Chapter Seventy-Four
"Pendulum."
Something stirred inside Syaoran, pulling him out of his sleep. He groaned, trying to think through the haze in his brain.
"Wake up, boy," someone said. He recognized the voice, but couldn't place it. His body obeyed automatically, shifting into a sitting position. A jingle of chains ripped him from his disoriented state, and his eyes flashed open.
A pair of manacles bound his arms behind his back. Between his shirt and the chain was a metal bar, securing him to what appeared to be an unused animal cage. His first instinct was to stand up and try to tear his way free of the restraints.
"No more of that," the voice said. Syaoran lifted his head to see the ringmaster, surrounded by about half a dozen circus performers. "We don't want you tearing up your wrists before the grand finale."
Syaoran said nothing, shifting backwards in the hopes that he might be able to pick the lock despite not having the tools to do so.
The ringmaster began to pace. His stride was long and purposeful, like the gait of a jungle cat. Lithe. Deadly. "You're a very impetuous creature, aren't you? Sneaking into my chambers without first determining my power, thinking you could outfight me, barging in without a plan. Not a very smart thing to do." On the next pass, the ringmaster came closer. "But I admire your bravery. It's just the sort of quality I look for in my circus performers."
He was closer now, only half the distance he'd been when he'd started. He paused briefly, lifting his cane up and examining it as if the plain black and white stick had some fascinating quality only he could see.
"Yes, bravery and boldness. Those are the kinds of things I like to see in a circus performer. But I'm afraid there is an abundance of such people—I must be more selective." Another pass. He was only a few feet away now. Syaoran shrunk back against the cage, trying to manipulate the locking mechanism with his claws.
"But it seems you are a more interesting specimen than I first thought. Eyes that change color from brown to gold, fingernails that grow into claws in less than a second. Even fangs that pop out when you're threatened. You are—and I mean this with the utmost respect and admiration—a circus freak."
"I want nothing to do with your circus," Syaoran spat, concealing the panic that fluttered in his chest.
The ringmaster chuckled softly. "Most of those you see here don't. Not at first, anyway." His pacing ceased, and he took a sinuous step forward. The tip of his cane tapped the bottom of Syaoran's chin, tilting his head up. "You seemed very interested in my this feather. Do you know what it does?"
"It increases the power of latent psychic abilities, improves the functionality of magic, and serves as a battery for technologically advanced worlds." Of course I know what it does.
The ringmaster looked taken aback. "Well, if it does all those things, why would I give it to a street urchin like you?"
"I'm not a street urchin. I'm a traveler, and I'm trying to track down those feathers." He glared up at the man, daring him to contest his assertion.
"Nevertheless, you won't have this one. You know about its mystical qualities—you know it makes the wearer much more powerful than they could ever be. And can you guess what my power is?"
Syaoran thought about it for a moment, trying to remember what had happened before he'd passed out. He'd slipped inside the ringmaster's room, confronted him about the feather. That was really stupid. I should've waited until after the show.
He remembered the ringmaster fumbling for a weapon, but everything after that was blurry, as if seen through a veil. Only snapshots broke through with any clarity. There had been a flash of gold, the face of a clock, the inexorable tick that went with it. But nothing else.
Something's interfering with my memory, he thought, trying to move his hand to the point of tension in his forehead before he remembered it was chained behind his back. What happened to me?
The ringmaster's cane left the hollow of his throat. "You don't know? Think hard now. I've given you enough clues."
Clues? When? Before he knocked me out, or since I woke up? Frustrated by the lack of detail, he forced himself to go over the details again. Gold and silver, swinging back and forth . . . tick tock tick tock . . . The first word I heard when I woke up was "pendulum." But how is that relevant to what he's saying now?
"Any guesses?" the ringmaster asked.
"No."
"How unfortunate. Well, it's good for you, then, that sharpness of mind isn't a requirement here."
"I don't want to be in your circus," he snapped.
"You don't have a choice." The tip of the man's cane prodded his shoulder, driving him back against the cage. "Since you're unable to grasp the extent of my powers, I'll have to show you." He took something from his pocket and held it up. Immediately, Syaoran was transfixed by the beautiful watch. Everything about it was so perfect, down to the crystal etches marking each minute as it passed. Exquisitely crafted, radiating a faint luminescence. So perfect. So fascinating.
So fascinating that it gave him pause. While he was able to pore over an ancient artifact for hours at a time, he had never been especially interested in watches or related accessories. And even if this was an ancient marvel of some sort, he had more important things to be worried about, like the manacles around his wrist.
Something's wrong here, he thought. He's messing with my head somehow. He forced himself to look away. The motion was stiff and painful.
"Look at it," the ringmaster growled.
The watch continued to tick. Syaoran found himself drawn to the sound, like a music student might be drawn to a symphony. It's the watch. He's using it to hypnotize me.
Instantly, Syaoran brought all his magic to a single point in his forehead. It burned like an ember until he let it explode out. All at once, the absurd fascination he'd felt for the watch disappeared, and he was able to think clearly again. He brought a wall up around his thoughts, just as Seishirou had taught him, and looked up at the ringmaster.
A sordid smirk dominated the man's face. Judging from that look, it was easy to see the man thought his hypnosis was working. When Syaoran didn't respond after a few minutes, the smile stretched wider. "You're going to be in my circus, boy."
"Yes," he said dreamily, as if under the spell of the watch. This was evidently the correct response because the ringmaster went on.
"My last act for the night is the most dangerous. I usually try it on new recruits, before I let them join us in earnest. Have to cull the herd, you understand. Those who survive the grand finale get to stay. Those who don't, well . . . Let's just say it's lucky I can compel them not to feel pain, after . . . "
Syaoran focused on his shield, not allowing himself to be drawn in by the musical tick tock of the watch.
"I have no worries about you making it, though. I wouldn't even consider risking someone with such . . . unique attributes."
Syaoran took a deep breath, refusing to show the panic bubbling up inside him. He told the audience the grand finale was going to be watching someone burn alive. I thought he meant lock someone in a burning cage and have them escape before they got burned. But this . . .
Seishirou will stop them. As soon as I come out on stage, he'll know something's wrong. And if I don't go, the ringmaster will just send someone else out. Faces flitted through his mind, some familiar, some practically strangers. A man who would test people's skill by setting them up to burn wouldn't balk at the idea of sending out a total stranger to get killed. At least I have someone to save my skin if things get out of control.
"So what do you think? Do you want to join our circus now?"
Show no fear. "Yes."
The ringmaster chuckled. "Wonderful. Wonderful! Brinowy, bring him to the cage, would you? This is going to be a very exciting finale."
A female voice answered. "Of course, master."
The constant tick tock faded as the ringmaster pocketed the watch. Syaoran closed his eyes and let his body go limp, like a rag doll. Someone fitted a metal collar around his neck and shackles around his ankles before releasing the manacles around his wrists. They brought his hands out in front of him and relocked the restraints.
"Everybody in your places," the ringmaster sang. "The show's about to begin."