[Part Two: Performance}

10: Midnight Meridian

     Until he saw it with his own two eyes, Fletcher hadn’t fully grasped what Meridian meant by ‘auxiliary show’. He saw now it was some kind of circus prelude, but the one time he’d had a chance to experience it prior, he’d been drunk with the acrobat twins instead. This time however, there was nothing to distract him – Thume was well, he wasn’t in trouble, and nobody had shot up the circus in the last few days. The only misnomer was Lyric’s absence, which had now stretched over three – nearly four – days. Fletcher was concerned, but he knew the jackal could take care of himself. The greater issue was Lyric’s integral role in the Midnight Meridian show itself – he acted the jester, distracting and delighting the audience between acts. Miss Meridian was hesitant at best to perform it without him.

     But they’d already delayed once, and she didn’t want to lose the momentum and hype that had built in their audience. So, albeit reluctantly, Thume had agreed to step into the quilted shoes and be her puppet. If only to repay the crew for saving his life.

     This meant Fletcher was left alone once the gates opened. Everyone had a part to play, as Meridian’s motto was ‘everyone performs’. The crowd was waiting at the gate the moment it was pulled open, the tall iron barriers swinging inward on hidden strings. Ever since they announced the delay, the circus had been the talk of Bantam – everyone was desperate to know why they’d been denied. None were aware it was due to a murderous band of bounty hunters, and every armchair conspiracy nut had their own theory. The mystery was likely what aided the show pre-selling out every day of its first week, with signs showing similar figures for the second.

     Fletcher filtered into the crowd once they’d been allowed into the central thoroughfare, marveling with them at the ostentatious palette of purples, blacks, and whites. Much of the material used to dress the show was metallic or even iridescent in nature, the lanterns and candles throwing up complex fractal reflections that were easy to get lost in. Fletcher had been told how meticulous Meridian was about lighting; enough for shadows, enough for mystery, not so little the herd trips over themselves. The layout, the light, the design, it all played into the idea of people being able to lose themselves in the maze of tents and stalls that made up the auxiliary show.

     “It’s nice, huh?” Fletcher turned in surprise, his mind taking a few seconds to connect the voice to the face. Ursula stood before him, the torchlight catching the edges of her silver and grey fur, framing her like an intricate piece of sculpture. “How are you Fletcher?”

     The coyote blushed. “I’m good thanks. I… didn’t see you there.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Around them the crowd moved, chattering nonsensically to one another, pointing down the little tent-lined alleyways and debating which pre-act to see first. In the distance fire spewed into the air, indicating Brandon at least had begun.

     “It’s beautiful.” The sergal said softly, stepping past him. Fletcher felt ashamed to be near her. He’d been there when Meridian rescued her from her previous employer, but since that day Thume’s recovery and Lyric’s disappearance had taken centre stage in his life. He’d hardly spent any time with the girl, despite Miss Meridian requesting he befriend her – since they were both new.

     “I’ve never seen it before, it is.” He replied dumbly.

     “Do you want some?” Ursula asked, proffering a small bag of popcorn. The food merchants were one thing the circus outsourced, recruiting small freelance workers from the nearby town to sell food at the entrance to the show. It helped build a comfortable rapport with local industry, and stopped Meridian from having to worry about carting around show-food for the masses. “It’s sweet, actually.”

     Fletcher dug a paw into her bag, coming back with several tiny blossoms of popcorn. It was sweet. “How are you fitting in?” He asked, around a mouthful. The sergal shrugged.

     “Miss Meridian is nice, and I think Nobu is funny. I haven’t spent too much time with the others though if I’m honest, but they seem pleasant.” She paused, sighing. “Anything’s better than still being with Mister Beguile though.” She shuddered, and Fletcher winced. The badger she’d previously been employed by was a barbarian, the kind of scum that took unique individuals and twisted them into things he could use.

     “Is there anyone you particularly want to see? I think they design it so you can’t see all the pre-shows in one night.” Fletcher asked, leading her forward, if only to get away from the busy thoroughfare. Through the gaps in tents and crowds, he saw Jenny on a stage, a small gaggle of Bantam locals applauding as she slid a third rapier down her gullet. The chameleon’s scales shone, a small rainbow of refractory light shimmering over her, creating the illusion of translucency. She bent at the waist, the three swords sliding out from her throat and landing neatly into her delicate lizard fingers, before being twirled nonchalantly. Something about sword-swallowing had always seemed grotesque to Fletcher, and he was in no mood to get any closer to her than he already was.

     “Um…” Ursula paused, trailing a paw along her neck in thought. “I’ve never visited a fortune teller before… would you judge me so harshly if we saw… er… what’s his name again? The weird one?”

     “DP?” Fletcher asked, chuckling. “Sure thing, I think his tent is down this way.” He took Ursula’s wrist and tugged her along, slipping through the crowd. A slight queasiness nibbled at him, the nerves of sitting down with someone he barely knew. DP was perhaps the strangest individual Fletcher had ever met, keeping to himself and regularly spouting nonsense akin to Thume’s worst bouts of madness. On top of that, he looked strange – it was rude to ask, but Fletcher genuinely had no idea what species the fortune teller belonged to.

     “It’s not too busy!” Ursula said gleefully as they approached. The tent indeed had only a modest line, but that made sense, since it was one of the less glamourous acts. The tent itself was unique, a deep crimson colour with silver and gold trim, no guy-lines to be seen, a slight aura of smoke hanging at the shadowed doorway. As they progressed through the queue, Fletcher caught the scent of herbal musk, a heady kind of citrus that felt like he was wading through it. Above the doorway a yellow and vermilion sign read in warped text:

SLIP BETWEEN THE REALMS OF EXISTENCE, SEE YOUR FUTURE, YOUR OTHER SELVES, YOUR SOUL BARED BEFORE THE HEAVENS

     It was eccentric, but anyone who called themselves Dopesmoker would be. As a bewildered looking dog came stumbling out from the tent, muttering to himself, Fletcher and Ursula passed inside together. The interior of the tent was much like the exterior, only exponentially more intense. The oil lamps in the corner of the space gave off an ethereal blue light, the haze of smoke and mist catching and twisting in it, the walls seeming like endless hallways extending into the void itself. Dopesmoker sat behind a simple mahogany desk, his greyish-brown fur matted and loose, ventilator puffing as he breathed. Tucked behind his waist was a small cylinder, bubbling faintly as it boiled some kind of vague liquid. Concentric rubber tubes ran out from his facemask, down his front and finally behind him, connecting up with the device strapped to his rear.

     “My friends…” Dopesmoker wheezed, waving a paw and offering them the two seats before him. “Please.” His voice was distorted by the breather covering his maw and nose, the words almost mechanically chthonic, as if there were two or three of him speaking in unison, with the most minor of delays.

     “Hello Dope.” Fletcher said, sitting. He felt unease at being called friend, since the two had scarcely interacted.

     “How are you finding your night?” The shaggy creature asked, folding his fingers into a pyramid, piercing grey eyes staring out from deep in his skull.

     “It’s interesting.” Ursula said, grinning as she glanced to Fletcher. “Can you really tell futures? You have to show us your trick sometime.”

     “There’s no trick, I assure you.” DP replied calmly, his words dispersed between extended breaths. “If you’d ever drifted away from your material bonding, consciousness and awareness separated in an instant from your physical manifestation, you’d find the world a much less… confusing place.” Fletcher resisted the urge to sigh. He didn’t consider himself a cynic, but he’d heard similar jargon from Thume for years, and it was growing old.

     “Can I go first?” Ursula asked, looking to the coyote for approval.

     “Be my guest.” Fletcher said, waving his paw. Dopesmoker put his own on the table, gesturing for Ursula to lay her paws into his.

     “If you will.” He said, and she complied, both paws tucked neatly into the crux of his furred extremity. He went silent for a brief moment, two orange lights at the place where his tubes connected to his breather flaring, a tiny halo reflecting off the smoke around him. “You have come from chains, locked away. There is a place for you moving inwards, and yet you remain an outlier still. Give yourself to your new family, and you’ll avoid the machinations of those who would still seek to destroy you. Ursula, your brother was correct in what he said… and while I can allay your fears he isn’t dead yet, he no longer remains in any state you’d wish to see. I assure you. Cut off your past, or it will weigh you down, and trap you. Franklin Beguile will be dead before the month is out.”

     In the tense silence following the spiel, DP retracted his paws, cocking his head. Fletcher saw Ursula had tears in her eyes, and she wiped at them.

     Did Meridian tell anyone else about Ursula’s history? Fletcher wondered. It seemed unlikely, she hadn’t done so for him.

     “Young Master Fulbright?” Dope asked, causing Fletcher to wince. Reluctantly, he put his paws forward, the shaggy creature’s own surprisingly soft. “Pain.” Dope said slowly.

     “What?” Fletcher asked, eyebrows furrowing.

     “There is a lot of pain. And if you want to keep yourself free from the Mesa and it’s vicious whims, I’d start making allies now. There is so much hatred and violence surrounding you, and the Children will seek to use that. Their nightmares progress, the old world horrors aging even further as we step deeper into this millennium.”

     “That makes no sense.” Fletcher objected, straightening himself. “What mesa? What children?”

     “Stay away from Parallax, it’s infinitely more deadly to you than Sleep would ever be. It’s difficult to see, a disconnected thing from our world. Telos poisoned the Earth when he went mad, and he’d do it again.”

     “What?” Fletcher’s mouth had fallen open.

     “That’s all I have.” Dopesmoker said. Those orange rings on his mask had gone red now. “I can’t see, or feel, anything else.”

     “What is Parallax? What is a Telos?”

     “It’s a Greek philosophy. It’s from the past, and the future.” The shaggy creature shrugged. “I don’t know. Things get more complex when you start involving many people. It’s not a prophecy though… understand, nothing is in stone.”

     “Hmm.” Fletcher was skeptical. “How do you do it?”

     “I don’t know.” Dopesmoker said, leaning back. “I get glimpses, shades, impressions. It’s like my future self is speaking to me, but through a thick membrane of time. Yours was exceptionally specific.”

     “And yet it was so vague.” He felt annoyed, more than anything else.

     “Do you know much about the Dead World Fletcher?” Dope asked. The coyote shook his head. “I’ve seen what happened. What brought us to this, what poisoned the soil and made half our animals into abominations, like the one you shot with Thume.”

     “How do you know about that?”

     “I just do. I wish I could be more exact.” The masked face fell, a mechanical sigh sounding with it. “But the whole world burned. It burned with some kind of toxic fire… and it could happen again.”

     “How?”

     “I don’t know.”

     “That’s helpful.”

     “We should go.” Ursula said, looking supremely perplexed. Fletcher agreed, and the two departed. “Did that make any sense to you?” The sergal asked, once they were free.

     “Not really. But I never told anyone about hunting the Orikabu, unless he’s been speaking to Thume. I don’t know, it wasn’t as paw-wavy as I expected. What about you?” Ursula paused awkwardly.

     “It was real enough he couldn’t have made it up, unless he’s extremely lucky. I didn’t tell anyone I had a brother, not even Beguile knew it. He couldn’t have known that.” She explained.

     “Lots of people have brothers though. What did yours say to you?”

     “It doesn’t matter now. But he had a serious Sleep problem. I thought he was dead.” Fletcher nodded, letting the matter drop. Sleep. That drug again, the one Thume had been so confusingly adamant about.

     The two continued to explore, letting their minds forget Dopesmoker’s predictions. They saw Theodore sing, Abigail do terrifyingly accurate impressions, and Lazarus stand on a bed of nails, and put clamps over his fingers. They also had a slice of meat from outside each, a chunky thing wrapped in flatbread, drenched with plum sauce.

Eventually, flares fired into the sky, and the crowds were beckoned within the big top. The show was about to begin.

     Inside the big top, the atmosphere was magical, and there were no other words Fletcher could have used to describe it. It felt like they were in a space without walls, and endless frozen moment, the crowds sitting in long pews before a single, wide stage, hidden behind purple curtains. People came in and sat, and nothing began until all were down.

     First the entrance closed, a flap falling over the archway and sealing them in darkness. Then the drums began ominously, followed by a horn as the curtains peeled back to reveal the Raven ringleader.

     Miss Merissa Meridian stood on the stage with her head bowed and her claws clasped before herself. She was dressed in a sparkling black and white outfit, shining jewels placed intricately along her beak. A cape ran down her back, seeming to float in almost open opposition to gravity. Her feathers rustled as she raised her arms and welcomed all.

     “The Midnight Meridian show is unlike anything else on this Earth!” She said theatrically, projecting her voice. “You may tell others what you bear witness to tonight, but they shall not believe you! In all accuracy, we are creating a secret here, an intimate truth between you all… and us. Nothing exists but this, there is nobody around, and nothing beyond our walls.”

     “She really has a flair for this, huh?” Ursula whispered to Fletcher, who nodded.

     “The things you see are not all from this world, but they are all crafted with one purpose in mind-” She paused, and from behind her Nobu and Narem unfolded outward, reverse scissoring over backward, going from feet to forepaws, toes pointed skyward, before gracefully lowering themselves to the stage as they stood upright, bowing. The audience clapped, wow-ing amongst themselves. Fletcher stared, unable to determine exactly where the acrobats had come from. It seemed as if they’d simply peeled out of reality. “To entertain!” Meridian cried.

     The drums picked up and the show began.

     It was outstanding, and Fletcher found himself frequently in awe. Nobu and Narem moved with such deliberate authority over their bodies, arcing and twisting as they leapt and caught one another. They hopped through fire, rolled, sprung up and bounced off everything they could, including one another.

     Their act ended as they both landed in unison, bowing to the crowd before exploding into a puff of glitter and smoke. The white and orange mist flew forwards like the aftershock of an explosion, revealing Thume, dressed as a jester. Again his face was covered, tiny bells hanging off his horns as he moved and twisted cosmically, performing tiny bouts of card-magic (meticulously practiced with Meridian the past two days) for the front-seated audience. As he moved he dragged huge weights into place, trying to lift them and tumbling over, all to the chorus of laughter.

     It was really out of character for the ornery goat.

     Then suddenly Clementine was there, her intensely muscled arms crossed before herself. She huffed at Thume, who vanished ‘fearfully’ into the rear of the stage. She began to lift and flex, showing off her incredible physique. She even at one point lifted a heavyset bear from the audience overhead with apparent ease, all to much applause and praise.

     This was followed by Theodore, Thume in tow. They distracted the audience with singing and antics as in the background of the stage, pieces of the next performance were wheeled into place. Theodore and Lyric were the only members who performed both in the auxiliary and main show, though their limelight was short. It ended as Thume pretended to try and stab the singing wolf, but was interrupted by a knife thrown to his feet.

     This led into Aloysius’s sword and knife-throwing act, which was in turn followed by Raime Transeldaimor. The highlight of the magic act, was Thume locking Raime in a chrome collar, strung up to a makeshift gallows. The audience watched in stunned terror as the jester mimed dropping and hanging the magician, going back and forth as the greyhound magician seemed to do little but squirm. He eventually pulled the lever, and some members even screamed, only to burst out laughing as Raime landed on his feet, free of the collar and totally unharmed.

     This went on, finally concluding as Raime covered the jester in an array of technicolour fabrics. With the mummified jester on stage, Raime stepped forward with a burning torch in paw. The greyhound bowed, making as if to light the fabrics, which garnered plenty of shocked reactions from the crowd.

     “We should like…” The magician began, gesticulating wildly with his free paw. “To thank each and every one of our audience members for appearing tonight. Truly, you are pioneers. We pray only, that we have not disappointed.” He bowed again, before standing and putting the torch to the mummified and squirming Thume.

     Even Fletcher, who was somewhat prepared, gasped as the material exploded in a huge show of shining fire and smoke, more than two dozen feral ravens erupting from the inside, swooping over the audience and out the now-opened entrance to the tent. Fletcher watched them go, and when he turned back the stage was completely empty, the room suddenly bright again.

     It was over, and the applause was thunderous.

     Once the crowd departed the tent they found the outside practically abandoned, no performer in sight, the little alleys walled off as the structures shepherded them outside the circus grounds.

     After the visitors had left, Fletcher closed the gates, locking them tight. He turned back to see Narem approaching, now dressed in much more casual wear.

     “What did you think then, eh?” The leopard asked, wiping at his fur with a towel, picking off loose bits of glitter and flicking them away.

     “That was… amazing.” The coyote said honestly. “I… yeah. I’d never seen half the stuff you all used before though, where did it come from?” He was thinking mostly about Raime’s fake gallows, but even the acrobats had little props they would climb on and throw at each other.

     “Miss Meridian, she is a skilled engineer.” Narem replied, chuckling. “I am very glad you had a nice time Fletcher.” And suddenly the leopard grabbed his paws, pulling them close. “I cannot wait for you to be a part of it too! When you are up there, hidden in a mask, with all cheering, it is… unlike anything. It’s like you are another person; you saw even shy Aloysius has fun.”

     “I can’t wait.” Fletcher admitted, blushing deeply. He paused, looking at Narem. The leopard was… very close. He could feel the cat’s breath landing on his neck, Narem’s eyes wide and glistening.

     “Did I hear you say you enjoyed yourself then young man?” A high, feminine voice called. Miss Meridian approached them, also dressed less dramatically than earlier. Narem practically threw Fletcher’s paws away, stepping back hastily, his tail coiling around his legs as he pretended to smooth out his shoulder fur.

     “I did, thank you.” Fletcher said, face still hot. “It’s… nice to be part of something that I actually enjoy. It feels, like I found a dream I didn’t know I had.” Miss Meridian laughed.

     “Good! Then our showmanship worked on you ay?” She clapped him on the shoulder. “So you are eager to play your part then?”

     “I… don’t know if I can live up to it. But I’d like to.” He admitted. “I’ll try my best.” Narem sighed, rolling his eyes and smirking.

     “Your best will be more than enough Fletcher, I know it, we all know it.”

     “It’s exhausting, but rewarding work.” Meridian added. “And please, thank Thume when you get a chance. He really stepped up for us, and he did exceptionally well.”

     “I will.” Fletcher promised. “I just… I wonder where Lyric is. Are you still mad at him?” Meridian sighed.

     “Oh… no, no. I’m just worried. This isn’t like him at all, and I hope he hasn’t gotten himself arrested, or something stupid like that.”

     “I am sure he is fine.” Narem said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must sleep, or there will be a cranky kitty acting in my stead tomorrow.” He bowed slightly, and Fletcher and Meridian bid him goodnight.

     “I think he might have a little crush on you.” Miss Meridian said quietly, after he was well out of earshot – which was quite far, for a cat.

     “You think?” The coyote asked nervously. He’d only just come to terms with his own strange feelings for Lyric.

     But Lyric probably doesn’t like me back…not like that, if even at all.

     “I’m pretty sure.” The raven replied. “Does he know… about you?”

     “He might be able to guess. I didn’t tell him.”

     “I suppose. Just be kind Fletcher, if you can. Whatever you decide in the end. Apparently we’re a magnet for boys who like boys.” Meridian said, tsking playfully as Fletcher blanched and stammered. He was about to ask for more advice, when the older women swore gutturally.

     “Damn idiots, I swear this happens every fucking night!” She exclaimed, storming over to the gates. Fletcher, bewildered at the sudden outburst, followed mostly out of curiosity, seeing that she’d noticed a rider approaching their gates. He felt a striking fear touch him that it was more bounty hunters like Patrick.

     And Lyric isn’t here to save us.  

     “What do they want?”

     “I don’t bloody know!” She said. “Sometimes we get harassed after, particularly if Dopesmoker says something too weird. Sometimes they want to buy us, or any other strange thing. I always tell them the same, to piss--” She cut off as the rider fell from the saddle like a corpse, the feral horse whinnying as it danced back in surprise.

     “Oh, damn it.” Meridian exclaimed. “Quick, help me get these stupid gates open.” The two pulled them apart, just enough to get by so they could run to the fallen rider.

     Fletcher had a sneaking suspicion, but it couldn’t possibly be true.

     “Can you hear me? Hello?” Meridian cried, kneeling next to the body and rolling it onto it’s back. Fletcher gasped, the unrecognisable form was covered head to toe in gore, long and deep lacerations running down their arms and thighs. “Oh shit… Fletcher, run and get Aloysius, now.” She sighed deeply, looking up to the coyote.