Tom Sry is on the Job

The grounds were clearing and Tom Sry's boys were already getting the big tent closed up. Tom Sry supervised, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. Really, he liked supervising. Not that he minded climbing up in the rigging and getting it all set up and safe, but really it was nicer to trade the undershirt for a snazzy waistcoat and bowler and watch everyone go, periodically yelling orders. The show had gone well, the crowd was all happy and willing to empty their pockets as they drifted out past the side shows, and it promised to be a pleasant night of drinking and singing and sleeping til noon the following day just as soon as the clean-up was done.

He saw some movement in the corner of his eyes and frowned, turning around. One of the boys sneaking off before the work was done? He opened his mouth to shout, then closed it again, squinting into the shadows. Not one of his boys, he could tell at a distance. For one thing, his boys were sneakier.

He followed the man he'd seen around the back of the main tent, along the edge of the circus grounds where it hit the trees. There was definitely someone there - several someone, actually, talking a bit more loudly than would have been appropriately sneaky about explosives and the placement thereof. The noise of the crowds and the clean up was enough to cover the conversation to the casual listener, but anyone actually paying attention could tell that they were up to something from a mile off.

Tom Sry tip-toed back to where his boys were working and whistled softly. They looked surprised to have the last bit of clean up interrupted, but gathered quickly - twenty or so gentlemen, of varying ages.

"Gents," Tom said, in a lowish voice that still carried across the group. "We 'ave some unwelcome visitors lurking 'bout the cirque. They're planning on circling the perimeter and planting things that go boom. Let's go say hello, shall wee?"

The stage hands nodded and, after a few brief moments of murmured discussion, split off and began to slink towards the outskirts of the circus grounds. Tom watched them leave, all drawing knives and other toys, then followed as well towards where he'd first noticed the gang. He heard an explosion rip through the noise of the cirque and the chorus of yelling that followed, and picked up his pace, face breaking into a grin. The evening promised to be more interesting than he'd thought.