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n, the lion sniffed the air, tufted tail twitching across the blood-splattered hay behind him. He was a coil ready to spring an attack at any moment. I clutched the bars until my knuckles ached.
“Be careful. Please.”
I’d whispered barely loud enough for me to hear, so I was surprised when the ringmaster stumbled over a clump of hay and glanced at me. Everything happened too quickly after that. The lion, already suspicious of the masked gentleman inside the cage, sprang up from its hindquarters. Mephistopheles jumped back, but he wasn’t fast enough. The lion swiped the front of his waistcoat, tearing the material with no effort. I could only imagine what those claws could do to bare flesh. If he didn’t escape soon, I was going to find out.
“Run!” I yelled. “Hurry!”
Mephistopheles fell, scrambling backward like a crab scuttling away. Without a doubt, he was going to die. My heart pounded a battle cry. I scanned the dimly lit chamber, searching for something to use against the lion. My attention fell on a cane—without thought, I grabbed it and raced for the side opposite Mephistopheles, running the cane across the bars, creating the most dreadful racket.
In my mind I fancied it a fabulous distraction, but reality was not my friend. The lion paid me no attention; he plodded forward, eyes never leaving his prey.
“Hey!” I smacked the bars now as if I were a cricket player. The result was a metallic clang that nearly rattled my teeth. This made the lion pause at least. I used all my strength to hit the bars again and again, the sound so loud it refused to be ignored. Finally, the lion turned its head, annoyance plain in the twitch of its tail. Both the big cat and the ringmaster stared dully at me, as if waiting for the next bang on the rungs. “Run, you bloody fool!”
Mephistopheles shook himself out of his stupor and got to his feet; he turned his back on the big cat and was nearly to the cage door when the animal whirled around and struck him a second time. I screamed, convinced I was going to see him torn limb from limb. The unexpected shrillness startled the lion—it wasn’t much, but it was enough for Mephistopheles to tumble out of the cage and kick the door shut.
I darted around the cage, fastened the lock, and dragged the ringmaster to safety. He cringed at my rough handling, but didn’t cry out. I had no idea if that was a good sign or not. Perhaps he’d been injured so badly he was going into shock. Corpses were one thing; nursing a living body back to health was not my area of expertise.
“Are you hurt?” I ripped my gloves off, running swift hands over the front of him, searching for any obvious wounds. His clothing was tattered in the front, but I didn’t see any blood. Yet. “Any pain you’re aware of at all? How many fingers am I holding up?”
I couldn’t remember much else to ask, the dead didn’t usually tell me what had hurt until I cut them open and rooted around for clues.
He blinked slowly from behind his signature mask, seeming to consider this. I had no idea if he was thinking about potential pain or if he was about to pass out. “It’s… difficult… to tell. Perhaps my back?”
He struggled to sit up, then winced. With swift medical efficiency, I propped him up against the wall and wrestled his coat and waistcoat off. I knelt beside him and tugged his cravat away in a brisk motion even I was impressed by. My bare fingers were already undoing the buttons at his collar when I paused, suddenly aware of our position and what I was doing—if anyone caught us alone down here with his clothes half off, I’d be in a world of scandal.
Mephistopheles blinked at me. “This isn’t the first time you’ve removed a cravat, is it?”
“It would be the first time I used it to strangle someone, though.”
“So violent.” His eyes fluttered shut and he groaned. I shoved my worries aside. If anyone came down here they’d see an injured man and someone capable of offering medical assistance. Nothing more.
I finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it open, quickly inspecting his torso for any signs of damage. There was nothing but unblemished bronze skin. I ran my eyes over him twice to be certain, ignoring the sense of wrongness at his state of undress. I shook my head. He might have internal injuries that would be more worrisome than if his flesh had been torn. Prodding his torso for tenderness might be the best thing to do, though I wasn’t sure if it would hurt.
“You haven’t sustained any outward injuries to your person.” I lifted my gaze to his; we now were very close. Too close. He stared at me, unblinking. “Perhaps you have a concussion. You appear a bit—”
He toppled forward, nearly burying his head in my chest. “Please.” The word was a plea in itself. Arms gently came around my waist. “Please accept my apology.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I embraced him back a moment, worried over how hard he’d hit his head. “Come. Let’s stand up, shall we?”
After a wobbly attempt, I finally managed to get him on his feet. I held on to him, afraid he’d stumble back down and do more damage to his brain. I was about to offer him his jacket when he staggered into me, pressing us both into the wall as he stopped himself from falling. At this rate, it would take a lifetime to get him to a real physician. Dr. Arden had refused to leave his chambers, and I wasn’t sure if there was another doctor aboard the ship.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “If we’re moving too fast, then you ought to sit.”
His hands slowly came up to cradle my face and he leaned his forehead against mine. Clearly he was having a delusion. “Remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Our bargain, Miss Wadsworth.” He slumped against me and I worried there was some injury to his back that I’d missed. Before I could help stand him upright again, the sound of shoes hitting the stairs two at a time reached us. My first thought was elation that someone else would be able to help with the disoriented ringmaster in my arms. But when I saw it was Thomas who skidded around the corner and stopped short, I could have sworn my heart sank down to my toes.
The ringmaster leisurely pushed himself back, attention torn between me and Thomas. His odd insistence that I remember our bargain suddenly made sense. He’d manufactured this. All of it. I gripped my fists as he stood straighter and began buttoning up his shirt, completely and utterly stable on his feet.
“Mr. Cresswell, I assure you things aren’t what they appear,” he said, not sounding at all convincing as he donned his tattered jacket. He indicated the tears. “I was under attack and Miss Wadsworth rescued me. It was terribly valiant on her part and quite embarrassing on mine.”
Thomas didn’t so much as breathe from what I could see, but his sharp gaze was falling all over the room, likely reconstructing the scenario in that astounding way of his. With sadness, I realized he’d looked at everything in the room except for me. My uncle and the captain rounded the doorway a moment later with Cassie and halted.
“What on earth is going on?” the captain asked. “You have a performance to give. And this one”—he jabbed a thumb in Cassie’s direction—“wouldn’t say what the urgency was about. Only that you needed us straightaway.”
Mephistopheles stepped away from me and nodded toward the cage. “Miss Wadsworth and I were investigating the mystery of the severed arm. But you’re right—the show must go on. At least this murder won’t be the main attraction tonight.”
