The day seemed
to pass slowly for Ellis as he lay, bound but no longer gagged, in the corner
of the caravan, watched over by the baleful Grimblegaw, awaiting his fate. He tried to think what the Former Baron and
Gulliver would be doing. Surely they
would have noticed that he had not returned and would be looking for him. Perhaps they'll have followed his trail out
into the streets, will have interviewed vendors and dancers who saw the
strange-looking youth wind his way through the crowds and into the
alleyway. They'll have found the crates
knocked over where he was attacked, maybe seen the paw prints in the dust of
the street and from there they could track Kerring and Grimblegaw as they
dragged his unconscious body to... wherever these caravans had started out
from.
It was long
shot. The story he concocted in his
mind was based on a great many assumptions. The assumption that Kerring and Grimblegaw would even have left
tracks, that the owner of the crates had not cleared them up already, that
people in that vast crowd would actually have noticed him and that they were
still around to be questioned about it.
Most of all it assumed that the Former Baron and Gulliver would even
have noticed his absence. It wasn't
like he had been making a big impression the last two months, and their
concentration had tended to be elsewhere.
But they'll
have noticed I've gone, he thought, so desperately that it was almost a prayer,
they must have noticed that I've gone!
The caravan
had two very small windows, draped with gaudy curtains, one on each side, near
the roof. They gave just enough light
to see by and through the slow pasage of the sun around the interior, Ellis was
able to watch the day progress. For a
while, in the late afternoon, Grimblegaw lay in a pool of liquid gold shed from
above, rolling around so that his considerable belly could get the most of the
warmth, but even amidst such decadence and luxury the cat had one slitted eye
propped open, fixed on Ellis.
Not that he
could do anything anyway. He had tested
his bonds more times than he could remember, but it was no use, they were as
tight as they could be without cutting off his circulation and any effort to
wriggle free was met with stubborn resistance. He did not think he had loosened
them by so much as a millimetre.
He slept for a
while, but shallow, plagued by bad dreams.
When he awoke it seemed the sun had barely moved at all. Grimblegaw seemed to stare at him, his
fierce eyes mocking.
Outside, Ellis
could occasionally hear the sounds of hammers and shouts as the various parts
of the circus were built. He wondered
what it all looked like. He could
barely remember his one trip to the circus in Larksborough. He had been small enough to find the clowns
terrifying and despite whatever else had been on display, that was pretty much
all he had taken away from it. Shadowy
memories of colours and sounds and sinister painted smiles. He didn't relish the thought of being part
of such a performance.
Eventually the
light outside dimmed and turned to that slightly sickly amber-jade which Ellis
had grown used to, heralding the arrival of evening. The noises outside seemed to only grow louder as the final
preparations were made for the big night and Ellis found that he was growing
increasingly anxious. He had no idea to
expect, but the thought of being on display before so many people, with nothing
he could do about it, was deeply unsettling.
As the sun
passed low enough to dip behind some buildings or perhaps a distant cloud, and
so no longer mark its trail across the colourful walls of the caravan, the door
opened and a tall, muscular figure entered the gloom. The figure was only visible as an intimidating silhouetted before
they closed the door, but there was something odd about the shape they cut
against the dying light.
With the door
closed and Ellis' eyes adjusting once more to the darkness, he was unable to
see this newcomer, but only felt the air move as they passed and the odd scent
of sweat and spices and possibly even flowers which seemed to cling to
them. There was the sound of fumbling
fingers, a spark from a tinder-box and then the caravan was lit up by the warm
glow of a small oil lantern hanging on one of the walls. Standing beside it was the person who had
lit it, every bit as tall and imposing as their silhouette had suggested, but,
to Ellis surprise, altogether feminine.
The woman wore a revealing outfit made of a mix of practical leathers
and soft, translucent fabrics that managed to accentuate her lean musculature
and her curves. To look at her was to
blush, Ellis discovered.
"So,"
she said, "the new attraction. Not
much to look at, are you?"
Her voice was
thickly accented and it took Ellis a moment to understand her, during which
time it seemed she was trying to get the measure of him.
"Stand
up," she commanded suddenly, the order almost barked. He obeyed as best he could, trying not to
overbalance where the rope tied his ankles together.
"Turn
around!"
Again he did
his best to oblige, but felt awkward, ashamed even as she eyed his rotating
form.
"Enough!"
He stopped
were he stood, wobbling a little and the woman took a step closer, drawing a
knife from a thick belt at her waist. A
quick glance down as she approached made Ellis acutely aware that there were
many more knives down there, slotted in amongst a surprising number of pouches
and buckled pockets. Whoever this woman
was, she was certainly well-equipped.
He tensed as
she raised the knife to his throat, carefully caressing his skin with the edge
of the blade, looking over him from behind like some kind of exotic barber.
"This is
some kind of joke," she said, switching the blade from one hand to the
other without letting the blade lose contact with Ellis' quivering Adam’s
apple. "Valter is punishing
me. Why else would he tell me to look
after a specimen like... like this?"
She pulled the
blade away and gave Ellis a shove so that he overbalanced and landed in a heap
on the caravan floor. He was sure the
arm he had landed on would bruise badly, but nevertheless he was relieved to be
able to swallow without the threat of a severed jugular vein.
"Well,"
the harsh woman demanded, staring down at him, "what do you have to say
for yourself? Are you mute?"
"No,
I...", and then Ellis realised that though he could speak, he had
absolutely no idea what he could say to this woman, nothing at all.
"Just
stupid, then," she responded with disgust, "perfect!"
He looked up
at her from his tangle on the floor. He
didn't think he had ever felt so vulnerable as in that moment, with that woman
gazing down at him like some sort of insect, twisting the grip of her knife
between her hands.
"Who are
you?" he managed, trying to regain control of the situation, or himself.
"I am Nadiyya," she
replied with disdain, "Kerring hired me to look after his animals. Until a week ago I had the honour of being
sole tamer for Scythe, our Winged-Reaper, but Scythe died of some Searingsands
gutter disease and Kerring blames me.
Thus, he gives me you and you are certainly no mighty beast.
“Yes,” she continued, starting
to pace, flipping the knife from one hand to the other, “Kerring tells me that
you are to be the star attraction, that you are ‘The Boy From The Other World’
and that the Khan himself longs to see you, but he knows as well as I that you
are just a boy, just a boy and this job, this is no more than glorified
babysitting. He shames me!” And
suddenly the knife was out of her hand and vibrating with a loud twang in the
wooden wall of the caravan. Ellis
looked up at it and gulped.
“I can see how that might be…
upsetting,” he managed.
“Ach,” she wiggled the knife
until it came free, “enough of this. I
am to take you to your cage.”
She bent down, grabbed him by
one arm and hauled him upright.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
Ellis shuffled forward as
efficiently as the rope would let him.
He felt ridiculous and eyed Nadiyya with a mix of shame and horror.
“No good,” she said, then
dropped to her knees and began working at the knot with her knife. No sooner did the strands fall to the floor,
however, than she was up on her feet again and had Ellis’ arm in an iron grip.
“Come on,” she commanded and
then began to pull him towards the door.
He really had no choice but to obey and, truth be told, he wanted to get
out of that caravan quite badly. Behind
them, Grimblegaw opened one lazy eye, let out a sinister mew and then went back
to sleep.
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