“It is a matter of perspective, the difference between opponent and partner,” Tsukiko says. “You step to the side and the same person can be either or both or something else entirely. It is difficult to know which face is true. And you have a great many factors to deal with beyond your opponent.”
“Did you not?” Celia asks.
“My venue was not as grand. It involved fewer people, less movement. Without the challenge within it, there was nothing to salvage. Most of it is now a tea garden, I believe. I have not returned to that place since the challenge concluded.”
“The circus could continue, after this challenge is … concluded,” Celia says.
“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.