“Nothing on the agenda for tomorrow, though. Or later today, whatever time it is.”
“There is the meeting in the afternoon regarding next season’s ballet schedule.”
“Ah, I had forgotten,” Chandresh says. “Cancel that, would you?”
“Of course, sir,” Marco says, taking a notebook from his pocket and marking down the request.
“Oh, and order a dozen cases of whatever that brandy was that Ethan brought. Marvelous stuff, that.”
Marco nods, adding it to his notes.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Chandresh asks.
“No, sir,” Marco says. “I had thought it too late to be going home.”
“Home,” Chandresh repeats, as though the word sounds foreign. “This is your home as much as that flat you insist on keeping is. More so, even.”
“I shall endeavor to remember that, sir,” Marco says.
“Miss Bowen is a lovely woman, don’t you think?” Chandresh remarks suddenly, turning to gauge the reaction to the question.
Caught by surprise, Marco only manages to stammer something he hopes resembles his standard impartial agreement.
“We must invite her to dinner whenever the circus is in town, so we might get to know her better,” Chandresh says pointedly, emphasizing the statement with a satisfied grin.
“Yes, sir,” Marco says, struggling to keep his expression impassive. “Will that be all for tonight?”
Chandresh laughs as he waves him away.
Before he retires to his own rooms, a suite three times the size of his flat, Marco quietly returns to the library.
He stands for some time in the spot where he found Celia hours before, scrutinizing the familiar bookshelves and the wall of stained glass.
He cannot guess what she might have been doing.
And he does not notice the eyes staring at him from the shadows.
Rêveurs
1891–1892
Herr Friedrick Thiessen receives the card in the mail, a plain envelope amongst his invoices and business correspondence. The envelope holds no letter or note, simply a card that is black on one side and white on the other. “Le Cirque des Rêves” is printed on the front in silver ink. On the back, handwritten in black ink on white, it reads:
Twenty-nine September
Just outside Dresden, Saxony
Herr Thiessen can barely contain his glee. He makes arrangements with his clients, finishes his clocks in progress in record time, and secures a short-term flat rental in Dresden.
He arrives in Dresden on September 28, and spends the day wandering the outskirts of the city, wondering where the circus might set up. There is no indication of its impending arrival, only a slight electricity in the air, though Herr Thiessen is unsure if anyone, save himself, can sense it. He feels honored at having been given advance notice.
On September 29, he sleeps in, anticipating the late night ahead. When he leaves his flat in the early afternoon to find something to eat, the streets are already buzzing with the news: a strange circus has appeared overnight, just west of the city. A gargantuan thing, with striped tents, they are saying when he reaches the pub. Never seen anything like it. Herr Thiessen stays silent on the matter, enjoying the excitement and curiosity around him.
Shortly before sunset Herr Thiessen heads west, finding the circus easily as there is a large crowd assembled outside already. While he waits with the crowd, he wonders how the circus manages to set up so quickly. He is certain that the field it sits in now, as though it has always been there, had been empty the day before when he walked around the city. The circus has simply materialized. Like magic, he overhears someone remark, and Herr Thiessen has to agree.
When the gates open at last, Herr Friedrick Thiessen feels as though he is returning home after an extended absence.
He spends almost every night there, and during the day he sits in his rented flat or at the pub with a glass of wine and a journal and he writes about it. Pages and pages of observations, recounting his experiences, mostly so he will not forget them but also to capture something of the circus on paper, something he can hold on to.