Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'Hey, Madame,' called Barracks the engineer. 'Don't s'pose your premonitions've given you any hint as to when I'm going to finish Bessie's repairs, have they?'

Destine smiled over at the man. 'Do you want the good news or the bad news, Raymond?'

'Ah,' nodded Barracks. 'Like that, is it? Righto! Whilst Miss Ruby is getting the rehearsals ready I'm a pair of hands down workin' on the ol' girl. I'd best not waste any more time chattin' to you then, eh?' the engineer grinned, returning to his chores underneath the engine. 'Here, an' it looks like someone else wants an audience with you now anyway.'

Madame Destine looked up quizzically, and spotted Butter scuttling along the platform towards her. The Inuit had a most uncharacteristically distant look upon his wizened face.

'Good day to you, Madame,' he said, above the din of the squealing train. He approached the bench, and planted himself next to Destine upon it. 'Do you mind if I may speak with you please? There is something concerning to me, and I…I wish for your advice upon its regard.'

'Of course you may. Your English is improving nicely, Monsieur. Ruby is teaching you very well,' Destine said, resting her embroidery on the bench next to her. She placed her hand on the little Inuit's shoulder. 'How may I be of assistance?'

'Well, Madame…I suppose…I just want to be more of use to the boss.'

'More use? Oh, Butter, where has this come from?' Destine turned to face him, sandwiching his hands within her own. 'You are being silly! You are a wonderful organiser, a fantastic deputy manager, and most of the crew could not find their socks without you.'

'That is kind of you to speak, Madame. I suppose…I just hope boss trusts me, that he knows he can rely upon me.'

'Butter, mon ami esquimau, you have Cornelius's implicit trust, believe me! He already relies upon you far more than you could possibly know, comprenez-moi? Of late you are far more useful to him than I.'

'I do not believe that is true, Madame,' nodded Butter firmly. 'The boss would be lost without your guidance.'

'Once perhaps I would have agreed with you…but these days I am afraid my premonitions are not as reliable as they used to be. They seem to delight in perplexing me, rather than inform. I am almost afraid of opening up, afraid of what I may see. They do not provide much to offer Cornelius.' Destine played with the hem on her veil, tightening her grip to ensure her features were obscured. 'I do not always share all my visions with Cornelius, Butter…with anyone, come to think of it. Sometimes it is better to keep what I learn to myself…otherwise, will I not ever be the bearer of bad news, mon ami?'

As well as adding to the mystery of the fortune-teller, Destine's veil provided her with a welcome retreat from the telltale signs that could be seen within her eyes. She used the veil as a wall, behind which she could hide her true self. This was an escape much needed in her role as a fortune-teller, a retreat away from all she could see and sense. The veil gave her the power to detach her thoughts and fears from her words. She could quite happily lie in the face of someone, knowing that her eyes would not give away the truth. Not a lie as might be perceived a lie, but a mistruth, sometimes called a white lie, as if that somehow made it more palatable. A lie was a lie, Destine knew that, but just as there are sometimes valid reasons to tell a lie, there are often valid reasons to hide the truth. As she spoke to Butter of her concerns about her own reliability, Madame Destine found her thoughts and words merging as one. She was unable to lie to him, and in an instant the wall had crumbled, and she was suddenly unnerved by her nakedness.

Butter cocked his head to one side, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his anorak. 'I am glad we could speak, Madame, I shall try not to let these bothers take residence in my heart,' he said.

Destine lowered her head. 'Good for you, Butter. Everyone has doubts it seems-everyone except Cornelius.' She smiled warmly as her mind's eye entertained an image of the man. 'He has a natural affinity with over-confidence, Butter, and that sometimes serves to inject us all with questions of our own importance. You will feel better in time, mon ami. You will find your place.' Butter nodded. 'That is my hope, Madame. And you also?' 'Oui, that is my hope,' confirmed Destine, as she gathered up her embroidery and clutched it close to her chest. 'Now…I have other matters to attend to. Butter, if you will excuse me, I must return to my quarters. You are wrong to question your worth, mon ami… I only hope that my own fears prove just as unfounded.'

RUBY MARSTRAND WALKED down the steps of the train's main engine onto the station platform, and swept her hair into a loose ponytail. Her fellow circus troupe were assembled into a long line, and their expressions reflected a myriad of emotions from excitement, to boredom to anxiety.

'Inspection in five minutes, people,' bellowed Ruby at the top of her voice through cupped hands. She was a gifted mechanic as well as knife-smith, and was wearing a pair of tatty dungarees and a large, greasy smear of oil down her left cheek. Miraculously, she still managed to retain her natural beauty.

Tapping his feet idly, the lanky Indian animal trainer named Kipo toyed with a metal chain attached to the collar of his very large, very muscular tiger. Next to him-consciously standing as far from the beast as he could without breaking the formation of the line-was Jeremiah the clown, and next to him was his co-performer-a beaming, bearded dwarf clown by the name of Peregrine. Dressed in a crumpled, striped suit, and without his clownish makeup, Jeremiah looked positively dishevelled-the irony of his chosen profession obviously lost on him. His jowls hung low, his eyes carried a heavy grey undercarriage, and he was every inch the opposite of the persona that had graced The Black Sheep tavern the previous night-much the same as Ruby Marstrand was.

The young knife-smith pointed towards the large, circular clock that hung from the station's rafters, and yelled at the top of her voice: 'Yin, Yang-hurry it up, will you? Mr Q wants to see what we've got, and we don't have all day,' she called to the two Chinese acrobats, perched like pigeons atop the roof of the train above her. 'You know what the boss always says-'

'You can never have enough rehearsal time!' chorused the twins in unison.

'And I am seldom wrong, gentlemen,' said Cornelius Quaint as he strode onto the platform next to the line. He had changed his attire, and now wore a long-tailed, dark-grey woollen coat over a loose black suit, topped off with a half-height top-hat. He looked as if he were meeting a lady-friend for afternoon tea, rather than someone about to embark on a desperate search of the surrounding area for Prometheus.

Ruby looked to the floor in embarrassment. 'Oh, Mr Q, you're early! I'm just trying to line everyone up like you asked. I'm just about getting there…slowly.'

Quaint saluted her. 'My thanks, Ruby, you've done an admirable job,' the tall man said with an air of fatherly pride. 'I'd hoped we'd get more rehearsal time in Hyde Park, but with all that's going on at the moment…I don't think we can afford the effort of skipping to and fro across London. Now…let's take a look at our troops, shall we?' Quaint gave Ruby a wink, and began to stroll slowly along the line of performers. Not that he ever let on to the crew, but he rather enjoyed watching his performers-his family-stand tall, and stand proud awaiting his word, knowing that he held their faith and respect completely.

Quaint stopped in the centre of the line, and held his hands up to his audience. 'Now, folks, if we had more breathing space before Friday's show, we'd be doing a full dress rehearsal today, but as you know, there are a few distractions, so we'll go with what we have. You all know your roles far better than I, and you've all performed them so many times you could practically do the entire show in your sleep,' Quaint gestured with his eyes towards Jeremiah's dwarf assistant. 'And some of you frequently do from what I hear. Am I right, Peregrine?'