“Well, I’ll think on it,” he said, knitting his furry brow.
I took a deep breath. That would have to do for now.
The afternoon was quiet and hot. Most everyone napped under the wagons, except Billy Sweet, who headed for the woods with a whiskey bottle. Earle, stuck inside the tent built around him, fanned himself lethargically with a copy of the Police Gazette in between reading the scandals. Dr. Mink hid in his wagon as usual. Who knew what occupied him there? He wasn’t one to share his secrets.
After I checked to see if the horses were hobbled comfortably, I too rolled under my wagon, taking a straw hat with me to fend off the flies.
Screams roused me from a sticky stupor. I scrambled from my nest and joined Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger, who were headed for the ruckus.
19
BESS, BESS, BESS!” MINNIE screamed, banging her heels on the ground beside the children’s wagon and flinging her arms this way and that. She beat aside Apollo’s hands as he tried to calm her. Tears streamed down her face.
The other children stood around her, helpless.
“She won’t stop,” said Apollo, his face distraught.
“What’s the ruckus?” called Earle from inside the tent.
“Minnie’s having a tantrum,” answered Miss Lightfoot over Minnie’s cries. “She’s got a hankering for Bess, and Bess isn’t here.”
It was late afternoon. “Bess not back?” I asked Mr. Bopp.
“Nah,” he replied. “She likes her times alone.”
Ceecee crawled from the back of a nearby wagon, his face pinched. “Shut that ugly urchin up!” he demanded. “I’m trying to sleep.” He wiped an arm across his mouth. His turban was gone and his hair hung in oily, uneven locks. Mud-covered boots stuck out from beneath his wrapper.
“The water’s full of angry!” screamed Minnie. Then she saw Ceecee. “Him, him, him!” she cried.
Ceecee stalked over, rage in his eyes. He leaned over the child, his fist raised.
“Hey,” Apollo protested, and tried to grab Ceecee’s arm.
I ran and swept Minnie off the ground.
Ceecee changed his aim. Apollo yelped and was knocked to the ground.
I thrust Minnie into Miss Lightfoot’s embrace and rounded on Ceecee, ready to strike, fear clawing my throat.
Ceecee pulled out his razor and flicked it open.
“Abel, stop!” cried Mr. Ginger.
I froze.
Everyone around me stared at Ceecee as if he were Medusa and had turned them to stone. Even Minnie was silent.
Ceecee yanked Apollo to his feet by his hair. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror, his hands curved into rigid claws as if he were clutching at far-flung safety.
I had to do something. Apollo was about to be scalped. Or worse. Just then Al Bonfiglio came out of the woods with his shotgun over his meaty shoulder. He took in the scene with a glance and immediately lowered the gun at Ceecee. “Let the boy go, you pervert.” I relaxed. I could see the pleasure in his eyes at the thought of shooting Ceecee.
Ceecee spat out a curse. He slashed at Apollo, and I choked on a cry. The blade sliced through Apollo’s locks, and the boy fell back to the ground. Ceecee kicked the lad once and retreated, a clump of hair in his fist.
“I give shaves, too, Bonfiglio,” he snarled over his shoulder. “Nice close shaves.”
Bonfiglio sneered, shouldered his weapon again, and walked off with no mind to Apollo whatsoever.
I rushed to the dog boy. He moaned, clutching his side where Ceecee had kicked him.
“Ceecee killed him, too!” shrieked Minnie. What terrible things she must have seen. Miss Lightfoot hushed and rocked her.
“It’s okay now,” I reassured Apollo. “Ceecee’s gone.” Inside I fumed.
Bertha took one of Apollo’s hands, and Willie patted the dog boy’s shoulder. Moses helped me pull Apollo to his feet and dust him down. Apollo shrugged us all off and ran to the safety of the children’s wagon, shutting himself in, but not before I saw the tears in his eyes.
I was surprised that Dr. Mink hadn’t emerged with all the noise, but hours later, as dusk fell, he walked in from the road to town swinging his death’s-head stick, and I realized he hadn’t been home at all. I wondered if I should tell Mink what Ceecee had done, but would he even care?
Apollo eventually emerged from the wagon, but he was silent and sullen for the rest of the day. He had run away from a father who beat him, and now he was beaten anyway. I guessed he was angry and probably frightened, too. The children were quiet and careful about him. Perhaps they believed he’d be mean to them in turn. I figured I’d better keep a closer eye on them this day if Apollo was too upset to do it himself.
“How about a story?” I offered when I rounded them up for the night and shooed them toward the caravan. I had always liked a story at bedtime when I was a child. “Come on, Apollo. You curl up too.”
A prairie wind had arisen. It cooled the air and swept the nearby trees into a rustling orchestra. Apollo obediently joined the children inside and snuggled silently into his top bunk. When I settled onto the floor, Minnie climbed into my lap with her doll. “What sort of story would you like?” I asked them.
“A ghost story,” said Moses with relish, and all except Apollo clamored agreement.
I would have thought they would want a more comforting tale, but since it was their request, “You know that last railroad crossing we passed?” I said, remembering a story I’d heard on the circus train.
The children nodded. They were all my willing accomplices in the telling of the tale.
“Well, fifteen years ago there occurred a terrible accident at that place.” No one asked how I would know. “A circus train was coming down the tracks. The night was dark and an early frost iced the rails. A farmer was riding home late from market, and his wagon wheel became stuck in a rut between the tracks. The engineer tried to stop, but the engine couldn’t grip the rails. The impact made the tender leap the tracks, and the rest of the train followed in an accordion of doom.”
Most of the children stared at me wide-eyed, but Minnie had a skeptical little smile on her face.
“The train went up in flames,” I said. “People and animals died in agony. But the elephants were heroes.”
Apollo leaned over the side of his bunk. “Rosie would be a hero,” he said, referring to his favorite circus elephant and partner in crime.
My heart lightened at this sign of interest. I told how the elephants had pulled away burning wreckage to free the trapped performers. “Even after their keeper was crushed by an iron wheel, they knew their duty and carried on. They worked all night and one after another succumbed to poisonous smoke and terrible burns. In the morning the heroic pachyderms had saved many who would have perished, but most of the elephants lay dead by the side of the tracks.”
“Ahhhhhh,” sighed Bertha.
“All except the biggest, smartest female elephant,” I added hastily for Apollo’s sake.
“What happened then?” asked Moses.
“The circus folk had to bury the elephants right there, they were too big to move.” I thought of the giant. “Perhaps you saw the mound we drove by.”
Willie nodded, although there had been no such thing.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a hush. “Now, they say, on lonely nights, when the prairie winds blow, you can hear ghostly elephants trumpet in the distance.”
There was silence inside, but outside the wind hissed, and I swear I almost heard elephants myself, even though I’d made most of the story up.
“Do you think the giant will make ghostly noises?” asked Willie.
“Probably puking sounds,” said Moses.
“Moses!” Bertha chastised.
But the frog boy wouldn’t be quelled. “I expect when Earle dies, we’ll hear ghostly farts.”
There went the mood entirely. Even Apollo cracked a smile. Bertha took the chance to comfort him. “You know, your fur will grow back,” she
told him.
Apollo’s smile faded. “I hate him,” he snarled. It pained my heart to see him so angry.
“We all do,” Bertha said, and held out her stumpy right arm to show the dotted scars. “He burns me, all the time, just to laugh at the way I jump.” I swallowed a groan. I had made myself believe they were bug bites like she’d told me. Nobody had to ask who Bertha meant by “he.”
“That’s horrible,” said Apollo, distracted from his own plight.
“He knocks me around something fierce, but he can’t hurt me,” said Moses. “I’m gonna smack him the next time he hits me.” He threw punches at the air.
I knew how he felt. I wanted to punch Ceecee too. Willie stared at the ceiling. His voice was small. “He twisted my arm and made me lick his boots. I cried.”
“Not me!” snapped Moses. “I don’t cry.” He pushed by me and out the door.
“Don’t pay him no mind,” said Bertha. “He gets like that.”
My heart went out to Moses and all the children. There was so little kindness in their lives. I was more determined than ever to get them all to safety. “Let him have a few moments,” I said when Apollo moved to fetch Moses back. “I’ll check on him soon.”
“That’s the way of the world, though,” said Bertha. “You gotta put up with the grown-ups if you want to eat.”
How tired and ancient she sounded with her jaded wisdom. “No, it’s not, Bertha,” I said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t have to be.”
She shook her head as if I were a fool.
“What about you, Minnie?” I asked, and cuddled her close. “Does Ceecee hurt you?” I swore if she said yes, I would drag him out of wherever he lurked and beat him myself, even if he cut me with a razor.
“No,” Minnie said, and her head wobbled with the effort of talking.
“He’s afraid of her,” said Bertha. “One day she said to him, bold as brass, ‘You’re dead in a barn, soon.’ You should’ve seen the colors he turned.”
I snorted with laughter, taken by surprise. “Good for you, Minnie,” I whispered, but the weight of the little girl against me, and her even breathing, told me she was asleep. “I’ll go see if Moses is all right,” I said, and laid Minnie on a bottom bunk.
Before I found Moses, however, I was intercepted by Gunther Bopp.
“You seen Bess?” he asked.
“Not since this afternoon,” I answered.
“I’m worryin’,” he said.
“What have you to worry about, Worm Man?” Dr. Mink walked out of the shadows.
“Bess hasn’t come back from her bath,” I said, starting to worry myself. That was hours ago.
“Run off and left you, has she?” Mink said to Mr. Bopp.
Mr. Bopp trembled, on the brink of violence. “She ain’t.”
Mink smiled smugly. “Sure she has. Gone off to join that sister of hers without you.”
“She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t go without me.”
“You want me to go and look?” I offered. “I was looking for Moses anyway.”
Mr. Bopp considered this. “Naw,” he said. “She’s a brawny lass. She can take care of herself, and she does like to get off on her own sometimes when the world gets her down. She’d smack us in the head fer our trouble.”
He was almost certainly right, but I liked the forthright woman, and her absence now troubled me. “In the morning, then?” I offered.
“If she’s not back, which she will be,” he said as he crawled away.
“Aren’t you at all worried that one of your acts is missing?” I asked Mink.
He gave me his death’s-head grin. “Like Bopp said, she’s a brawny lass. And if you’re so all-fired keen on being nursemaid, why are you letting the kids run wild?” Mink accused. “I just sent that frog boy back to the wagon where he belongs.”
Well, there’s one less worry, at least, I thought.
Mink sneered with pleasure, like he’d caught me out. “Go help Bonfiglio set up the mummy and the babies, and we can have an earlier start in the morning. You’ll sleep in the exhibit tent tonight,” Mink told me. “Yiss. So the local rats don’t creep in.”
After Bonfiglio had left me in the tent for the night, I looked around at the exhibits. My nighttime companions aren’t exactly the stuff of my dreams, I thought wryly. Poor Mr. Bopp. The girl of his dreams was absent too. I wondered if Bess would be back before morning. Gunther Bopp was more sentimental than he let on, I decided as I laid my blanket on the floor. I wondered how much Bess did for him. Did he need her or miss her or both? I’d like to have someone to need and miss, I thought, and as if in answer, the ghost of a feeling came over me, and I longed for someone I could almost name. The mood fled, but it left my knees weak, and I sat on the crate next to the coffin.
“Well, here we are again,” I said to the mummy. “You’re still stretched out there, and I’m still fainting like a girl.”
“Of course, anyone would faint with what goes on here,” I added after a pause. “The giant died, you know, and the bearded lady’s missing, but there’s worse. The children are burned and beaten, and they accept that as part of their lot in life. I’m sickened to think they can be hurt and believe they deserve nothing better.”
What a relief to talk, even to someone who couldn’t talk back.
“I had a good home, you know, except I wanted some adven-ture and freedom. Only look at me now. I feel responsible all the same. Responsible for Apollo, who followed me and ended up among ruffians, and responsible for those children because no one else will be.”
A sigh bubbled up from within me. I missed home—my uncle’s lessons, Archie Crum’s rude jokes, and the warm support of everyone around me. My hand went to my neck and the ring Violet Giovanni had given me.
How shameful. I had hidden a gift given in affection more likely because I was embarrassed by it than because I worried it might be stolen, yet how would this ring make me stand out more than the exotic creatures around me? All those fancies about the ring making people say and do odd things were just that—fancies, excuses to hide it away. It seemed to me there was a lot less affection out in the world than at home, and gifts of love should not be taken lightly. I slipped the chain over my head and undid the catch to allow the ring to slide down the links and tumble into my palm. The ornate gold band fit per-fectly on the ring finger of my right hand.
What had seemed bulky when hung from my neck took up a new elegance on my finger. Were those pincers or mere orna-mental fancy that sprang from the scarab beetle’s shoulders and met above its head? I was neither entomologist nor archaeolo-gist to say. The ring appeared exotic and mysterious and quite beautiful. How kind of Violet to have given it to me.
“Did you wear jewels like this?” I asked the mummy. I laid my hand on her chest so I might imagine the ring as an ornament at her throat. “I would love to look across time and see you as you were.”
The mummy opened her eyes.
20
I SAW, WITH HORROR, MY HAND AT her breast, but no amount of willpower could make me move it. I was frozen. A chill licked my fingers and crackled up my arm to the vault of my chest, where it grabbed my heart in a viselike grip.
The mummy’s dry lips parted, and air sucked past me to fill a void within her; then she exhaled in a rattle, as if she were filled with pebbles and crushed paper. She spoke in a voice like dry autumn leaves and smoke.
“I have waited forever for you.”
I snatched my hand back and stood.
“Don’t go!” Her voice broke with so much loneliness and fear that I sat again.
“Who are you?” I whispered, aghast.
The only sound was her labored breathing. Lungs, unprac-ticed for centuries, would find it hard to do their work once more, I supposed. Except she couldn’t be a real mummy. I had heard of ossified men. Did she have an illness like that, which had hardened her to leather and bone?
She coughed, and dark spittle frothed on her lips. She struggled weakly, but her arms we
re bound. I pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her mouth. The cloth came away stained. Her ailment must affect her lungs.
“You are always kind, Ankhtifi,” she whispered.
That name! I had heard it before. Fear tightened its hold once more. “Who are you?” I asked again.
This time she answered, in a voice thin and strained. “Know me not? I have talked to you in that world between waking and dream. I have danced for you.”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head. This couldn’t be the beauti-ful dancer, Lady Adventure. Not this. It was a cruel joke.
“I am Tauseret, Servant Priestess and dancer in the khener of Hathor; daughter of Tetien, scribe of the court at Avaris, and Nenufer, mistress of his house; reluctant wife of Sethnakhte, high priest of Set; lover of Ankhtifi; cursed by Set, blessed by Hathor, saved by Isis.” She paused, then, “I am not a princess,” she said. Her last words were weak, but her green-flecked brown eyes were luminous with the laughter within.
She fell to gasping again, no doubt exhausted by this recita-tion.
“I think you are a clever girl,” I said. “You may even have some mind-reading powers, since you are trapped in an infirm body.” Hadn’t I dreamed of the dancer as I sat beside her only the other day? “But an ancient Egyptian? I doubt it. Mink has taught you well,” I said. I wondered what plans he had for her.
She waited so long to speak that I thought I had imagined that she had said anything at all, but at last she answered. “The bone man has taught me nothing.” Was that a sneer on her lips? “My home is Kemet—land of the rich, black mud of the Nile. They are fishing there, cats hunt, children play, and I cannot return.”
She had a guttural accent I couldn’t place, and she tripped over words, her vowels wrong and her rhythm off; but she could be from anywhere foreign. “And how did an ancient Egyptian lady come to speak English?”
She continued in the same hushed voice, oddly halting and fluid in turns. “I stood for many years in the study of a scholar in one of your cities. My mouth was sealed, yet by the mercy of the great Isis I needed no eyes to see, my ears could hear beyond walls. I listened to his words with visitors, his commands to ser-vants, and the disputes with his wife. He spoke with scribes and priests. They pointed to the writing of my people and said their own words. This unlocked the mystery.”