Chapter Twelve
Morning came early, announced by the train whistle, which meant we were close to our next destination.
With a yawn and stretch, I forced myself upright, the night before still playing in the back of my mind and, mostly, Rex’s reaction to seeing Laurent and me alone… together.
All I wanted was to start an exciting life of my own.
I sighed heavily, trying to expel the gloomy aura in my heart before getting up completely. Another loud shriek of the whistle signaled that the train was slowing down. I sat up, drawing the curtain and pressing my face to the window.
I was surprised to see how small the town was. Barely a handful of battered houses, it looked even smaller than the diminutive farming community where I’d grown up.
Here, what few houses there were, hugged the riverfront, and a towering forest loomed behind them, the old trees reminding me of slumbering giants. I shuddered. There was something eerie about this place…
“Dang!” Halfrieda let out a low whistle as she came up behind me to peer out the window. “Guineesville really is as tiny as they say.”
“Guineesville? Is that the name of this place?” I’d never even heard of it. I remembered hearing the term “whistle-stop” before and instantly assumed this was the kind of small town the term was referring to.
“Eez hard to believe Laurent zinks ve can make any money here,” Valida scoffed. As if in agreement, Balthazar’s tongue darted out. His body was loosely draped over his mistress’s shoulders.
“Well, maybe this little town has some sentimental meaning for him or maybe for Rex?” I suggested. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine why we’re stopping here.”
“Laurent an’ Rex usually keep ta themselves ‘bout that kinda stuff,” Halfrieda explained. “I doubt we’ll ever learn much ‘bout ‘em.”
More mysteries to add to the growing pile.
***
Breakfast consisted of reheated sausages and bread, which we quickly scarfed down as Rex barked his orders to the troupe and stagehands.
The sausages seemed to be a circus staple and although they were tasty, I was quickly getting sick of them because they were served at every meal.
Regardless, our goal now was quite clear: we had to get the Cirque up before nightfall. It seemed a bit unrealistic—tearing the circus down had to be easier than setting it back up—but the others seemed more than eager to prove me wrong.
The sun arched across the sky, ticking off the hours as they passed. All the while, we pitched the tents and arranged the caravans together. I acted as a gopher essentially—running here and there for this and that. Sweat ran down my face, dripping off the ends of my chin and nose. Autumn or not, the work forced me to shed most of my layers of clothing.
When it came to putting the booths together, I started to lose steam.
I shook the feeling off, wiping more sweat from my brow as I got another pin or two into the side of the booth I was putting together before I straightened upright, the hammer nearly dropping out of my trembling hands.
Something didn’t feel right.
But as I looked around, I found it was just Halfrieda and me. There wasn’t anyone else in sight, so I wasn’t really sure why I was suffering such ominous feelings. Lately, it seemed I’d become afraid of my own shadow.
I chalked the strange feeling up to the heat and dehydration. “I’m going to go get some water,” I announced.
Halfrieda nodded while keeping a table level as another curiosity walked up and hammered its legs into place. I jogged across the path, my stomach beginning to tangle into knots as I recognized the booths being set up—the same booths that had been in the location of all those faceless people I’d seen when I first joined the circus.
The entire Cirque looked odd and out of place in this new setting. Not that I was used to seeing it in one place or another, but there was something unusual about seeing half-pitched tents, partially put-together booths, and unpacked trinkets and props scattered across the ground.
I began wandering the grounds, passing behind one of the prop tents as I watched a few stagehands cutting the grass. It was the start of a makeshift path to the tiny village, luring folks to come and visit now that there was an easy way to cross the field.
There was something reassuring about the visual of all these people doing menial, physical labor. And another strange, yet familiar sensation overtook me—one I couldn’t quite place. I wondered if this scene just reminded me of something I’d seen in an old picture. One where the farmers harvest the crops like the stagehands were doing to the grass.
I shook the thought away, waving my hand repetitively across my face to generate a cool breeze. “I must be getting heat sick,” I said out loud, even though I was just talking to myself.
“We can help you with that.”
Before I could even react, someone from behind me roughly grabbed my waist and hoisted me up and into the air. I couldn’t even muster a scream before a huge hand clamped down over my mouth, half my face, really, and the man pulled me inside a nearby prop tent. The man, whom I recognized as Robb the Giant, continued to muzzle me until he was joined by the twins.