The Night Circus(102)

“That would be nice,” Tsukiko says. “A proper tribute to your Herr Thiessen. Though it would be complicated, making it completely independent from you and your opponent. You have taken on a great deal of responsibility for all of this. You are vital to its operation. If I stabbed a knife in your heart right now, this train would crash.”

Celia puts down her tea, watching as the smooth motion of the train sends soft ripples through the surface of the liquid. In her head, she calculates how long it would take to halt the train, how long she might be able to keep her heart beating. She decides it would likely depend on the knife.

“Possibly,” she says.

“If I were to extinguish the bonfire, or its keeper, that would also be problematic, yes?”

Celia nods.

“You have work to do if you expect this circus to endure,” Tsukiko says.

“Are you offering to help?” Celia asks, hoping she will be able to aid in translating Marco’s systems, as they shared the same instructor.

“No,” Tsukiko says with a polite shake of her head, her smile softening the harshness of the word. “If you are unable to manage it properly yourself, I will step in. This has gone on too long already, but I shall give you some time.”

“How much time?” Celia asks.

Tsukiko sips her tea.

“Time is something I cannot control,” she says. “We shall see.”

They sit in meditative silence for some of that uncontrollable time, the motion of the train gently billowing the silk curtains, the scent of ginger and cream enveloping them.

“What happened to your opponent?” Celia asks.

Tsukiko looks not at Celia but down at her tea as she responds.

“My opponent is now a pillar of ash standing in a field in Kyoto,” she says. “Unless wind and time have taken her away.”





Escapement

CONCORD AND BOSTON, OCTOBER 31, 1902




Bailey walks circles around the empty field for some time before he can convince himself that the circus is well and truly gone. There is nothing at all, not so much as a bent blade of grass, to indicate that anything had occupied the space hours before.

He sits down on the ground, holding his head in his hands and feeling utterly lost though he has played in these very fields ever since he was little.

He recalls Poppet mentioning a train.

A train would have to travel to Boston in order to reach any far-flung destination.

Within moments of the thought crossing his mind, Bailey is on his feet, running as fast as he can toward the depot.

There are no trains to be seen when he gets there, out of breath and aching from where his bag has been hitting against his back. He had been hoping that somehow the circus train he was not even entirely certain existed would still be there, waiting.

But instead the depot is all but deserted; only two figures sit on one of the benches on the platform, a man and a woman in black coats.

It takes Bailey a moment to realize that they are both wearing red scarves.

“Are you all right?” the woman asks as he runs up to the platform. Bailey cannot quite place her accent.

“Are you here for the circus?” Bailey says, gasping for breath.

“Indeed we are,” the man says with a similar lilting accent. “Though it has departed, I trust you have noticed.”

“Closed early as well, but that is not unusual,” the woman adds.

“Do you know Poppet and Widget?” Bailey asks.

“Who?” the man asks. The woman tilts her head as though she did not catch the meaning of the question.

“They’re twins, they do a show with kittens,” Bailey explains. “They’re my friends.”

“The twins!” the woman exclaims. “And their wonderful cats! However did you come to be friends with them?”

“It’s a long story,” Bailey says.

“Then you should tell it to us while we wait,” she says with a smile. “You are off to Boston as well, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Bailey says. “I was trying to follow the circus.”

“That is precisely what we are doing,” the man says. “Though we cannot follow Le Cirque until we know where it has gone. That should take about a day.”

“I do hope it turns up somewhere manageable,” the woman says.

“How will you know where it is?” Bailey asks, in a state of mild disbelief.

“We rêveurs have our methods,” the woman says, smiling. “We have awhile yet to wait, that should be plenty of time to exchange stories.”

The man’s name is Victor, his sister is Lorena. They are on what they call an extended circus holiday, following Le Cirque des Rêves around to as many locations as they can manage. They normally do this only within Europe, but for this particular holiday they have decided to chase it around the other side of the Atlantic. They had been in Canada previously.

Bailey tells them a shortened version of how he came to be friends with Poppet and Widget, leaving out the more curious details.

As it creeps closer to dawn they are joined by another rêveur, a woman named Elizabeth who had been staying at the local inn and is headed to Boston as well now that the circus has departed. She is greeted warmly, and they appear to be old friends though Lorena says they only met her a few days ago. While they wait for the train Elizabeth takes out her knitting needles and a skein of deep red wool.