Ringmaster

“Don’t shoot,” he gasps hoarsely, laying on his back like a stranded beetle.

The shotgun barrels are trained on him. I’d like nothing better than to blow his fucking head off.

Ryah’s father blinks up at me. “You’re the man from earlier. You took Ryah. Where’s my daughter?”

He has the nerve to sound outraged. I can see how worried he was about her by the fact that he got blind drunk and fell into bed. I flick open the break-action lever on the shotgun and the shells tumble to the floor. Then I throw the gun aside.

Now that I’m no longer armed he starts to sit up, but I step forward and thrust my booted foot over his throat, pinning him to the ground.

“Pleased to meet you. My name’s Cale. And yours?” When he doesn’t answer, I kick him with the toe of my boot.

“Vern,” the man growls. “Where’s my daughter?”

I lean slowly down to him, leaning my full weight on his throat. “I’ve got something to say to you, and I want you to listen very fucking carefully.”

I wait, wanting to be sure that I have his full attention. His beady eyes stare up at me, full of hatred. I reach inside my jacket and draw a knife, pointing the tip of the blade at his eye socket. I lean down further until the point is just an inch from his eyeball. His hatred turns to alarm.

“If you ever come near Ryah, if you come near me or mine, I will gut you like a fish and decorate the roof of this squalid little hole with your entrails.” He glares at me without even trying to answer. I grind my boot even harder against his throat. “Is that clear?”

“Where did you come from?” he chokes. “Why do you care about Ryah?”

It’s that bizarre to him that someone cares about Ryah. “I said, is that clear, Vern?”

“Yes. Fine,” he wheezes, his face turning purple.

I dearly want to kill him. I imagine it vividly. My blade would sink into his eye socket and his eyeball would pop like a grape. The tip of my knife would scramble his brains and then this waste of oxygen would be gone forever. The only thing that stops me is the thought of going back to Ryah covered in her father’s blood. Dead or alive, a man’s evil deeds can never be undone.

I straighten up and lift my boot from his throat. “I’m taking the gray horse. Don’t leave this room until I’m off the property, and don’t let me see your fucking face ever again.”

I tuck my knife back into its holster and snatch up the shotgun. As I head out toward the stables I see a well and throw the gun into it. There’s silence for a few seconds, and then a splash. I doubt anyone will be firing it ever again.

Inside the stables, Dandelion is shaking in her stall. There are whip marks on her flanks that look fresh. I take a deep breath, clench my fists, and unclench. Dandelion is going to take some coaxing to get her out of this stall. I glance up at the house, wondering if Vern is following my instructions and staying put.

“Easy, girl,” I whisper, as the horse stamps the ground and shakes her head.

I take off my coat and hold it out to her, letting her smell it. Horses have a much better sense of smell than humans. Ryah was pressed against my back all afternoon and I’m hoping her scent will calm the mare down.

Dandelion sniffs the jacket with interest. After a few minutes, I’m able to reach out and stroke her neck, murmuring softly. When she doesn’t rear or stamp, I reach for a bridle that’s hanging on a nail and slip it over her head and ears. Dandelion doesn’t like the bridle, but without Ryah here it’s the only way I’ll be able to get her back to the circus.

There’s the other horse, too. The bay. I can’t leave a thinking, feeling creature behind in this hovel. I find a bridle for him as well and lead the two horses out onto the road. Dandelion seems calmer now that she’s got a friend with her. I fasten her lead to the bay’s bridle and hold the bay’s reins in my hand as I mount Jareth.

I cast one last look at the place where Ryah grew up, daring Vern to burst out onto the road and try to stop me from taking what he doesn’t deserve. I meant every word I said.

If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him.

The front door stays closed. The laneway is still and silent as we move off into the night.

The sky is blushed with pre-dawn light when I made it back to the circus. The horses’ hooves clatter on the deserted road down into the village. No one is stirring among the wagons.

I dismount and lead all three horses over the dewy grass, and then head up the steps of Ryah’s wagon. I knock, and call out, “Ryah? Can you come out here, please?”

She emerges a moment later, her sleepy face pale, but tight with anxiety. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. This is a girl who’s learned to expect cruelty, not kindness, and she’s braced for the worst.

I hold out my hand to her and help her down the steps. She still hasn’t seen Dandelion, dwarfed as she is behind Jareth. Still holding Ryah’s hand, I lead her around my horse.

Ryah’s mouth drops open as she sees the gray horse. “Dandelion!”

She throws her arms around Dandelion’s neck. The horse snuffles her hair in surprise, and then pleasure. While the two of them get reacquainted, I slip the bridle from Dandelion’s head.