Broken People (7 page)

After years of playing the magician,
Nicholas had reached the conclusion that people liked to be fooled.
He tossed his gloves on top of his trunk and ran a hand through his
hair. A flock of girls dressed in feathers rushed past him on their
way to the stage, but he was done for the night. He rotated his
acts so he wouldn’t do the same tricks each night. Great,
breathtaking acts could afford to be repetitive without anyone
complaining, but he didn’t belong in that category. He didn’t plan
to, either. Over the past few years, Nicholas had made a point of
keeping a low profile and, so far, it had worked.

It wasn’t working so well now. The small
magic shows he did when he could afford to rent the theater hall in
a city here and there were assumed risks. The big show he’d agreed
to put on for the circus was a whole different story. If anything
went wrong, they would not only be run out of town but, Nightingale
or not, there was a fair chance for them to be lynched, too.
Nicholas tugged on his necktie. He didn’t fancy a new type of
collar.

He didn’t like the number of ties that kept
connecting him to the circus. It wasn’t safe—not for him or anyone.
Big Dino wouldn’t have allowed it. Damn him for going into
hibernation earlier this season.

Nicholas’s discontent grew when Riella
arrived backstage, her fiery hair bouncing on her shoulders. It was
too soon for her number, so she had to be looking for something—or
someone
, considering her flesh-colored costume left nothing
to the imagination. After ignoring him for years, she’d developed a
sudden interest in him once he became the art director.

“Where have you been?” Riella scolded him,
her red lips pursing but, at the same time, promising to turn into
a smile if he did his bidding wisely.

“I’ve been working,” Nicholas said, closing
the trunk.

“Well, Rake’s been looking for you.” She
tapped her foot on the floor. “And he’s in a hurry. He needs to go
on next.”

That didn’t explain
why
Rake was
looking for him. He probably wasn’t looking at all because Rake
knew where Nicholas would be during the show, but all those details
were irrelevant to Riella. If she’d agreed to do Rake a favor, she
most likely hadn’t bothered to ask more about it. “Okay, I’m done
here. Where is he?”

“He’s waiting outside.” Riella glanced
towards the exit.

With a nod, Nicholas fetched his gloves and
top hat, and headed out. He found Rake in the back of the big tent,
leaning against an anchoring pole.

“What is it?”

“The chief of police is here,” Rake said in
a gruff voice. “He’s not happy, and he wants to talk to the man in
charge.”

Nicholas blinked.

“That would be you.”

“Ah.”

“And after you’re done with him, Armstrong
is here, too.”

“Did I tell you I charge per hour?” Nicholas
replied.

“You wish.” Rake gave him one of his rare
smirks. “He’s over there.” He pointed in the direction of the
cotton candy stand.

Nicholas peered at the round-bellied
silhouette of the chief of police. The man stared at the white
clouds of cotton candy handed over by a vendor but didn’t reach for
his wallet to buy one.

“What should I tell him?” Nicholas
asked.

“I don’t know what he wants, and you can’t
stop in the middle of the conversation to come and ask for
consultation so—” Rake raised his shoulders, “—be creative.”

“Oh, you don’t want that.” Nicholas laughed
ruefully, shaking his head. “Any other advice besides that?”

“Sorry, I don’t have any. Just do your
best.”

“Right.” Nicholas straightened his back.
“Here we go.”

The chief of police had his back turned when
Nicholas approached him. Reminding himself he was supposed to be
someone important so he could afford to be bold, Nicholas tapped
the man’s arm with the handle of his walking stick. “Chief Horak
…”

“Mr. Renard,” Horak grunted. “The mayor said
I’d find you here.”

“And here I am.” Nicholas opened his arms
wide, putting on the warmest smile he could muster. “What can I do
for you, sir?”

“Hmm.” Horak frowned at the surrounding
crowd. Although the big show was still on, there were a lot of
people enjoying themselves outside, too. “You’ve done enough
already. Half of my agents are here, working on a Saturday
night.”

“And bothering my audience,” Nicholas said.
“I won’t thank you for
that
.”

“We need to make sure your people aren’t
causing trouble, especially now.” Horak gave the cotton candy one
last mournful look and then stepped away from the stand.

“We’ve been stopping in the city for years,
and there have never been any problems, even before the rules
changed and you banned us.” This topic had been widely debated
among the circus employees, so Nicholas felt confident in his
speech. The only extra thing Big Dino could have done was to slam
his big fist into one of the stands, shattering everything, to make
his point. But Nicholas was not a supporter of gratuitous violence.
Everything had to be done for a reason. “The agents weren’t very
friendly with us when we went to the theater today. My people can’t
perform well during rehearsals when they’re harassed. Accidents can
happen. And there’s little time left to begin with.”

“That is not my problem,” Horak said. “My
only concern is the citizens’ safety.”

“Mayor Ternchiev has approved the show, so
he obviously doesn’t share your concerns.”

“Mayor Ternchiev has other priorities.” The
unhappiness in Horak’s voice hinted at a deeper problem. “Up until
now, we only had to double our numbers on the outskirts of the
town, but now we have to pay extra attention to downtown, too, and
that’s more sensitive. It takes many men and working hours, for
which we have to pay.”

So this is what’s eating him. Horak wants
a share of the profit, too
. They should have expected it. “I’m
sure we can come to an arrangement that is satisfactory for
everyone. We could …” Nicholas pretended to think about it. “We
could offer a subvention to the city police as a sign of gratitude
for ensuring good working conditions for our show.”

Horak didn’t have to think twice about it.
“No. The show’s a front. There are other activities you’re doing
that the mayor is overlooking, which are far more dangerous. My
agents aren’t pleased.”

And disgruntled agents tended to display
rough behavior. Of course, if money was exchanged, those agents
wouldn’t see any of it, but Nicholas couldn’t think of a way around
it. He stifled a sigh. Rake and Spinner weren’t going to be
pleased, but since they had left it up to him, he had to make a
compromise. “Very well. We can spare five percent of our side
business, but not a cent more.”

“We can talk about it,” Horak drawled.

“Not … a … cent … more,” Nicholas said. “I’m
sure Mayor Ternchiev would be more than happy to receive that
amount on behalf of City Hall, and we’re ready to take our chances
with the people living in the city.”

Horak stomped his feet against the cold
ground a couple of times, then nodded with a grunt. “Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I have to drag the missus out of the fortune teller’s
tent before the damned woman tells her she’ll be getting rich or
something.”

Nicholas chuckled quietly as the chief of
police walked away. It hadn’t been so bad. He’d agreed to five
percent, but he hadn’t specified out of
what.
Rake and
Spinner would like that. Now it was time for the other meeting, and
since it wasn’t wise to do it in the open, he walked to his
car.

Dale found himself fascinated by the
spectacle taking place high up in the air, close to the roof of the
arena. This wasn’t like him at all. He didn’t even like redheads,
but the music made it impossible to fight the attraction.

Below the golden cage that enclosed a
bird-shaped prop—the symbol of The Nightingale Circus—the body
covered in a flesh-toned costume looked naked in the spotlight as
she hung on long, red silks. The men in the audience had to be
imagining doing things to it—maybe a few women, too. The vocals put
ideas in his head, and he was unable to break free until someone
pulled on his jacket sleeve.

A midget stood by his side, still dressed in
show clothes. “Monsieur Renard will see you now.”

The short man hurried along the row of
seats, not waiting for a reply, and Dale followed him, grateful for
the distraction. When he threw one glance back, the woman with the
red silks had lost her appeal. She was just another pretty girl put
on display. Shaking his head, Dale stepped into the darkness.

He had expected more light, but they had
left the tent through a back exit that took them away from the
agitation of the fair. The train cars weren’t far, though, and that
was where the midget took him.

The logo painted near the door differed from
the one he remembered seeing on the side of the other car he’d
visited. He didn’t have time to wonder why before they walked
inside. Renard was splayed in a heavy armchair that had seen better
days while Rake and Spinner were propped against the walls, both
busy playing with their knives. After seeing their act, Dale didn’t
doubt they could kill him in a second, so he stopped by the
door.

“Mr. Armstrong, we seem to have run into a
bit of a problem,” Renard said.

Dale stared at the magician’s gloved hands
resting on the armrests of the chair, fingers tapping lightly at
the scratched leather, and waited to see blue light, but the
magician had apparently used all the magic during his act. The
silence prompted him to speak. “Is there something wrong with my
friend?”

“Not exactly …” Renard nodded at
Spinner.

“The nerves aren’t growing as fast as we’d
hoped,” Spinner said. “It’s not only the forearms, but the upper
arms, too, although they were less burned. We’ve started working on
the muscles, which are growing nicely, but the nerves …”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Dale
asked.

“There
is
something we can do. It’s
not what you wanted, but it
might
help.” Spinner
hesitated.

“Meaning?”

“We could transplant nerves from his legs.
Being his own, there’s no risk of rejection. However, it will
render the legs unusable.”

“We can give him back some of his mobility,”
Rake said, “but if he’s needed for a certain operation, I’m afraid
it won’t be enough.”

“Well ... that won’t do,” Dale said,
coldness seeping into his voice. He’d been so close to succeeding.
Images of armies walking out of bot factories flashed in front of
his eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“We thought it might not.” Spinner nodded.
“So we’re ready to offer a solution for that, too.”

Dale’s eyebrows rose. Renard sat
impassively, as if it wasn’t his problem they discussed. In a way,
it wasn’t.

“We can carry him,” Rake said. “We have
enhanced people capable of carrying great weight. Moving him around
will not be a problem. We’ll take him anywhere you need him to
be.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Dale
said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Renard said, uncrossing his
legs. “But it’s the only way we can accommodate you. It’s either
this, or there’s no deal at all. We’ll do our best, but it won’t be
of any use to you.”

First, the Golden Lady got involved, and now
this. With the increased number of people, Dale risked being
exposed and losing the advantage of the time window. “You want in.”
It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. We. Do.” Renard punctuated each word
with a nod.

“You don’t even know what this is
about.”

“True,” Spinner said. “But we did a scan of
his brain, and the highest amount of activity is located in the
most interesting places. Whatever this is about, we want in.”

“I see …”

“We’re not imposing, Mr. Armstrong,” Renard
said. “We are simply stating your options.”

“The Golden Lady warned me you might,” Dale
said.

“Miss Aurore is a smart woman.” Renard
smiled. “But I wouldn’t call her that to her face if I were you.
She has strict beliefs regarding what’s proper and what’s not, and
you don’t want to cross her.”

“I figured as much,” Dale said. “So, I guess
this means we’re stuck with each other.”

“We can proceed with the nerve transplant?”
Spinner clapped his hands. “Wonderful!”

“You
have
done this before, haven’t
you?” Dale asked, the concern hitting him as an afterthought.

“Yes … on horses,” Spinner deadpanned,
putting on an idiotic smile.

“He’s joking,” Renard said with a roll of
eyes. “Of course we have done this procedure before, with a great
rate of success. We’re not endangering our clients’ health. It
would be bad for business.”

As true as that sounded, Dale was still not
reassured. “I’d like to talk to Cole first and see what he thinks.
And then we need to do some planning.”

“We keep him under strong sedation to spare
him the pain,” Spinner said. “Even if he was clear-headed,
communicating with him would be difficult.”

“Which means we can jump straight to
planning.” Renard gestured for Dale to take a seat.

“Who bought this piece of shit?” Spinner
yelled, balancing on the edge of the balcony. The large theater
hall opened wide below him, but he didn’t worry about falling. He’d
anchored himself to a ceiling beam wrapped in metal. The lights
flickered in his hands, and Spinner was tempted to throw them to
relieve his frustration.

“You did,” Rake answered from near the
stage. “The electrical system is ancient. I’m having problems down
here, too.” He moved along the orchestra seats, checking the cables
that wired the smaller lights from the front row, and shook his
head, grumbling to himself.