Outside the sleeping compartment, Erzsébet gripped tightly onto her courage and the loaded tea-tray. It had been eight hours since Roderich's strange turn, and the thought of speaking to him again filled her with apprehension. How much would he remember? How much did she even want him to remember? Erzsébet decided not to think too hard about that, and stepped inside.

"Good evening, Roderich!"

The only response was a low groan of anguish. A huge, Roderich-shaped bulge had manifested under the quilt on the third bed, with one unruly hair sticking out.

"Ludwig said you were feeling better, so I brought you some dinner," Erzsébet continued, "It's pork stew with dumplings and pickled cabbage. There's a glass of water here too. Shall I leave it by your bed?"

Another grumble, and Roderich's head popped out from underneath the covers. His hair was only slightly rumpled, but Erzsébet was consoled by the fact that he looked every bit as flustered as she felt. "Erzsébet." He stared fixedly at the tray in her hands. "Thank you kindly. That really is exceedingly thoughtful of you."

Erzsébet set the tray down on Roderich's bedside table. "I'm just glad to see you're recovering. It's weird that you don't know what happened, isn't it?"

"Mmmm," Roderich said, reaching for the glass of water, "I have never suffered from hallucinations like those before, even when feverish."

Erzsébet shuffled awkwardly, uncertain of whether or not to ask the next question. "So, does that mean you remember what happened? Earlier on?"

Roderich briefly closed his bloodshot eyes, and then opened them again. "Mostly," he said, "I—I do apologise for all the terrible trouble I put you through."

Oh, but he was so adorable when ruffled like that. Erzsébet forced a professional smile, twisting her hands behind her back. "It was no trouble at all! Really."

"And I… I would advise you not to pay much attention to anything I said. Wh—while you were carrying me, that is."

"I wasn't going to," Erzsébet said, a little too quickly, "It's obvious that you weren't in your right mind."

"Ah, good. You consideration is making this a lot easier," Roderich said. He busied himself with a mouthful of stew, swallowed, and finished rather lamely, "Er, I thank you for the food as well."

Oh. That was probably the cue for an exit. Bidding a hasty goodbye, Erzsébet turned to leave. Everything felt fuzzy and her head was ringing with uncertainty. She wasn't quite sure whether that reunion had been the best-case scenario, or the worst.

"Oh, and Erzsébet?"

She turned back. "Yes?"

Roderich's expression had changed. Now he looked serious rather than nervous, meaningful rather than stubbornly stoic. When he spoke, his voice was laced with genuine sincerity, "I want you to understand that I truly am grateful for what you did for me today."

Embarrassment. Confusion. Instinctive delight. Erzsébet ignored her traitorous emotions and simply nodded. "You're welcome."

…

Upon returning to her tent, Erzsébet knew there was only one course of action she could take next. The mysteries surrounding Lars and Roderich's illness were aggravating her mind like rashes, and since all mundane investigations had yielded nothing, prophecy would have to be her last resort. Too impatient for candles and incense, she retrieved her crystal ball and immediately set about warming its glass surface. Her emerald green aura bobbed into view to greet her.

It was just as the mists were beginning to focus when a visitor burst into her tent. Erzsébet felt a surge of blue light strike her, and fumbled to hide her equipment. Then, she realised who it was. "Alfred?"

"Erzsébet!" Alfred ran a hand through his hair, sighing in relief. "Thank God you're here! Thank God I got someone in time!"

"Why? What's the matter?" Erzsébet asked. Her heart froze at the sight of his troubled expression.

Alfred did not answer, but gestured beyond the tent. Feeling immensely confused, and not to mention scared, Erzsébet followed him outside. She blinked into the thick, October-evening gloom. "What is it? I can't see anything out here."

Alfred put a shaky hand on her shoulder and pointed. "There. D'you see it now?"

Erzsébet squinted at a pinprick of light in the distance. Just outside the Circus grounds, somebody was carrying a lantern and striding hurriedly over the grass. Somebody familiar. Erzsébet could not believe it. "Is that Antonio?"

"I only just spotted him," Alfred said, toying with the collar of his checked shirt, "I thought I ought to find someone, because of the rules. You think he got Ludwig's permission?"

Erzsébet did not need to do any detective work to know the answer to that. Antonio's pace was too hasty, his movements too surreptitious, and she couldn't imagine why he would have a legitimate reason for leaving the grounds alone. "I doubt it," she said.

"Oh shit," said Alfred. His low breath tickled the hairs of her neck. "So, does that mean…?"

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything. But that's just the problem, isn't it?" Erzsébet said. A fearful shiver ran down her spine. "We don't know whether he's going off on a perfectly innocent little outing, and if it isn't innocent, we don't know about that either."

Alfred had not taken his hand away from Erzsébet's shoulder, nor his gaze from Antonio's steadily departing figure. He nodded slowly.

"What do you want to do?" Erzsébet whispered, although she knew there could only be one response.

"I know what I want to do," Alfred said, "But I'm not sure whether it's right."

Neither was Erzsébet. The very concept of Antonio— carefree, idiotic Antonio—being involved in two cases of murder went against all her senses. More importantly, he was still a person, and did people really deserve to be spied on? Yet every step Antonio took away from the Circus grounds felt like a punch in the gut. "Do you think we can afford to let that stop us?" she asked.

Alfred squared his jaw and puffed up his chest. He had the air of somebody who was about to do something very unpleasant, not because he wanted to but because it was his duty. "Hell no."

Erzsébet slipped a hand into her pockets. Phone? Check. Digital camera? Check. Weapon? … She'd have to make do without. "Then we follow."

…

The streets were dark and empty at this hour. It was not difficult for Erzsébet and Alfred to track Antonio's movements, nor to keep themselves hidden in the shadows. As it turned out, Antonio was heading for the train station, where he purchased a ticket and boarded a train bound for Munich. Erzsébet found this development thoroughly bafflig, but had little choice but to continue the pursuit.

Fifteen minutes later, she sat silently in her cramped U-Bahn seat— the roar of the train in her ears and a thrill of trepidation in her heart. It was nearing the end of the rush hour, and the line was at its most crowded. Erzsébet was squashed between an overweight businessman and a woman reading Munchner Merkur with a hacking cough. Alfred sat diagonally opposite, in a position that gave him a skewed view of Antonio in the next carriage. Whenever the train shuddered to a halt at a new stop, he craned his neck to watch Antonio's position, before relaxing again and shaking his head. The routine became painfully repetitive. Erzsébet had no idea how long they had been sitting there, nor how much longer they would have to wait. All she knew was that Antonio was in the next carriage. Antonio was in the next carriage, and the thought made her feel sick with fear.

Alfred finally gave the nod when they arrived at a station called Giesing, several stops away from the Munich city centre. Erzsébet had never been there before. She stepped off the train, feeling the rush of warm air sweeping against her clothes as it departed. Alfred spotted Antonio hurrying towards the escalator, so they followed a short distance behind. Now that they were in the light, Erzsébet noticed that Antonio was carrying something under his left arm. She risked moving a few paces closer to see more clearly. It was a bouquet— a small, slightly clumsily made bouquet of white lilies. Erzsébet squinted, wondering at first whether she was seeing things. What on earth was Antonio doing that required him to bring flowers?

She did not have long to wait before the question was answered. Antonio led them of them out of the station and down a couple of narrow, twisted lanes encompassed by darkened trees. It was only the three of them now. Erzsébet held her breath, cringing whenever their footsteps echoed on the ground, desperately hoping— praying— that he had not heard them. A couple of minutes later, a towering chapel came into view behind a copse of trees. Antonio's pace quickened as he approached it. Erzsébet swallowed uncomfortably. Outside the chapel were rows upon rows of white marble graves.

"A cemetery?" Alfred whispered next to her, "After all this and he's come to a cemetery?"

Erzsébet nodded, a queasy feeling bubbling inside. The dizzying fear was ebbing away now, and she found herself numbed with sudden guilt. Had she and Alfred just stumbled upon a very private and personal moment? She had no time to contemplate the matter further, however. Antonio paused from inspecting the first row of graves and, turning his head slightly, spoke. His voice rang out clear and bizarrely reassuring through the silence, "Hey, it's fine for you to talk to me. I don't mind."

Erzsébet's heart almost stopped in her chest. What the—? He knew? She had no choice now but to shuffle forwards— awkwardly and shamefully, as if preparing to go to confession. But when she approached close enough to see Antonio's face, the light of the lantern showed his brilliant green eyes to be just as cheerful as ever.

"Wow… Antonio…" Alfred said, stuttering slightly, "I… I didn't…"

"You followed me. It's okay, I don't blame you for it." Antonio laughed softly. "I think I'd have even followed myself." Flicking his lantern to the side, he stooped to read the illuminated tombstones. The nearest one caught Erzsébet's eye. It was dated from the 1920s.

"How did you know we were there?" she asked. It sounded childish, reproachful even, but it was all she could think of saying.

Antonio laughed again, but he did not look up. "I'm not that oblivious! It's not too hard to recognise you when you're wearing your flower, you know."

Erzsébet cringed, irritated with herself. The hair ornament had been a present from her grandmother when she was a child. She was so used to wearing it by now that she often forgot she had it on at all. Abruptly, Antonio straightened and moved off down the row. The lantern swung from side to side, sending a pale slither of light dancing over the ground. Erzsébet and Alfred followed a couple of steps behind him. He was muttering to himself as he walked, harshly, frantically, his accent growing thicker. "Where is it? Dios, where is it? Got to be around here… got to be…"

"Do you want us to leave?" Erzsébet asked tentatively.

"No, you can stay. I'd be glad of the company," Antonio said. He rounded a corner into another row of graves. "Mierda, have they moved it?"

Overhead, an owl hooted. Aside from the ghostly lantern light, the night was pitch black, and it suddenly felt very cold too. Erzsébet began shivering as she trailed past the stark white tombstones. Occasionally, an engraving caught her eye— the dates appeared to be growing more recent the further they went— but Antonio continued walking, continued muttering, continued swinging the lantern. Erzsébet did not ask who or what he was looking for. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know anymore.

Eventually, Antonio came to a halt before a grave a few places from the end of the row. There was something final about the way he stopped, and turned, and stared. It was as if the world had paused to catch its breath, trapping the three of them in this surreal moment of bittersweet stillness.

"It's here!" Antonio breathed. He raised his lantern-hand to cross himself clumsily. "Oh Gracias a Dios, it's here!"

Even without the artificial light, the white marble of the headstone seemed to glow like a jewel in the darkness. Erzsébet did not have to stoop or squint to make out the engraving; the words were already bright and clear:

Francis Bonnefoy

1974 - 2006

Vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre

Erzsébet couldn't understand the French, but neither did she have to. The rest of the engraving told the story in its place. A heavy pressure pushed on her chest as she calculated the dates in her head. Thirty-two. This man had only been thirty-two years old when he died.

"Was this guy a friend of yours?" Alfred asked.

Antonio sucked in a deep breath before answering. "Yes. There was a time when… when he was my best friend in all of the world."

The youthful lines of his face, so often smooth and untroubled, looked ten times older under the lantern's glow. Erzsébet's lungs felt like lead but, feeling a pang of morbid curiosity, she could not help but blurt out the insensitive question, "How did it happen? If—if you don't mind me asking."

"He committed suicide." Antonio said, in a slightly strangled voice. He had not removed his gaze from the headstone ever since he laid eyes on it.

"I'm so sorry," Erzsébet whispered, "Oh Antonio, I'm so sorry."

Antonio shrugged, but remained silent.

Erzsébet was not sure whether it was from the air or from the graves but the cold now felt like it was settling into her very bones. She hunched over a little, trying not to shiver as Antonio spoke into the silence,

"Grief is such a funny thing, isn't it? Not amusing funny, of course, strange funny. Francis took his life eight years ago, but the loss is still so very raw and real." He swallowed mechanically, his Adam's apple working in his throat. "It's in the little things, you know? Chanel perfume… Parisian-style cafes… Merlot wine… silly things that should make me feel happy but give me such a pang of emptiness instead. Oh, if only he were still alive today! We'd have such wonderful things to talk about." Antonio's voice grew huskier until it was barely more than a whisper.

Alfred took a step closer. "I understand, bro," he said, "Really, I do."

And— although her pain was not as long-held as his— Erzsébet understood too. In that moment, she felt fiercely drawn to the mouldering remains of this man she had never met. Remains that neither knew nor cared about the friend standing above them, his heart inflamed with burning sorrow. She imagined visiting Feliks and Gilbert's graves in years to come and feeling that same sense of clinging attachment towards something that was barely even a part of them any more. The cool white marble twinkled as Erzsébet's eyes bore into it, and her skin began to tingle. Would Feliks and Gilbert have graves like these— uniform and nondescript and standing in a neat row with hundreds of others? Or would they prefer to be cremated? She had never discussed it with either of them… never even thought to ask…

"Antonio? What about the flowers?" Alfred asked, "Were you going to put the flowers over his grave?"

Antonio jerked sharply, apparently shaken from his memories. "Oh. Yes, of course." He crouched down and laid the bouquet on the overgrown grass before the headstone. It looked strangely tatty in comparison to the intricate marble. "Belle let me have those from her brother's greenhouse," he said, "It's not much, but Francis would have been grateful. Lilies were always his most favourite. Apart from red roses, of course, but that wouldn't be appropriate from me…"

Ah. Now that was the other impertinent question that Erzsébet had been wondering about but hadn't dared to ask. "So, you two weren't…?"

"No. He was a lot older than me, so ours was only ever a friendship," Antonio said quickly. His dark, messy locks slipped casually between his fingers. "I still don't really know why. Why he did it, I mean. I lost contact with Francis at one point, and only found out that he'd been part of the Fireball Circus after his death. That's how I joined actually… I'd been searching for him for so long and I had to settle somewhere afterwards. Perhaps it was so I could feel connected to him again. I doubt he knew anyone else in our troop, though. Dios, eight years is such a long time…"

Erzsébet didn't know what to say. The way Antonio talked about this friendship was so heart rendering, so honest and so pure that any words she could give in response could only end up sounding empty. On his other side, Alfred seemed similarly lost for words.

"I know that it was wrong for me to come here, without telling Ludwig first, but I couldn't stay away," Antonio continued, "Not today, not on the eight-year anniversary of his death. Especially not when this is all I've got left of him. Well, this and the memories, but memories aren't solid." He chuckled so sadly that the sound made Erzsébet's spine prickle. "All I can say is that I'm sorry."

Erzsébet wished she could tell him that there was no need to be sorry. That an apology following such heartfelt words made her sick with shame to think that she'd ever suspected him. But in the end, she did the only thing that made sense. She took a step towards the grave, bowed her head, and muttered homage. "To Francis Bonnefoy."

"To Francis Bonnefoy," Antonio and Alfred echoed back.

…

By the time they back arrived at the circus, it was already past midnight. Erzsébet bid Antonio goodbye at his tent and continued on the short distance to hers. Alfred walked beside her in silence. He had been uncharacteristically morose on the journey home, even as Antonio began to revert to his normal self. Erzsébet guessed that the guilt of what they'd done was still affecting him.

"Are you alright?" she asked him cautiously.

Alfred shrugged. "I guess so? Kinda wish we hadn't followed, but maybe it turned out okay in the end. I don't think Antonio's mad at us."

"No. Although he'd have every right to be after that."

"Do you…" Alfred's voice cracked as he spoke, so he coughed and started again, "Do you think we made the wrong choice? To interfere?"

Erzsébet paused to consider the matter. It was strange how much one's conviction could change in a few hours. Whereas before she had felt so certain, now the very air seemed cold and accusing. For the first time, Erzsébet began to wonder whether she had done more harm than good with her actions. "Honestly, I'm not really sure," she admitted.

"Me neither."

By now, they had reached the entrance to the tent. Erzsébet turned to Alfred, intending to wish him goodnight, before the shadow of the dome suddenly reminded her of something. "Oh, I forgot to mention earlier. Your aura's changed again," she told him.

"It has?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah. It's gone back to blue, like it used to be," Erzsébet said, "It shows you must be feeling calmer now."

Alfred smiled wryly. "Well, maybe things are changing. Maybe the worst has passed, and things are lookin' up for the circus now. Or maybe we're just learning to deal with the pain better. It's like Antonio said, y'know? Grief's a darn strange thing sometimes."

Erzsébet smiled back, trying to remember the phrase he had told her a few days ago. "So… what matters most is how well you walk through the fire?" she tried.

"Exactly."

Here, the conversation came to an end. With nothing more to say, Erzsébet left Alfred and scurried to her tent. It had not been an unpleasant night—troubling perhaps, but not unpleasant— but she was still looking forward to putting the existential considerations out of mind and snuggling up in bed. She doubted that she'd slept properly since Oktoberfest.

But as soon as Erzsébet stepped inside, she immediately recoiled. A sickening metallic tang blasted into her nostrils— overpowering enough to make her gag. Her heart pumped frantically as she fumbled for a torch. What the hell was going on here? What could have caused such a rancid scent in only a couple of hours? Part of her mind realised that perhaps she did not want to know the reason, but by then she had already seized the torch and flicked it on. Harsh light leapt across the room. Then Erzsébet saw what had happened. She bit back a gasp, staggered backwards, and did not even notice when she hit the tent wall behind. No… please, please no…

Two small bodies lay shoulder-to-shoulder across the floor. Their wide eyes stared without seeing, their mouths were open and endless, and multiple scarlet punctures scattered over their chests like a hideous disease. Worse still, they were absolutely caked in blood. It was thicker than anything Erzsébet had seen, but at the same time, not quite thick enough. She could still see the boy's sailor suit underneath. She could still see the girl's scraggly ponytail.

The walls closed around her, and Erzsébet felt her knees buckle. It didn't matter that she had seen two bodies before, it didn't matter that she had braced herself for further tragedy. Nothing could have prepared her for this. A roar sounded in her ears. Her stomach twisted and tightened with an awful sickness. Giving way to the despair, Erzsébet began to scream. She didn't stop when she heard footsteps thundering behind her. She didn't even stop when she heard anxious voices calling her name.

Peter and Charlotte had been stabbed to death in her tent. How could anything have prepared her for that?

To be continued soon...

The cemetery in this chapter is indeed a real place, located in Giesing on the outskirts of Munich. Many of those buried there are victims of the Concentration Camps or the Nazi regime, including several prominent members of the White Rose resistance society.

Again, many thanks to all my readers for giving me the motivation to keep posting this. I've particularly enjoyed hearing all your theories after last chapter! And hello to all my silent readers too. I hope you're also enjoying the story. :)