Red and gold

Colette crossed her arms, the clinking of churning gears a familiar and comforting sound in the air. Her hair drifted in the stiff breeze, and she pushed at it with a resigned sigh. Performing for a king. They would soon be performing for a king.

For a king.

Damn Asmodeus. Damn Cirque--Damn Jacque. Colette scowled, narrowing her eyes against the sunlight. As the rising tent was buffeted by the wind, the familiar smacking sound of flapping canvas took her back to earlier years.

Her brother, known to the Hirondelle as only Alphonse, was bouncing on a small trampoline, doing backflips as easily as a bird takes to the air. Colette, all of twelve years old, had been fiddling with some hemming at the time, her stitches crooked and uncontrolled as the wind-whipped flags that circled the camp perimeter.

Auréle--no, Alphonse, she reminded herself. She'd never get used to the peculiar name--flipped neatly from the trampoline and walked over to Colette, his breaths coming in huffs, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling. The heavy tent fabric moved overhead as the wind tugged with greedy fingers at its fastenings; the canvas let streaks of sunlight through, but they were painted in bright colours by the dyes and pigments that soaked the canvas. The scent of sawdust prickled at Colette's throat.

"Hyacinth," Auréle said, a note of disdain in his voice. "What on earth is THAT."

Colette frowned up at her twin. "A jacket."

Auréle only cocked an eyebrow. "Suuuuure."

Colette scowled, ducked her head, and resumed her uncoordinated stitches.

"Here," Auréle said, sighing. He took the cloth from her protesting fingers, and the needle darted in and out of the cloth, neat stitches lining up behind the flashing steel like a row of determined ants at a picnic. He dropped the finished piece into her lap, and the contrast between their handiwork was as evident as black birds against a thin grey sky.

A shadow fell over Colette, and she looked up to see Jacque's smiling face. "Teaching your brother to sew, Hyacinth?"

Colette's lips pursed at the show-name, and she shook her head. "He's teaching me."

"How... nice." Jacque's face changed to an expression Colette couldn't easily read. "Alphonse, come with me. We have real work to attend." Colette frowned at the thinly veiled insult, and was about to respond when her brother stifled her with a swift jab of the needle. She locked her jaw and looked down as Alphonse--not Auréle, her sweet brother--rose immediately and stalked away, his stride matching Jacque's, step for step, contempt radiating from the smug tilt of his head. A mirror image of the ringmaster.

The tent snapped with sound and Tom Sry cried out. "Steady boys!"

Colette's mind whipped back to the present as if blown by a stiff breeze. She blinked, and turned slightly. Marie had materialized at her elbow, and the ringmaster was taken back for a moment. What a kind young thing the acrobat was--if a little clumsy with youth. How akin to looking into a mirror--but no. Things had changed. Colette was different now. No longer an awkward, scared little rabbit, but a ringmaster in her own right. In control.

Of course.

She spoke smilingly to the trapeze-tumbler. "Marie. How good of you to appear just as I needed you--today is going to be a handful. What have you been up to--have you any word for me?"

Marie extended an envelope addressed in a delicate hand, the seal broken and the paper torn open. Colette gave the girl an arch look. "Not only delivering my mail but reading it as well, now?"

"I couldn't read it, sir." Marie didn't seem at all upset to be caught snooping.

Colette skimmed the letter, and then swore. Marie looked up, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. "What is it? Are we in trouble again?"

Colette stuffed the envelope into a pocket unceremoniously. "We're not. Except for Asmodeus. He's in BIG trouble."

Marie's mouth dropped open. "With the prince??"

Colette stalked away. "With me. It's his fault we're in this mess!" She rambled on as she stormed towards her cabin, swearing impressively in a mix of French and German at the small crew that approached her with a question or two. The little group, hurried away by the ringmaster's barking orders, withdrew, and Marie approached them hesitantly.

"What's all that about, then?" She asked one of the men, who rolled his eyes. "Something about dinner and all her clothes having been on fire. I don't see what the big deal is."

Marie understood immediately, though, flashing back to the boy in the kitchen with the overlarge pretzel dangling from his mouth. "Oh, my lord! The circus is having dinner with the king!"

She did a merry cartwheel, and disappeared from view.

The man rolled his eyes again, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Women."

One of his companions clapped him on the shoulder. "Nah. Circus women. It's them that's the worst."

Such wise words could be contested by no man, and the group dispersed.

A Dinner Invitation

Stay out of trouble, Marie thought sourly as the meeting ended and the Cirque members drifted off to explore their unexpected new campsite. She had stomped out at the first available opportunity and had wandered several hallways glowering and now found herself utterly lost, and feeling a bit better for it. But still, being told to stay out of trouble, like a silly little girl, when she'd helped get the circus off the ground and out of the police's grasp not twenty four hours before! And just because the prince was friendly, that hardly meant that she would go and ruin their show! Marguerite was always wandering around with strange men wherever they landed - not that Marie would do anything like that, naturally, she blushed at the very thought, but surely she could be trusted to chat with a nice boy who spoke proper French instead of that strange angry language everyone else spoke?

She was midway through this mental rant, stomping in what she vaguely hoped was the general direction of either a door back outside or the kitchen, when she stopped mid-stride, a look of horror falling over her still rather pink face. The prince had asked for a tour of the circus! She had entirely forgotten in all of the confusion after their audience with the King, and hadn't seen where he'd gone to! He must think her terribly rude! And it was already afternoon, surely Tom would soon be hunting her down and demanding she help set up tents or run messages or some such thing, or Colette would be demanding a rehearsal before the big tent was even up, and she didn't know the prince's schedule, how would she ever find a chance to show him around...?

She looked around the hallway, and was met with the equally flustering realization that she really had no idea where she was. Frankly, she wasn't even sure which end of the hallway she'd come from - it all looked the same, except for subtle variations in the wall art.

She huffed again, indignant. She was always giving the stage hands directions to pubs in new towns because she could map out the whole place from a single afternoon of wandering, and here she was, utterly lost! True, castles were rather different from alleys and markets, and true, she had been, well, distracted...

Oh, the other acrobats could never find out. She would never live it down. Lottie would tease her all the way to China and back.

Mentally vowing to offer the prince a tour next time she saw him and not fret until then - surely, she would see him again soon, she reassured herself - she set off in a random direction, stopping to peer into any rooms with the doors cracked. She quickly found a spiral staircase, with an open window set in the curved back wall, which she eagerly stuck her head out and looked up, then down. A tower! A real life tower, that seemed from her rather dizzying perspective to go up forever, and down not a very long way, just a story or so. After a moment of debate, she set off down the stairs. She hadn't yet reached the bottom before decided she'd chosen well: she could smell the kitchen from halfway up the staircase.

The enormous room was bustling, with doors at the back of the room thrown wide open to let in a cool breeze from the garden, which was lost at once in the steam from pots and heat from ovens.

She had hardly decided which delicious smell to seek out when there was an exclamation from somewhere across the room, followed quickly by a small blond boy nearly barreling into her. He stopped just short, though Marie jumped back to get out of his way before she realized that he was looking expectantly at her over the pretzel dangling from his mouth. (Marie was not a particularly worldly girl, but she was well-traveled enough to recognize pretzels, and to briefly consider stealing his.)

He gulped his mouthful, babbled something in that strange language, and thrust a piece of paper in her direction.

"I don't understand," Marie said, looking uselessly at the paper. Yes, those were words, alright - French words, even, she was fairly certain, but she could make neither heads nor tails of them at a quick glance.

The boy repeated his message, still tragically German.

"What?" Marie asked.

The boy sighed, and babbled a bit more, different words this time. Marie was still mostly out of her depth, but she caught the a word that sounded rather like "circus," and gathered that the boy had been told to give a message to the Cirque. Funny, that he'd gone to look for them in the kitchens.

...Though not altogether a bad place to start, Marie mused, frowning at the paper again.

The boy was looking at her expectantly, so she waved him away, and he hurried off with his pretzel. Marie briefly considered trying to find one of her own before deciding that she didn't have the energy for another round of conversation. She made instead for the garden door, and wandered the rows before realizing with no small disappointment that nothing tasty-looking was available for the snatching. Really, she thought grumpily, so far this whole fairy tale castle thing didn't seem to be going terribly well. She set off down the hill towards where the tents were slowly rising - the wind carried Tom's yelling up to her, and she slowed her pace to make sure they'd be nearly finished by the time she arrived.

The Joy of Sewing

After the meeting with the other senior circus members, Alexandra wandered the halls of the castle. Absently, she stroked the ancient tapestries and brocade wall hangings. With the sunlight streaming in through the wide windows, they seemed to sparkle to her with their beauty.

Unfortunately, the headache that the fortune teller had been fighting off was beginning to come back again. She considered heading back to the ship to make some tea and take a small nap, but she didn’t want to head back yet.

Alexandra spotted a small chaise lounge, covered in comfortable, tempting pillows in a small alcove. Sighing, she took a seat and rested her forehead against the arm of the couch. Much of what had been worrying her was slowly being taken care of. Marguerite was finally getting her own ship again, which meant Alexandra could finally have it clean again. Truthfully, she didn’t mind too much that Marguerite was living in it, but she was getting tired of having to burn incense to cover the animal smell and having bits of her tent start randomly smoldering. She had also been worried about how the conflict in France with the Hirondelle would resolve. The one problem that continued to bother her, however, was what to do with Asmodeus. Alexandra was grateful to him for arranging a performance so quickly for the Cirque, but he could be so arrogant!

Exhaling and pressing her face into the arm of the lounge, Alexandra sighed. Her fingers absently stroked the fabric of one of the pillows. After a few minutes, she sat up and noticed the seams. The stitches were far too straight to have been done by even the most skilled seamstress, so they had to be made by machine. The fortune teller had heard about the new steam powered Wheeler and Wilson Company sewing machine was the height of technology and which could not only sew fabric but also sew leather and balloon canvas.

As she wandered the castle, she hoped that she might stumble up on the room where these amazing machines were kept. Movement at the end of the corridor caught her eye, she saw a very tall and broad shouldered woman carrying large bolts of fabric.

“Excuse me, Madame?” Alexandra called to her, picking up her skirt hems as she hastened down the hallway towards her.

“Yes?” The woman turned towards her, setting the bolts more solidly onto her hip.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, but I was wondering if you could direct me to where the steam sewing machines are kept?”

Seeing the confused look in the woman’s face, Alexandra elaborated, “I’m the seamstress from the Cirque that’s here to entertain the King for his birthday. And I had heard about the new steam powers sewing machined and I thought that as the castle is so large that there might be one that I could see.”

“A circus seamstress, eh? You’d enjoy our costume shop, with all of Ludwig’s eccentricies we’re constantly making new clothing for him.”

Balancing the bolts of fabric with one arm, the woman held out her hand, “My name’s Ingrid, I’m the fabric acquirer for the costume shop.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, I’m Alexandra Arista.”

“If you’re interested, then follow me, I’m headed back to the shop to drop off a new shipment of brocade.”

Ingrid led the way down the hallways and up a wide set of stair to a large room at the top of one of the towers. When Alexandra pushed open the door and stepped into the room, she gasped at the sight. In her eyes everything in the room was a wonder. Huge banks of windows filled three-quarters of the stone walls and heavy oak fabric cutting tables sat in the center of the room with baskets of heavy shears on top of them. Under the tables, cedar chests were filled with piles of fabric and by the windows were comfortable chairs where hand mending could be done. But what fascinated the fortune teller the most was the solid metal sewing machines set on top of heavy wood and iron tables attached to a large insulated copper steam chamber.

The costume shop was almost empty except for one slightly built gray haired woman hunched over one of the steam sewing machines, replacing the needle.

“Madam Rosamunde?” Ingrid called to her, setting the bolts of fabric she was carrying onto one of the cutting tables.

“Yes?” She turned from the machine, “Wonderful! I’m glad the new shipment of fabric has finally arrived. I was getting worried it wouldn’t be here before the celebration. And who is your guest?”

Alexandra stepped forward, “My name’s Alexandra Arista, Madame. I’m the seamstress for the Cirque de la Vapeur.”

“Ah!” Rosamunde stood and shook the fortune teller’s hand. “I’m glad to meet another professional. Do you have to make all of the costumes for them?”

“Yes, and I design them as well; although I consult with the performers to see how to best enhance their show.”

“Very good. Well, I would love to show you around. We have quite a large shop here to take care of the entire castle as well as all of His Majesty’s wishes,” Rosamunde offered, gesturing around to the expansive tower room.

“Also, if it’s possible, may I see the how one of the sewing machines works?” Alexandra asked timidly.

“Of course,” Rosamunde smiled, “let me show you.”

Rita Likes Doctors

The Bayreuth Swan stood before Marguerite’s critical eye. The trees rose above the swan’s head like reeds, the lawn spread before it in serene waves. She noted that its delicate, curved neck was secured to its body with small paneled windows, creating the effect of a harness over its breast. Its wings lifted from its body slightly, as though about to take flight. The lift allowed room for the boat’s main entrance just behind the left wing. A red-carpeted staircase fell down to the grass. Marguerite held her breath as they drew closer.

Asmodeus had led her to its resting place in the same yard they had recently landed in. He chattered on about the boat’s history, from what he could recall. There was something about a grand musician, or perhaps it was some singer – Marguerite had trouble concentrating on the details just then. Asmodeus punctuated the tale with dramatic arm gestures, his hands not conveying enough of the story’s power, and timed its conclusion to their arrival at the base of the stairs.

“What do you think?” He asked when she stood in silence a little too long.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” a man’s voice said from the ship. “I’ve been working on it for too long not to see it in the air again.”

“Pardon me, Asmodeus, but offers of a new living space tend to imply that they are not currently occupied,” Marguerite said.

“Unless you consider a mechanic an occupant, this ship has had no previous resident,” the same voice said, emerging from a now visible body of a man dressed in a pinstriped waistcoat and scrap bits of metal, presumably various ship parts.

“I suppose I could use one of those if you’d care to stay,” Marguerite said upon closer inspection. She noted a carefully kept beard hiding beneath an ocular contraption strapped to his head.

“Marguerite, may I introduce you to Dr. Froderick Krauss. Froderick, this is Marguerite Dubois,” Asmodeus said.

“A pleasure,” Marguerite said, extending her hand to the descending doctor. He took it, drawing a thumb across the back of her gloved hand.

“A pleasure indeed. If you don’t mind the company, I’d be happy to stay on as your personal mechanic,” Froderick said.

Marguerite smiled. “I’ll take it.”

“I shall see the two of you later, then,” Asmodeus said, bowing to the pair and taking his leave.

“What have you heard about my swan?” The doctor asked.

“Enough to be concerned about its interior decoration,” Marguerite said. As hospitable as dear Alexandra was with her tent, Marguerite was not kind to her resident fabrics. The carpeted stairs promised comfortable enough living until less pleasant animal matter was under foot. The doctor’s back stiffened.

“Not that I believe it would be distasteful,” Marguerite amended. “I have an unusual lifestyle with a small menagerie and an assortment of experiments.”

“I see. Come inside, and we shall see what needs changing.”

Marguerite swallowed her pride when the doctor offered to help her up the stairs. She feared that her sharp tongue would betray her again. Her recent affairs with men-folk relied on previous relationships, most of which began when she was younger, and presumably saner. Dr. Froderick Krauss seemed well enough, but Marguerite could not help herself when he began to speak about the details of the interior ad nauseam.

She listed, first chronologically, then alphabetically, her former lovers. Fifteen years and nearly as many conquests allowed her plenty of data to analyze when considering a new subject. Her earliest affairs consisted of a span of years devoted to resident nurses and doctors, each increasingly useful to her experiments. Once she had left the asylum, Marguerite favored companions less directly involved in her line of work, leading her back to Andre during a less stable year, and then across the Opium Dens of France, or what few she could find in those early years. The drug’s popularity took its time settling into the blood of her compatriots, but its prime patrons were consistent enough for Marguerite to lie with again when she visited.

In light of recent events, Marguerite rather liked the idea of another scientifically minded individual to keep her company. She wondered if she might use his workshop, or better yet, convince him to follow the Cirque for a time. It would be a welcome vacation from overly decorative tea towels and far too many sewing implements. She was certain such an environment was unhealthy.

“In short, you could easily leave some of the interior as it is. This compartment can contain small creatures and their mess quite well. What do you think, Fraulein Dubois?”

The German title woke Marguerite from her reverie. Dr. Krauss pronounced the French name with visible discomfort under Marguerite’s full gaze.

“You know the ship best, Froderick,” she said. She stepped between the doctor’s feet and drew herself close to him, pressing him to the wall. Bits of scrap metal caught at her blouse. “I think we’ve other matters to discuss now.”

Froderick agreed.