Carnival of Night

Beverley met Marie's gaze across the sand and the look of smug satisfaction was almost more than Marie could stand. She was considering whether she should drag the girl out herself when the four torches went out as though by a sudden gust of wind, and darkness stormed into the tent.

There were several sharp gasps of surprise and a general murmuring of discontent as the audience shuffled uncomfortably, unsure about what was happening. Time seemed to stretch out and Marie tightened her hand around her husband's. She realized that she was holding her breath and, annoyed at herself for falling for such a cheap trick, forced herself to relax.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen." The voice was soft, almost a whisper, and it seemed awfully close. It was almost as if the speaker was standing directly in front of her, hidden in the impenetrable dark. She resisted the temptation to reach out her hand. How horrible would it be, she thought, to feel the warm flesh of a human face?

"We are truly honored and grateful for your presence here tonight," the voice continued, and Marie could now identify Emile's mocking tone. "We have so many delights to show you, my friends, such wonders. We start, as all things must start, in darkness, in shadow. For in shadow, as in dreams, anything Is possible. How many times, my friends, have you closed your eyes to dream, to imagine, to desire?" Even the creaking of the benches had stopped now, and Marie could feel everyone around her listening to the voice. "How often have you filled the night with your own fevered wanderings, searching for dreams? Well, tonight, the dreams will come for you!"

On that final word, the soft whisper became a delirious shout and a crimson explosion lit up the room. In the center of that broad expanse of sand the Ringmaster stood, resplendent in his dark coat and scarlet hat. He had his arms stretched wide and an expression on his face belonged more to a church than a circus.

"Welcome my friends, to the Circus of Night!"

With that, the show began.

A flood of colour surged into the tent. What the performers lacked in numbers they made up for in chaotic activity. Around a dozen figures burst through an opening off to the side and swirled around the ringmaster who remained calm in the centre of the whirlpool. Two men, tall and athletic, juggled torches; Marie could feel the warmth of the flames on her face. Dancers in swirling brightly coloured robes pranced and jumped in incredible arcs. Marie forgot her scepticism and was impressed at how the performers were using the limited space.

As much as it would have pained her to admit it, she enjoyed the show. The dancers and jugglers impressed her by their sheer athleticism. Marie gasped more than once, along with everyone else, as the trapeze artists swooped high above them. Their leaps were so extraordinary that Marie suspected trickery, hidden ropes, possibly. How else could you explain how the young man was able to fly nearly twenty feet to grasp the arms of his partner as she swung upside down from her own trapeze. It was quite breath-taking.

As the show continued, Marie found her attention drifting away from the performers, acrobats, and jugglers, as she slowly became convinced that she was being watched. She found her gaze wandering to a small group of musicians who huddled together in a shaded corner next to the performance area. In particular, her interest was piqued by the tallest in the group, a broad hulk of a man who she had seen play numerous instruments throughout the show. He had long black hair, shot through with grey, his body roped with muscles that strained the linen fabric of his shirt. She had first noticed him playing a large circular drum hung from an iron frame. He had his back to her, and she had seen his broad shoulder muscles working as he pounded out the primal rhythm that accompanied the performance. She had also seen him play a fiddle, an old, battered instrument that seemed almost laughably small in his hands, and yet his fingers had been dexterous enough to maintain the frenetic jig over the acrobat's dance high above. Time and again she looked at him and never once met his gaze. And yet, when her attention was elsewhere, she could feel him studying her from the corner of her eye. She was sure if it.

As the show went on around her, she found herself listening more and more to the music. The sound of the violin had a sharp keening edge that seemed inappropriately melancholic when played over such a riot of colour. She closed her eyes as she listened and, for a moment, she felt as though she was sat alone in an empty wide space with not even the stars above her.

Next came the magic show, the two performers were introduced simply by their names: Victor and Illona. An unlikely couple took to the stage to the sound of an eerie lone violin. They were a study in contrast. Marie did not think they had been part of the initial parade; she would have remembered them. The man's face was the colour of a skull, long white hair framing his bleached face. The woman's skin was as dark as his was light, her long black hair and dark skin shone in the torchlight in a way that reminded Marie of a midnight lake. Their clothing too was a contrast: the man's outfit was a crazed patchwork of bright colours, possibly to make up for his unnaturally pale complexion. The woman wore a long white dress with a slit down the side that could only be called provocative. Marie caught a glimpse of a long leg, exposed almost to the hip, and lowered her gaze, blushing.

Her discomfort was not eased by the performance itself. She had seen performances of this type before and, usually, she knew, there was a magician and their assistant. No such distinction was made in this case as both figures took turns to perform tricks: doves were produced from scarfs, the woman appeared to levitate a full five inches from the floor and, in one particularly intense performance, the couple took turns plunging long thin swords into each other's bodies.

The music throughout was subdued; Marie glanced over to see her silent observer bowing slightly as, eyes closed, he drew out a long high note on his fiddle. The first time the woman stabbed the man through with her rapier there had been a violent reaction from the audience. Marie noticed some leaping to their feet. But the man's smile remained steady, even as Marie could see the tip of the blade glinting in the torchlight as it protruded from the space between his shoulder blades. A ripple of applause replaced the shocked gasps. With a flourish, the woman pulled the blade free. In response, the man took his own blade and plunged the tip of it through the body of his companion. Again, the reaction from the crowd, and again, the expressions on the performers did not change he still smiled; she did not. She took her own rapier, and again plunged it into the body of the man. They stood, arms outstretched, the point of their weapons clearly penetrating the body of the other. Then, as one, they took a step towards the other, the metal blades sinking in deeper. Another step, and Marie could see the glint of metal protruding from them. There were sighs of wonder from the audience as they saw the impossible. They turned slowly as one, allowing the audience to see the two feet of metal protruding from their backs. And then, to the rising swell of rapturous applause, the two figures inclined their heads and kissed. It was a soft kiss but there was heat to it, a lover's kiss. The applause faded away at the sight of it.

Marie stole a glance over at the musician and, for the first time, finally caught him in the act of studying her. He quickly lowered his gaze, turning his shoulder to her as he continued to play. For the first time since the show had started, she released her husband's hand.

With a dramatic sweep of their arms the blades were pulled free to the uncertain applause of the audience. It has all seemed a little too real to be pleasurable and Marie could not bring herself to join in. The whole display had made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

This feeling rose to alarm when it became clear that the two performers were now searching the crowd for a volunteer. They did this silently, they had not spoken since they appeared, but they beckoned members of the crowd and, for the first time, the woman gave a bewitching smile as she held out her hand to one audience member, then another. At each invitation there was a shake of the head, and a colouring of cheeks. Marie suddenly felt an almost overwhelming urge to stand up and volunteer herself. Thankfully, she was spared any embarrassment when the man passed close by without offering her his hand. His eyes did linger on hers as he passed; Marie held her breath until his attention had moved on. The relief, when he turned his back on her, was as powerful as it was tinged with disappointment. As he turned his back, she noticed a red smear shining on a yellow patch of his shirt, just where the blade had protruded. It was clearly another part of the illusion; to think anything else would be silly.

She stole another look over to the musician and did not look away until he raised his head, gazing directly at her. She still could not tell his age, but even from this distance, she could make out the cold silvery blue of his eyes shining from his dark face.

A round of applause tore her attention away from his gaze, back to the performance. She allowed herself a rueful smile when she saw Beverley rise from her seat to take the woman's outstretched hand. Of course, she thought, anything to be the centre of attention.

They each took one of her hands and walked with her into the centre of the ring. Both were smiling now. The pale man raised his hand, signalling for a round of applause. Beverley was beaming, her pretty face blushing as first the man, then the woman, brought the hand they were holding to their lips. Beverley's smile seemed to falter for a moment, and she looked uncertainly from side to side. The couple took their time over their kisses, their gaze fixed on the young woman held between them. Marie thought for a moment that she saw the dark woman's tongue briefly flicker over the back of Beverley's hand. Surely not, she thought. Even Beverley would have objected to something like that.

The music changed to a lively waltz, led by the tall violinist. The Man moved first, taking the entranced girl by the hand, pulling her close as he began to spin around the ring. His movements were swift, and it was clear that Beverley was struggling to keep up. His hand rested on her hips, far too low for Marie's comfort although the girl did not seem to mind. Marie caught flashes of Beverley's face as the couple turned, it was flushed with pleasure as her feet awkwardly kept time with the rhythm. Suddenly, he stopped, and Beverley seemed to spin out of his grasp, straight into the arms of the dark woman who continued the waltz with a flawless grace all of her own. If Beverley was unhappy with the change of partner, she did not show it. She wore the same besotted expression on her face as the two women span around the floor.

When the music finally stopped so did the dance. Beverley was clearly breathing hard as they came to a rest, although the older woman showed no signs of exertion. Still holding one of the girl's hands, the woman bent low, bringing Beverley's hand to her lips as she did so. At the same time the harlequin had seized Beverley's other hand and mirrored the gesture. Beverley blushed the same colour as her skirt, but Marie noticed that she did not snatch her hand away. Marie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. There had been an edge to this performance, one she had not expected. She knew Beverley would usually have craved the attention of all in the tent and yet, at that moment, as she saw the girl look from one dancer to the other, she suspected the audience could leave without the girl even noticing. The performers took far too long with their kisses, seeming to savour the taste of the young woman's skin. This is indecent, Marie thought. Why am i not protesting? Why isn't she?

When the performers finally straightened up, Marie saw that there was now a loop of scarlet rope wrapped around both of Beverley's wrists, with the performers holding the ends. The performers stood back, pulling their ends of the rope with them. Beverley stood between them; arms stretched out to the side. There was a heavy stillness in the air, a hanging sense of anticipation. Somebody should say something, Marie thought, now, before it's too late.

A sudden explosion of light and sound tore through the silence; a column of smoke erupted at Beverley's feet, engulfing her. When it cleared, the girl was nowhere to be seen and the two magicians were left holding opposite ends of a single unbroken length of rope.

There were gasps of surprise and a nervous pattering of applause. That was impressive, Marie conceded, I wonder how they are going to bring her back. As if in answer to her thought, the two performers bowed low to the crowd, wide smiles on their faces, and quickly left the ring. Surely, that can't be the end, Marie thought. Surely there's more?

A tall, powerful female figure stalked confidently into the centre of the ring. A hushed murmur settled over the crowd as each spectator took in the new arrival. She was, Marie had to admit, breath-taking. The woman's lithe muscular body was covered by a tight-fitting body suit made of a material Marie could not identify. It left nothing to the imagination. It was patterned with swirls of dark brown and deep black and seemed to cover every inch of her body, including her head. She appeared bald and her eyes shone yellow in the torchlight. Power radiated from her, power, and strength. Her feline appearance was enhanced when she threw herself to the ground and began to crawl catlike around the ring. Marie was reminded of the Panther, encaged but majestic, she had seen earlier in the day. A man strode into the ring. He was large, heavily muscled, and trailed a long black whip behind him. Marie recognised the circus strongman from earlier.

The two circled each other, the woman crawling warily, keeping as much distance as she could from the man and his whip. Marie was horrified to realise, when the woman crawled closer to where she was sitting, that what she had taken for tight clothing was in fact painted skin. This woman was entirely naked! What kind of show was this? The whip made an explosive crack as the strongman flicked it at the crawling woman. She leapt to one side, hissing as she did so, exposing teeth that seemed unnaturally white. Another crack, this one coming so close Marie felt the air move around her.

The woman rolled to one side, dodging the strike. She suddenly pounced, closing in on the man who, taken by surprise, backed away. His huge arm flexed again but, this time, the woman reached up a hand and plucked the end of the whip out of the air before it hit her. She held firm, a savage grin on her face, twisting the rope around her wrist. The man tried to pull the whip back, but she refused to let go, her naked body sliding across the floor of the ring as she was dragged closer. She spun, a dizzying cartwheel, her long powerful legs describing an arc in the air. When she landed, she pulled the whip cleanly out the larger man's hand.

The table's turned, it was now the man's turn to keep his distance. Marie knew this was part of the act, had to be part of the act, and yet the strongman seemed genuinely wary, even afraid. The woman was triumphant now, smiling as she cracked the whip once, twice, at the retreating figure. Both hits landed and rents appeared in the man's linen shirt, exposing his chest. A third crack of the whip opened up a tear in his trousers, revealing a length of his thigh. The man looked as though he was about to make a run for it but, as he turned, the whip barked out again, this time fastening around his ankle. The woman pulled and, losing his balance, the man fell heavily onto his front. He turned on his back, his arm outstretched as if pleading.

She allowed him to get to his feet, pacing around him like a predator circling prey. He removed the tattered remnants of his shirt; his muscled skin seemed alive in the flickering light of the tent. As powerful as she was, his size dwarfed hers, and yet there was no mistaking who held the upper hand now.

Another flick of the wrist and this time the whipcord fastened itself around the man's waist and he was pulled helplessly towards the woman. Dropping the whip to the floor she leapt on him, a jump of over six feet, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. After a struggle he threw her heavily to the floor. She lay there on her back, her breasts heaving, her eyes wild. He took a step towards the whip but, before he could reach it, she wrapped herself around his leg, Marie watched, disbelieving, as the woman opened her mouth wide and bit into his exposed thigh. The man cried out in pain before tumbling to the floor. This can't be happening, Marie thought, this isn't real.

Crawling onto the strongman, holding him down with one hand, the cat woman tore at his trousers, tearing them with hands that seemed like claws, exposing him to the watching crowd. He was very large, Marie noticed, and clearly erect. Why doesn't anyone stop this? Marie thought. Why doesn't anybody leave? And then, as the cat-woman straddled the prone man, lowering her lithe body onto him, she thought: why am I not leaving?

But she watched, along with everyone else, all the good decent men and women of the village, as the cat-woman writhed on top of the naked man. She watched as the man stopped his pretence of resisting, his large hands clutching at the woman's firm breasts as she rode him, head thrown back, moaning with pleasure. Her cries of ecstasy mixed with those of the man as both reached their own mutual conclusion before the torches went out and darkness again took possession of the tent.

Now we'll leave, she thought. Now it will end. But even as she thought this, she knew that it wasn't true. She knew the night was just beginning and she could barely breathe with the emotions surging through her body.

When light returned, the ring was empty. A heavy scent of sweat and sex hung in the air. A drumbeat began, loud and pounding. Marie looked over and saw there was only one musician there now, a dark-haired woman. The man she had been noticing throughout the evening was gone.

A stream of performers poured into the ring from the side entrance. Marie recognised some of them but not all. The She-Panther was there, still brazen in her painted nudity, along with the strongman. The acrobats, jugglers and dancers all moved and pulsed in time to the rhythm of the drum. Separating, each performer went into the crowd and began inviting people to join them in the centre. Marie saw, to her dismay, that no one refused. The she-Panther made her way directly towards her. Marie held her breath, fear rising, before she realised that she was not the woman's intended quarry. Her husband accepted the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled from his seat to join the crowd in the centre. He never looked back at Marie. Not even once.

Marie let out a cry as a firm hand grasped her shoulder. She turned to see the ringmaster stood next to her, his usual smile nowhere to be seen.

"Please," he said, "if you will come with me?"

Her mind couldn't grasp what was being asked of her.

"I'm sorry?" She said.

"Please," he said, "if you would." She allowed herself to be taken by the hand and gently pulled from her chair. Her first thought was that he was asking her to join the rest of the villagers in the centre of the tent. When, instead, he led her down the aisle towards the exit, she became alarmed.