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Chapter 2: Liverpool
The train pulled into Liverpool late in the afternoon and drew the usual attention from the natives. Children rushed the cars and begged to see the animals, pleaded with the performers to show them tricks. Their parents made an effort to pull them away, but truthfully they were just as enthralled as their offspring. They loved to gawk and point and marvel at the curiosities the train held, planning to come back to see the main attraction even as they grabbed the hands of their children and dragged them off. If they were on the fence about seeing the show, Mycroft would be able to turn them. It was his tradition to send out clowns, tumblers, the most beautiful women and handsome men, along with a trolley stacked high with buttery popcorn, bright pink candy floss, and caramel apples out into the high street. The sights, smells, and tastes tended to convert even the staunchest pessimist. It was all free the first night, but they made up for it once people had developed a taste and turned up for the show.
The afternoon was spent attending to his pets as the show blossomed around him. The giant poles of the tent soared into the air, accompanied by the well-practiced chorus of workmen shouting instructions for each orchestrated movement. The snap of the canvas tent as it was unfurled and hoisted onto the center pole traveled through the camp, the flaps of the entrances ruffling in the breeze as the giant structure settled into place. Laughter and raucous conversation floated through the caravan line as the energy of the troupers spiked, getting ready to pull in the crowds and looking forward to a night of heavy celebration afterwards.
Done with seeing to his act for the time being, Sherlock wandered over to Mycroft's quarters, not bothering to knock and merely letting himself in. He found his brother exactly as he had expected, in front of the mirror and just putting the finishing touches on his bowtie. The sun was just dipping on the horizon outside and once it had vanished, leaving the sky a lush pink and purple, he would don his top hat and lead the march into town.
"You're not dressed," Mycroft said, frowning.
Sherlock looked down at his linen shirt and brown trousers.
"I believe I am, actually," he replied sarcastically.
"You know what I mean."
"I do and for the last time, I'm not taking part," Sherlock said firmly. "What's the point if you won't allow the whole act?"
"I maintain that lions walking loose down the road is bad for business," Mycroft said with a sigh, reaching for his cologne and applying it liberally. "You'll keep an eye out?"
"As always, brother," Sherlock promised, turning to leave and purposefully disturbing a pillow on the settee on his way.
Right on schedule, Mycroft joined the large group of select performers just as the sky darkened. Sherlock, John, and a few others followed at a distance, branching out into the crowds once the attraction of the group had drawn significant interest. The lights in the streets made the sequins and silk of the costumes glitter and shimmer in the evening light. The troupers spread out, each group enchanting a gathering of onlookers. On one end of the street, the clowns were falling over each other with physical gags and sending a group of children into fits of giggles. Janine and Irene sat perched atop a black Andalusian, barely doing more than smiling and pulling the attention of half the men on the street, as well as some of the ladies. Taking the opportunity to mesmerize as many people as possible, Lestrade and Sally had teamed up, putting on quite the spectacular performance. Lestrade effortlessly tossed six juggling pins in the air while Sally drew excited cries from the crowd by blowing fuel over flames, sending bright yellow plumes into the air. When they felt they had the people sufficiently warmed up, they joined forces, Sally lighting an extra set of special pins on fire one by one and tossing them to Lestrade to juggle. All the while, Mycroft worked the crowd, handing out treats from the trolley to the thrilled spectators.
Sherlock and John watched the proceedings carefully, keeping an eye out for troublemakers and anyone from their own company who would take advantage of the distractions and let fingers slip into pockets to help themselves. It had happened before and Mycroft had no tolerance for it.
At the height of the excitement of the crowd, Mycroft signaled that everyone was to return to the yard. A collective sound of disappointment spread through the crowd and he announced that they could see even more at the show. Sherlock's lip quirked up as he watched the proceedings. It worked every time.
Once back at the yard, they found the rest of the company already circled around bonfires, cups of whisky being passed around (not the first round). He and John found Mary seated with the other acrobats, and they were soon joined by Lestrade and Sally.
"You get a good crowd, then?" Mary asked, pouring her husband a drink.
"Best we could hope for," Lestrade said with a smile, settling into a wooden chair. "Packed house tomorrow, I bet."
"For three days at least," Sally agreed, sitting down next to him and angling her chair to lift her feet to rest on his thighs.
"Nice start to the season," John said, taking a long sip of his whisky and tugging Mary into his lap, causing her to let out a laugh. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the display and looked in another direction. "No trouble that we could see, eh Sherlock?"
"Mm," he replied, resting his chin on his fisted hand and gazing off into the camp. "A few will try to haggle prices. Won't work, they'll back down first, not as brave as they think they are."
"Still don't understand how he does that," Sally quipped, shaking her head.
"I still don't understand how you don't realize you almost set a man on fire tonight," Lestrade said as he gave her a pointed look.
"I did not! It's not my fault if you get too close for your own good!"
Sherlock tuned the conversation out, losing interest quickly. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the perimeter of their little temporary land claim, watching the few last minute preparations before the workmen either indulged in drink or went to sleep. He could hear the odd sound of an animal grunting or sighing from the menagerie tent, and could smell the lingering scent of sugar and popcorn from the food trolley.
Not far in the distance, but just beyond the lights of the small bonfires, Sherlock's eyes landed on the figure of Molly Moriarty standing on the front stoop of their little caravan. Her arms were crossed on the bit of railing that lined the stoop and she was leaning over, looking out at the new sights before her. Long brown hair spilled over her shoulder, longer than he would have expected. A small smile graced her face, and when her eyes met his it actually seemed to increase, smiling at him across the distance.
The door to the caravan opened and her smile dropped away. She stood upright, one hand gripping the railing as Jim stepped outside, looking around casually as he said something to her. Molly responded, her gaze dropping down to the ground as she gestured out towards the groups of troupers. Sherlock watched Jim laugh and shake his head firmly, grasping her by the arm and guiding her back inside the van.
Sherlock was one of the few who were not nursing a hangover the next morning, up early and tending to his animals before most had managed to crawl from their beds and seek out a drink of water or a coffee with a dash of liquor tossed in to ease their heads. The only other people in the menagerie were Irene and Janine, both dressed in cropped trousers and work shirts as they groomed their horses until they shone. They were able to trick plenty of people into thinking they were girls looking for a good time, but they took their jobs very seriously and rarely indulged in debauchery before shows.
"How are the cats today, Sherl?" Janine called across the tent.
He winced at the awful nickname, wishing it hadn't caught on quite so well.
"Hungry," he told her as he dumped a bucket of less-than-choice cuts of meat through a trap door in the top of the cage. He hated having to scrimp while on the road, but there was nothing to be done about it. "Care to make a donation?"
"Not on your life," Irene said, running her hands lovingly through the mane of her golden Palomino.
"Well if you change your mind," he muttered, watching the lioness devour the meager breakfast.
"Are you going to watch the rehearsals?" Irene went on, bending to inspect her mare's hooves as she talked. "Should be interesting to see the new acts."
"Interesting," Sherlock repeated, his mind conjuring up the image of Molly from the night before. He remembered how her face had fallen when her brother came out onto the stoop, interrupting what had been a moment of enjoyment for her. Not that Sherlock cared. The personal issues between the brother and sister team were not his concern. All that mattered was that they performed well and did the company proud at the end of the day. "S'pose it could be."
The turn up for the rehearsal in the early afternoon was somewhat larger than he'd expected. Apparently, the reclusive attitude the Moriarty siblings had taken since joining the company had piqued a bit of interest in them. Even while waiting to start their show, they remained set apart from the others, huddled by the far end of the tent next to the second performance entrance.
There were two grand entrances to the tent, one that led in from the back yard and allowed for dramatic starts to an act – Janine and Irene were fond of galloping in through the tent flaps and stopping just short of the first row of patrons – and one the led in from an official staging area in another tent. The second entrance led out onto a runway and small stage platform where Mycroft often stood and addressed the crowds. It was onto that platform that Jim Moriarty strode through the ring doors when the drumroll started, entering with a flourish and commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He wore what every magician was expected to be seen in: smart black suit, black cape with blood red lining, and a shining top hat.
A few of the musicians started to play once the drumroll came to a crashing finish, striking up a strangely mysterious melody on the violin and flute, completely different from the flamboyant music designed to excite the crowd that was normally played. The atmosphere in the tent changed and suddenly everyone was focused on the act before them. Jim stepped back and gestured to the ring door curtains. They parted and a long box sitting on a table began to roll out. It took Sherlock a moment to notice it, but he soon spotted the pulley system on the ground that was responsible for dragging the wheeled table onto the stage.
A moment after the table settled, the curtains parted again and Molly walked out. Her hair was down as it had been the night before, decorated with a bejeweled hairband and framing her face. She wore a tight green dress that ended at the tops of her thighs, the silk and rhinestones glimmering even in the daylight. Black stockings and heeled shoes completed her ensemble. She looked radiant, exuding a stage presence that he wouldn't have expected from her.
Walking elegantly up to the box, she paused and waited for Jim to open the top before helping her climb inside. It was a trick Sherlock had seen performed before, but usually at the end of an act. Sawing a woman in half was typically the grand finale for most magicians and it intrigued him that this would be their opening.
The table was pulled back where it had come from when the trick was completed and Jim followed this by stepping out in the main ring and asking for a volunteer, selecting Irene to come down and inspect his top hat. She did so kindly, but with a smug look that said she knew what was coming. Birds and rabbits were the most common choices, though Sherlock couldn't recall seeing cages for either.
There was a collective gasp after Jim went through the motions of assuring everyone the hat was normal, placing a silk scarf over the top, and asking Irene to remove it for him. A flurry of movement erupted from the hat and two dozen orange and black butterflies spiraled up into the air, gently lifting themselves up and up over the audience until they eventually drifted out through the openings in the top of the tent. The small crowd ooh'd and ahh'd at the sight as the small creatures drifted above them.
Sherlock looked over at Mycroft who was seated not two yards away next to Anderson. His brother caught his eye and gave a small smile of triumph. Two acts in and the Moriarty siblings already had a jaded crowd of performers wrapped around their fingers.
"Oh look," Mary said next to him, pointing up towards the ceiling.
Hidden amongst the equipment for the tight rope walkers and the acrobats was another table that was slowly being lowered to the stage, two massive ropes looped under the ends to support it. When it landed, Jim gestured again dramatically to Molly and she took his hand. He led her to one end of the table and again assisted her in climbing on top of it. She gripped a rope with one hand and assumed a theatrical pose for the audience before dropping to the surface of the table and stretching herself along the length of it. Jim went through a series of movements designed to look like conjuring before finally standing directly behind the table and holding one hand out firmly towards the table.
A collective gasp went out as Molly ever so slowly levitated off the table.
For a brief moment, Sherlock's own mouth dropped open before he collected himself. His eyes scanned the contraption, looking for the answer.
"How on earth…" John said, utterly fascinated.
"There," Sherlock said, pointing towards Molly's head. "Thin wires, painted black. They'll be even less visible at night with all the lights for distraction. Likely attached to a thin board underneath her. You don't notice it with the ropes present and her hair and feet obscuring where they're attached. Very good…"
"You are amazing," Mary said, her eyes still focused on the act. "And an absolute killjoy."
The next trick was another standard, although it was done dramatically enough that it seemed new. After taking off his cape and jacket, Molly wrapped Jim in a strait-jacket and laced chains around him before locking them tightly. She proceeded to help him sit on the ground and attached a set of manacles around his ankles as another large rope was lowered from the ceiling. The manacles were hooked into the end of the rope and, slowly and carefully, Jim was lifted into the air to be suspended upside-down as he made a show of struggling against his restraints. It didn't take him long to free one arm, reaching for the chains and shoving them off, letting them fall to the stage with a loud clatter, before freeing his other arm and triumphantly shedding the jacket.
For the final act, Jim again asked for a volunteer, pulling a reluctant Lestrade onto the stage as a large wooden box was carried out. Lestrade was asked to inspect the box, even encouraged to step inside of it, to make sure it was solid and secure. He did so, knocking on the sides and the bottom for good measure and generally playing along. Jim thanked him and let him go back to his seat.
Molly appeared from ring door again with a large black velvet sack, a hoop with a cascade of fabric attached to it, and a pair of handcuffs, immediately setting the sack and the hoop on the lid of the box. She presented the handcuffs to the audience with a flourish before locking them onto Jim's wrists. Grabbing the sack and the hoop from the top of the box, she then lifted the lid and set the sack inside before helping Jim in. She smiled brightly at the audience as she pulled the sack up around him, cinching the rope to close it off over his head. He sank down into the box and Molly closed the lid over his head, pulling a key out from the front of her dress and locking the box. With a final tug to the lid to show the audience it was locked, Molly climbed onto the top of the box, arranged the fabric of the hoop, and stepped inside the circle. She flashed another smile and lifted the hoop over her head, disappearing from sight. The second she did so, the music stopped and the drumroll sprang up. Not five seconds passed before the drum snapped to an end and the cymbal crashed. The hoop dropped to the top of the box and Jim stood where Molly had been seconds before, free of handcuffs as he spread his arms wide to the audience.
There was a stunned silence for a moment before applause ripped through the tent, which Jim took in with a small bow before gesturing for silence. He stepped down off of the box and deposited the hoop off to the side. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the box, tipped the lid open, and stepped back. The entire box fell apart, each side collapsing to the ground, revealing the inside to be completely empty except for the velvet sack and the handcuffs displayed primly on top of it.
If they had been impressed a moment before, the company went absolutely wild for the act then.
