Page 42 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

Michel nodded and watched her lightly run back towards the camp, the smell of lemons lingering in the air.

Michel waited next to the riverbank until the heat had dipped enough to walk the horses back to camp.

Felix had set up a roped-off area for them to graze in as he continued banging and clamouring over the engine.

‘Not gone then?’ Jean sat outside Michel’s tent, his legs stretched out in front of him, the chair underneath barely visible.

‘Still here, for now.’

‘I’ve just been to see Madame Rosie. You met her yet?’

Michel sat on the grass next to Jean and took a cigarette from his shirt pocket. ‘I heard she’s the circus fortune teller, yet she is a whisper, a ghost – always heard and never seen.’

‘Quite poetic of you, Michel. She lodged in town this week. Had a cough, or so she says, and needed a private room. Giordano says she only wanted that so she could earn more money – selling trinkets and things of hers.’

‘She’s back now, though?’

‘Back and brighter than ever. Her tent is up. I just popped in to see what she had to say about my fortune for the evening.’

‘And what did she tell you?’

‘That she was tired and busy, and until I had money in my hand, my fortune wouldn’t reveal itself.’

‘When’s dinner?’ Michel looked about but could not see the food tent.

‘Ah, yes. No dinner tonight, but there are some local vendors selling food.’

‘Why not?’

‘Seems the cook and his lot got a better offer. Or, if you listen to the rumours, they walked out after not being paid. Depends who you want to believe.’

‘Will we get a new cook?’

‘Listen to you! We. I thought you were leaving. You’re one of us, then?’

Michel looked up and saw Frieda talking to a workman outside the Big Top, her hands gesturing. Then she patted the man on his shoulder. ‘Perhaps I am.’ Michel smiled.

‘Better get some rest then. Going to be a late one. I’m off to have a nap myself… although,’ he stood, ‘it depends if Giordano is snoring or not!’

Michel took his advice, and ignoring the noise of voices, of hammering and yelling outside, he lay down on his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The warmth from the torch flares and the day’s heat made Michel’s cheeks red and plump like a small child as he sat at the entrance to his tent. He leaned back in his chair and watched as the triplets, Eliška, Edita and Eliáš walked past, their heads held high, their batons twirling in unison, the light blue sequins of their performance-day costumes catching the glow of the flames.

Michel was nervous. Beau needed to perform – though even just to behave would be an improvement.

He got up and walked over to Beau, who stood watching as the circus came to life. Michel talked to him and rubbed at his cheek until Beau’s ears twitched forwards once more, his eyes wide and ready.

Michel turned to Claudette, who was dressed up for the evening’s performance. She wore a bejewelled bridle, a baby-blue feather crown tied to her head to match the triplets’ and Odélie’s costumes, and her saddle was decorated with cheap azure gems, which when the light snatched hold of them, made them look as expensive and lustrous as diamonds.

‘Madame,’ he said, stroking the mare’s neck. ‘You are looking wonderful this evening. I’m sure you will have the audience cheering for you.’

Claudette stamped her foot in reply then nuzzled into his neck.

‘A story? You want a story?’ Michel pulled a bale of hay closer to Claudette, and as he did, Bisou the pony and Beau walked towards him, as if they too wanted to hear the tale.

He pulled his book, Le Lotus Bleu, from his bag and smoothed his palm over the cover, feeling the worn blue leather and the gold embossing of the title.

‘Well, let’s see then – where is Tintin on his adventure?’ Michel opened the book and began. But as he started to read, a voice nearby called out to him.