Broken People (Serial)

Twenty-Five

People said night was a good adviser. Nicholas begged to differ. For as long as he could remember, bad decisions had been made at night. Most recently, they included him pretending to be the circus owner, accepting to put on the show at the big theater hall, and deciding to break into the Hrad. The last one was particularly insane. He didn't see how they could achieve that. No one needed that much money. Nicholas, who had grown up with money and liked his comforts, appreciated his freedom more. And this little adventure could go wrong in so many ways, it gave him nightmares.

He rubbed his eyes, tired from staring at the blueprints for so long, and leaned back in his chair. The fair had closed at midnight, and a heavy silence surrounded him, broken only by the random cries of the beasts in the menagerie. Focused on his work, a quiet knock on the door startled him.

"Yes!"

The door opened, and Anya slid in, carrying a tray with a pink porcelain bowl on it. She danced on the tips of her toes towards his desk, where she set it down.

"Pink?" Nicholas arched an eyebrow, holding back an amused smile. He wasn't one of those men who felt threatened by a girly color, but he liked to tease her about it.

"That's what you get for not showing up for dinner." Anya slid the tray towards him, careful to avoid the blueprints. "It was the only one left."

"I don't care that much for pudding," Nicholas said, just to be difficult. Besides, the brown crust didn't look appealing at all, and he had a headache. "It's a British dish."

"Good. Because it's crème brulée." She handed him the spoon.

Well, that he could eat. And the sugar overload might give him some new ideas. With that in mind, he dipped the spoon into the bowl. He suppressed a sigh, disappointed to discover it tasted good. The cook was worth her weight in gold, and that was a lot of gold.

Anya let Nicholas enjoy his snack as she strolled around the room, pretending to study everything in sight. When he first arrived at the circus, Nicholas couldn't afford to rent an entire car like some members of the crew. He settled for one cabin that he split in half with a velvet curtain, separating the sleeping area from the rest of the room, which he mainly used for storage as his acts required plenty of props.

Magic didn't pay well, not even close to what the aerialists and gymnasts made, and whatever he gained each month went toward designing better numbers, hopefully more appealing to the audience, and requiring less use of his power. He'd get there one day, but he still had a long way to go. After years of practicing, he was confident it wasn't an impossible task, but he was also aware of how hard it was. As Anya flowed from one shelf to the next, near-pirouetting as she avoided one item after another on the floor, Nicholas couldn't help feeling inadequate.

He neglected his personal space, and other than a wide, comfortable armchair, a sturdy table with steel legs that also served as workbench, and a huge dresser, there was nothing valuable in the room. The tricks were worthless if you didn't know how to do them, and while his fancy clothes might be worth something, these people wouldn't be caught dead wearing them. Anya's short skirt swayed gently as if it agreed with his deprecation.

"Don't you like it?"

Yes, he did. He liked her legs very much. "Hmm?" Nicholas raised his eyes to meet Anya's gaze. He'd stopped eating while watching her. "No, it's fine." He frowned while he cut paths with the spoon through the cream to let the burned sugar sauce invade it. "Anya, why did you come?"

His question made her come to a halt near the end of the table and rest her hip against its edge. "I'm worried there's something wrong with the Nightingale."

So this is what it was. He should have known she hadn't come just to bring him dessert. "What makes you say that?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I get this hole in the pit of my stomach ..." She pressed a hand against her middle. "And don't you dare make a joke about my mechanical parts!"

"You know I never do that." His voice softened. "What set you off?"

"The way she sang tonight ... She's never missed a note before."

"With the recent events, it's understandable. We're all under a lot of pressure."

"No, it's not that." Anya shook her head. A short lock of dark brown hair fell over her face, and she pushed it behind her ear. "It was worse in Vilnius when the locals wanted to lynch us. She had no problem reacting then. She scared me."

"All right. Let's assume you're right." Nicholas paused long enough to hold her gaze. "What do you want me to do?" What could he do? No one stood up to the Nightingale.

"Maybe ... maybe she shouldn't come to the theater." Anya took a step closer, looking down at him, and propped her hip against the table once more. With her hips tilted like that, her stance resembled Cielo's, though Cielo's hips would never reach that high. "She's not safe there. We can protect her better at the circus."

"I voted against it when we discussed it, but I was outnumbered." Nicholas raised his shoulders. "People feel safe with her around."

"But they're not, not this time."

"Maybe they are. What do I know?"

Anya leaned forward. Her sweet perfume, sweeter than the crème brulée, wrapped around him. "You do know. You need to convince them otherwise."

"It's one thing to make people think I pull a rabbit out of a hat when there's no rabbit there," Nicholas said. "I'm a magician, but it's different than making people act upon the illusions. The mind filters them and, while part of you believes them, the survival mechanism knows there's something not quite right about it. That's why you don't do anything stupid in reaction to them. So hypnosis won't work."

"But there's more you can do."

Nicholas didn't agree. "I'd rather not try something on my co-workers that might backfire on me. We don't use our skills on our own people. It's written in the contract."

"We're all weird in some way. They'll understand."

"Oh, they'll understand all right." Nicholas grimaced. "And then they'll set my car on fire. No, thank you."

Anya pursed her lips in annoyance. "Then what do we do? Wait for the sky to fall on us?"

"We hope it doesn't, but if it does, we do our best to keep the tide from washing us away." It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the only one he had. Besides, it was a hypothetical conversation. Chances were that nothing bad was going to happen. The worst case scenario was the townies didn't like their show and didn't let them use the theater ever again. It would be a blow for his finances as he tended to do well here, but he would survive.

"I'm not happy with your management." Anya placed the bowl back on the tray. Nicholas had licked it clean.

"I know, and I'm sorry."

Ignoring his apology, Anya picked up the tray and turned away from him. "Try to get some rest, Nick. You look terrible."

Nicholas stretched out a hand to caress her back, but Anya slid out of his reach before he could touch her. Maybe it was for the best. A momentary weakness could ruin everything.

Shaking his head at his lapse of judgment, Nicholas took another look at the blueprints. So, if they entered here, the weak spots would be here and here. Once they went upstairs ... Damn, they should get better intel regarding the guards' schedule.

He fussed over the blueprints of the Hrad for another hour, imagining different scenarios, until his eyes threatened to close by themselves. With the days spent at the theater, the evenings at the circus, and nights making plans, he didn't get nearly enough sleep. When the fatigue caught up with him, Nicholas stumbled behind the curtain and collapsed onto the bed.