The Nightingale Circus (6 page)

His mother smiled in understanding. “I will.
Now go. Avoid Germany. They’ve already passed the telecharger
drafting law in the spring. Head for one of the East European
countries. They have less advanced tracking systems, and the war is
already playing havoc with their economies. Don’t try to contact
us. If there’s anything important we want to communicate to you,
you’ll find it in the local news. I’m sure you can get it there,
too. And—” She was speaking faster and faster as if running out of
air.

“Mom, relax.” Nicolas placed both hands on
her shaking shoulders. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of
myself.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s one issue your
father and I never managed to agree on.” She laughed ruefully and
threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

Nicolas buried his nose in her hair, inhaling
the familiar jasmine scent. He was going to miss her. He was going
to miss the arguments with his father, too.

“Okay, I’ll be fine.” His mother released him
and sniffled. “Go. No, wait! Give me your phone and your wallet
first.”

Nicolas complied, although he didn’t feel
right without them.

His mother slipped a bill into his hand. “For
the taxi.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and
started down the stairs. “I’ll send you postcards!”

“Don’t you dare!” she cried after him.

His laughter echoed inside the staircase, and
an approaching couple gave him odd looks. He jumped into one of the
taxis waiting close to the Capitole Square and told the driver to
take him to the train station. The metro would have taken him there
just as fast, but not without attracting unwanted attention because
of the damned suit.

The ride lasted long enough for Nicolas to
catch his breath and wonder what the hell he was doing. No, he
couldn’t abandon his family in times like these. After all, war was
coming, didn’t everyone say that? But what would bring his parents
less pain? If he turned himself in, sooner than later he’d fail,
and they would be left with nothing but embarrassment and grief. If
he ran away, he was confident he could hide from the authorities at
least for a couple of years. It would give his parents some peace.
In the end, there was no choice at all.

He found Benoît waiting on the platform with
a cheap but sturdy suitcase lying by his feet.

“Madam sent you this.” The old butler handed
him a thick envelope.

Nicolas opened it and found enough money to
last him a couple of months and a new ID that identified him as
Nicholas Renard, twenty-seven years old, from Poitiers. The name
gave him a chuckle. It must have been a dig from his father, who
often accused him of considering himself smarter than he was. But a
fox, really? The age was right, and he’d been to Poitiers before so
he could easily pretend he’d lived there at some point. Good
enough. He slipped the envelope into his coat pocket.

“Good luck, sir.”

“Thank you, Benoît. Take care of them for me,
will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Nicolas carried the suitcase to the bathroom
to change, but when he returned wearing less eye-catching clothes,
Benoît was gone, and he was left with the monkey suit and silly top
hat. He could always sell them later to a second-hand store if
money became tight, so he stuffed them into the suitcase before
getting on the train.

* * *

Steam rose from the coffee cup, making the
tip of Nicholas’s frozen nose itch. He tapped his just as cold
fingers on the lacquered wood, next to the terminal encased in the
tabletop, while a group of people headed past him towards the exit
of the café. After throwing them a cautious glance, he returned his
attention to the screen. No new job offers had appeared since
yesterday, none he would ever consider anyway. He’d tried shoveling
snow for one afternoon, but after ten minutes, he’d gotten awfully
bored and barely resisted the temptation to melt down the snow on
his whole side of the street just to be done with it sooner.

Manual labor was not for him. But without a
valid diploma and recommendations, no one was going to hire him.
His parents had gotten it all wrong when they facilitated his
escape, assuming he could make money with a flick of a wrist. He
couldn’t. He could gamble some and win, but not for long without
attracting attention, and the entire purpose of this trip was to
stay hidden from the drafting committee.

So far, he was succeeding despite the cold,
but he didn’t know how long he could keep this up. It had to be the
coldest winter in Warsaw in the past twenty years—at least that was
what the locals were saying—and soon he wouldn’t be able to pay for
central heating at all. The last time he’d tried to turn the
heating on without the landlord’s permission, he’d nearly blown up
the entire eighteenth century building with his apartment in it. He
was good at channeling the power, but he didn't know everything,
not by a long shot. And this just wouldn't do.

Nicholas raised his eyes from the screen and
looked around the quiet coffee shop. Outside the window, a timid
sun lit up the Royal Square, failing to bring it any warmth. And,
of course, the agent was still there, pacing in the frozen snow and
pretending he wasn’t stalking him. The central heating accident had
been a mistake. In the absence of solid proof, the authorities
couldn’t do much about it, but they kept a close eye on him. Soon,
he’d have to move again. After two years of hiding, he was sick of
this routine.

At a table near the window, a young woman ran
her fingers through the chin-length, brown hair that framed her
heart-shaped face while she spoke quietly in Russian to her
companion. Her slender, long limbs moved gracefully as she handled
her tea, but the man facing her didn’t seem affected by her beauty.
He sat with his arms crossed upon his chest, his frame too big for
the chair, and he nodded, concentrating on what she said. He never
interrupted her, didn’t ask any questions, and when she paused,
obviously waiting for some kind of input, the man scratched the
short blond hair on the back of his head, wearing a puzzled look on
his face.

Idiot.
Nicholas would have surely
found something intelligent to say, but the woman wasn’t talking to
him. He came there every morning for the hot coffee and free access
to the net, and he hadn’t seen her before, so he was most likely
never going to see her again. If she were alone, he might have
tried to start a conversation, but since she wasn’t, he forced
himself to look away.

Ads for Czech beer and German wurst rolled on
the wide screens plastering the walls. In a corner, close to the
tilted ceiling, a group of can-can dancers waved around their pink
skirts. He watched them mournfully, thinking about the last trip to
Paris and how much time had passed since. The urge to check the
Toulouse news channel and search for any mention of his family ate
at him, but he kept it under control. Checking the information
about Poitiers any day was fine, but Toulouse was not.

When he looked back, the woman arched an
eyebrow at him. Nicholas grinned, not at all embarrassed by being
caught staring at women lifting their skirts up.

The woman fished some coins from her purse,
placed them on the table, and without bothering to button up her
coat, she started for the door. As she passed by Nicholas’s table,
she dropped a narrow piece of paper by his elbow. “If you want to
see some real dancing, come here.”

Before he could say anything, she was out of
the door with her companion in tow. Nicholas inspected the flyer on
both sides. It turned out to be an ad for The Nightingale Circus
that was stationed just outside of town. He remembered seeing
jugglers and stilt men walking in the street earlier during the
week. There were no announcements on the screens, but the word of
mouth seemed to be enough for people to go there every night and
then rave about it the following morning.
Come for dancing,
singing, and wonder!
the headline said and listed the main
attractions: the Nightingale, the Swan, and the Firebird. Somewhere
near the bottom, the aerialist team and the knife throwers were
mentioned.

Nicholas didn’t care for the circus even on a
good day, but an idea stirred in the back of his mind. He checked
the calendar. Tonight was the last show before the circus left town
and wouldn’t return for a year or so. What did he have to lose?

* * *

That evening, he went to a poker game for the
first time since coming to Warsaw and cleaned the table. The
winning hand allowed him to put something aside for the bad days
and buy a circus ticket from the black market—not only was it
surprisingly expensive, but the show was sold out. Go figure.

With more money in his pockets than he’d had
in months, he dropped his suitcase at the train station and chatted
with an employee about the train painted in vibrant colors, waiting
at the end of the railway track. When he got the information he
needed, he went to see the show.

All day long, he'd been convincing himself of
the necessity of it, even though the prospect filled him with
dread. Once he entered the arena, the lights, colors, and action
stirred something deep inside, calling to him. The beautiful
singing filled his head with thoughts of staying with the circus
forever. He shook his head.
This isn't right. I don't usually
like the circus.

That singer, The Nightingale, was dangerous,
whoever she was. The good news was they didn’t have a telecharger
as part of their crew. Nicholas stayed until the intermission to
make sure but felt no power shift. He recognized the couple from
the coffee shop as the ballerina and the tall aerialist. All of the
performers seemed to have prosthetics with various add-ons needed
in their line of work, still, that was all there was to it.

Satisfied with his assessment, Nicholas
slipped out of the yellow and blue striped tent before the show
ended and returned to the train station. He retrieved his suitcase
and dragged it across the railway tracks to the last car of the
circus train. The square panel on the door required him to place
his palm on it, and he did, although his handprint wasn’t going to
be recognized. However, the small surge of electricity he sent
scrambled the security system enough for the door to slide
open.

Nicholas tossed his suitcase inside and
climbed in. The light switched on automatically, revealing boxes,
lots of boxes, and not much else. It could have been worse. He
wasn’t sure how, as the temperature was only a few degrees warmer
than outside, but he supposed he could have walked into the
animals’ car. That would have been quite unfortunate. Shivering, he
put on the tailcoat, top hat, and gloves, sat on a box, and
waited.

Half an hour after the show ended, the circus
announcer, a heavy man with a green-tinged complexion and dark
patches spread over his skin huffed and puffed his way inside. “If
this is your way of catching a free ride—”

“I’m not catching a free ride,” Nicholas
said, standing up from his box, though he would have to settle for
that if his plan failed. The man had brought no reinforcements, and
that said something. He wondered what it meant.

“What do you want then?”

“A job. I’m your new magician.”

The man gave him an up and down look. “We
don’t need a magician. The audience these days is too clever for
cheap tricks.”

“Not like my tricks.” Nicholas pressed his
hand on an empty spot on the wall, and when he removed it, its
outline remained clearly burned in place.

“Don’t damage my property.”

Grinning, Nicholas ran his palm over the same
spot on the wall. The mark vanished.

“Hmm.” The circus announcer scratched his
chin. “If I’m not mistaken, this is taxing on the body. Are you
prepared to do it every night?”

“Sure. If you feed me well enough…”

“The food is not an issue … but can you dress
it up a little? We don’t want to scare our customers.”

Nicholas held up his hand, and blue flames
enveloped his fingers. An optical illusion, but still
impressive.

The large man wrinkled his nose and sniffed
the air, catching him in the lie. “I thought you were a
telecharger.”

“Let’s say I am that, too.”

“There are other ways to put your abilities
to good use. Why run away with the circus?”

“I’m tired of running and hiding,” Nicholas
said.

“We’re constantly on the move. The circus
rarely stays in one place longer than a week.”

“I need a place where I can rest and feel
safe … at least until the war ends. Can you guarantee that?”

“We protect our people.” The circus announcer
nodded. “But I do have some conditions. One. You have to get along
with the Nightingale.”

Nicholas shrugged. “I have no problem with
her as long as she doesn’t try to get into my head.”

“She doesn’t do that to the crew. Two. You
must always help protect the Nightingale. This circus is still
running because of her.”

“I can do that. I can also help prevent
accidents or…” Or whatever they needed as long as they kept their
demands reasonable.

“That would be nice. We’ve had some over the
years. The equipment is failing and … well…” The circus announcer
sighed, and his complexion became slightly greener. “Three. You
must never, at any cost, disclose the Nightingale’s identity.
This
is a deal breaker, and it will get you killed if you
slip.”

“I have yet to run into anyone able to make
me speak against my will. Beside the Nightingale, of course.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t want to reveal
the full extent of his power.

“Of course.” The circus announcer smirked.
“Any other skills I should know about?”

“Well, I used to be pretty good at
bookkeeping, but we don’t know each other well enough for you to
trust me with that.”