Page 129 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Frieda left Michel siting in the caravan, his legs numb beneath him, his hands shaking. He felt sick.

Before the show began, Michel went to the stables to see the horses. The triplets sat inside, their eyes wide with fear, each of them now and again patting Beau’s nose.

‘You have spoken with Henri?’ Michel asked them.

Edita looked at him. She pulled her shawl around her. ‘We have.’

Michel knelt in front of them. ‘Don’t be afraid. It will be fine. Henri will keep you safe.’

‘We’re not scared,’ Edita said. ‘We will be OK.’ She turned to her brother and sister and held out her hands. Each of them took a hand and stood, walking back towards the circus, not turning to say goodbye to Michel.

Claudette nodded her head over the stable door, happy to see her master. ‘Hello there, my girl.’ He stroked her nose, her mane. ‘Such a beautiful girl. Keep those triplets safe tonight, eh?’

Claudette stamped her hoof.

Michel moved on to Bisou and had to open the stable door in order to see him properly. ‘You OK, my little friend?’ Michel kneeled in front of him and allowed Bisou to lower his head, resting it on his shoulder. ‘You giving me a hug? You always were a sweet one. Don’t you worry now, Bisou. Don’t you worry. Henri will keep you warm and safe here. How does that sound? No more travelling, no more getting wet and cold. He’ll keep you safe.’

Beau snorted above them and Michel stood, closed Bisou’s stable door and went to the fine stallion.

‘Now, you and I have a show to do first.’ Michel readjusted his bridle. ‘Not time to say goodbye just yet.’

Finally, he visited the workhorses, all of them delighted to receive a carrot. ‘You have worked hard, my friends. All of you. Now it is time for you to retire. Happy days wandering the fields and eating carrots by the bucket load!’ He stroked each of them. Then, just before he left, he went back one more time and hugged them, feeling a lump form in his throat.

By seven thirty the crowd had edged their way into the Big Top. First the birthday girl and Brigadeführer Wolff, followed by his entourage, which was larger than Michel had realised it would be. More than half of the audience wore a uniform; the other half were the townsfolk who, despite their obvious joy at being at a circus, kept sneaking glances at the uniforms as though they might attack at any moment.

Michel watched as the crowd filled the seats. Behind him, in a small covered area, the performers waited nervously.

Hugo bit his nails until Kacper handed him some white gloves; the little boy from rehearsals – now dressed as a clown – was still loudly complaining about his pay; and the triplets twirled their batons, every now and then betraying their fear when they dropped them.

Bertrand milled amongst them, telling them they would do fine, telling them not to look at the crowd.

‘Imagine they are just normal people. Forget they are wearing uniforms.’

‘So, you’re saying to imagine them naked?’ the boy asked.

‘I’m saying do whatever you need to do to perform.’

‘I’m not imagining no Germans naked. Maman says they have no genitals – she says they have come straight from hell and instead they have spikes down there.’

‘Would you hush? Please. Enough,’ Edita scolded.

The lad looked at her expression and acquiesced.

The orchestra began. A melancholy tune by a violin pierced the air, sending shivers down spines. Soon, another violin joined, darker, the musician quicker on the bow, as if playing an altogether different instrument. There was a rumble of thunder behind them, or perhaps the drums – either way, the volume grew, but the pace stayed the same: a slow, sombre march that would soon find its end.

Then the pianist began to play. A few notes, high then low, creating waves in the narrative – no longer simply a march, but now deviating over high and low ground, searching for its end and resting place.

The lights suddenly went out, plunging the tent into a complete darkness that made the audience gasp and cry out. Then, a spotlight appeared on the ground. It was tiny – at first no bigger than a coin – but with each note, each beat of the drum, the light grew, then found its prey. There, wrapped in silks like a chrysalis, was Frieda. She hung still from the beams above, the silver silk flashing and catching the light. Suddenly another light appeared. This time it hit the faces of skeletons that had suddenly appeared around the edge of the stage. Some of the audience gasped, others laughed nervously – Were they there all along? These people dressed in black, white bones painted on them – where have they come from? Is that really paint? Or are they real bones?

The music stopped.

The crowd’s silence deafened Michel’s ears – It will not be long now…

Before the audience realised what was happening, the music changed tempo, causing the skeletons to dance and somersault in tandem. It was still an eerie song – one that warranted caution, yet one that could turn and surprise quicker than a flash of light.

Michel rode Beau out into the middle of the ring and felt the heat of the spotlight on him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this night of the dead, this night of magic, of scenes you have never seen before!’