The morning of Erik's first official day with the circus found them pitching camp in a meadow on the outskirts of Cayuga Heights. The train was stopped when Alex Summers threw a pair of pants at his head to wake him.
"Up." He grunted, proceeding to pull his own clothes on. Erik groggily complied, pulling the trousers on over his shorts. Because of the early hour it took him longer than it normally would have to realize that the pants weren't his. They were about the right length but loose at the waist, as most pants tended to be for him. He picked at a thread at a seam and wondered if they were Alex's. But the boy was a good few inches too short for that to be true. Maybe they belonged to the mysterious Armando Munoz.
No matter who the pants' previous owner had been, they were much more suited for hard labor than the trousers he'd been wearing for the past three days. He'd have to see about borrowing some money to buy a good pair of boots too, he mused and more clothes. But then a pair of boots were thrown at him too.
"See if those fit." Summers grunted, "You're a bit taller than him but he had big feet"
The boots were a decent fit. Erik thanked Alex politely and the younger man shrugged, "there's a bunch of clothes in that trunk there," he motioned, "they're not being used, you might as well have them."
And then it was out into the early morning light. The field was already bustling with activity. Erik followed Alex for a few hours, positioning posts, hammering spikes and hauling the great spreads of canvas into place. Each job was done smoothly and rapidly. Under the hands of the many workers gigantic tents were pitched it mere minutes. By mid morning the circus had risen around him.
After that Alex disappeared to prepare for opening. He left Erik with the vague orders to "Try to look like you're doing something useful and not get underfoot."
He took that as an invitation to do a little exploring. The buzz of motion that had gripped the camp earlier had toned down while the performers went back to ready themselves for the afternoon shows. Erik meandered through the city of tents carrying a bucket and a broom that he'd found lying around in hopes that it made him look like he had a purpose.
A quarter of an hour later he was accosted by Sebastian Shaw.
"Erik!" He greeted, putting an arm over his shoulders amicably, "There you are my boy. Did you forget our little agreement?"
"No sir."
"Then lets get to it. Come along, the animals are this way."
They walked to the back end of the meadow, where the train sat still on the tracks. In the shade of the stand of trees beyond, the animal cages sat, wooden planks removed and beasts in plain sight. On the grass in front of them was the horse Erik had to heal.
"Well Erik, you've already met this beauty. This is the White Queen, star of the circus." The horse was already harnessed for the show, it appeared. It wore no saddle but white leather straps crossed its shoulders, studded with gleaming crystals. It's bridle was an ornate work of art, spun with the same fake (they had to be) gems. There were bits of the stuff in its mane and tail too, arranged in such a skillful way the it looked like there were snowflakes caught in the long white hair.
Erik moved around to the bad leg and had the horse lift it. "Queen is very, very popular with the audience. The kids especially love her, but so do the adults. The horse show is the top earning act out of them all, so I can't afford to have her injured." Shaw explained while Erik examined.
Erik recognized the problem immediately and his heart sank. It was not a recent wound; it was a split that would have had to have happened weeks, maybe months before. It was characteristic of a horse going without shoes and not receiving the proper hoof maintenance. The poor animal was likely in a substantial amount of pain and had been for too long.
The damage done by walking in an injury like that was irreparable. The kindest thing for the animal was to put it out of its misery as soon as possible.
Shaw stared at him when he said as much out loud. "Did you just suggest...that I shoot my star act?"
"Sir, it's only going to get worse, she's in pain as it is. If you keep showing her-"
"hmmm," Shaw regarded the horse silently for a moment, "Well it is good to know what the problem is at least..."
From behind Erik, a voice called out to Shaw, using his first name. It was the first time Erik had heard him addressed that way. "Sebastian!" the new, unfamiliar voice called. But Erik could give a pretty good guess to whole it belonged to. Charles drew level to them, leading another horse, this one pitch black. He tied the animal's plain lead to the post beside the White Queen. "Have you figured out what's the matter?"
His eyes meet Erik's for a moment, they were very blue, before flicking to Shaw. A wide, fond smile spread across the boss' face and he lied smoothly, "it's nothing really my boy, just a little sore. She will be fine."
"But is she okay to perform today? Should we let her rest maybe?"
"Nonsense," Shaw put his arm around the younger man in a manner that came off as supremely possessive to Erik, "She's perfectly able to go on. Now, you go fetch the others, the opening starts in ten minutes."
Charles nodded and with one more quick glance at Erik he departed. Erik looked at Shaw levelly. When the boy was out of range Shaw turned to pin Erik with a look, "I am not about to shoot my top act," he said cooly, "and you are foolish to suggest that I do. But you appear proficient with the beasts, so you may stay. Can you prevent an injury like this happening to any of the other horses?"
"Yes sir." he could, it was a simple matter of keeping their hooves well maintained.
"Then stay. I have to go ready myself. Go find some way to make yourself useful."
For the next few hours, Erik was kept busy with odd jobs assigned to him by a distracted Logan. He brought performers glasses of water, he mixed lemonade, he dragged props from one end of the field to the other. To his delight he even made use of years of engineering training at one point when the cotton candy machine broke down and he got it back up and running.
But as the afternoon wore on and more people were busy with the customers, Erik was able to slip into the big top to watch a couple of performances.
Surprisingly, Alex's act was one of his favourites. Logan had teased the young man, claiming that he was a clown, and while Erik supposed that it was the closest definition of what Alex did, there was nothing of the classic circus clown elements to his act.
Alex's face was streaked with makeup, but no bulbous red lips decorated his. White was smeared across his features, with smokey accents that were done to give him a tragically sickly appearance. Twin lines running down his cheeks where his own skin showed through, like tear tracts, interrupted the makeup.
Alex's act told the story of a boy with the power to bring chaos wherever we went. Shunned by society and chased by his people, Alex's character ran into the wilderness where he was captured by a demon. Beast, Alex's blue dog played the demon.
It was a very sad act, but enthralling and the audience sat enraptured. Erik even saw some ladies with handkerchiefs out, dabbing at their watery eyes.
It held the place as Erik's favourite act for most of the night. Up until the finale, and then Charles and his horses stole the show.
There were six horses besides the Frost Princess, two more pure white and four black as ink. Except for the Princess' jewels, the animals were unadorned. No saddles, no bridles. Charles, the lone human in the ring, swung from animal to animal without the aid of stirrups or reigns.
Charles wore the same crystals as the horse did. They glimmered in thick patches from his silver waistcoat. His legs were incased in tight white riding pants, tucked into low tightly-laced ankle-boots. Atop his shining hair say a small sparkling cap. He darted around the ring like a ray of pure light.
The act was breathtaking. It too spun a story, and it was just as sad as Alex's. Charles was a young boy who was raised by a heard of horses. So beloved by the queen of horses was he that he became their prince, riding everywhere on their backs. The joy if their bond was captured so perfectly as Charles danced at their feet and on their backs. Erik was just as captivated as the rest of the audience, but he noticed when, for one heart-stopping moment The White Queen's leg buckled, sending Charles from her back.
The young man managed to make the mistake look like part of the show, rolling on impact and spinning to his feet, quickly issuing a hand signal that brought all the horses to their knees alongside the injured one. The rest of the show passed without incident but Charles' face was burned into Erik's mind, tight with surprise and wide-eyed with fear as he fell.
In the story a long winter came, and though the horses made it through with their thick layers of muscle and fine coats, their little human proved too frail and succumbed to the cold. At that point in the show, Charles draped himself elegantly in the centre of the ring while the horses galloped around him, frenzied with supposed grief. Erik winced as one of the animals huge hooves crashed to the floor close to the young man's head.
The horses whirled and bucked in a dance of mourning, and then galloped out of the tent, leaving only the White Queen with Charles. The horse reared in one last show of despair and held position for a long moment, perched on hind legs. Then, slowly the animal sank down, to her knees beside the boy, finally collapsing fully beside her beloved human, joined in death.
Erik stood and clapped enthusiastically with the crowd. Charles rose and with a quick bow, hopped atop the horse and rode out of the tent to thunderous applause.
The crowd filed out of the big top and dispersed to look at the various sideshows. Erik paused at the entrance to a small tent to where Sean was singing in front of a modest audience. He quickly bypassed a crimson tent emblazoned with flames and a phoenix that proclaimed 'Madame Grey, Seer'. One of the massive men who'd been in Shaw's room the night before was lifting comically large weights, which had to be fake. 'Fat Fred, The Blob' read the sign above his head. Alex was there, twirling five red hula hoops in unison, and grabbed up another from a pile with his foot. An angry looking young man juggled fire. Most disturbingly was a kid who looked around seven or eight years old who was apparently 'Toad Boy'. Erik stood outside his cage and the cheeky kid stuck out his tongue. It was forked.
"Freaky little fella ain't he." Logan said from behind him.
"Sod off Logan!" the boy squealed.
"Shaddup Mort, you're not supposed to talk. Swamp monster, remember?"
The boy swore cheerfully, with words far to colourful for his age. Erik allowed Logan to tug him away toward a tent with a large crowd gathering outside. "Last job of the night Lensherr, then you can go to bed. Boss wants you to try out security detail."
They cut through the crowd and under the tents flap. Logan gave him a short summery of his duties, and what looked like a homemade baseball bat.
Erik stared at the blunt stick that has just been shoved roughly into his hands by a grinning Logan and, just to make sure he'd heard the man correctly, he repeated, "I'm supposed to hit customers in the head with this?"
"Not the paying ones." The burly man assured him around his unlit cigar (no smoking in the tents, but Logan apparently just liked the way he looked with one hanging from his lips) "they'll try to stick their heads under the tent to try and get a free show, you'll see, and it's our job to set 'em straight. Don't look so alarmed Lensherr, we don't hit 'em hard, just a love tap. It's almost therapeutic for us and they get a free lesson on morality."
Therapeutic. The man was a mental case. Erik shook his head but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth curling up into a grin.
Around them, the tent steadily filled with people. At the single entrance flap, two massive men checked tickets and IDs. This show wasn't one for the children, Logan leered at him.
They stood against the striped fabric at the back, Logan having dragged him to a spot directly facing the stage, the best seats in the house according to him. There were five other guys spread around the perimeter, each armed with a similarly blunt and dangerous object. They were all bulky individuals, Erik being the most slender by far but his height having prompted Logan to give him a try at security.
The music started playing, swirling seductively above the crowd from the cheap gramophone sitting on the stage. Then the performers made their entrance, strutting up the rickety stairs with coy waves and blown kisses, hips swaying in time to the tinny tune and hoots from the audience.
It wasn't long before Logan tapped Erik on the shoulder and jerked his head down. Between them, the fabric of the tent billowed and two freckled noses emerged attached to two youthful faces. Logan gave him a toothy grin which Erik found impossible not to return. Might as well try to have fun.
The peeping toms' twin yelps of dismay could be heard even above the swelling music and Erik snorted at their hasty retreat. He swung his club in front of him experimentally while the dancers in the stage rapidly shed clothing. This night might end up enjoyable after all.