A FATAL FESTIVAL (Alethea, The Circus Sleuth Book 3) Read online

  “So what should I do now?” She gave in and asked the ultimate question, or what she held to be the ultimate question. “If I accept this as real, what does that even mean for me? Should I wear an enchanted amulet and paint a pentagram in the air before me?” She suddenly felt very tired as she looked up at America.

  “You keep on living.” There was the slightest movement in her eyes, a brief glance at the bandage. “If you will, look at things differently. Think of them a bit differently. Open your eyes a bit further. Or open your third eye, if that means anything to you. As you know, nothing ever just happens. As you also know, the knife did not simply slip. If this festival were a silent pond, this was the drop and now come the ripples.”

  Breathing in deeply, Alethea closed her eyes for a second and nodded. She stood up, looking down at the soothsayer with a wry expression despite the smile on her face. She gave another nod and stretched her back. With a probing, gentle hand against the wound on her neck, she slowly retreated from that tent.

  “I’ll keep it in mind, America.”

  “I know you will, Alethea.”

  There was hardly anything she could do against it.

  Chapter II

  That same evening, with the sun barely above the horizon, Althea lay comfortably in her bed and stared at the ceiling. If she traced the ceiling back to its materials that some mortal dug out of the earth somewhere, she might find some magic on the way. These were the lines she found herself thinking along. It was a defense mechanism, perhaps, in response to the idea of curses and magic—powers beyond causality.

  As she lay there, she waited. On her sheets, her head resting on the soft pillow, looking out through the large backside window of the trailer towards the setting orange sun and flamingo-pink sky, she awaited the ripples to find her. Her mind, which has slipped halfway into dreamland, was pulled back to reality by a series of knocks against her door.

  She was awake and on her feet in a moment. A bit too fast, she realized an instant later. What was she running for? “One second,” she called out. She cleared her throat and cleared her mind, which was still a bit woozy from sleep so quickly thrown off. She opened the door with a polite smile. “Yes?”

  It was, of course, Virgil. Had she placed bets, he would have been the safe one; Braden came in second place. It was too bad she almost never got gentleman suitors knocking on her door that weren’t ancient or blood relations. Some part of her wished that Elyse would have come; some part of her wondered how hard Elyse would laugh at her if she told her about the magic stuff.

  “Come in, Virgil.” They sat down at the table, and channeling America—as was her mission—Alethea got up again and started making tea before another word could be said. Every guest wanted tea, whether they knew that or not. Giving things to people unsolicited, that was the way to go. The way of America.

  “Freedom,” Alethea mumbled as she put down the cup in front of Virgil.

  “Come again?” the old man asked. All he got as an answer was a headshake, and so he refocused on his reason for coming. “It’s been some time now since you accepted being my apprentice. Learning the craft. I appreciate it, you know.” He looked at her with a strange look in his eyes, while she just stirred her own tea and waited for him to continue.

  “How’s your wound? More importantly, how are you?”

  Alethea lightly shrugged, almost instinctively, before she even tried to answer. Things were a strange swirl inside both her head and stomach. “My ‘wound’ is alright. I’m okay.” She bit her tongue for a long moment. The silence was heavy, and he looked at her, waiting for her to say something more. Something important. “Virgil, that…do you know the guy who suddenly yelled out?” She stared into his eyes.

  “I think I do,” he admitted. She grimaced for a fraction of a second. “There are some things going on behind the scenes that should not influence what happens on stage. This is one of them. I don’t want to stir up anything, and so I don’t want to say something now that I later can’t take back. Probably….” He looked around until his eyes stopped, staring into that faraway sky quickly growing darker. “You’ll know soon enough.” He turned back to her.

  “Don’t forget about your tea, Virgil.” Like a good boy, he took a sip when ordered. “And don’t worry about me. I’m a calm-hearted person. And Braden, he will…he’ll have to behave.” Tracing some invisible lines on the table, she noted her fingertips were restless, in spite of her words. “So did you just come to check on me, or is there anything else?”

  “There is something,” he confessed. Taking the time to drink his tea, he used the chance to mull over what he wanted to say next. “I’d like to know what America told you after she heard what happened in the ring.” Alethea was caught off guard, even if he had originally put some peculiar emphasis on relating what had happened to America.

  “Don’t you talk to each other anymore? Did you have a fight?” Alethea pushed forward her lower lip. “Is it my fault you’re getting divorced?”

  Virgil sighed, but he had to smile. “It seems silly, doesn’t it? But here I am, just asking you.” His cup was empty, so he sat it down and slightly pushed it aside. “If I asked her first, she’d probably also deflect me with some quip.”

  “Alright,” Alethea gave up. “I suppose the main thing she told me was to keep my eyes open, and that this single incident wasn’t just a single incident, but that…it will make waves.” She tried to gauge Virgil’s reaction as she talked. “She implied someone tried to cause an accident, an actual accident, worse than what happened. I don’t know where that kind of evil intent would come from, though.”

  Virgil didn’t answer. Instead, he followed his own thoughts, integrating that new information she told him into what he already knew. She looked at him, wondering what he knew that she didn’t. He had already said before that he would not share his suspicions now, so she did not attempt to pry.

  “That’s worrisome,” he simply summarized.

  “Isn’t it?” she agreed. “Maybe you need another tea after that. With some rum? I’m sure you’re a seafaring man, got a taste for grog during the Napoleonic Wars.” Somehow, she could see him before her eyes, a young lad with blond hair. Young Virgil had blond hair, for unknown reasons. Maybe he was still innocent, his eyebrows were less bushy, and had a nose and ears that were smaller.

  Virgil chuckled lightly, like he usually would, but then raised a bushy brow when he noticed her staring at him. “I was born with a mustache,” he said out of the blue. Alethea couldn’t help but spontaneously laugh for the suddenness and solemnity with which he managed to deliver the line. “That’s what the nurse said, too.”

  The old man stood up with a distant look of reminiscence in his deep eyes. Then he smiled and gently patted Alethea’s head. Normally, she would have felt it to be a patronizing gesture, but in that moment, it felt like an actual display of affection, for lack of other means of expressing it. “I will take you up on that offer of grog the next time, Thea.”

  “Wait a second, Virgil. What about that…worrisome stuff?”

  He slowly shrugged. “I would simply follow her advice. Keep your eyes peeled. You are our investigator, after all. You found my jade tiger, helped Abel remember, got your brother out of jail and listened to that cat-lover’s confession.” His hand was already on the door handle.

  “It was almost two months ago that I took on that case.” She sighed. “That is, I don’t even know what I took on. It was all nonsense. Abel fell over because of that cat, your jade tiger was lost because Tony and Rob tried to…whatever they tried. Apparently, it involved illegal fireworks, a sledge hammer, a bunch of throwing axes, and an angry raccoon from the audience. And that man was murdered because he couldn’t look after a cat.”

  She put her head on her hand. “And I didn’t really solve any of that. I mean…it just kind of fell over and I looked at the pieces.” Virgil stood there for a long time, halfway out the door, wondering what to say. The girl seemed quite depressed no
w.

  “You were there, Alethea. Without you, things could never turn out the way they would with you.” He finally stepped outside, but still looked back up to her. “Hang in there. This is an important festival, and we need everyone to do their part, you know that.”

  She nodded, turning towards him. “Good night, Virgil.” He wished her a good night, too, and then disappeared into the evening. Everything was grey now, and the sun had disappeared, just giving off a small shimmer from beyond the horizon where the skies were still faintly blue. It was time to go to bed, because every day was a big day, but she just didn’t feel like it. A restless feeling made her want to go out, to do something, now that she had shaken off her sleepiness through talk and tea.

  After throwing on some warmer clothes and a jacket, Alethea went outside and breathed in the evening air. There were distant sounds of animals in the night, and she briefly wondered if any were a part of the festival. Somewhere out there, Leo would hunt and explore, too; he was a more feral cat than anyone would have thought, coming in only for food and rest.

  Alethea was sure that somewhere out there, something exciting was going on, but as she started walking aimlessly, and began to picture it, she wondered if that was what she wanted. Before she knew, her steps had led her elsewhere—to the familiar old Thwaite trailer, the opposite of any source of excitement. It felt like she stood in front of the door for half an eternity, contemplating if she should actually go inside.

  Then the door suddenly swung open, almost hitting her. Elyse looked out. “So are you going to creep around out there all night, or do you actually want to come in?” Her bright blue eyes burned with a challenge; Alethea didn’t really appreciate the disruption of her thoughts as she contemplated the deepest truths of the universe. Elyse stepped aside, and her older sister walked in, still looking a bit befuddled.

  “The parents are out on an important assignment,” Elyse explained and sat back down. As usual, she had some sort of late homework to do. “And all I can do is sit here and worry about those two airheads.” She glanced up at Alethea. “You’re lucky that mom isn’t here, or she’d make a giant fuss about that neck thing. I think Braden has already gotten his share.”

  Sitting down and sighing exaggeratedly, Letha leaned forward on her elbows and stole a look at the pad in front of her sister. Elyse wrote very neatly, with swung lines and small ornaments, even; Alethea lost her thread over the form of the letters and looked back up. “It’s not Braden’s fault. And we’re both grown-ups. It’s bad enough sometimes that our whole family is sitting on top of each other.”

  Elyse’s eyes widened. “Tell me about it!” Then she smiled for a moment, shaking her head. “I’m the one living with them. It’s always Letha here and Brady there—they don’t actually call him that—and then they’re not sure if I should be more like you or less like you. It depends on the day, I believe. At least I’m not running around chasing jade monkeys.”

  “It was a tiger,” Alethea defended herself. As if that made it better. “And the clowns had it, for no apparent reason.” She stood up and looked around the kitchen. “Do you want a tea, Elyse?” Without looking, Elyse shook her head, which Alethea interpreted as a resounding yes. That was just the way it had to be. Two minutes later, a steaming cup stood in front of her.

  “This circus is suffering from an epidemic. The tea-pushers have taken over, lurking in the corner, old bags distributing their old bags...of tea.” Elyse shifted her gaze from the mug to her sister. “Now, while you’re keeping me from being productive, is there a reason you dropped by?” The words were appropriately accompanied by adjusting her invisible pair of glasses and then putting the tips of her fingers together expectantly.

  “I’m sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Gecko.” Alethea looked at her feet, but looked up again after clearing her throat. “And I’m not that much older than you, anyway.” She happily took the first sip of her tea. It was nice to be with family and enjoy a warm beverage.

  “Your eighties movie references paint a different picture, madam.” Elyse started writing something, but it was unclear if she was actually doing her homework or just trying to seem busy as part of the interplay going on between them. “Anyway, you’re sitting there like you’re waiting for something, but I really don’t know when they’re coming back. There’s some rumors going around about some sort of…well, childish stuff.”

  Alethea put on a quizzical look. It was very Elyse to say that things are childish. After all, she was exactly old enough to desperately want to appear very mature and sophisticated, but somehow Letha still stumbled over it. Someone told her to keep her ears peeled, or something like that. “Tell me more about that childish stuff.”

  “If you say tell me more about said topic, it sounds like you’re playing an adventure game.” That wasn’t the answer to her question, but Alethea was used to it. She inclined her head to the right. A few seconds later, Elyse got to the point. “There’s some sort of rivalry going on, between our circus and another circus. An old enmity. An inherited feud. A…thing. Someone probably stole someone else’s donkey like thirty years ago.”

  “Hmm.” Alethea wasn’t sure what to say, but it seemed she should react. “That sounds just weird. A circus isn’t a street gang. It’s not like there’s turf wars or something.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. Imagine the sight of a clown car slowing, the windows sliding down, and—”

  “Let’s stay in the real world, for now. So even if there is a rivalry, what does that entail except mean glances?” Alethea scratched her head and then shrugged. “I just can’t come up with something. Are we playing pranks on each other?”

  Elyse answered the shrug with one of her own. “Maybe. Who knows? I can just tell you what I heard. If you want someone to enlighten you to the sinister details, Virgil would probably be the one to do so. You’re buddies with him, and he should know all about it.” Probingly, she picked up the tea and took a sip, after putting down her pen almost ceremoniously. “If it’s pranks, what about the genius who suddenly started yelling during your performance? That sounds like something dumb enough.”

  Alethea raised an eyebrow, but only because Elyse was completely right. It wasn’t like she had personal enemies, and the Wheel of Death had been one of the more high-profile shows that Virgil’s Circus had put on during the first day. Nonetheless, “dumb” didn’t begin to describe it, especially when taking America’s ominous words into account. And Virgil confirmed them, more or less.

  “Hmm,” Letha said again. She stood up after about another half minute, quickly finishing her tea just as she remembered it and putting the cup back in the kitchen. “That’s something to think on, I suppose. But I’ll get to bed for now…long days ahead.” She waved lightly at her little sister.

  “You don’t say,” Elyse mumbled. Just before the door threatened to fall shut, she turned toward Alethea and asked, “Are you going to be there tomorrow? You know I’ll be on.”

  “Of course,” the answer came immediately. Alethea’s head stuck back through the crack in the door for a moment.

  “Good night, Thea.”

  “Wash your face, El.”

  Chapter III

  Alethea was awake earlier than usual, owed to both going to sleep on time—a rare occasion—and feeling a sense of unrest in her bones, an awareness that she had been advised to display. Like a seed planted in her heart, it grew, even into the dreams of her sleeping self. What more could these old people have wished for than their words drilling themselves into Alethea’s subconscious?

  Since she already felt somewhat on edge, she passed on the coffee that morning and instead drank green tea, which at least had some, if much weaker, effect. With the fresh cut on her neck and no true orientation what she should do with that, she found herself eating her breakfast with the thought that at any moment, there would be another knock on her door. As time passed, that knock never came. She considered wearing a scarf.

  After she went so far as to ac
tually pick one out, she left her trailer with a solid black scarf wrapped around her neck and headed over to Virgil’s. There was a good chance that he was still asleep, or in some half-asleep state as time slowly drifted towards midday and Virgil’s late, true awakening. If anyone wanted to see a real show, they’d just have to catch him at the right moment. There was no answer when Alethea knocked on the door, and she feared for the worst.

  When she helped herself inside, Virgil sat in his chair, his mouth open and head sunk forward. “Good morning, Virgil.” She sat down. He lay there. “Come on now.” Narrowing her eyes, she watched him for a moment. Was it normal that he didn’t breathe? She pushed him lightly against the shoulder. Like an old motor sputtering to life, he suddenly took several raspy, rattling breaths at once, coughed and wheezed, and then began to snore terribly, but at least somewhat regularly.

  With a small exhale, she wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance or relief, Alethea stood up again and began making tea. In less than a day, the frequency of her tea-making had at least tripled, but it was a good thing. At least for now, it fit the situation. Virgil didn’t have much of a selection, but the few things he had were extraordinarily weird. No one inside the 19th century would have gotten ideas like those.

  One of the packages said Ceylon Curry Carrot Censation, and she looked no further; the old man would get a taste of his own medicine, and she’d experience something that she, for once, didn’t expect. Of course, the 4C tea was probably in some way connected to the ancient feud—

  “The taste of that takes some getting used to,” Virgil suddenly interjected. Apparently her tea-making was loud enough to rouse him from his slumber. Alethea looked at him with a face of exaggerated surprise.

  “You’ve only got weird flavors in there,” she complained. “Who wants to drink cabbage tea?” It was a rhetorical question, but as it left her mouth, she made the realization that Virgil might actually go ahead and try to answer it. Probably in conjecture with a story about how he used to fight bears in the tundra and was paid in cabbage, and that the young people don’t value what they have.