Broken People (9 page)

A moan broke the eerie silence in the
room.

“It’s okay. It’s just me,” Cielo said in a
soothing voice. “They’re not here to torture you.” It was supposed
to be a joke, but a groan let her know the man didn’t appreciate
it.

Blue eyes opened and focused on her face.
After a second of scanning, his facial muscles relaxed. The
contraption that kept his jaw in place prevented him from speaking,
but the swelling around his eyes and nose had retreated, allowing
Cielo to see his real features. In a day or so, he would look human
again.

Cole’s eyes strayed to the left where his
liquid meal waited.

“It’s still soup,” Cielo said with an
apologetic shrug. “But I mashed some vegetables and meat into it so
it will have a higher protein value. It shouldn’t taste too bad.”
She uncapped the thermos and guided the plastic straw to Cole’s
lips. “Take it easy. It might be a little hot. I hope the straw
won’t clog,” she added, mostly to herself.

She placed the thermos on the metal frame
pulled close to the bed and ran her hands down her sides, feeling
Cole’s gaze trailing over the sequined yellow dress. “It’s for the
show. We all dress up when it’s on. God forbid someone saw us in
our street clothes.” She laughed and folded her hands in front of
her.

Cole continued to stare at her while he
sucked in the pasty soup. Not only were his arms encased in plastic
covers, but his legs were, too, which meant he was fully paralyzed
from the neck down. Otherwise, he couldn’t have handled the pain.
Cielo avoided looking at the cases. They reminded her of the time
spent in the factory, and it hadn’t been pleasant.

“I know they don’t talk to you much,” she
said, “so I’ll try to keep you up-to-date with what’s happening.
The procedure is going as well as could be expected. They had to
stall the growing process of the muscular mass so they could insert
the nerves first. Apparently, it’s easier that way and prone to
better results.”

He groaned, and she gave a sympathetic
wince. “The downside is that once they start inserting the nerves,
you will regain some degree of sensitivity in your arms. However,
given the state they’re in, you should expect a lot of pain, as
well. The good news is we have great drugs for such things. They’ll
keep you under for days while they work on you. They
will
wake you up more than once to test the results, and that won’t be
pretty, but you’re a tough guy. You can handle it, right?”

Her teasing made the corner of Cole’s mouth
arch up, and a flash of pain passed over his face.

“Sorry,” Cielo murmured, eyes downcast.
“They’ll start at midnight tonight. They hope to do the main
innervations during the next eighteen hours. It will be delicate
work, but they have done more difficult things, so there’s no need
to worry.”

When she looked up, Cole was blinking
rapidly. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” She reached for the
anesthetic plunger.

Blink. Blink
. Then
blink, blink,
blink, blink, blink
…

“What is it?” Cielo asked, cursing the
inability to communicate.

She had fed him before, once each day, and
he drank his soup obediently, half-asleep because of the
painkillers. She had never seen him so agitated.
Something
was wrong.

“What?” she whispered.

Cole stopped blinking. He stared straight
ahead, not at her, but somewhere over her right shoulder in the
direction of the door.

A chill ran down Cielo’s spine, and she
slowly turned around. She had a good idea what was going on before
she heard the heavy footsteps walking down the corridor.

While he crawled out from underneath the
car, Dale wondered whether they were going to thank him or set the
dogs on him when this was over. He didn’t fancy either alternative.
The circus had some mean-looking poodles.

For the last hour, he had followed the thugs
through the city, which wasn’t easy since he didn’t blend in
because of the lack of visible prosthetics. When they left
downtown, Dale had repossessed a taxi from a sleepy driver. With
the lights turned off, he had tailed the black car across the
deserted field, keeping his distance. That was why, when he parked
it near an abandoned warehouse, he only knew the direction in which
they had gone.

Dale had cut across the field towards the
railway tracks, barely seeing the uneven ground in his haste. Only
long-dormant instincts had kept him from falling and breaking
something. Then the bright lights of the circus had nearly blinded
him, making it impossible to spot any action near the cars on his
side of the train. The thugs had disappeared, and he found no
broken or open windows, either. When he looked up, he saw the
shadows running along the rooftop of the car.

He could have followed the same path,
risking running straight into them, but the strategist in him
wouldn’t allow it, not when he knew their destination. He crawled
underneath the car and emerged on the other side. The loud noises
and blinking lights threatened to make him dizzy, but he didn’t let
them distract him. He walked to the third car and clasped the door
handle with both hands. The muscles in his arms tensed, his joints
locked, and he pulled. Whatever mechanism kept the door closed
broke, and the door slid open.

Dale climbed inside.

The inner door was also open. Two bulky
silhouettes staggered among hazy clouds of smoke. Dale brought a
hand to his throat. He hadn’t expected a chemical attack. While his
body was trained to fight several types of poison, it didn’t
recognize this one. His knees turned to jelly. Two meters away from
him, the thugs collapsed on the floor with loud thuds.

As the fog cleared, a yellow spot in his
peripheral vision became a blonde woman whose appearance looked
vaguely familiar. When she turned around, Dale noticed a golden
mask covered her face.

“Oh, crap!” She ran to him, a syringe in her
hand.

Dale forced his head upward, so he could
look at her. He’d fallen on his knees but didn’t remember it
happening. “What’s that?” he croaked.

The mask gleamed in the shallow light,
shades of darker gold swirling on her face. “It will keep you
awake. Do you want to sleep for the next four hours?”

Since he didn’t answer, she plunged the
needle into his chest. Sensitivity returned in Dale’s extremities,
accompanied by a faint tingle. His head took longer to clear, and
seeing the mask disintegrate into small pieces that migrated off
her face and disappeared behind her hairline didn’t help convince
him he wasn’t hallucinating.

The young woman emitted a low, long whistle.
“Just … wait here.” She rushed back to Cole.

“Shouldn’t you give him something, too?”
Dale asked.

“No. He’s already got too many drugs in his
system. I don’t dare interfere,” she said with a slow shake of her
head. “I’ll let them do it.”

Them?
Dale grasped the edge of a
table and pulled himself up, only to find her staring at him, eyes
wide.

“How did you do that? You were supposed to
be immobilized for another half-hour at least.” She took a step
back and whispered, “What are you?”

The knife throwers burst in, cutting off
Dale’s chance to answer, though he didn’t know what he would have
told her anyway.

“Cielo, what happened?” Spinner asked. “Are
you all right?”

“These happened.” Cielo pointed at the two
men splayed on the floor. “How did they get in? I thought we used
better protection than that.”

It felt odd to listen to the girl scold the
older, bigger men. They could have broken her in half with one hand
without any effort at all. Still, Spinner lowered his eyes, and
Rake grunted.

“We had to take the wards down when we
crossed the Moldavian border, or they wouldn’t have let us pass.
There was no need for them until now,” Rake said.

Cielo’s glare aimed at the two
aggressors-turned-victims said there
was
a need.

“But how did they get in?” Spinner asked.
“The door was nearly pulled off its hinges. You need dynamite to do
that, and we didn’t hear any explosion.”

“They didn’t come in through the door,”
Cielo said.

“That—” Dale raised a hand, “—would be
me.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at
him.

“You … tore it open, just like that?”
Spinner asked, taking a step closer, and looked at him up and
down.

“I was coming after them, but I was late. I
knew Cole was in here, so I went right through.” He glanced at
Cielo. “It turned out I wasn’t needed after all.”

“You turned on the gas?” Spinner asked
Cielo. “Oh, dear …” He ran off to check on Cole.

“I’d like to take a look at your muscles
when this is over,” Rake said, moving at a leisurely pace after
Spinner.

They worked for several minutes, adding
vials to the drip and turning dials on the machines, until they
were contented with the readings on the screens.

“Okay, he’s stable now,” Spinner said, “but
I wouldn’t recommend gassing him again in the near future.”

“Can you still do the grafting?” Dale asked.
“I mean tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s out cold.” Spinner nodded. “It
doesn’t matter how …”

“You don’t care much what happens to him as
long as you get what you want, do you?” Rake asked casually.

“We’ve come too far to stop now. If we fail,
everything is lost,” Dale said.

Cielo shifted in place. “Guys, I have to go
…”

“Wait,” Rake said and turned to Dale. “Do
you know what they came for?”

“Spare parts,” Dale said.

“Anything else? Did they mention the
Nightingale?”

“No. It didn’t sound like an ordered
hit.”

“Good,” Rake said, and both knife throwers
visibly relaxed.

“I’m off.” Cielo gathered her skirt in her
hand and headed for the opening with an absent door.

Spinner picked up the syringe from the floor
and arched an eyebrow at Dale. “Mr. Armstrong, can you walk?” Dale
nodded. “Then please make sure Cielo arrives safely at the arena.
We’ll cover the ground here. Your friend will be safe.”

Dale did his best to hide his hesitation. He
needed the cooperation of these people, and while Spinner’s voice
had remained friendly, this wasn’t a request. Without saying a
word, Dale followed after Cielo. Her yellow dress would be easily
found in the crowd and, unfortunately, not only by him.

“Not so fast.” Dale caught up with Cielo
before she disappeared into the crowd. Oddly enough, she limped
less when she ran.

Cielo slowed to a walk, her eyes ever
watchful. The mask was back, the same golden shade as her flowing
dress, swirling around her delicate features with a life of its
own. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t
stop.

Dale automatically took the lead, something
he was used to, and moved ahead, constantly aware of the small
girl’s presence behind him. In front of him, the crowd parted while
he advanced towards the large tent.

“What is it that you do here?” he asked. “I
didn’t see you during the show.”

“I have the most important job in the
world.” Her words chimed, and when Dale glanced back over his
shoulder, waiting for her to continue, Cielo grinned. “I’m the
seamstress!”

The mask hid her face, but not the smile
which gave her a mysterious air. Dale’s gut told him this couldn’t
be the whole truth. Rake and Spinner wouldn’t have asked him to
guard a seamstress. And she looked nothing like them, so their
concern couldn’t be explained by blood relation.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cielo said,
the smile never leaving her face. “You obviously never worked in a
circus. With those stunts they do, the costumes need repair more
often than you’d think. And the appeal of the acts greatly
decreases without the costumes. I mean, who would want to see
what’s underneath? The girls freak out every time a thread tears.
That’s a lot of work!”

“There’s one act that doesn’t need
costumes.”

People said no one had ever seen the
Nightingale perform. No one knew who the singer was or what she
looked like. Dale would have been tempted to believe it was only a
recording, tailored to fit each act, if he hadn’t heard her with
his own ears. The songs didn’t matter, but the message they sent
did. Whoever sang had to be there each night to get the pulse of
the crowd. In his work, Dale had encountered people able to target
subjects one by one, but never someone working crowds this large.
Lucky for them, The Nightingale Circus was in no danger of getting
lynched—not that it was any of his business.

Cielo’s green eyes flashed at him. “We all
wear costumes when the fair is open—”

“And masks.” And not only the ones moving on
their faces.

“And masks. It’s all part of the act.”

It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech, so
Dale pretended to fall for it. There was no time to question her
more because Renard welcomed them at the back entrance of the tent,
a worried look on his face. “What happened? Did someone break into
the factory?”

“Yes, but everything is all right now,”
Cielo said.

Not really. They still had to deal with two
catatonic bodies, and there was also the question of what effect
the gas had on Cole, but no one asked Dale.

“Good.” Renard nodded. “Get in. They need
you.”

Cielo disappeared into the tent with a
flurry of yellow skirts.

His task completed, Dale turned to go back
to Cole. The icy dew crunched under his feet.

“I better see what happened,” Renard said,
walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“The lab is still standing,” Dale said.

“It’s not the lab I’m worried about.”
Renard’s mutter confirmed Dale’s suspicions. The machines could be
repaired and the equipment replaced. It was harder to explain two
dead bodies if the police came looking for them.