A Lesson for the Cyclops (4 page)

Gilliam seemed flummoxed. She opened and closed her mouth a number of times before saying, “Get back on the wire and try again.”

D’Arbignal climbed the ladder to the high wire. “The very words you speak are my sustenance. I need no other.”

Gilliam said nothing. D’Arbignal shrugged and trotted out onto the high wire. Proceeding smoothly, he performed a cartwheel across the wire and landed in a deep lunge. He wavered a moment, catching his balance, and then placed both hands onto the wire and carefully extended his legs and torso into a full handstand.

He lowered first one leg and then the other until he was upright again. He hesitated.

“What are you waiting for,” Gilliam said, “a drumroll?”

D’Arbignal’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and then he visibly relaxed. He squatted on the wire, caught his balance, and then sprung backward into the air. His body corkscrewed into a full turn. At the completion of the corkscrew, he extended his hands toward the wire …

… and missed it.

He cried out, partly in dismay, it seemed, but also partly in fury. He tumbled in an inglorious ball to land once more onto the safety net. The Cyclops’s heart was pounding.

He slammed his fist into his hand. “This is trying my patience!”

The sound of someone clapping echoed through the tent. The Cyclops looked to the entrance.

Conchinara walked in with a seductive smile on her face. She looked so stunning today that even the Cyclops drew a sharp breath. The dancer prowled into the room, placing one bare foot in front of the other, causing her hips to undulate. Her costume—what there was of it—was skintight and almost translucent.

D’Arbignal’s lips pursed in what could have been a silent whistle. He hopped to the ground again, and bowed.

“The lady knows how to make an entrance,” he said.

Conchinara smiled, her eyes twinkling.

Before she could say anything, Gilliam said, “The gentleman had better attempt the routine one more time, before he tries his instructor’s patience.”

D’Arbignal tipped an imaginary hat to the two ladies, and then climbed back up to the wire. He prepared himself once again.

“Our gentleman friend has some talent,” Conchinara said to Gilliam, loudly enough for him to hear it.

He grinned, but said nothing. Gilliam just grunted.

D’Arbignal leaned forward to perform his cartwheel again.

“We should invite him to join us sometime,” Conchinara said. Then she pressed her lips against Gilliam’s in a kiss that seemed to last an eternity.

D’Arbignal’s eyes seemed like they would pop from his head. Then his hands missed the wire entirely. He was a flailing ball of awkward limbs as he plunged from the wire into the net once more.

The two women laughed. Glliam’s laughter was bitter, whereas Conchinara’s was clearly intended to be seductive.

D’Arbignal had landed in an awkward position. When he tried to get up, he fell from the netting and landed on his back in the dirt with a loud grunt.

The two women laughed again, harder this time.

“Your skills do not seem to be improving, Mr. D’Arbignal,” Gilliam said.

D’Arbignal stood upright, wavered a moment, and then literally dusted himself off. Salvaging as much dignity as he could, he bowed to the women.

“Fair ladies,” he said, “I do believe this is a good time to end our session for today. Mistress Gilliam, I look forward to continuing with you tomorrow.”

“I’d like to continue with you
tonight,
D’Arbignal,” Conchinara said. Then the two women giggled.

D’Arbignal crossed the tent to where he had left his hat, bag, and sword. He collected them with the focus he had sorely lacked a few moments ago on the high wire.

Immediately after he left the tent, the Cyclops ran after him. She caught up to him within a few moments.

She tried to call his name, but she was too nervous and nothing came out. She tried again, and this time it was merely a whisper.

She tried once more, but now it came out as a shout so loud she startled herself. Ahead, D’Arbignal whirled on her, his orange-hued rapier already drawn. He relaxed when he saw it was the Cyclops.

“Maria,” he said, shaking his head. “You nearly startled me to death!”

She looked around for a moment to see if anybody was watching, then she moved closer to D’Arbignal. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she neared him.

She looked around again.

“Is something the matter, Maria?”

She shook her head and leaned in to whisper to him. After a moment’s hesitation, D’Arbignal grinned and leaned in, too.

“Gilliam’s making you feel bad,” she said.

D’Arbignal laughed. “Oh, I thank you, but you need not worry about my ego. I assure you, it’s solid enough to withstand more than a few blows.”

The Cyclops shook her head.

“No, you don’t understand,” she said. “She’s making you feel bad, but you’re doing”—she fumbled for the right word—“amazing!”

D’Arbignal smiled gently and tipped his hat to her.

“Thank you, Maria,” he said. “You are as kind as you are gracious.”

She felt her face grow warm.

“I’ve seen her train apprentices before,” the Cyclops said. “What you’ve done … In just a few weeks, you’ve learned more than some of her apprentices have in
years
.”

Now D’Arbignal seemed to have gotten the joke. “Why, you sneaky little minx…”

“M-me?” The Cyclops hadn’t been expected that kind of response.

D’Arbignal bowed once more.

“No, my friend,” he said. “Not you. You have done me a great kindness today. I shall remember it always.”

He winked, then added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down before I fall down. Alfredo is expecting to spar with me this evening, and I can barely stand. I bid you farewell, kind lady.”

And with that, he staggered off. After a few moments, he mustered enough strength to return to a normal walk.

The Cyclops watched him until he disappeared around Marco’s tent. She held her hand to her chest again, feeling her heart beating.

My friend.
He had called her his friend.

Her heart felt full. For a moment, she even came close to smiling.

The Cyclops heard the shouts moments before she felt the ground begin to shake. She and Pahula jumped from their cots and stared at each other with panicked confusion.

Marco popped his head into the tent, his face red and his hair matted with sweat.

“Ye need te get out of here!” he shouted. “Now!”

The Cyclops tried to run, but she felt as though her legs were paralyzed. Likewise, Pahula stood rooted to the ground, her eyes wide with terror.

The ground began to shake even harder, and it was accompanied by the booming of what sounded like a drum designed for a god.

“Damnit!” Marco shouted.

He grabbed Pahula by the wrist and ignominiously shoved her from the tent. The Cyclops heard her shriek.

“Come on,” Marco said, and dragged the Cyclops out behind him.

Moments after they escaped the tent, it seemed to explode in a violent burst of cloth and timber. Men ran toward them, shouting incoherently.

The Cyclops watched stunned as the tent seemed to move under its own power. Then the elephant, which had been hidden underneath, shrugged off the fabric, and pounded across the campground. It left a wide trail of destruction in its wake.

D’Arbignal ran over, clutching his hat to his head.

“Are you ladies all right?” he said.

The Cyclops nodded, feeling numb. If she had remained in the tent but a moment longer … She shuddered.

“The beast!” Pahula said. “It nearly kills us!”

“I’m relieved that it didn’t. I’ve never seen such a creature before—and I’ve seen a dragon!”

Marco was shaking his head sadly.

“What a loss,” he lamented. “The beast’s worth a fortune. I only got it because I won a bet. I’ll never get ‘nuther.”

“Why don’t you just catch it?” D’Arbignal said, looking puzzled.

Marco looked at him as though he were simple. “Do you see the size of the thing? What’re you going t’do: throw a net over it?”

“I don’t know,” D’Arbignal said, rolling his hand. “Why not ride up to it on a horse and jump onto its back?”

“Are ye out of yer mind?”

“Come on.” D’Arbignal said, smiling. “How hard could it be?”

A shrewd expression showed on Marco’s face and his eyes narrowed.

“You a betting man?” he said, rubbing his hands together.

D’Arbignal raised his eyebrows. “I might be.”

“I’ll bet ye a week’s wages ye can’t do it,” Marco said.

D’Arbignal’s smile broadened into a manic grin, and he glanced at Pahula and the Cyclops. The Cyclops shook her head emphatically.

D’Arbignal’s eyes seemed to shine as he said, “Done!”

The elephant was running in circles now at the edge of the valley. Periodically, it stopped to trumpet its displeasure to the crowd.

D’Arbignal dashed to the nearest horse, untied it, and mounted it. He turned it toward the rampaging elephant and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse and rider set off at a gallop.

Marco’s jaw dropped.

“I dint think he’d try it …” he said, his face pale now.

D’Arbignal’s horse closed on the elephant. As it neared, he slowed the horse just a bit and then climbed onto the saddle. He waved his plumed hat at the spectators. Then the wind ripped it from his hand; even from where she stood, the Cyclops could tell he was dismayed.

He crouched atop the horse now, reins in his hand, as he rode alongside the elephant. He hesitated only a moment then leapt from his horse at the elephant’s back.

He landed off center and started to slip down the elephant's side. He scrambled madly, his hands and feet fighting for purchase. The Cyclops put her hand to her chest.

D’Arbignal seemed to find enough traction, even though the Cyclops wasn't at all sure how he'd done so. After an agonizing minute, he managed to crawl and slither onto the elephant’s back. Then he rested a moment, clinging on as if for dear life.

“Well, I never …” Marco said.

D’Arbignal rose to a crouch and began to walk along the elephant’s back toward its head. He had made it about two-thirds of the way there when the elephant trumpeted again, and reared up on its hind legs. D’Arbignal flailed with his arms, desperate to regain his balance. It was to no avail. He fell from the beast, landing in a partial roll.

The Cyclops ran across the field toward him. After a few moments, she realized that Marco and Pahula were following.

The elephant rounded on D’Arbignal, who seemed to be dazed. Just as it was about to step on him, D’Arbignal sensed the danger, and rolled to the side. The elephant stomped past him, heading down into the valley.

Marco passed the two women and reached D’Arbignal, who lay flat on his back, spread-eagle, and breathing heavily.

D’Arbignal pointed at the rapidly dwindling form of the escaping beast.

“Why,” he gasped to Marco, “didn’t you tell me it could do that?”

Marco shrugged. “I dint think ye’d be dumb enough to try that, lad.”

D’Arbignal cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, um … a week’s wages, you said?”

The incident with the elephant had established D’Arbignal’s reputation as heroic, athletic, and brave … if perhaps not especially bright.

At first, the men at the circus had been a bit standoffish, unsure of where the stranger would fit within the established pecking order. Now, seemingly overnight, they had fallen into one of two camps: they either wanted to be just like him, or they wanted to punch him in the face.

The women, on the other hand, adored him.
All
the women.

Pahula flirted with him coquettishly, actually going so far as to flutter a paper fan in a manner she must have thought enticing. The female dancers preened within his field of vision, and giggled like little girls when he noticed them.

But of course, all the women stood aside when Conchinara was around. Without saying so much as a single word, she had claimed D’Arbignal as her own and not one of them wanted to cross her.

Meanwhile, the Cyclops died a little each time she saw him surrounded by admiring women. She longed so much to be near him that she felt it as a physical pain in her heart. Yet how could she when such beauty surrounded him all the time? He had his choice of a dozen women, all much prettier than she. What chance did
she
have?

Now he was telling the story of his adventure with the elephant to a crowd of admirers. His practiced voice was mesmerizing, and he gestured and pantomimed with great skill. His audience was rapt.

Her heart pounded when she thought about the incident, and how close she had been to being trampled, save only for Marco’s timely rescue. And then D’Arbignal’s magnificent heroics!

She clutched her hand to her chest. The feeling in her was so large; it amazed her that she could conceal it without anybody noticing.

Of course, it had been Marco who had saved her. D’Arbignal had only come by afterwards, but somehow it almost felt as though it were
D’Arbignal
who had saved her from near death. It was nonsense of course, but it felt true to her heart.

“… and once I had come alongside the beast,” D’Arbignal was saying, “I secured the other end of the rope to the saddle on my steed. I leaned forward and instructed my horse to ride straight and true, and then I began to inch my way along the rope toward the lassoed elephant.”

The Cyclops blinked. When had
that
happened?

“I shouted to the elephant the words
B’raen meeloh aka
, which are powerful Elvish words of command. I could see the elephant struggling against those words, trying to overpower them, but it was to no avail; he was caught, ensnared by the magic of the Eternals!”

The Cyclops continued to stare wide-eyed as D’Arbignal recounted even more astonishing details. Was he even describing the same event she had seen? How many elephants had he ridden?

Pahula had stepped away from the crowd and eased her way over to the Cyclops. Her smile was wry.

“He’s a good-looking man,” Pahula said, eyeing D’Arbignal. She mimed tracing his body with her hands. “Very … how you say,
gorgeous
. But he’s not so very good with the truth. He’s good with the—not lies, what’s the word?—ah, yes, with the
exaggerations
. I wonder how much we should trust him.”