zadok locked eyes with Marguerite before he joined the rush of people still entering the circus grounds. Marguerite felt a chill up her spine, instantly hating the irrational sensation of attraction and fear. She wanted to follow him, but the basket shifted again. The animals sensed her discomfort, and they were unaccustomed to the night’s unusual progression thus far. With reluctance, she returned to the animals’ temporary holding, and began her mental preparations for the night’s show.