Colette bowed with all due propriety but silently fumed. At the first available opportunity, she intended to grab Asmodeus by the ear and give him a real piece of her mind. And maybe of her fist. And maybe the butt end of her pistol. Or the business end of her pistol.
Her malicious musings were cut short by the impending formalities of introducing the Cirque. Drawing herself together, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, tucking a thick curl of black hair behind her ear. Her usual upsweep had fallen during her rather involuntarily travels, and it tumbled in thick waves down her back, much to her disapproval. She looked well enough, all things considered, but it was nowhere near how she chose to professionally present herself; her hair and clothes were travel-mussed and instead of sleek and imposing, she felt rather disheveled on the whole. She smartened herself up as best as possible, reminding herself of Auréle’s advice in the back of her mind. “It’s not how you look, Lottie, and it’s not what you’ve got. It’s how you sell it.”
“Your majesty,” Colette intoned as gracefully as she could manage. “I am known as Auréle le Conquerant, and this is my Cirque—the Cirque de la Vapeur. We were most pleased by your invitation—“
Apparently, she thought to herself scathingly, making a mental note to cut Asmodeus down a notch at the first chance she got. She fell easily into her introductory patter, the Cirque members waving and nodding quietly as she introduced each group sparingly, touching on the many countries of origin from which the Cirque drew its talents and the skill of the artists involved. She saved the grandiose language for later, giving a general overview of the Cirque and its pursuits without ruining too much of the show.
A few pleasurable minutes passed in which the King and his attendants questioned several of the performers as to their individual acts, and then with a final round of bows, they were dismissed to take their ease before breakfast.
After exiting the hall, Colette made her way to Asmodeus’s side, a task made more difficult by the fact that he kept sidling slyly away, going so far once as to place Marie gently between himself and the irate ringmaster. She eventually took him by the elbow, wrapping her hand around his arm so that it appeared to all the world that he was escorting a lady to her quarters, when in reality she had his arm in a vice and was quite willing to toss him to the ground if he got mouthy. She smiled up at him dearly, her eyes glinting with suppressed rage. “So. How do you know the king of Bavaria?”
“Ah,” Asmodeus hesitated. “It’s a long story.”
Colette grinned like a shark. “Speak. Quickly.”
And quickly he spoke, his voice lilting and tripping to the point in a manner most unlike Asmodeus’s usually flowery storytelling. It was as if his words were unaccustomed to being so rigidly structured; they sounded almost foreign coming from his mouth. “I was still doing shows in London, and Didi—ah, Deiter, attended one of my performances. He liked it so much he came backstage, introduced himself, and we’ve been keeping in touch all this time. I found out he’s Baron of Fußen and aide to the king.”
“And now here we at the king’s invitation. How thrilling.” Colette sounded anything but thrilled. “How did this happen?”
Asmodeus shuffled. “Well, you know how it goes. He asked us to perform. For money, even!” Asmodeus grinned brightly, as if this new development ought to be enough to exonerate him of any perceived wrongdoings. Colette looked less than impressed, and with a cough, he trailed off. "For his son's birthday, actually."
“For his son’s birthday," Colette repeated, musing almost to herself, "Which is not for quite some time, I imagine, seeing as Deiter— Didi, as you so affectionately called him— didn’t expect us for, oh, what did he say? Quite some time. That's right.”
“Right,” repeated Asmodeus slowly, wondering where she was going with this particular train of thought, and whom she intended to run over with it.
“Funny that he expected us at all, you know. Since I had made no arrangements to visit Germany in... well, ever. And I just don't seem to recall receiving an invitation to perform from any king, let alone that of Bavaria. Then again, my staff seems to see it fit to take all sorts of action without informing me, whether it's setting off stink bombs or meeting with the chief of police? When exactly where you going to tell me about that little incident, Asmodeus?”
Asmodeus replied unhappily, "You found out about that."
"It did come up while I was tied to an armchair!" Colette hissed. "And now you've placed us in the hospitality of a king who sees fit to contract us to perform without so much as confirmation of the invitation from THE RINGMASTER."
“Well, Colette, you see, ah. I accepted it. On your behalf.”
Colette fumed. “And this was when, exactly?”
“While you were… incapacitated.”
Colette half-roared. “I was drugged.”
Asmodeus stopped walking, snapping at her, "Quiet." While Colette gaped at being ordered to silence, he was glancing around to make sure Colette’s voice hadn’t carried too far. He spied a door ajar slightly farther down the hall and tugged her over to it, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand and poking his head inside. It appeared to be a small parlour, lined with elegantly carved bookcases and furnished with little chairs and tables. He drew Colette inside, shutting the door behind them and pulling a chair from the table.
Colette sat, looking angered by this condescending treatment. “Asmodeus, you will not keep secrets from me. Especially not of this magnitude—performing for a king? Can you imagine the repercussions should we do badly? Should a royal decry our cirque, we are finished. Finished, Asmodeus! How dare you risk our reputation—“
“And you killing Jacque would have done wonders for our reputation. Really, Colette, come to your senses already. For god’s sake—“
Colette rose from her chair, slamming her hands on the table. “I will not be spoken to like this, Asmodeus! I am not a child. I am your employer and you will treat me as such. You have gone too far, you have taken liberties I never suspected you capable of—you—you—“ She stuttered, at a loss for words.
Asmodeus crossed his arms, staring her down. “I did what I had to do—for the good of the cirque. We had to skip town or we all would have faced the law. I did you a favour, Colette, try to remember that, would you?”
“Fine, we left town—ignoring the fact that you drugged me, which is a hell of a thing for me to try and ignore—we could have laid low. Waited it out for a few days, gathered and reorganized—“
“With what funds, Colette? Our stay in Orleans was cut violently short, we drew in barely a tenth of what we needed to hold us over until our next stop. Which, by the by, you never did get around to telling us. Where, exactly, did you plan us to go next?”
Colette bit her lip, and Asmodeus scowled. “I see.”
“I was distracted.”
Asmodeus put a hand on her shoulder. “I know. And that’s why I took over. It’s understandable, Colette—after all that happened…”
Colette shoved at his arm half-heartedly. “Don’t. Don’t try and make me feel better. I never should have lost control. Not of my Cirque, not of myself…”
Asmodeus nudged her gently to her chair, and Colette sat with a sigh. “Colette, this is why you have a staff. A loyal staff—a family. We know you’d go to jail for us. We know you nearly did. But we also have the right—and the responsibility—to act as we see fit to keep that from happening. You know the Cirque is yours, and so are we. Why can’t you let us help you?”
“I should be able to…”
“To what, run it by yourself?”
Colette drew a figure eight on the table with her fingertip. “I am ringmaster, aren’t I?”
“Most ringmasters have a support staff, Colette, far larger than yours, and better dressed, and well paid…”
Colette frowned. “Hey.”
Asmodeus smiled. “There’s a lot of weight on your shoulders. Can you forgive us for stepping in when we saw you caving under it?”
Colette’s frown deepened. “I was doing no such thing.”
“Right. Because only people in utter control of the circumstances fly into rages and try to murder rival cirque members…”
Colette was not quite ready to let that particular sore spot be soothed. “It was my choice to make! Drugging me and slamming the Cirque into the royal gardens of Bavaria might not have been the wisest choice you’ve ever made; don’t lecture me about my decisions!”
“So instead of doing the friend thing—the right thing and getting out of France, we were supposed to let you kill a man in cold blood?”
“You didn’t have to get out of France by going to Bavaria.”
Asmodeus’s control finally slipped, and he raised his voice, drowning her out. “We needed the money!”
The door creaked open, and both parties immediately ceased arguing, looking to the door with equal parts shame and ire at being interrupted. Marguerite stood there, hand on the knob, shoulders squared, and a look on her face that could have melted steel. She spoke softly, but every word rang in the sudden silence. “We have a staff to get settled and fed, a show to put on, and of all people, a king to entertain. If you expect me to perform at all, I expect you to GET ME A SHIP.”
There was a scuffle at the door, and suddenly Marguerite was being pushed out of the way by an angrily rustling pile of fabric. “And I want my tent back!” Alexandra fumed from behind the scrap heap, dumping the cloth into the lap of the stunned ringmaster and flinging her hands to her hips in anger. “The things this scientist has done to my fabric! It’s obscene!” Colette delicately picked through the pile of fabric squares, some of which were spattered with strange looking stains, and others of which appeared to have been burned through with some kind of acid. Colette gingerly removed her hands from the pile, hoping that whatever had caused the damage wouldn’t eat through her clothes.
There was a bit of shoving at the door, and suddenly Marie was poking her head through the doorway. “What’s going on? Where is everyone? People are starting to ask for you, Colette, Tom especially. What happened—what on earth is wrong with that scarf?”
Colette looked down, and saw to her mild interest that one of the pieces of fabric was smoking gently. She plucked it up with two fingers, plunking it without any semblance of ceremony into the silver pitcher of water on the table, where it hissed angrily for a moment before bubbling out with a sad little plop.
Colette massaged her temples, shooting dark looks Asmodeus. “Alright, I am officially back in control. NOT that I ever lost it, I’ll have you know.” She barked commands rapidly. “Asmodeus. Find this woman a ship. Alexandra, Tom will help you arrange your affairs to your liking. Marie… stay out of trouble.” Marie stuck out her tongue, and crossed her arms, pouting. “I mean it,” continued the ringmaster. “I don’t need a spurned princeling driving us out of Bavaria with a price on my head.” She laughed slightly at her own joke; the idea of the princeling falling for little Marie was a ludicrous one.
Though now that she said it… Colette’s brow wrinkled with worry, and she rapped her knuckles against the wooden table.
Alexandra tipped her head with an unhappy “tuh!”
Colette arched her eyebrow at the woman, “Something you want to add?”
Alexandra shrugged with a flourish of her hands. “Oh, nothing at all, just that you seem rather fond of having us run out of town with the law fast behind us, no reason there shouldn’t be a ransom attached.”
Colette glared and opened her mouth to speak, but Asmodeus smoothly glided between the women, disrupting the tension and laying a friendly hand on Marguerite’s arm. “About your ship, Madame. Would it be alright if it was shaped like a swan and it’s decorated like Wagner?”
“I think I could work with that.”
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