Kim Lakin-Smith - Cyber Circus

1937. Sore Earth, population – 3120 souls.

Darkness. Deep treacly dung-scented darkness. Made incandescent by the appearance of thousands of tiny weak stars in the heavens. The air is a cloak of intermingled breath. Bodies shift. Slowly the stars brighten.

The ringmaster smiles. He is a squat dumpling of a man. Red suited in tail coat and knickerbockers, with a head that shines under the spots up in the rafters. In his hand, the hat for which he is famed; a crest of soft green velvet, sprouting feathers like spines. Hat of the king pin, owner of Cyber Circus. Herb wields it before the crowd. To the roll of a solitary kettle drum, he slowly, teasingly, places it on his head.

Applause. A storm of it, whipping up from the front stalls and rolling back. The calliope begins to pipe, contours shining. Fibrous sponge beats behind the ornate metalwork. Air drains through fine copper veins. Tucked in under the ribs of the giant instrument, the boiler is a stomach of greenish glass. Water steams and bubbles inside.

Herb leaps into the centre of the ring. A dancing maggot.

“Welcome, one and all, to the sensational, lavational, electrisical, metaphysical Cyber Circus!” A flourish of a hand. Oohs from the crowd. “On this most exhilarating night, you will witness wonders from the outer reaches of our land of Humock where only the devil and lost souls dare venture. I bring you strange people, weird people, and some who aren’t people at all!”

He runs the circuit of the ring, coattails flapping. “Cower in the presence of Wolf Girl. Feast your eyes on the electrifying Desirous Nim. Behold the half-child half-crab Scuttlers. Marvel at the aerial daring of the tantalising Lulu. Come face to face with a HawkEye...” A nod to acknowledge the audience’s gasp. “Indeed, ladies and gentlemen. A bona fide HawkEye who, wearied of the lone battle, has joined our family of freaks and appears for you tonight, fully armed and watchful.” Herb points two fingers at his eyes then directs the gesture out. “And if that wasn’t enough, on this very stage, inside this very canvas, we will unleash not one but two hoppers!”

Eerie, the collective stop of breath. Then a shock wave of applause. And Herb is dancing again, hat’s plumage shivering at the impact of each step, the brown egg of his belly poking out from below his braided jacket.

“Strike up the band!” he calls to the calliope, and seemingly it hears him. The tent fills with watery mechanical music.

Herb gestures to a painted curtain. He lights his smile.

“I give you Wolf Girl!”

“How is she?” Lulu’s mouse-like eyes shone with tears.

“Scared, I suspect.” Hellequin kept his arms folded. His shadow loomed against the silk drops that separated the living quarters from backstage.

“Oh, my poor baby doll. A downpour of hawk shit on that mark! He’s a suckerloop, a villain!” The ladyboy wrung his hands. Kohl ran beneath his lashes.

The HawkEye frowned, emphasising the twin bone ridges at his forehead that protected his circuitry. “He’s not a mark. He’s a pimp. A lowlife grubbing in others’ suffering. Herb shouldn’t have set down here. Not if he wants a good clean show.”

“But what are you gonna do? It’s not like you and Nim are sweethearts.” Lulu dropped his voice. “She gets wind you’re on guard out here and, oh my, you seen the sparks flying offa her recently?”

Hellequin’s steel eye telescoped. “Just blips in her circuitry. Comes of shoddy workmanship when the mods were installed.”

Lulu fanned his fingers against his smooth cheeks. “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to scorch this pretty face.” When Hellequin failed to respond, the ladyboy clucked his tongue and popped out a hip. “Not that a hard heart like you would notice. Even with all that fancy hardware.” He waved a hand in front of Hellequin’s face, aggravating the HawkEye lens into fresh adjustment.

“Bitter much?” Pig Heart muscled his way through the silk curtains, dragging a rope attached to a pallet piled with bone and meat.

“Drink swill from the donniker!” Lulu flicked his white dreads back off his shoulders.

The pitchman showed a mouthful of tusks. “Love you too, Lulu.” He dragged a hand across his large glistening nostrils, leaving a smear of blood there. “Come on. Let’s pucker up.”

“You are a revolting swine!” Lulu danced back.

Pig Heart arched his back and let out a belly laugh. “By name and nature.” The pitchman tapped his breast. “Whatever dead hog gave me this ticker made sure of that. But I see you checking out my porky ass, Lady Lulu. You wanna piece of this, doncha?” He gave his generous rear a slap. Snorting, he picked up the rope again and started for the entrance to the ring.

“Nim. Is she going on tonight?” said Hellequin sharply.

The pitchman stopped. He craned his bristled jaw over a shoulder. “Maybe you ain’t been here long enough, Hellequin, but ain’t none of us carnies the keeper of the other. Nim’s got a problem visiting Sore Earth, it’s her choice to tell Herb, or put up and shut up.”

Lulu clucked. “Like any of us have a say where Herb chooses to pitch down.”

“Ever known Herb change his mind once he’s on course?” Hellequin focused on the pitchman.

The rope fell from Pig Heart’s hands. The pitchman strode back, arms swaying at his sides like joints on hooks. Hellequin stayed rigid, his back to the flow of silk. Lulu skipped on the spot.

Pig Heart’s pale damp eyes fastened on Hellequin’s revolving lens. “Ten years back, we hit a dust storm. Came outta nowhere so fast it seemed the devil had parted his ass cheeks and farted. We dipped inside the caverns west of Zan City. Seemed there was no way we’d make the gig at an old tunnel town called Drieur. Our only option was to let the marks keep their dollar – which Herb was having none of – or travel under the storm and navigate the caverns.” Pig Heart dragged up a shirt sleeve. His forearm was scarred with three deep lacerations.

“Hoppers.” Lulu clutched his throat.

“Some crew weren’t so lucky, which was how Herb ended up changing course. Once.” Pig Heart inclined his head towards Hellequin.

A tremendous clacking noise prompted all three to stare at the stage curtain.

“Herb’s getting his iron rattler in a twist. I’d best feed Rust before she sinks her jaws into them marks out there. You kids play nice now.” Pig Heart showed his fat teeth. He took up the slack on the rope and hauled the pallet after him, meat slopping like jelly.

Lulu took a lace handkerchief from one cup of his bustier and dabbed his temples. “I need to climb aboard the spring pad. The mood Herb’s been in recently, I’ll be one dead cannonball if I miss my entrance.” He shook the handkerchief towards the silk drop behind Hellequin. “Let’s get in and out of here as quickly as possible. For her sake.”

Hellequin turned around to see a lamp fire up behind the flimsy walls. The change in light replaced his shadow with an hour glass silhouette. His chest tightened.

“I got my eye on Nim,” he muttered.

Lulu waved a talon at the gadgetry stitched into the soldier’s face. “Indeed you have.”

Earl macerated a wad of leaf. “I’d like to play buckaroo with that wild dog!”

D’Angelus sucked the stub of a Cherokee smoke stick, cheeks working like bellows. “She’d give the John a bang for his buck, that’s for sure.”