The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom (9 page)

“It was her, in the tent, like she is now,” Lizzie said. “She had a rich man in there. She was stealing his watch.”

Dru gave a low whistle, and Erin and Nora exchanged glances.

“I didn't mean to see it!” Lizzie protested. “I couldn't help it!”

Malachy rubbed his chin. “Old Aurora, a thief? I wouldn't be surprised if that was true.”

That took Lizzie by surprise. “Really?”

“Come on, have you seen how much gin she goes through? More than she could afford on a fortune-teller's wages, I bet.”

“She's a proper drunk,” Erin agreed, nodding.

“Gets into trouble all the time when she's been drinking,” said Nora. “Remember the fight she had with the Amazon Queen?”

“Savage, it was! Scratching and hair pulling! Rolling in the straw!”

“If Anita hadn't knocked her cold with that tent peg, she'd have killed someone!” Nora laughed.

Lizzie didn't think it was funny. She was beginning to realize she'd made a dangerous enemy. If a drunken Madame Aurora could attack the huge Amazon Queen, then what chance did a skinny young girl have? “Forget it,” she mumbled. “It must have been my imagination.”

“And when the rope broke, and I fell? Was that your imagination too?” Dru asked, speaking for the first time.

“She's got the second sight,” Erin said, totally sure. “That proves it. Here. Do me next.”

Lizzie squirmed away from Erin's offered hand. “I don't believe in none of that stuff.”

Dru shrugged. “Seeing is believing.”

Lizzie had never believed in anything supernatural — she wasn't even afraid of ghosts, not like other children she knew. After all, Pa's fists were more scary than any ghost could be. And now this.

“But this circus stuff ain't real,” she said desperately. “It's all just for show.”

“Some of it is,” Malachy told her. “But it's a big old world, Lizzie. There are a lot of strange things in it that you can't easily explain.”

“S'pose you'd know,” Lizzie said sullenly.

Malachy grinned. “We've been to a lot of places, us circus folk. Seen things that would turn your hair white. You're going to have to open your mind if you're going to stay with us.”

It was a lot to take in. Lizzie looked down at her own open hands, wondering if she really did have the power to see into people's lives. Deep inside she suddenly believed she did. Whether she liked it or not, there wasn't any other explanation. All through her life, she'd had premonitions. She'd dreamed of her mother's death, and her brother's, but she'd thought it was just coincidence — after all, people died all the time in Rat's Castle.

The only question now was what she should do with her powers. Well, they could help make money, for a start. If she could tell people about their past the way she had with Madame Aurora, they'd be more likely to part with their cash. She might even pick up on some forgotten happy times that customers would be glad to be reminded of.

“Looking into the past is harmless enough, I reckon,” Lizzie said. “But do you really think I can see into the future?”

“Like when you saw Aurora stealing?” Malachy rested his chin on his fist. “That vision was clearer than the rest, right?”

“All bright and shiny.” Lizzie nodded.

“So if that
was
the future, then perhaps she hasn't stolen anything yet. . . .” A faraway look came over Malachy's face. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. “Lizzie, I've got it! We can't change the past, but we
can
change the future.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Maybe you've been given visions so that you can stop bad things happening!”

“How?” Lizzie asked, flabbergasted.

“Think about it. If something bad hasn't happened yet, maybe it doesn't have to happen at all,” Malachy said.

“If you knew when and where a robbery was going to happen,” Hari added excitedly, “you could get there first and stop it!”

“You could be a hero!” Erin said.

For once, Lizzie was completely lost for words.

* * *

The next morning, Lizzie was ready for work bright and early. She looked at herself in one of the carnival mirrors. Dressed in the dark, formal clothing she'd borrowed, she looked like a mourner at her own funeral. She sighed. Time to go face Madame Aurora's wrath.

But the moment Lizzie headed for the fortune-teller's tent, she started to attract attention. A clown smiled through a beard of shaving foam and waved. Women whispered behind their hands, and an old man blew out a cloud of pipe smoke and nodded knowingly.

Lizzie picked up speed, but that only made people more excited. Now people were standing up, abandoning half-eaten breakfasts, stowing away borrowed newspapers. She heard someone call out, “There she is!”

Lizzie spotted Nora's red hair and strode across to her.

“Good morning!” Nora said with a smile that spoke volumes.

“Did you and Erin tell everyone about me having visions?” Lizzie demanded.

“Oh, we might have let it slip,” Nora said breezily. “Now would you look at that, you've got customers already.”

Lizzie spun around. Sure enough, people were heading directly for her. A group of eight or nine circus folk quickly gathered around her, talking excitedly.

A lean, brown-skinned man stepped forward first. It was Zezete, the man she had met taking Akula the elephant for her bath. “My nephew Hari tells me you have a gift,” he said.

“Hari too?” Lizzie rounded on Nora. “So the whole lot of you have been telling tales about me, have you?”

“My dear girl, it is nothing to be ashamed of!” Zezete smiled at her. “Such gifts are given for a reason, always.”

Lizzie shuffled her feet. “I don't want it.”

“Why ever not?” Zezete asked.

Lizzie lowered her eyes. “I'll just get called a freak.”

“But we are all freaks at Fitzy's circus,” said Zezete with a wink. “You will fit right in.”

Lizzie couldn't help but smile at that.

“So, madam, would you do me the honor of reading my palm?” Zezete asked.

Lizzie took a deep breath. “All right.” She took his warm hand in hers, and the gathered crowd looked on eagerly. She found the life line. It was deep, like a weathered canyon carved through rock. The moment she put her finger to the line, visions began to appear in her mind. She saw a blazing sun, men wearing turbans, women with brightly colored cloth wrapped around them, and cows wandering down the middle of a busy road.

“I can see a town, but it's not in England. There's crowds of people, and cows in the street,” Lizzie began.

“India,” Zezete said confidently.

Lizzie gasped at the colors she saw before her — red and blue banners, gleaming gold on temple roofs, bright powder paint exploding like bombs in the midst of a joyous festival.

“There's a celebration,” she said. “People chucking paint everywhere.”

“Yes, yes!” Zezete said excitedly. “Holi, the festival of colors. Excellent. Very good. Go on.”

“You're a little boy, and some old man is touching your head,” Lizzie continued. “He looks holy.”

“Swami Samarth,” Zezete told the onlookers. “I was three! I had colic. My mother took me for a blessing.”

“Now you're eating a cake with loads of layers.”

Zezete groaned and licked his lips. “Bebinca.”

Lizzie wondered how long it had been since Zezete had tasted any. The young boy in her vision was savoring every mouthful, and the vision was so intense that she could smell the sweetness of it. Her mouth began to water.

Suddenly the vision vanished, replaced by another. Zezete was a man now, still eating bebinca. He smiled at the beautiful woman who had brought it to him. Lizzie echoed what the woman said: “Happy birthday, my little squirrel.”

Zezete began to tremble over his whole body. He whispered something in Hindi that Lizzie couldn't understand. “My Lakshmi,” he begged. “Tell me more.”

But the vision had faded. “I can't,” Lizzie said helplessly.

“But you saw her! My wife. She always called me her little squirrel!” Zezete's face became solemn. “I will pay. Whatever you ask. Just give me more.”

“Money won't help,” Lizzie said. “I don't choose what I see. It just happens.”

Zezete closed his eyes. “Very well. You must speak as you see.”

Lizzie tried to focus again. Suddenly, just as had happened with Aurora, she saw a clear vision. “I see you in your trailer. You're looking in your traveling trunk, fishing around by some old boots. A ring's on a chain around your neck. Now you're standing up, but the chain's caught. The ring's fallen into the trunk.”

Zezete sprang to his feet, eyes wide. “Thank you!” he said. Without warning, he kissed her on both cheeks and rushed off.

After that, everyone wanted their palm read. Lizzie had to make them all line up. She was in the middle of reading the palm of a Dutch acrobat named Erik when a shout of joy rang out from Zezete's caravan.

“So you're sure I don't have consumption?” Erik asked.

“How could you go on to have grandchildren if you have consumption?” Lizzie said. “I saw you with them. It was Christmas, and you were an old man! The only thing wrong with you now is a spot of hay fever. 'Scuse me a moment.”

Lizzie turned to see Zezete sprinting toward her. He held up a golden ring that caught the light. “Lakshmi's wedding ring,” he said through tears. “I lost it weeks ago, when the circus was in Cambridge. I thought it was gone forever.”

Zezete grabbed Lizzie's arm and held it up as if she were a boxing champion. “Listen, all of you!” he declared. “This girl is
echt
, kosher, the genuine article! My mind-reading is only stagecraft, but she is a
bona fide
psychic!”

“What is this?” Madame Aurora suddenly screeched. The crowd parted, revealing the fortune-teller barreling toward Lizzie. “Shove off, all of you!” she told the onlookers. “This brat works for me, and don't you forget it!”

As the crowd dispersed, Aurora bent down low and whispered in Lizzie's ear. “Last chance. If you don't stop stealing my limelight, I'll get you fired — or worse.”

“Worse?” Lizzie repeated.

Aurora grinned, showing her yellow teeth. “I can do magic too, you know. I can make nasty little girls disappear. Never to be seen again.”

Lizzie barely slept that night. All day she'd worked hard in the mystic tent, eavesdropping on the customers and fiddling with the lamp like Madame Aurora wanted, while the terrifying threat hung in the air between them.

“
Never to be seen again . . .”

Lizzie shuddered and rolled over. Visions rose like smoke in her mind, keeping her from sleep. Aurora, grinning like a skull. A gleaming knife. The masked Phantom, laughing.

She woke up the next day, rolled groggily out of bed, and went to join the Sullivans for breakfast. Erin snatched her porridge away when it looked like Lizzie was about to pass out into it.

“Shall I fetch a bucket of water and chuck it over you?” Erin suggested. “Might wake you up.”

“My legs ache,” Lizzie moaned, rubbing her calf.

“That's because that old witch makes you stand in one place all day.” Nora said.

Mr. Sullivan checked his watch. “You'd best be getting to work, Lizzie. She'll have a fit if you're late.”

But when Lizzie arrived at the fortune-teller's tent, she found it empty. She hastily lit the lamp, set some incense burning, and tidied up as best she could, hoping it would improve Aurora's mood if she found the place ready for her.

Ten more minutes passed. Still no sign of Aurora.

Lizzie poked her head out of the tent and saw the first customers of the day waiting patiently in line. She bit her knuckles anxiously. It was bad for business to leave customers waiting. She could do the readings herself, of course, but Madame Aurora wouldn't like that, would she?

She paced back and forth, lit more incense, polished the crystal ball, straightened the tarot cards. Outside she heard someone mutter, “We can't expect these circus folk to turn up on time, can we?” Polite laughter followed.

This was just confirming all their prejudices about circus people. Lizzie snuck another peek outside. The line had grown to seven or eight people now. The gentleman at the back was frowning and looking at his pocketwatch.

Lizzie's blood turned to ice on the spot. It was the man from her vision. And that was the very watch she'd seen Aurora steal!

Just then, Madame Aurora barged into the tent, red-eyed and haggard. Ignoring Lizzie completely, she rummaged around under the table and came up empty-handed. “I was sure there was one more bottle . . . right, Roxanna. Let the first customer in.”

Lizzie opened up the tent flap, feeling like she was trapped on a runaway train. Her vision was becoming a reality, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“About time,” a gentleman muttered. He ducked past her first, wincing as he did so. “You'd better be good!”

Lizzie couldn't possibly get away now. She stood, her legs aching and her heart pounding, as Madame Aurora bluffed her way through the reading. “You are troubled, dear . . .” she began.

Lizzie cringed as the hungover fortune-teller mumbled her nonsense. It was a clumsy, half-hearted performance even by her usual standards.

The customer wasn't impressed, Lizzie could tell. She thought he might even demand his money back. She had to do something. Why had the man flinched in pain when he entered the tent? She glanced at his shoes. The left one was scuffed and worn down the side, as if he'd been favoring it. So, he had a bad leg. Maybe a war wound. She caught Aurora's eye and quickly mimed firing a gun, then slapped her leg.