There’s a log nearby, and Cale throws a knife high in the air, catches it by the blade and hurls it at the log, all while keeping the other five in the air. The blade sinks deep into the wood. He does the same thing over and over again, each knife soaring the exact same height in the air before being hurled at the log with deadly accuracy, until there are six blades lined up in a neat row. Then he walks over, crouches down, pulls them out, and tucks them all back inside his jacket.
I wonder how he managed to do all that without cutting himself. I make a mental note to look for scars on his hands when I talk to him next.
Elke, Anouk and I wash our plates and cutlery up in a tub of soapy warm water, and then we head back to the wagon. They show me over the cozy little space, with three narrow beds and a little washroom hidden behind a curtain. It’s painted buttery yellow and there are embroidered hangings on the walls.
“There are public bathrooms on the green but no campground nearby, so no showers today. You ever bathed out of a bucket before?” Anouk asks, passing me one.
I shake my head and follow her and Elke back outside to the faucet on the edge of the green, where will fill up our buckets.
“This is the least glamorous part of the circus life. If you can bear this, especially in winter when it’s freezing, you’ll make it as a performer,” Elke jokes as we head back inside the wagon. “If you start cracking up around November and want to go home, no one will blame you.”
I force a smile. If it’s a choice between washing with cold water and living with my father, I’ll take the cold water.
They let me wash up first. I duck behind the curtain, strip off my dress and underwear, and scrub myself over with a flannel cloth and some soap. When I come out wrapped in a towel, Elke hands me a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.
“For pajamas. We’ll go thrifting tomorrow for some new things for you. For now you can borrow my clothes.”
I’m yawning so hard as I thank her that Elke just laughs and pushes me toward my bed.
“Go to sleep. And wake us in the night if you need anything, okay?” Her gaze flickers to my black eye, and she adds gently, “And remember, you’re safe here.”
“Thank you.” When I’ve changed, I get into the narrow bed I rub my eyes—and then grimace in pain. The black eye hurts. No one asked me how I got it, and yet I asked Elke and Anouk loads of nosy questions. I bite my lip, feeling guilty about that.
When the other two get into bed I pretend I’m already asleep. I don’t belong to any place now. I have no money. No clothes. No home. No horse. Everything seemed so easy when Cale reached down a hand for me. Now, I’m completely lost. I think of Dandelion alone too, and far away from me, and tears swim in my eyes.
Elke and Anouk talk softly for a while, and then someone blows the candle out. I roll onto my back and stare at the wooden planks overhead in the dark, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake.
Chapter Four
Cale
I see the light go out in Elke, Anouk and Ryah’s wagon just after ten. Dusk has finally settled into night and everyone’s heading off to bed. I sit up with Gorran by the fire as he prepares vegetables for tomorrow’s lunch. Though his arms are like tree trunks, he’s nimble with a knife. We discuss the arrangements I stayed back to make this morning in Ryah’s village. It can be tricky receiving deliveries when we have no fixed address. It’s even trickier when you have to arrange them from the village payphone because you don’t own a phone.
Gorran doesn’t ask me where I found Ryah. If she wants to open up about it to someone later, she can. I hope she finds friends in Elke and Anouk.
As the m
oon climbs higher in the sky, I find myself getting tense, rather than sleepy. Gorran goes yawning off to his bed, and I take a walk around the field, checking that everyone and the horses are settled in for the night, and that all is in order with the big top. It stands ready for tomorrow’s show, gleaming in the moonlight.
I hear the clock in the church tower chiming midnight as I saddle up Jareth. He whickers, his ears flicking curiously back and forth as he wonders what’s afoot. We haven’t ridden through the night in a long time.
I lead him out of the field, and then mount up when we reach the road, heading north, back the way we came. I waited until late so that there’d be as few cars on the road as possible, but just in case, there’s reflective tape sewn into Jareth’s tack that will catch in headlights. I alternate Jareth between trotting and cantering, eating up the miles between the camp and our destination.
About two and a half hours pass by the time we reach Ryah’s home. Ryah’s former home. I cast a dispassionate eye over the unkempt cottage, and then dismount and loop Jareth’s reins around a fencepost.
I walk silently through the gate to the stables and check that Dandelion is in a stall—she is—and then turn to the house. I need to break in as quietly as possible. All the window frames look loose, and none of them have deadbolts.
In the end I don’t have to break in because the back door is unlocked. Moron.
I stand in the dark, silent kitchen. It stinks of stale whisky and body odor. This is the squalor that Ryah was suffering in. I feel the same angry burn of injustice that I did when I was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, except this time I know who my enemy is. This time, I can make sure he never does what he did to Ryah ever again.
The stairs creak faintly as I make my way upstairs. The first bedroom I look into seems to be Ryah’s, and what a sad little room it is. No posters or paperback novels. No childhood toys on the shelves or happy photos. I wonder if I should bag up some clothes for her, but then decide against it. She should start fresh, without any reminders of this place.
The next bedroom is her father’s, and it stinks.
He’s sprawled on his belly on the bed, fully clothed and snoring. There’s an empty bottle of whisky on the bedside table. The shotgun he was wielding earlier is laying across a chair within arm’s reach of the bed. One of his legs is hanging off the mattress. I reach out with my foot and kick him.
He snorts awake, and peers around the room. When he sees me standing over him in the dark, he lunges for his shotgun. I get there first, snatching it up. Ryah’s father falls off the bed in a heap.