6 o' Clock

In an ideal world, the cirque would have taken off first thing in the morning, and arrived at their destination that night. In the world where their ringmaster had turned temporarily homicidal and the Cirque was avoiding legal sanctions and professional vengeance, the airships were flying through the night. It was now something approximately resembling morning, if one used a generous definition, and Alexandra was bouncing a bit in her seat from the caffeine she had been mainlining in the form of strong black tea. Marguerite was awake as well - she had a strange mini-lantern type device perched on her shoulder like an boxy brass bird, directing light to the pile of papers on her lap on which she was trying to recreate her lost notes. Marie was asleep, having curled up on the floor in a pile of scarfs dislodged from their proper place by some early evening turbulence. Never one to stay still even while asleep, she had tossed and turned her way around the airship through the night, and was currently settled with her head resting on Marguerite's boots. Colette had finally drifted off as well, or at least stopped muttering darkly to herself, and as far as late-night fleeing went all was really going rather smoothly indeed.

And then the airship did a maneuver which, performed by a person on foot on land, would have been something akin to stopping dead mid-stride and nearly falling on one's face as a result. The resulting jerk of the cabin, combined with a string of profanity from Alexandra, woke Marie with shock. Rubbing her eyes groggily, she twisted herself up into a sitting position, realized how uncomfortably close she had gotten to Marguerite, and quickly and unsubtly scooted to a spot a safer distance from the mad scientist while also out of Colette's range.

"Trouble?" Marguerite asked, adjusting the lantern on her shoulder.

"I believe Asmodeus might still be drunk," Alexandra said tersely.

Marie inched over to the nearest window, pushed the curtain aside, and looked outside. The sun was rising over the city, all pink and orange light and grey clouds of smoke from the factories. Marie had been with the circus long enough to recognize the cities they most often visited, and this one was unfamiliar, and furthermore, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Marie had never been terribly fond of fairy tales, even as a child - the nuns had preferred bible stories to fantasy ones, so Marie's childhood heroes had included Mary Magdalene and the plague of frogs in Exodus - but the sight of this town took her breath away. The city, all bright little houses and factories along the river, sprawled out like a skirt around a castle up on a hill. For a moment, Marie stared, starry-eyed and jaw-dropped; then she took another moment to wonder why such a pretty castle had inspired such swearing; then she realized that the airship in front of theirs, Asomodeus', was descending to land, with the only open space he might be aiming for being the large green to the castle's back.

"What's he doing?" Colette asked. Marie turned with alarm, but Colette's homicidal rage seemed to have subsided; she was undoing the ropes behind her arms with a careful skill that Marie wouldn't have thought her capable the day before. She dislocated her shoulder and pulled one of her arms free of the chair. "Thanks for the help," she griped to Marguerite. By the time Marguerite had carefully blown out the lantern's flame and set it aside, and stacked her papers and put them neatly on the table, Colette had half undone the next knot herself.

"He's landing behind some castle!" Alexandra said. The other airships were starting to descend as well, having performed the mid-air equivalent of shrugging and going along with it.

"But if we're not allowed, won't they put us in a dungeon or something?" Marie asked, though she didn't seem convinced that this was a bad thing, and in fact thought it might be quite an adventure. Then, as a sort of reluctant afterthought: "Asmodeus usually knows what he's doing, though. In a sort of crazy way."

Alexandra sighed, and shortly thereafter the circus was arranged in the back yards of a building which was nothing if not a Cinderella castle.

By the time Alexandra, Marguerite, Marie and Colette were stumbling out of the airship - everyone stretching from the long flight, but Colette with particular enthusiasm and frequent glares at the others - the castle's inhabitants had noticed the visitors. A woman in a long dress and apron was bustling out, waving a wooden spoon in the direction of the nearest cirque member - Asmodeus, naturally - and yelling in a language that Marie wasn't familiar enough with to identify.

Asmodeus responded in kind, though with much less yelling. He even sounded friendly, though Marie thought every word in their strange conversation sounded like they were swearing. Still, the woman was menacing him with her spoon when someone else started crossing the yard from the castle towards them.

"Ah, Didi!" Asmodeus called when he saw him, brushing past the menacing cook to greet the man coming towards them. He was much better-dressed, though in a dressing gown and with his hair sticking out at peculiar angles.

"Asmodeus!" the man - Didi? Marie thought, disbelieving - said, in French now, so Marie could understand - "Welcome, welcome! I wasn't expecting you so soon!"

The rest of the circus had sort of gathered around and was marveling at the peculiar display. "May I introduce," Asmodeus said, with his usual flair, "Baron Deiter Geltmacher."

Another person had followed the Baron out, having apparently taken the time to dress - he was fixing his cravat as he walked to join them, then reaching up to adjust his bowler, though his jacket was still askew on his shoulders. He regarded the assembled circus with a sideways little grin, and Marie felt an uncomfortable little skip in her chest that translated to bouncing a bit on her heels. The boy - surely near her own age, she figured - caught her eye, and she promptly stopped bouncing, blushing furiously.

In which the Circus departs for parts unknown

Clang, clang!! The ringing sound of steel filled the grassy clearing on the outskirts of Orleans, startling a flock of starlings, which disappeared as a cloud of shadow with a flutter of wings and calls of distress. Asmodeus, in the engine room deep in the hull of his airship, unbent his weary body, pipe wrench clutched in his hand, which he had been wielding with ruthless abandon. The mass of iron and brass before him choked and sputtered to life, pistons churning and pipes steaming. He turned around to gaze upon the stricken faces of the stagehands huddled in the dim light of the ship’s hold, frozen mid-task to gaze in terror at this wild-haired, and equally wild-eyed, man hunched Neanderthal over the defenseless steam engine. With a grin, Asmodeus tossed the wrench into a pile in the corner of the hold with a hollow thump. “And that, gents,” he exclaimed over the rhythmic convulsions of the engine, “is how you handle an uncooperative element.” The stagehands grimaced at one another, imagining which ‘uncooperative element’ would next fall under the vigourous ‘laying of wrench’ just demonstrated and, much to Asmodeus’ pleasure, set about stowing gear and preparing the ship with a renewed spirit. Engine in operation and crew busily engaged, Asmodeus gave the many dials and gauges one last cursory check before climbing the small stair to the main deck.

The summer air filled his lungs, bringing the heady aroma of wildflowers and other growing things, while the bright sun shone down on him from a cloudless sky of deepest azure. He closed his eyes, feeling its warmth on his face as he braced his hands on the carved wood of the railing. He listened to the quiet of the afternoon, the last sounds of the circus dying away as equipment was packed and ships made ready for flight, fading into the trill of cicadas and their ilk. The balloon’s rigging creaked slowly in a faint breeze. Perfect day for a sail, he complacently thought.

With this thought in mind, and a smile beaming from his face, Asmodeus took the steps to the quarterdeck two at a time and grabbed hold of the railing at the top, swinging easily around to stand before the ship’s wheel. Control panels were bolted into place to the left and right, polished brass displays gleaming within their darkly stained wood casings. Altimeter, speedometer, pressure gauge; all were in proper working order. Asmodeus leaned into a small funnel on his right. “Engine room,” he intoned, “Alright lads, let’s give her some fuel.”

The boys in the hold loaded coal into the big furnace, the flames flaring and dancing wildly in their iron cage. Asmodeus flipped a switch, and a hiss escaped from several bends in the pipes as the steam wound its way through the circuit. Drive shafts mounted on the hull began turning, slowly at first, the spider-leg struts kneading the apparatus into motion with ever increasing speed. Another switch flipped under Asmodeus’ familiar touch, and a hatch slid open above the boiler, the smokestack feeding into the gold and purple balloon hovering stationary above the craft. The great bladder began to swell, soft creases smoothed under the mounting pressure, the rigging straining and groaning in its fight to tether the beast. Asmodeus looked back, and gave the other ships a signal. They began to follow his lead by filling their balloons and slipping anchor cables.

The craft glided smoothly into the air, a sigh of farewell escaping the wood of the hull as it became seemingly weightless in its newfound buoyancy. Asmodeus spoke into the comm. tube. “Engage propellers.” The ship shook softly, accompanied by a grinding thump as gear met cog, the vessel vaulting just above the nearby trees before veering off in a southerly course over white stone facades and gray shingled roofs. Farewell, Orleans, Asmodeus mused. You showed us a fine time. Throwing the wheel hard to port, he turned his gaze from the crowded streets to the waiting horizon stretching out before him, his ship seeming to chase the sun on its western descent. A look behind showed the entire circus caravan keeping pace, a string of colors trailing like a living rainbow.

He grinned as he noticed the fortuneteller’s airship following first in line, then removed a small folded paper from his coat pocket. The wind whistled past his ears, whipping playfully at the note. After leaving Marie to spread the news of their imminent departure, Asmodeus had taken a ride into town to get his money’s worth out of the carriage before having to return it. Afterwards, he took a stroll to the telegraph to call in a favor and mere minutes later Asmodeus received the wire he now held in his hands.

Some years back, the retainer for a nobleman in Bavaria had been visiting London, and attended one of Asmodeus’ performances. With a little nudging, he managed to book the circus an act at his lord’s birthday celebrations. Grinning at the adventures that certainly awaited, Asmodeus returned the note to his coat, glanced at a compass tilting lazily beside the wheel, and set his prow for Munich.

In Which Alexandra is Sneaky

Alexandra was debating whether to pour another glass of absinthe or to return to strong black tea. The flashing visions that had come during the card reading were subsiding, with the help of a large glass of her favorite green sin, and she was starting to feel like herself again. Deciding that tea would be a better choice, especially after Marie’s scolding, the fortune teller drank deeply from one of her remaining intact tea cups. Slowly, Alexandra set down the cup, rose and picked up the cards of her piquet deck off the floor and began sweeping the china shards into a pile on the floor.

Her cabin door flew open as Marie rushed in shouting, “Alexandra! Marguerite gave me a vial to drug Colette with so we can leave!”

Alexandra paused in her sweeping, “What did she give you?”

Marie shrugged, “I don’t know, something kind of…” She held up a vial and peered at its contents, “yellowish? She said to put half the vial in a cup of tea and it would make Colette sleep for a while.”

“Hm…” Alexandra mused, setting aside the broom and taking the vial from the acrobat and peering at it herself. “Alright then, grab three tea cups and follow me to Colette’s cabin.” The fortune teller wrapped a patchwork tea cozy around the pot of freshly brewed tea and lead the way out of her cabin and across the semicircular open space to where the ringmaster’s cabin was parked, guarded by Tom Sry.

The fortune teller nodded at the lounging Tom before rapping sharply at the door before opening it. The cabin was a wreck: chairs overturned, the few dishes shattered and lying along the base of the walls, curtains ripped off the windows and Colette sitting on the floor in the middle of the chaos, dozing against the corner of her bed. The ringmaster started awake at the sound of the knocking and scrambled to her feet, stumbling as she did so.

“Sit down,” Alexandra scolded as she righted the chairs and table, placing the teapot on it and motioning Marie to do the same with the tea cups.

Glowering, Colette reluctantly listened to her friend and slumped into a chair. Alexandra bustled about, uncovering the teapot and pouring tea into the china cups. As she poured, the fortune teller slipped the vial from her sleeve and deftly emptied half of it into one of the cups while her friend was looking the other way. Alexandra handed that cup to Colette and gave the other cup to Marie and took the last one herself.

“Drink up,” Alexandra encouraged Colette, “it’ll make you feel better.”

Reluctantly, the ringmaster raised the cup to her lips and took a small sip. “What do you want, Alex?”

“Nothing at all,” the fortune teller replied blithely as she sipped from her own tea cup, “I just thought that you could use some tea.”

Marie watched the exchange nervously as she sipped her tea, wondering if Alexandra could pull the trick off.

The three of them sat in silence until Colette had drank all but the dregs of the tea. “Alright then,” Alexandra said briskly as she rose from her seat and gathered up the china cups, “we’re off for now. I have some errands to run.”

Colette eyed the fortune teller suspiciously. “So, you came by just have a cup of tea with me?”

“Yes, of course,” said Alexandra, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Unfortunately, the ring master had known her friend too long and she rose from the chair angrily. “Alex, what did you put in my drink?” Colette lunged at the fortune teller but halfway through the motion her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed face first into the floor.

“Come on, Marie, let’s get her to my cabin,” Alexandra sighed as she hauled the ring master up half off the floor. The acrobat hurried to assist her and together they carried the drugged woman out of the cabin.

Tom raised his eyebrows at the sight of the unconscious Colette, but remained where he was lounging by the door. “Need any help with that?” He drawled to Alexandra, as she and Marie started dragging their friend across the field.

“No, I think we’re good,” Alexandra said before pausing. “You could always get the teacups and tea pot from the table. Oh, and don’t forget the tea cozy. I spend an entire day quilting that.”

It only took a few minutes for them to drag Colette to Alexandra’s cabin, with Tom trailing behind carrying the china. Once inside the cabin, they dumped their unconscious burden into the large armchair.

“Keep an eye on her,” Alexandra said to Marie before going to a large storage closet and beginning to rummage around in it, “I don’t know how long Marguerite’s drug is going to last.”

It only took a few minutes of searching before the fortune teller found what she was looking for. “Ah ha!” She exclaimed, holding up a large coil of silken rope, “I knew I kept it around for some reason. Here,” Alexandra tossed the rope to Tom, “you know knots; tie her to the chair so she can’t get out when she wakes up. Oh, and make sure she can’t hurt herself, I don’t want to add to her distress.”

Once Tom had finished his task, Alexandra shooed him from the cabin. “Go on and help the others pack up the Cirque,” she said, “and don’t forget to have someone ready Colette’s cabin for flight. Oh, and make sure to help Marguerite with packing up my tent, I’m sure she’ll need it.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in the air then,” Tom gave her a mock salute and sauntered across the field to make sure the packing and flight preparations were going smoothly.

“Now then,” Alexandra turned to Marie, “we need to make everything in my old ship is ready for flight. Go up on top of the cabin and check to make sure the rigging isn’t tangled and that the balloon is ready to be completely filled.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Only a few short hours later the entire Cirque was packed and in the air, beginning the journey to their next destination. Asmodeus’s airship led the way, steering confidently across the bright blue sky with the rest of the ships trailing behind in a long, winding caravan.

Alexandra’s brightly coloured ship followed closely behind the magician’s. The fortune teller herself was seated in a swiveling leather and brass armchair in the small cockpit of her ship. The controls rested in front and to either side of her and above them was a large, three sided bay of windows. Alexandra deftly guided the ship with years of practice and was ignoring the commotion going on in the main cabin behind her.

Colette, having finally awoken from the drug induced sleep, was struggling against the ropes and yelling, occasionally incoherent with rage, at the other occupants of the cabin. Relaxing in one of the other comfortably upholstered chairs, Marguerite was knitting a pair of long, complicated lace gloves and was completely ignoring the shouting of the ring master. Marie was perched anxiously on a spindly, painted wood chair and was doing her best to not to meet Colette’s eyes as she yelled at the acrobat.

“Marie! If you don’t get me out of this chair right now, I swear I’ll—

“Don’t do it,” Marguerite said warningly to the young woman, “she won’t actually do anything to you. But we should probably keep her tied up until she wears herself a bit. Although, if she doesn’t I could always drug her again.”

“You traitor!” Colette screamed, following with a storm of rather imaginative profanity.

“Calm down,” Alexandra said over her shoulder through the curses, “this is for your own good, you know. We can’t have you going around and killing people, no matter how awful they are. You’d have gotten the whole Cirque into trouble. Believe me, it’s much better this way.”

The ring master quieted, but continued to mutter and swear to herself.

“So, where are we going, exactly?” Marie asked Alexandra as she peered out of one of the large windows at the fields and forests that passed below the airship.

“No idea,” the fortune teller replied as she pulled a lever to adjust the speed of the ship, “Asmodeus didn’t tell me where we were going and I have to trust his judgment on this one. But I’m sure wherever he takes us; it’s going to be an adventure.”

Tea Time

Mornings of activity were common enough for Marguerite, but when Marie greeted her with the prospect of their less than stable ringmaster, she knew this one would bode a far different kind of busy.

“Come in,” she said to Marie. As the young acrobat walked across the small space, she could not avoid stepping on diagrams and sketches that covered the floor. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that Marguerite’s hands were stained with ink. Shadows played under her eyes, and Marie wondered how any of these people functioned on their own. Her wonder turned to outrage when she noticed that Marguerite had begun making a pot of tea. She nearly screamed, thought better of it, and spoke with her fists clenched instead.

“This is somewhat urgent. Did you get any sleep?”

Marguerite paused.

“I did, thank you. You don’t think this will be enough?” She said when Marie made a face, tapping more leaves into the pot.

“Now is not the time for tea,” Marie said as Marguerite continued. “Colette needs to be restrained, sedated, drugged – she can’t do a thing in her state, and you need to put her out.”

Marie fought the urge to slouch as Marguerite drew herself up and glowered. Her hair was everything but restrained, the remaining hairpins sticking out at odd angles with the rest of the tufts and tendrils. Her blouse was soiled beyond even Alexandra’s care, and her skirts were abandoned for breeches, her utility belt of vials hung about her hips like an absurd bum roll. The teapot clinked as she set it down.

Marguerite then slumped into the nearest chair, muttering about syringes and feeling about the nearby floor with her feet. Papers shuffled about, and finally she crawled out of the chair, dived under a pile of papers, and drew forth her medical kit, already well used from the previous night. She extracted a syringe and a bottle, examining its contents in the light coming through the entranceway. Marguerite saw Marie’s figure distorted through the bottle and its liquid.

“I hope you aren’t in a fit of hysteria over missed tea time,” she said. “I take it you’re helping?”

“Of course I’m helping. The mentally ill and violent are my specialty. Nothing like the fellows last night and their awful banter. Are they always like that?”

“Like what?” Marie was happy to see Marguerite complying. She was less happy to see her sudden interest in sedating the violent and crazy. Horrible images of the mad scientist chasing after crazy circus members clouded Marie’s thoughts.

“The constant chatter and strange humor would be irritating, I imagine. Where do they get it from?” Marguerite stood, stowing the needle and bottle in her belt and pulling on a waistcoat, her lab coat, and boots.

“Right. Now what?” Marguerite said, her hands on her hips.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Yes, I caught that bit. But how?”

“Leaving the tent would be a good first step,” Marie said. Marguerite looked around slowly, as if taking stock of the tent’s contents.

“We need to consider our – tea!”

Marguerite lunged for the teapot. Marie received it from the very mad scientist with a look of greatest bewilderment.

“Give this to Alexandra,” Marguerite said, holding up the implements she had just stowed. “She has a much better relationship with Colette than I do, and she might gain audience with her in less time. Tell her to add half the vial to her cup of tea. That should sedate her long enough to get us packed up and in the air before she’s the wiser.”

“Do you do this often?” Marie asked. Marguerite did not seem to hear, as she continued.

“I will do my best to get everyone packed up for the trip.”

“Right,” Marie said. With that, they were out of the tent. Just before the two parted ways, Marguerite spoke again.

“Would you happen to know where we’re headed next?”

Marie heartily wished she were in the company of more competent adults that morning.