Steven Harper - The Impossible Cube

The mahout whistled, and the mechanical elephant puffed and snorted its way into the dark interior. Roustabouts followed with more long poles. Gavin, itching with curiosity, couldn’t stand it anymore. He ran down to the tent and ducked inside. The brass elephant, now operating with perfect efficiency under Alice’s careful repairs, was dragging tall, heavy tent poles upright, thereby shoving the tent’s roof higher and higher. Gavin stood out of the way, feeling like a child near the enormous mechanical beast in the increasingly larger space. Once there was enough room, more elephants-live ones-were brought in, and the work went faster. The three enormous center poles took a trio of elephants to haul upright, with the trapeze artists and spiders up in the rigging to ensure they were set properly at the roof. Other spiders scampered about, fastening ropes and tying knots. The center ring was hauled in piecemeal and fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. An automaton wheeled the talking clock woman to the entrance and wound her up, touched her metal cheek, and went off to help with other jobs. More people brought in bleacher seats to assemble, and the tent became loud with clacks, clatters, clinks, and shouts. For once, the clockwork plague kept its distance, and the analytical side of Gavin’s brain remained quiet, allowing him to watch in wonder as the Tilt assembled around him like a genie rising from the desert.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” said Alice.

Gavin hadn’t noticed her slip up to next him. A smile automatically burst across his face, and he leaned in to kiss her. She still looked a little pale, her skin contrasting sharply with the dark metal of the spider on her hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Not entirely myself, but one can only sleep for so long,” she said with more candor than she usually allowed herself. “Thank you for watching over me.”

He flushed a little. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I heard you singing in my dreams and knew you were there.” She squeezed his hand, and the entire circus slowed and stopped. He became aware of the softness of her skin on his, the warmth of her breath, the pulse of their hearts. He never wanted the moment to end, but the second hand on the clock outside ticked forward, and the noises smashed back into existence.

“We need to go,” Alice said.

“Where?”

“Linda wants to see us.”

Outside the tent, the midway and sideshow were taking shape. Animal cages and brightly painted wagons were rolling out of the boxcars, and several smaller tents were going up. No one merely talked. They shouted and hollered, bellowed and bawled, trying to attract as much attention as possible for the circus. Lions roared, seals barked, elephants trumpeted. The sounds bounced off the hard buildings that bordered three sides of the square, creating a swirling cacophony that both unnerved and exhilarated Gavin.

As they picked their way through the chaos, Gavin noticed the dam for the first time. It rose high above the oily Dnepro upriver, clearly visible in the dank air even though it sat between two hills well over a mile away. Water gushed through spillways, and Gavin’s sharp ears picked up the faint roar of it all even above the noise of the circus setting up.

“Wow,” he said. “How did they build that?”

“I have no idea,” Alice said. “But I’m sure it’s the reason Kiev has so many electric lights. Come along.”

Where the sideshow was setting up, they came to a canary-yellow wagon, its wheels chocked into immobility. The door sported a sign: MADAME FABRY. The sign also showed a crystal ball, stars, and a palm, in case the viewer couldn’t read English. Gavin knocked, and the door flew open to reveal a tallish woman who Gavin happened to know was over sixty but could have passed for ten years younger. Her thick brown hair was covered with a gypsy scarf, and she wore glasses. Her overly patched skirt and blouse-part of a costume, now that they were setting up-rustled about her busy frame as she put her hands on her waist.

“Well, it’s about time you got here, honey,” she said brightly. Her accent was American, probably Midwestern, though Gavin had heard her speak with a Southern drawl more than once.

“Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘You’re late,’ or something like that?” Alice said.

“Why would I say that, sweetie?” she said. “Oh! The fortune-telling. Right. No, dear, I save that for the flatties. Gavin’s been rude, is all. Dozens of cookies and butterscotch sweets I’ve given him over the years, and then he hides in the circus for weeks without coming to see me even once.”

“Sorry,” he said, unabashed. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Kemp said you wanted to see us,” Alice said.

“Yes, yes, come in.”

Linda ushered them into her comfortable wagon. Against the back wall stood an intricately carved bedstead with a plump featherbed and duvet covering it. Wooden cupboards hung from the walls, and a tiny stove took up one corner. A table folded down from the wall, with stools to sit on. But Gavin’s eye went straight to the automaton. He stood in the corner opposite the stove in a case of glass and metal similar to a ticket booth. From the waist up he looked like a brass man wearing a brown jacket and red vest. From the waist down, he was a complicated mass of metal and gears-no legs or feet. His jointed fingers gleamed in the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling off the rivets on his face and neck. The top half of his head was made of glass, and suspended in some sort of clear medium within which floated a human brain. Copper clips and wires were attached to it, and little electric sparks flicked and jumped about like fireflies. No matter how many times he had seen that, it took Gavin a moment to remember not to stare. Alice put a hand to her mouth.

“Hi, Charlie,” Gavin said.

The automaton opened his mouth. “Gavin,” he said in a metallic voice. “And this is Alice?”

“I am,” she said. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

“Sorry. Charlie Fabry. I’d offer to shake hands, but…” He tapped the glass in front of him with a brass finger. “And you’ve met my wife already.”

“Quite,” said Alice, and Gavin knew her well enough to see she was trying to cover shock.

“Charlie used to be a wire walker,” he told her. “He fell during a show and would have died, but a clockworker happened to be in the audience, and… well, you can see the result.”

“Gives you a whole new insight,” Charlie said cheerfully. “No appetites, fewer needs, simpler wants. Liberating.” He leaned forward with a creak until his nose nearly touched the glass and his voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “You can see what you never saw before.”

“I don’t understand,” Alice said.

“We’ve been discussing your little trip to the church in Luxembourg, honey,” Linda said.

Alice looked startled. “You know about that?”

“Everybody knows about that,” Linda said. “Not much goes on without everyone hearing about it eventually. I read in the newspaper that a large piece of the church was destroyed, too, but the vicar is planning to rebuild it even bigger, which will help when he applies to have it declared a cathedral.”

“Is that what you wanted to ask about?” Gavin put in.

“Lord, how I do talk. No, honey. This is.” Linda lifted a handkerchief from the fold-down table, revealing three tarot cards. The first card portrayed a skeletal figure swinging a sword over a field of grain and was labeled XIII. The second showed a burning tower falling to pieces. Two men fell screaming from it, and it was labeled XVI: LA MAISON DIEU. Laid crosswise over the dying tower was the third card, on which was rendered a man in priestly red robes. He held a golden staff in one hand and made a gesture of benediction with the other. This card was labeled V: LE PAPE.