22: Jack in the Box

“We'll just have to go without her." Meridian tsked, shuffling back and forth in place, a clipboard in claw, marking off circus tasks. “Damn it Nobu, couldn't you have picked a better bloody time to screw up?" The leopard blushed sheepishly, looking to his brother for support. Narem gave him none, focusing instead on the small knife set Aloysius had gifted him.

“How was I s'posed to know Lyric's bad habits were going to rub off on her?" Nobu exclaimed instead, shooting accusatory glances at the jackal. Lyric shrugged, flicking embers off the end of his half-finished cigarette.

“Lyric, either take yourself outside or put it out, gates open in forty." Meridian cried, squeezing the top ridge of her beak. She turned to Nobu and suddenly thwacked him on the nose. “Stupid boy."

“Ow." He replied, rubbing his snout. “Look I--"

“You don't know a damn thing about women, do you?" Meridian said sharply. “Now, shut up for once, and get your costume on." Nobu opened his mouth to protest, glanced at Narem, then closed it, storming off towards his section of the backstage. Lyric finally dropped his cigarette into the dirt, stamping it out.

“You doin' okay there Riss?" He asked, crossing his arms – his injured one now free of a sling.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I just wish. that people would stop leaving without any bloody warning." She sounded exhausted, and - Lyric was surprised to note – on the edge of tears.

“If she ain't back by the end of show, I'll go fetch her, aight?" He asked, gently squeezing her arm. The raven nodded slowly. “Ursula's a sensible girl, she ain't gonna do nothin' stupid. She just needs some time off, a little time away."

“You're right, you're right of course. I just..." Meridian laughed sardonically. “I just want to be a normal circus again, without people always disappearing, being sent to gallows and shot. I just want things to be normal."

“I know, jus' ain't our lot in this life. When has our show ever been normal?"

Meridian paused. “Do you think it was a bad idea to bring Fletcher and Thume with us?" Lyric recoiled slightly, that Meridian might think that had never occurred to him. Sure, Patrick and his gang of rogues had been attracted by the boy, but most of the other drama had been his own doing.

“No, not at all." The raven sat in a nearby chair, running her claws over her feathered head, tsking. “Boy's an asset fer sure."

“I... I can feel the walls closing in Lyric." She said softly, meeting his eyes. “Things are running to some kind of conclusion, and I just wish I knew what that end was."

“Maybe, we should take the circus away from Kallinger." He let the words out before he realised what he was saying. “We still ain't all that far from Fulbright, and we're damn close to Vellem. Things might be safer if we went west, through Firespine and back into Rarick and Ailen Provinces. Could take it further north, if you wanted. At least we'd be out of reach of these fuckin' Barons."

And they'd be far away from Blood Mesa. Lyric thought.

“We just got here." Meridian said. “If we pack up and leave now, the Baroness isn't likely to want us back any time soon."

“We've burned bridges before."

“North-west..." Meridian wondered. “I don't know Lyric. We haven't been to Whitewall since... well." The jackal knelt by her, putting his paw on her elbow and softly squeezing.

“I'm nearly healed." He said slowly. “And very soon, Fletcher and I will be leavin'. Hopefully, this will be the end of that unpleasantness... but it's gonna be bad. I'd feel a lot better if you guys were away when it went down."

“Don't leave." She said, and he saw her walls, normally so strong and impenetrable, suddenly drop. “Lyric, don't leave us again. I just know, I don't know how but I can feel it, if you go... you won't be coming back. And we need you. I need you."

“I have to." He said. “Because nobody else will." The raven looked away, quickly wiping at her eyes. She seemed to stare off for ages, lost deep in thought.

“Okay." She said quietly, after a prolonged silence. “If you truly think it's important, we'll finish this week's line of shows, then make for Gaerus." Lyric felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

They'll be safe then, heading for somewhere else.

“Where will you go?" He asked.

“We'll skip Gaerus I think, too close to Fulbright, and those Dead World-obsessed monkeys are never very impressed with our parlour tricks." Lyric's mind went to thoughts of Telos, and the Archduke's immense power supply.

They don't need fake magic, because they have the real thing.

“So probably straight through to Rarick." She explained. “Macedon is off the table obviously, but we can go up through Hatten and... then through Whitewall."

“We'll be back by then." Lyric interrupted, “I promise you. We can decide if we want to stay in the South, or... Maybe it's time to travel up to the far north." He shrugged, stepping back as Meridian climbed to her feet.

“I'm getting tired of this place, it's true." She admitted, smirking. “Thank you. Now, enough crying, let's go put on a show." And she turned on point, striding deeper into the tent.

Narem, still in the corner, stood slowly, his eyes wide.

“Did she know I was here?" He asked, frowning. Lyric laughed.

“Of course." The leopard tsked as Lyric went over to him.

“So you two will be leaving then." He said. “I've been practicing with the..." Lyric held a paw up.

“I need ya' here pal, looking after her." He said. “Please, Narem. We don't always see eye-t'-eye, but I know ya well enough to leave you watchin' this lot."

“You have to bring him back." The leopard said, his expression soft. “Lyric, he can't die."

“He won't." The jackal said, glancing away. “You might have won, in the end Narem, but there's still a sort of thing between Fletch and I. Even if it's not as intimate, he's like a brother." The leopard came closer again, putting his own paw on Lyric's back, leaning in.

“Why do you talk like that?" The cat said softly. “It doesn't have to be about who won. Fletcher is not some prize we're competing to own."

“You're the one in his tent though." Lyric said flatly. “It's okay. I'm okay."

Did it to myself.

“He still cares for you."

“And I won't do anything to confuse him." Lyric promised, turning away and rolling his shoulders. He had to put all this heavy talk away – the show was about to begin.

...

Kalico Black felt comfortable on the stage. It was like it was who he was meant to be, like the moment he donned the hood and pulled out from the curtains, he was shedding a layer of fur – exposing his true colours. It was an oxymoron of course, putting on a costume to show the real him, but it was how he felt.

Thume was still playing the act of jester, and the crowd oohed and ahhed appropriately as he 'died', laughing and jeering as Kalico walked to his one missed plate and shot it. He'd added a final piece of flair to his show, and before he turned tail he emptied the spent revolver cartridges into his paw, tossing the still-warm pieces of brass out into the crowd, pups and adults alike scrambling for them.

Once he was backstage he was again Fletcher, mask off, Lyric gesturing for him to follow to a quiet place, so he could explain the new plan. Fletcher was still uncertain whether or not the jackal was fully healed, but he assured the coyote he was 'well enough'.

“If you say so."

“I do." Lyric said, going to explain that the circus would be leaving soon.

“We just got here!"

“It ain't safe and you know it. I'm just thankin' all the old gods I can name Meridian actually listened to me for once, she must really be scared. The further away they are, the better. We'll catch up with them eventually, don't you fret." Fletcher nodded, it made a kind of sense, though he wasn't as keen on the idea as Lyric. “Look boy, the more distance between us all, the clearer my head'll be, got it?"

“Yeah. Yeah I got it." Lyric grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and leaving him alone.

Fletcher then set to cleaning his guns, waiting as the show slowly tired out, the applause dying, the feral ravens scattering wildly into the night.

“Whatcha doin' here lad?" Fletcher looked up at the voice, clicking the last cylinder of his revolver into place. He was surprised how easily he'd taken to handguns, but he now felt nearly as comfortable with them as he did with his rifle.

Clementine came to his side, her burly arms crossed. “Just maintenance. Don't want any gunk building up, but I'm pretty much done now."

“You wanna give me a paw gettin' a straggler?"

“Straggler?" He asked, standing and holstering the gun.

“Yeah, some slick fool ain't got enough sense to clear out. Thought havin' the big-bad Kalico by my side might..." She shrugged. “Emphasise my point." Fletcher looked up and down the muscular tiger, wondering if anyone wouldn't be intimidated by her alone.

“I ain't gonna shoot no customer Clem." The tiger laughed, slapping the coyote on the back even as they began to head for the front gates.

“No, no, just look the tough and silent type, you can manage that?"

“Was Lyric busy?" Fletcher asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Indeed he was!" Clementine replied, bright teeth flashing. Her friendship with Thume was unexpected, but it oddly pleased Fletcher. For his entire life, the goat had been as alone as he was, they'd only had each other and Baron Fulbright. If Thume's story was accurate too, he'd been alone for as long as he could remember. It was nice, nice that he'd found friendship with someone other than Fletcher.

“Oi pal!" Clementine called from between two paws, her voice a few clicks deeper and scarier than usual. The nervous wolf looked up, licking his lips. “Show's over, time to head off." Clementine towered over the canine, and he glanced between the two.

“You Lyric?" The wolf asked Fletcher.

“I ain't." He said tartly.

“I'm s'posed to see Lyric. That's my job, I have to." The wolf nodded shakily. Clementine and Fletcher glanced between themselves.

“And why's that cowpoke?" Clem asked, cocking her head. The wolf shirked back, in fact, he looked terrified of them both.

“I just, I gotta!" He exclaimed. “Got a message for 'im, please."

No, not terrified of us. Fletcher realised. Something else is holding a knife to his throat.

“I can see he gets it." He said, paw anxiously touching the grip of his revolver.

“H-here!" The wolf said, shaking paws passing over a scrunched up piece of paper. Fletcher took it, seeing two lines of numbers written down; compass coordinates. “He'll definitely see it right? Y'swear?"

“On my name." Fletcher promised.

“Okay. She's there, tell him that too." The wolf said, eyes wide.

“I'm sorry?" Clementine asked, Fletcher's chest already seizing.

“That's what I had to tell him! Please, please tell him! She's there! The contort... the contortionist!" Fletcher snapped forward, grabbing the wolf by the shirt and shoving him, hard. The young man cried out as he tripped, tumbling over into the dirt. Fletcher drew a revolver and cocked it, aiming it straight for his skull. The gun wasn't loaded, but he didn't know that.

“Who the fuck're you exactly?" Fletcher asked. Tears welled in the wolf's eyes, and he held his paws up. “Answer."

“P-please! My name's Charles, I ain't got nothin' 'gainst you good folk he just told me to say that!" The wolf squeaked, edging backwards. “He told me he told me!"

“Who told you to say that?"

“I ain't get his name, but he's got my sister he does, please don't shoot me!" Fletcher uncocked his hammer, holstering the gun. Clementine stared at them both, wide-eyed.

“You know anythin' else?"

“That's it!" The wolf still his eyes pulled shut, paws covering his face.

“Get." The coyote said, whirling.

“Fletcher, what?" Clementine called after him.

“I have to get Lyric!" He cried back, breaking into a run. “Ursula's in danger."

His mind was racing, but there was no time to think, only time to act. One of my father's men? The Sultan's Curse? Some mercenary working for Baron Vellem?

The jackal was just climbing into bed when Fletcher found him, but he got up as soon as things were explained, snatching the piece of paper from the coyote's paws.

“Boy, this's almost back in Vellem," He exclaimed. “We'll be riding half the damn night!" He didn't slow while he said this, tugging on his coat and slipping his slide-action into its holster. Fletcher told Clementine to rouse Thume and let him know they were going, and then he and Lyric leapt onto two mounts and kicked them into action.

They rode like hell, pushing the ferals as hard as they'd go.

“Who would even do this?" Fletcher screamed, thwarting the wind's attempt to snatch away his words.

“Riddon!" Lyric shouted back, his face adopting a cool, focused kind of tension. “S'the kind of fucking game he'd love. I ain't got a clue how he found out I was in this circus, but it don't matter none now. All that matters's savin' Ursula." Fletcher remember what Lyric had told him about Beau Riddon, about how brutal the killer could be, how he did it for the sheer joy of it.

She doesn't deserve this. Fletcher thought, pleading with any old Gods he could name, begging them to let Ursula be alright.

He'd heard Thume talk about the circle. About how life was one unending circuit, repeating itself over and over, time fooling everyone into thinking it moved. At first, Fletcher had thought the idea was crazy – of course things weren't a circle, of course time was a line, going in only one direction.

But here they were again, for what felt like the dozenth time, riding away from the circus in the middle of the night, searching for some answer that would ultimately end in bloodshed, one way or another.

It's all the same.

Lyric held his compass almost the whole way, and they reached the coordinates on the paper in just under two hours hard ride. As he'd said, they were only a few kilometres from the Vellem-Kallinger border, Fletcher was sure. Beau – if it really was Beau orchestrating this witch hunt – had led them to a small, secluded section of forest. The ground felt lower and cooler, and they found a dark cabin built into the almost-swampy region.

“Let's go." Lyric said, hitching the mount to a tree and drawing his gun. Fletcher nodded, cocking his rifle and following behind the jackal. “Keep your eyes up boy, Riddon loves games. He looks like a possum, but he's a snake at heart." Fletcher nodded silently, glancing around. Hanging from branches in the thick nest of trees, he saw all kinds of strange things glittering in the gloom. Symbols and models made from twigs and leaves, glued together with mud and hung, almost staring down at them. He wondered if maybe Riddon gave more credence to Oracen Drast's crazed pseudo-mysticism than they'd first thought.

He kept his head on swivel, ears arched, scanning for any crackle of underbrush, any rubbing of bark, any cocking of a hammer; anything signalling someone sneaking up on them. None seemed to come, and Lyric filed up to the door, pressing himself next to it, gun held tight. Fletcher couldn't hear any screams yet either, so he supposed that was good.

He must want to bargain. He thought. Beau knows we're close, so he wants to offer Ursula up in exchange for his freedom. Another, more sinister bargain occurred to him too, but he didn't dare dwell on it.

“Ready?" Lyric asked, and Fletcher nodded. The jackal pulled back, then threw himself at the door, kicking right next to the handle. The rotten wood tore away easily, and the door swung inward to reveal a dark, normal looking cabin. Lyric stepped inside, followed closely by Fletcher, their heads turning from place to place, checking the corners.

Where are they? Fletcher thought, eyes seeing a second interior door, presumably to a bedroom. He pointed, and Lyric nodded. This time the jackal used the knob, twisting it and letting the door swing inwards. Fletcher inhaled sharply, pressing the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, covering Lyric's entrance.

Nothing. The two stormed into an empty bedroom, a thin layer of dust covering the furniture.

“Fuck!" Lyric cried, kicking a chair so hard it crashed into the wall and broke in two. “FUCK!" Fletcher looked around, slinging his rifle over one shoulder, but keeping a paw near his revolver.

“Why would he send us all this way?" He asked, searching the main room, hoping maybe Riddon had left some message or note.

“It's a wild fucking chase, meant to distract us while he does something horrible to her." Lyric growled. “He's toying with us."

“No, that don't make any sense." Fletcher replied. “We didn't know he had Ursula, he didn't need to throw us off his trail." The only thing that made sense was Beau here, bargaining for his freedom. This was some move, and they were being played.

“You don't understand Riddon like I do boy." Lyric spat, a growl bubbling in the low of his throat. Fletcher ignored him. his eyes scanning the ground, counter tops, searching for any sign, any possible way to communicate with them. A letter? A clue?

“There!" He shouted suddenly, pointing to a large sofa, pressed against the wall.

“What?" Lyric asked, coming to his side. Fletcher went to the couch, dropping to a squat and pointing at the floor.

“Look here," He said. “You can see drag-lines, and the dust is all disturbed, the chair has been slid out." He licked his lips. “There must be a trapdoor, here help me." He grabbed the back of the couch, groaning as he tugged. The bastard was much heavier than it looked, but then Lyric was at his side, pulling and groaning with him, the couch finally giving with a loud screech.

As it came away, Fletcher saw he was right; a small hatch laid beneath, no dust on it, the faint glow of light shining at the edges.

“He's down there." The coyote said, drawing his revolver. Lyric nodded, his own gun in paw. “He wants to bargain, I'm certain."

“I know."

“Are you ready?"

“We save Ursula. No matter what he wants, her life is first." Lyric said firmly, his eyes cold and distant. “That's what I'm here to do." Fletcher nodded, though he didn't know if Lyric was saying it to him, or himself. In a quick motion he pulled the hatch up, dancing back, gun barrel trained on the hole. They heard no sounds, but the warm, tell-tale glow of an oil lamp shone up, revealing a short ladder. Lyric glanced around, then clambered forward, slowly making his way down, eyes peeled.

When he saw the jackal had reached the bottom, Fletcher followed. As his own feet touched the ground in the basement, he half expected the trapdoor to slam shut above them, staring up in anticipation. No such trick came however, and then he turned to take the room in. He recalled when Lyric told him about the first encounter with Beau Riddon, how he'd been killing a young girl, and had given the jackal a choice – save the girl or chase after him. It was the same now, Fletcher was sure, he was just waiting for the bastard to appear.

He didn't bet on me. He thought, watching as Lyric slowly approached the only obvious target in the room. The basement was cool and dank, the walls made of cold dark bricks, moss accruing in the corners and edges. The rearmost wall had some bland painting on it, and a desk and some canned food sat to the left of them. In the centre however, was a large, black wooden box, its size just long enough to fit a person within. It looked like a coffin, there was no denying it. Lyric looked around, as if expecting Riddon to spring out of some hidden door, before concluding that was impossible, and holstering the gun.

“Careful!" Fletcher said, as the jackal's paws touched the box's lid. “It could be rigged with some trap; it could hurt Ursula as you open it." Lyric nodded, then knocked twice on the lid.

“Urse, you in there?" He cried, knocking again. “Knock back!" They waited, and got nothing. “He coulda drugged her, his victims are often dosed with Sleep before he snatches them, makes 'em docile." Fletcher shivered, and Lyric once again hefted the lid, moving slowly, eyes peeled for any hidden mechanisms. When none were obvious, the jackal cried out, tearing the lid wholly off, the large sheet of wood crashing the ground, cracking.

Fletcher stared inside the box, and realised they'd made a horrible mistake.

Lyric's arms went limp, his gun falling into the dirt as it slipped from his grip. He just shook his head slowly, staring with vacant eyes. Fletcher couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything.

“He didn't want to bargain." Fletcher whispered, his voice barely audible, his stomach and blood cold.

He'd heard of what Riddon had done to victims before, but that... thing in the box, it was beyond words. He simply shook his head. It was definitely once Ursula, Beau had positioned the pieces so there was no chance of them fooling themselves otherwise, but beyond that she was near unrecognisable.

Fletcher knew what he was staring at; he was staring at evil.

“He just wanted to hurt me." Lyric mumbled, sounding almost drunk. Fletcher turned away, he couldn't stand it anymore, doubling over and vomiting straight onto the ground. He screamed as he did, tears filling his eyes, a cold knife of grief stabbing into his back and twisting. “No games."

Fletcher fell to his knees, stomach and throat burning, still heaving, still sobbing and crying. He couldn't control himself, couldn't make himself do anything besides stare at the blurry ground and shake his head.

“No, no, no, no-no-no-nonono please." He whined, bile again rising in his mouth. “Don't. Please." He gasped, as Lyric picked up his gun and came to his side. He felt the jackal's paw on his shoulder, but it might as well have happened to someone else.

“C'mon. We should go."

“We can't leave her!" Fletcher cried. “We can't just... like that!" Lyric yanked him to his feet, shoved him towards the ladder.

“What? You wanna bury her?" His voice was angry, snappish and sharp. “The ground's just as fuckin poisoned as the people above it Fletch. Climb."

Through tear-stained vision, and a swimming mind, Fletcher obeyed.

His mind began to shut off, and he felt himself reduced to a series of actions.

Go outside. Get on the mount. Watch Lyric set fire to the cabin. Ride away.

The two did not speak as they rode, moving much slower than when they'd come, Ursula's crematory at their backs. Fletcher's mind, trapped in his automaton-like body, reeled, turning over ideas and thoughts. He bargained with the world, begged it to take something else instead. He thought of a hundred thousand what-ifs, of things he could have done.

Could have gone after her sooner, could have followed after her fight with Nobu. Nobu could have been less of a dick, I could have talked to him, could have told him not to let her go. If we'd been faster, if I hadn't been so fucking slow with that wolf. She died alone, she died, and the last thing she did in the circus was be hurt by Nobu.

He wanted to scream, to howl, he wanted to die. It felt so unfair, so wrong.

And Ursula might have deserved it the least. He thought, eyes drying, the pain of the extreme emotions slowly edging away, replaced by numbness.

It took nearly three hours before they got close to the camp again, and by then the sky was starting to lighten, paling as the sun touched the edges of the horizon. Lyric smoked the whole way, saying almost nothing.

“Wait." His voice was raspy and dry, coming like a whip-crack as he yanked his mount to a halt. Fletcher did the same, feeling the weight of his muscles hanging off his skeleton. He just wanted everything to be over. “Look." The jackal pointed.

Fletcher looked, and in the distance, he saw a growing blot against the light backdrop of sky. A colourful kind of blur, though in his depressive haze, everything seemed off and unreal. Still, even with his warped senses, he knew it was their campground.

“The circus." Lyric muttered. Fletcher's eyes went wide as he finally realised what exactly he was looking at;

The circus was burning.