Lily

  Everyman snorted as he put on a fresh shirt. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Lily had no good answer for this. “Can she?”

  Everyman buttoned his waistcoat. “Do you know that once upon a time, they tested whether or not a woman was a witch by tying her hands and feet and throwing her into water used for baptisms? If she floated, it was because she was touched by the Devil and the holy water was rejecting her. If she sank, she was innocent.”

  “If she sank, wouldn’t she drown?” Lily asked.

  The Reverend stepped out from behind the trunk and sat down on a chair. He tugged a sock over one of his feet. “I imagine they pulled her out before that happened.”

  He still had not answered her question, and so she said, “Have you tried putting the witch’s daughter in the tank?”

  Everyman, tying his shoe, paused for a moment and looked at Lily. “Why are you so interested in the girl?”

  Lily felt her cheeks become warm. “I just wondered if she could be saved.”

  “Is that all?” the Reverend said, putting on his other sock and shoe.

  “I saw her being marked,” Lily admitted. She feared saying so would result in trouble, but her curiosity outweighed her worry. “By a man with a machine.”

  “Ah,” said Everyman. “I see. And you want to know why.”

  “Yes,” Lily said. “You said that the marks were made by a devil.”

  “Did I? I believe I said that the marks were made because her mother consorted with the Devil. Or am I mistaken?”

  Lily had several times heard the story about the witch’s daughter and her mother. Now she tried to remember exactly what Everyman had said. “I don’t recall for certain,” she admitted.

  The preacher put his hands on his knees. “Sometimes, Lily, people need assistance in understanding their sinful natures. Sometimes, even when given chance after chance to accept God’s forgiveness, they refuse because the Devil’s hold on them is so great.”

  “Greater than God?” Lily asked.

  Everyman shook his head. “Nothing is greater than God,” he told her. “But sometimes God requires us to learn things the hard way, so that we don’t forget what he’s trying to teach us. Take yourself, for instance.”

  “Me?” said Lily.

  The Reverend nodded. “Have you thought that perhaps what’s happened to you is because your father took your mother away from him?”

  Lily hesitated in replying.

  “Yes, your mother has told me about the godless place he came from, and that he took her there against her will.”

  At first, Lily thought that he must be lying. Her mother had told her never to speak of the village to anyone. But how else would he know about it if she hadn’t told him herself?

  “Have you thought that perhaps what happened to your father, and to you, is because he took your mother there?” the Reverend continued. “And that his death was necessary to bring you here?”

  “How would God even know about me?” Lily asked.

  Everyman stood. He put a tie around his neck and knotted it. “God knows everything,” he said. “All our secrets. All your father’s secrets. All your secrets. Do you think just because the people of your village don’t worship him that he doesn’t see them? Do you think they can hide from him? Of course they can’t. God sees them. And he saw you, and knew that you had to be saved. And so he arranged for it to happen.”

  “My father loved my mother,” Lily said. “And he loved me.”

  “He may have thought he did,” said the Reverend. “But he tried to hide you from God, didn’t he?”

  “Perhaps he never even knew about God,” said Lily.

  Everyman finished arranging his tie. “Your mother tried to tell him,” he said. “But he wouldn’t listen. That’s why God had to make other arrangements.”

  Lily didn’t want to hear any more. What the preacher was saying about her father was not true.

  “I know it must be difficult to accept.” Everyman came toward her, started to put his hand on her shoulder, then pulled it away. “But it’s true. And you should thank God for it, because now you have hope. God and your mother, who loved you enough to deliver you out of that place. Don’t you agree?”

  Lily said nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to agree that her father had died because he’d sinned against God. Her father had loved her more than anything. It was the one thing in life of which she was absolutely certain.

  “Think how lucky you are,” Everyman said. “You could be like the daughter of the witch.”

  Lily looked into his face. Something about his words felt not like a comfort, but a threat.

  “Do you want to be like her?” the Reverend asked. He was no longer smiling.

  “No,” Lily said.

  The smile returned. “I didn’t think you did,” said the preacher. “Now don’t worry about the girl. She’s not your concern. Just be happy that the Lord used you tonight. It means you’re making progress towards your own salvation.”

  Lily’s heart lightened at this news. But only a little. The preacher’s words against her father were still bitter on her tongue. And she would not forget about the witch’s daughter. There was more there to understand. But it would have to wait.

  “I have business to attend to now,” Everyman told her. “And it’s time you were in bed. We leave in a few hours.”

  “All right.” Lily left the tent with the preacher. Outside, the air was filled with the sounds of the workmen taking down the rides and loading the trucks. Everyman waved goodbye to Lily as she turned down the road that led to the wagons. She waved back, and walked a little way, until she was certain that he was gone.

  Then she turned and went about her real business.

  T W E N T Y - T W O

  BABA YAGA PLUCKED a crown from the basket and placed it on her head. It fit rather too snugly around her forehead, so she pushed it up until it was perched precariously atop her hair at a jaunty angle. She’d always wanted a crown, and this one was as good as any. Better, really, because if she lost a paper crown, she could just make another one. If it were gold, she would always be worrying about misplacing it, or it being carried off by gnomes.

  She climbed the stairs and stood on the edge of the baptism tank, which had yet to be drained. She had not had a bath in who knew how long, and was distrustful of water in general. It was a tricksy thing, too inclined to whimsy for her liking. Also, it was wet.

  However, she was intrigued by the notion of baptism. She had overheard the preacher’s remarks to the girl about the testing of witches, and had to agree that the principle was sound enough. Now she intended to apply her own rigorous methods to the theory.

  She began by dipping her big toe into the tank. When nothing too awful resulted from this initial exploration, she elected to be daring, and leaped into the air with one not-precisely-graceful bend and thrust of the legs. More accurately, she tumbled into the tank in a whirl of arms and legs.

  At first, she sank to the bottom. But this was mostly because the water, taken by surprise, was unsure what to do with her. It quickly collected itself, however, and a moment later she was bobbing on the surface. Her crown had slipped off her head and was floating limply beside her.

  Well, she thought. That answers that question.

  Floating was not an altogether unpleasant sensation, however, and so she remained there for a little while, wondering if this was what it felt like to be a mermaid. She imagined luring a sailor into the depth with a song. She tried to think of one.

  “In Wellington town at the sign of the plough

  There lived a molecatcher, shall I tell you how?

  Singing to rel i day fol di lie laddie lie laddie di day”

  Her voice creaked and groaned. She practiced batting her eyes and winking coyly.

  “He’d go a molecatching from morning to night

  And a young fellow came for to play with his wife

  Singing to rel i day fol di lie laddie lie laddie
di day

  “Something, something, oh, bother. I can’t remember. Anyway, here’s the good bit.

  “And while the young fellow was up to his frolics

  The molecatcher caught him right fast by his bollocks

  Singing to rel i day fol di lie laddie lie laddie di day.”

  She decided she wasn’t really interested in sailors. And she’d had enough of being damp. Somehow, through a combination of flailing and cursing, she managed to get herself to the side of the tank. Dragging herself up the stairs, she stood at the top for a while as the water fled from her. When she was dry, she snatched up another crown and put it on her head.

  “Witch or no, I’m keeping this,” she announced. She waited for a moment, to see if the preacher’s god would try to take it away from her.

  “I thought not,” she said, pleased to have made her point, even if she was not altogether sure what it was. Then, so he knew for certain she had won the argument, she took a second crown and shoved it into her pocket.

  “You can never have too many,” she declared as she went off in search of dinner. “To rel i day fol di lie laddie lie laddie di day.”

  T W E N T Y - T H R E E

  FINDING THE GIRL PROVED to be more difficult than Lily had anticipated. She had no idea where the performers lived, and Everyman insisted they remain out of sight when not on stage. Unlike Lily, they were not free to roam about the carnival.

  It was Martha, the bearded lady, who told her where to look. Lily found the woman putting a suitcase into the back of one of the trucks. Having looked everywhere she could think of, and finding nothing, Lily ventured to speak to her.

  “The girl?” Martha said. “The one he calls the witch’s daughter? She rides with the monkeys.”

  Lily was not fond of the monkeys. There were a dozen of them, small, mangy things that sat on the shoulders of the clowns. They had been trained to hand visitors the paper flowers, and also to carry the collection baskets that were passed around during the services in the big top. They wore tiny hats, and little buttoned trousers to cover their lower halves because otherwise they would continuously stroke themselves in a lewd manner.

  “And where are they?” Lily asked Martha.

  “The big green truck,” Martha said, pointing to one of the vehicles in which equipment was transported. “You’ll know by the smell.”

  She was correct about this. Lily, approaching the truck, found herself trying not to breathe the air around it. It reeked of urine and spoiled food. She couldn’t imagine how the witch’s daughter could bear it.

  There were two small, barred windows on each side of the truck, but they were set high up, and Lily could not look through them. Fortunately, the padlock that secured the rear doors had not yet been closed, and she was able to pull them open. The smell inside was even worse, and it was difficult to see in the dim light.

  The monkeys began to screech as soon as the door opened, and the cacophony was disorienting. At first, Lily feared that they were running loose in the truck, and would either attack her or escape through the slightly-open door. Then she realized that they were in a cage built on one side of the truck. There was another cage on the opposite side, and it was in this one that the witch’s daughter sat. There was a pile of blankets in one corner, and she was perched on it, her back against the wall and her legs drawn up. She glanced up when Lily entered.

  “Shut the door,” she said. “They won’t be quiet until you do. They think you’re here to feed them.”

  Lily shut the door. The interior of the truck became even darker, and she could see only an outline of the girl in the thin light that came through the windows. But the monkeys at least ceased their racket, although they continued to chatter amongst themselves. Lily saw that their pants had been removed. She avoided looking at them as she walked to the corner where the girl sat.

  “What do you want?” the girl asked.

  “I saw what they did to you,” Lily told her.

  “They do a lot of things to me,” said the girl.

  “The marks,” said Lily. “I saw them putting them on you.”

  The girl touched her skin where the newest marks were. “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “And I heard you ask about your sister,” Lily continued.

  The girl moved closer to the bars of the cage. “What do you know about her?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Lily admitted.

  The girl retreated. “The clowns say you’re his pet,” she said. It sounded like an accusation. “Like one of the monkeys.”

  “He’s helping me,” Lily told her.

  “Helping you?” the girl said. “The only person he helps is himself. What is he helping you do?”

  Lily didn’t want to tell her any more. She’d come there because she wanted to do something for the witch’s daughter. Now that she was there, she feared she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want to tell the girl that she was working toward salvation.

  “Was your mother really a witch?” she asked.

  “Witches don’t exist,” the girl snapped.

  “Of course they do,” Lily said.

  “Is that what he told you?” the girl asked.

  “No,” Lily said.

  “Then how do you know?”

  Lily started to tell her about the witches she’d known, but quickly realized that she couldn’t without revealing too many other things about herself. “I just do,” she said.

  “You’re very good at not answering questions,” said the girl. “Something else I imagine you’ve learned from him.”

  “Why won’t you say his name?” asked Lily.

  “Names have power,” said the girl. “And I won’t give him any by naming him.”

  “Mine’s Lily,” Lily told her. She thought perhaps that showing the girl that she trusted her with this knowledge might help. “What can I call you?”

  “They call me the witch’s daughter, don’t they?” the girl said. “You might as well call me that too.”

  “But it’s not your name,” Lily said.

  “No,” the girl agreed. “It’s not. And you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  Lily had no answer for the girl, or at least no answer that would satisfy her. She had only vague feelings: She wanted to help. She wanted to know why. She wanted to understand. But she could put none of these things into words.

  “I wanted to see you,” she said, knowing this was not really an answer.

  Behind her, the monkeys began to shriek.

  “Someone’s coming,” said the witch’s daughter. Her voice was tinged with worry, but Lily didn’t know for whom.

  “I’ll go,” Lily told her. She backed away from the cage, ignoring the monkeys, who pushed their greedy little hands through the bars and tried to pull her hair.

  She opened the doors, peeking through the crack. A clown was walking toward the truck, carrying two buckets. When he set them down momentarily, Lily took the opportunity to slip out of the truck and into the darkness.

  The visit with the witch’s daughter had not gone as she’d hoped it might. She’d expected the girl to welcome some kindness. She had obviously been ill-treated by the clowns, and Lily suspected she had few, if any, friends amongst the other performers. She couldn’t see her talking to Martha, for instance, and certainly not to Edward, the man with no mouth. Did she have only the monkeys for company? Lily couldn’t imagine such an existence. Their constant gabbling would drive her mad.

  While she’d been in the truck talking to the girl, the clowns had begun taking down the big top. It now lay on the ground, the canvas pooled like a murky lake. Soon it would be rolled up and stored in one of the trucks, and the Holy Gospel Caravan would be on the way to the next location. Lily wanted to go in search of the girl’s sister, but she had no time. Her mother would be expecting her back at the wagon.

  She made her way there as quickly as she could, skirting the edge of the carnival so as not to encounter too many people. Not that anyone paid a
ny notice to her. They were too occupied breaking down the rides and packing up the bits and pieces that needed to be stored away for the journey. When she arrived at her wagon, however, Lester was already sitting in the truck, smoking a cigarette. He had removed most of his clown makeup, but remnants of it lingered on his neck and around his eyes.

  “There you are,” he said. “I was just about to leave without you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I was doing something for the Reverend.”

  Lester grinned. “I bet you were,” he said.

  Lily, disturbed by his missing teeth and hungry eyes, started for the door of the wagon. “My mother is waiting for me,” she said.

  “She isn’t,” Lester said, causing Lily to stop and turn around. He blew a smoke ring through the window. “She won’t be stayin’ here tonight.”

  “Where is she?” Lily asked.

  Lester drew on the cigarette again. The glow from the burning tobacco lit up his face. “Not here,” he said. “But don’t worry none. She asked me to look after you.”

  Lily couldn’t imagine where else her mother would be, if not in the wagon. But she didn’t dare press Lester for more information. She sensed he was enjoying toying with her, and she didn’t want him to think she was upset or worried in any way.

  “Why don’t you come up here and ride with me for a while,” he said. “Keep me company so I don’t fall asleep. You wouldn’t want me crashin’ into anything, would you?”

  Getting into the truck with the clown was not something Lily wanted to do. However, it occurred to her that perhaps he could be of some use to her. He might, she thought, know something about the witch’s daughter and her sister. So although the idea of sitting beside him repulsed her, she went and opened the truck door.

  “That’s a good girl,” Lester said. “You’ll see. It’s more fun ridin’ up here with me than it is in that wagon alone.”

  He started the engine, and the truck pulled forward, joining the line of trucks already on the dirt road leading out of the field in which they had been camped. Lily leaned against the door and looked out the open window. It was a hot night, filled with the sounds of crickets and rumbling motors. There was no breeze.