The Clock Tower

Copyright © Kenneth Candler, 2025

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author and publisher.

Published by Kenneth Candler, Calgary, Canada

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ISBN:

Paperback 978-1-77354-709-1

eBook 978-1-77354-741-1

The Clock Tower

Part One:
The Detectives

“The noblest gift of all

is bringing happiness to others.”

P.T. Barnum

As usual the girls spent the morning play-acting. Lucy’s father had kept a modest library of mostly classics, and whenever Liz was over there she was drawn to a large, red volume of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was still a relatively new literary success at the time. Within it she found a bounty of words to look up in the giant Oxford dictionary that lay forever open on the floor, as both Martin and Jim had long since grown tired of fetching it for her. And though she sometimes admitted the adventures of Mister Holmes made for exceptionally dull reading, she often left Lucy’s house with a light coat of red dye on her hands and inner arms.

When the boys were around they always played pirate stories, because Jim knew them all, and Lucy really did like those best, but when it was only the two of them, and Liz insisted detective stories were the best stories, Lucy obliged. “And I suppose I shall play the detective’s assistant?” she always asked.

“I would be honored,” Liz always accepted.

After play-acting a few scenes they built little boats out of driftwood, with seaweed rigging and sails. Neither boat floated very well because the masts were too heavy, but they floated on their sides and both girls were smiling so it was time well spent. Then they washed their hands and feet in the surf and put on new clothes, and each made sure the other’s hair was looking nice, as little girls do when they truly care for one another. They were just about to begin their usual quarrel over the fishing pole when Jim came hustling up the path. The girls stepped quietly out from the bushes. “It’s only Jim,” Liz said, crossing her arms.

He laughed and waved them over. “Quickly girls, the wagon is coming!”

Their faces lit up, and their eyes went wide. Everyone had heard the news that the circus was coming, and by now they knew it had arrived. Jim had been there at dawn to meet with the foreman,—as had many of the local boys—and after helping set up the cookhouse and dining tents, and a few others, he was passed off to the cook—that’s what they called the man, anyway—from whom he’d obtained employment, and secured passage for himself and his sister, all the while assuring him that neither of them would have any trouble with pie. Lucy’s brother Martin had been there too, but he’d been passed off elsewhere, as he’d hoped, and before he went he said he’d be back at the clock tower at half past eight. Jim hadn’t seen him since. The magicians were a secretive lot.

By the time the wagon circled around, after picking up a few more passengers at the end of the lane, the girls were ready and waiting, and when they climbed aboard, the driver stealthily handed each of them two nickels. Before they could thank him he had placed his finger softly across his lips to silence them, so they thanked him with smiles. They knew this man well, and they knew both of the horses by name, as did many of the children along his routes who caught rides with him to and from town when the skiffs and dories were busy. He knew the sad situation a lot of these children were in, and he knew which of them had lost parents in the blast, and since he’d been given extra work that day, and the circus people had paid him very well to do it, he was in a giving mood, and he thought it would be an awful shame if any of the children were to attend the circus without being able to have some pie and lemonade. The girls quickly and carefully pocketed the nickels. Liz had her flowered sundress on, which had a little pocket sewn in at the hip, along with her favourite white cap, and tucked into the band was a prickly wild rose that she had picked only moments before Jim had showed up. Her pocket was only big enough for a few coins, but they clicked together and Liz didn’t like that, so she gave one to Lucy to hold for her because coins in the pockets of Lucy’s frocks were held flat, and made no sound. Lucy had several good, strong frocks that her mother had made for her, each with a pocket stitched into the front, at the waist, with the clasp made to look like a little bow. Her purple frock was actually her least favourite, and therefore the least worn-out, so she had donned it that afternoon thinking she ought to look her best.

The wagon bumped along the road, which wasn’t at all like the roads we have today. (In my day, anyway, we have smooth, flat pavement that stretches as far as the eye can see.) The roads back then were dirt and mud and gravel, and the children lurched and jumped and jolted over every bump, crack, and rut—especially on those iron-rimmed cart wheels! The tranquil calls of the ever-present gulls could be heard no more than usual, but the seals basking among the rocky outcrops had become increasingly perturbed over the last two days, and their barking seemed to grow louder and louder as the wagon drew nearer to the city. Where they were concentrated in large numbers the effect was nearly deafening. Everyone had taken notice, of course, but none could quite discern whether the disturbance was a result of a sense of fear, or excitement. For the last half-mile the girls could see the red glow of the tents shimmering in the reflective waters of the harbour, and when the wagon finally rounded that last corner, they were standing up on their seats. They saw a long, tall fence that wasn’t there before. Rising above the gates were several large, red tents, and towering above them all like a monolith was the big top tent, shining bright red, with long, swirling, white stripes. Inside the gates, where not twenty-four hours before the streets and tide-worn docks had sat idly and quietly by, a marvelous festival had been unleashed, from the Citadel to Point Pleasant. Every corner was alive with fire-spinners, jugglers, tumblers, and acrobats, all in full and fantastic costumes; every lane, fare, and side-street crammed with parked carts and wagons, small tents, and make-shift booths, from whence came the calls and shouts, boasting of all manner of curiosity and delight: “Come and see the tattooed lady!” “See the monkey-faced boy!” “Step right up!” “Try your luck!” “Wonders!” “Horrors!” “Feats of strength!”

Some time in the early morning a caravan of carts and wagons had been quietly unloaded onto the docks, and began trickling out of the harbour, forming a grand parade that slowly snaked its way up and down the city streets. Each of the wagons held a driver and several passengers in strange and outlandish attire who smiled and waved at the gathering crowds of curious onlookers and passersby. Many of the larger carts carried cages that held lions, tigers, hyenas, and other exotic animals from wild and distant, uncharted lands, and the trainers stood fearlessly within, alongside the beasts.At least, that was how Willy told it when they met him at the gates. And it was more or less a truthful retelling. But first he told them all about his audition—how the talent people had cut him off almost immediately and told him he was a natural with a knack for showmanship, and that they could surely find a place for him in the side-show band. And tonight he was free to roam the grounds and entertain as he saw fit. He was to use his professional discretion. (Of course, the talent people was just one guy, and he’d heard Willy’s trumpet in the harbour days before, but he couldn’t track him down, ‘cause he was always movin’ around, so he spread word among the vendors of an audition hoping the boy would come to him. Anyways.) Then Willy tried to name all of the animals he’d seen, and described them to the girls if they didn’t know what they looked like. And in fairness he did quite well. He had a good memory, to be sure—he knew all of the songs in the rag book by heart. Let’s see, he started with the horses, which everyone knew—he said there was a hundred of them at least! And the zebras, with stripes, and the reindeer, elk, yaks, and the rest of the antlered flock. And the llamas, and other things that looked very much like llamas, and the camels, and the other things that looked very much like camels. Lions, tigers, bears, a leopard, a panther, an ostrich, a python, a crocodile! a kangaroo! and a giraffe!—which the girls had never seen or even heard of—and of course, the elephants. He said the elephants were led by a small boy, with dark skin and red marks on his face, who carried a thin wand that he waved about, and the elephants followed his every command. “It was like magic!” he said.

It only came apart when he tried to name the monkeys. There were baboons, and chimpanzees, and there was an orange one, with a little orange baby, but he couldn’t remember the names of all of the little monkeys. There were so many of them. In all I thought he did quite well, although he did mention a big-foot.

“Big-foot?” Lucy said, “that’s newfie-talk.”

Willy paused in thought, then insisted that was what they said. “They said it was a big-foot.”

“Did you seeee the big-foot?” Lizzie asked.

“No,” Willy admitted, “it cost a nickel to see it, even for kids.”

The girls skipped ahead to ask Jim about the big-foot. Jim was no animal expert, but he was pretty sure big-foot was make-believe. Either way, he was more interested in what was up ahead. They were nearing the spot where they usually gathered, but they found the path blocked by an old, ornate coach, which was brilliantly decorated with intricate carvings of flora and fauna, and embellished with fantastic faces and mythical monsters. The frightful nature of these images, combined with a sudden series of loud and exuberant musical strains, invoked in the minds of the children an uncanny feeling, as if they had stepped into a dream. They crept cautiously forward, around the side of the coach, where, tucked in behind one of the great wheels, a weathered, old man sat on a stool, gently squeezing the bellows of an accordion. Softly he swayed side-to-side, humming and mumbling along with his song. The children stopped and stood for some length, just listening, with a sense of mild apprehension. Willy took a few steps closer, he had never seen an accordion or anything like it before, and he was always interested in new sounds, and new songs. Eventually one of them let out a cough, or a sneeze, rousing the old man into a sour note. The side door of the coach was flung open from inside, and a tall woman, with long, dark curls wrapped up in a red bandana, burst forth and down the little steps to the ground, where she stood firmly, placing her hands on her hips and gazing at the children with sharp, emerald eyes.

“I am Miss Katerina,” she announced in a thick, foreign accent. “You are customer?”

The children all shook their heads.

The woman tossed her arms up with forceful expression. “Vamoosh!” she shouted.

And they did.

~

Around this time Lucy was looking up at the clock tower, reading the face and hands of the clock, and seeing it was not quite seven, she turned around fully expecting the warmth of returned smiles. Instead, she was met by the sudden, sunken feeling of being alone among strangers. She’d had it in her mind that they would all march straight to the clock tower together, since she was to meet her brother there at half past eight. This sort of thing happened now and again, and it always happened so fast. After stowing the immediate urge to sit and pout, Lucy decided she need only keep herself pleasant, and busy, and her friends would be along soon enough. And what better place to keep a child busy than the side-show. She took a deep breath and looked around at the crowds and festivities. A row of five showgirls were waving and smiling at all of the children and shaking hands with them if they liked. Lucy shook the hand of one of the ladies, and they exchanged warm smiles.

“Enjoy the show!” said the showgirl.

“Well thank you, I think I will,” Lucy replied, mostly to herself, as she wandered on by.

Ahead of her stood a series of small stages, each with two or more upright racks displaying knives and swords of various lengths and styles, some with strangely curved blades. Lucy intended to walk from one act to the next, stopping briefly to admire each. The first was a woman in a long, white dress, with brown hair tied up in the back. She was just standing still between two racks, staring out into the crowd with a blank expression. Lucy began to feel uneasy about this woman. She hadn’t blinked once, and she certainly wasn’t smiling.

The next performer was dressed as a court jester and was just about to slide a second sword down alongside the sword he had already swallowed. Lucy found the sight off-putting so she hurried on by and skipped the rest of the sword-swallowers.

Next, she followed a long line-up all the way along to find out what could have compelled so many grown-ups to wait in line. At the head of the line she saw a large poster displaying a headless woman in a blue dress, sitting at a table as if she were dining. Beside the entrance a sailor with a grey beard and a big belly sat on a stool, smoking the stump of a cigar and grinning as he collected fares of five cents each.

“Goodness,” Lucy said to herself, “why on earth would I want to see a headless woman?” She shook her head and moved on to the next act. As she was reading the sign she found herself disturbed by a rotten stench from somewhere nearby. Just then two boys burst forth from the tent, seeming to be in some distress. The older of the two, whose face had gone quite pale, wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve while the younger boy hurled his guts out onto the street. A pair of stray dogs hustled over, and after scattering the squall of encroaching gulls, eagerly lapped up every disgusting bit. Lucy tapped the older boy on the shoulder. “What’s the matter?” she asked, “is he sick?”

“Oh it was horrible, miss! The geek! He was in a tub full of bugs n’ snakes! An ee was chewing on glass! And the blockhead! Oh it was horrible! It was horrible!” The boy turned away to tend to his companion, unable to speak any further. At the side of the tent Lucy noticed some dark spots on the ground, which suggested to her this wasn’t the first boy to lose his dinner that evening.

“I think I’ll skip the blockhead,” she giggled, “and the geek.” And she moved along.

She soon arrived at the edge of a thick crowd gathered around one of the main side-show stages, on which a band was playing. She peeked around among the crowd to find a good spot where she might see the stage. The crowd were mostly grown-ups, standing tall like cornstalks. Other children were darting in and around, and in between them, like mice among the hedgerows. A few of them stopped here and there, dancing, spinning, and twirling with the music. The tune was similar to the swingin’ songs Willy liked to play, and before long Lucy was dancing too. It was then, in that magical place, beneath the rowdy din of the crowd, Lucy’s ears were met by another sound, a distant sound very much like a child sobbing. She stopped and listened intently. And there it was again. Upon hearing this sound Lucy was not only curious, but, having a good and kind heart, she also felt concern, so she followed the sound out and away from the crowd and down to the end of first one, then another, and another row of small tents. There she determined the source of the sobbing to be a small figure curled up in the corner of a steel cage. The cage was not well lit, but in the little patches of light she could see a small arm and shoulder, which were covered by what appeared to be thick hair or fur. When she read the sign aloud: “Dido,” the little head popped up, and the face, too, was covered in long hairs, tangled from tears. As the figure then slinked further into the shadows, what struck Lucy were the distinctively animal qualities of the movements. Though she would later be ashamed to say it, she was frightened, and turned away. A loud popping sound behind her sent her spinning back around to see, at some distance, a small display of fireworks sparkling down on one of the juggling acts with a great exclamation from the crowd around it. She locked eyes for a moment with a small man, dressed in red, with a red cap, and he seemed to be staring back at her rather sternly. Another noisy pop made her jump, and she noticed a pair of jugglers on stilts, with long, white masks that grinned, tossing fire sticks and closing in on her in slow, extended strides. Before she knew it she had bolted into one of the nearby tents and tucked herself in behind a loose flap of canvas.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing!” a shrill, feminine voice exclaimed.

Lucy looked up to see a dark-haired woman, with a thin moustache, nestled in behind a counter. A row of fancy coats hung up on a rod behind her, and to her right a heavy curtain shielded the entrance to a larger room, wherein the rumble of ragtime piano was heard. The moustached lady was resting her chin in one hand, while with the other hand she ran her finger around and around the rim of the tallest of three stemmed drinking glasses lined up before her. She wiggled her lips into a smile, and her little moustache did the same. “And what’s your name, my dear?” she asked. Lucy didn’t respond. Her heart was still beating rapidly, and she was catching her breath. “What’s a nice little girl doing here all by herself this evening?” the lady continued, leaning forward.

“Oh, I’m not alone, my friends are just outside. They were too frightened to come in,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“Isn’t that a shame,” the moustached lady smiled.

“And I’m to meet my brother at half past eight. He’s a magician,” Lucy added.

“Is he now?” the lady’s eyebrows widened with embellished interest.

“Yes,” Lucy nodded, “and I was promised a pie for dinner.”

“A pie!” the moustached lady sighed, “aren’t you precious! Oh, it just warms my heart to see such a beautiful child!” She then fell into a short lament on her own romantic misfortunes, explaining how she hadn’t been lucky enough to find a suitable mate with whom she could raise her own children, something she had desperately longed-for throughout her youthful years. Lucy was beginning to feel somewhat smothered, and even a bit cornered, by this overbearing woman, when a sudden gust of breeze rushed through the curtain, followed by a burst of laughter from the crowd. “Oh those boys are so loud!” the moustached lady moaned.

“What boys?” Lucy asked.

“Oh those filthy-mouthed twins, Mick n’ Mack,” she sighed again. “No one ever wants to hear me sing anymooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”

Here the lonely woman lingered on her last note, raising it up higher and higher, and holding it way, way up there, erupting with all of the force and power of a trained soprano, until the shortest of the three drinking glasses exploded into pieces. By then Lucy had covered her ears, decided it was best to bid the good woman goodnight, and made for the gap in the curtain.

As she passed through the curtain the mumbling chatter of a casual crowd instantly blended with the music. The room was thick with smoke, much of it filing upwards from two ashtrays placed atop the piano at center stage. The dancefloor was full, mostly with sailors and showgirls, not a seat was empty at any of the tables, and several rows of spectators mingled around in the back. A pair of very pretty, and very large, young ladies, dressed in bathing suits, were jabbing at one another with giant boxing mitts in a small, roped-off ring to the side of the stage. And on the stage a huge and hideous sweater-vest stretched across the shoulders of two boys sitting side-by-side at the piano. The extraordinary garment was predominantly orange and brown, in a checkerboard pattern, and appeared to have been patched, and striped, and stitched together, with as many colours as one could name, by perhaps not the most skillful hand, but one certainly capable of great love and endearment. Together these boys, whom Lucy could now see were actually young men, pounded out a thunderous ragtime beat. When one brother paused for a sip, or a puff, or a kiss from an adoring fan, the other brother filled in seamlessly on both sides of the keyboard. All the while they were screaming along in horrible English accents, and though the tune was one that Lucy knew, she could scarcely understand a word. Somehow they mashed the ending into God save the Queen, and finishing each with only one hand they raised their mugs up high above their heads, clanked them together with a splash, and each drained his own in a single gulp. And as they slowly turned to face the crowd, in a kind-of gradual, rotating shuffle, with all of those arms and fingers outstretched, like some great spider or king crab, one might have seen tears rolling down their cheeks. Fortunately Lucy was far too young and far too innocent to comprehend anything of the slurring torrent of vulgarity that poured forth when the lads opened their mouths. One of the showgirls, who was wearing a hat that really looked more like a fan, bent down and looked at Lucy curiously. She smiled a warm smile, turned Lucy around, and guided her to the exit.

Outside, the showgirl pointed to a sign that read: No Proper Children, and disappeared back into the tent.

Lucy took a deep breath of salty, evening air. She felt safe now, and calm, amid the musical chaos that swirled all around her. She realized she’d rather enjoyed her little fright, and wanted to see more. Forgetting all about the clock tower she began exploring every tent, observing at every stage, and inquiring at every booth she came across, regardless of what was displayed on the sign. She walked through a hall of mirrors and was followed by several oddly-shaped reflections of herself, some short, some tall, and some others that made her giggle. She saw a ventriloquist with a pair of pig puppets sitting on his knees. The two pigs were arguing so fiercely that the poor puppeteer could hardly get a word in, and when he did he was quickly ordered to stow it. She met Bruno the giant, who stood well over nine feet tall. When she asked whether or not he thought she could fit inside his hat, he tipped his head back and laughed heartily, and when he did so—she would later claim—she saw several rows of teeth in the back of his mouth. She saw a dancer named Peppa, who appeared to have the antlers of a deer growing from her head. She wore a dress of silk and blue lace, with a long blue cape hanging from her shoulders, and she danced elegantly as a tiny flock of birds chirped and hopped about, seeming very much at home among her antlers. Lucy thought she saw the antlers slip backwards, just a touch, causing the tiny birds to flutter momentarily. It didn’t seem like anyone else had noticed, and she didn’t want to spoil the show for others, so she kept it to herself. Another woman, named Xana, had a large python curled around her shoulders, and thick black markings covering her exposed arms and legs. Lucy found the tattoos fascinating, but she shied away from the serpent. Next to Xana was a large booth, inside which a tall Native American man in buckskin and a feathered headdress was sitting on a stool, speaking slowly and steadily in an unrecognizable tongue. To Lucy his words were like faint thunks and knocking sounds. He was explaining how the headdress was sacred to his people, that it contained spiritual power, and was only to be worn by elders, and shaman. And that this headdress was not made by his people, and that he was not worthy to wear a ceremonial headdress. He had been captured in war many, many years since, and through various prisoner exchanges, and purchases, he had ended up here. So he wears the headdress, in disgrace to his elders, because he is made to wear it by these circus men, who keep him in chains, far from the horses, because he is a brave and fearsome warrior. . . . But the journey was too far, and he knew not the way, and not he nor the horse would survive. And the Miq-Maw he encountered in the harbour had managed to explain to him that the iron-horse would take him home, and they had wished him well. And he was tired, and all he wanted now was to be at home with his tribe, following the buffalo. He spoke these words again and again, in the same slow, steady, and stoic manner, and no one understood. Many, however, were amused by his presentation as an exotic curiosity.

Among the most memorable of Lucy’s new acquaintances was Teddy, the Alligator Man. The sign out front depicted a ferocious beast raging against the bars of its cage. It had sharp teeth, huge claws, and a long tail with spikes all over it. On entering the tent she saw that he was indeed kept in a cage, but he wasn’t beastly at all, and he certainly didn’t have a tail. He was just an old man, sitting in a cozy chair, reading a book and sipping a cup of tea. He wore shoes, and trousers, and a waistcoat with a pocket watch—just like a man! He even had a pair of spectacles balanced at the end of his nose.

“Hello,” Lucy said.

The man closed his book and hobbled over to the edge of his cage with the aid of a walking stick. He peered through the bars, looking around at every corner of the room, and finally down at Lucy. Up close she could see his skin was very pale and, due to some rare and strange condition, appeared almost scaly. But when he spoke it was in such soft and kindly tones that any hint of danger was instantly dispelled. “My name is Theodore.” He extended a rough and wrinkled hand through the bars.

Lucy shook the top two fingers, trying her best not to show any outward signs of discomfort. “My name’s Lucy,” she smiled.

“Well, you might as well call me Teddy, that’s what my friends call me,” he smiled back.

Teddy was cautious of most children, but he very much enjoyed speaking with the littler ones who had not yet grown up enough to be mean. Lucy asked about the book he was reading. After fetching the book from the little table where he had left it, he couldn’t really tell her much about it, and couldn’t well explain very well why not—except that it was full of stories. It was then agreed upon, at Lucy’s suggestion, that she would pull a chair up to the bars of the cage, and Teddy would pull his chair up to the bars, and he would read aloud to her one of the stories from his book.

Although the Alligator Man was a huge draw, and sold plenty of tickets and merchandise, Teddy did little to satisfy audiences. Most evenings, after the opening rush, he was very much left alone, aside from a trickle of looky-loos. Many complained when they found out he wasn’t much of a monster, calling him a freak and other equally monstrous terms. And though their comments provoked no vocal response from Teddy, the effects could be seen as each time he winced and cast his eyes to the floor.

Rather than allow this kind, old man to remain in such a pitiable state, Lucy clapped her hands together and shouted. “Teddy!”

“Where was I?” he smiled, and picked up, more or less, where he left off.

Teddy had lived a very restricted life, with much of it spent in a cage, and he had come to prefer it that way. If he had one secret love, it was theatre. He had been exposed to side-show plays and outdoor theatre throughout his youth, never seeing a whole play, but bits and parts as he was carted around from town to town and prodded with sticks and pelted with rocks. When he obtained his freedom—oddly enough by means of the Underground Railroad—and he began touring with side-shows and circuses, he had always been sure to include a few extra- special clauses in his contracts. Whenever the caravan stopped, he was to be brought a newspaper so he could see if anything was happening. (And to do the puzzles.) If there was a play, a ticket was to be purchased and brought to him, and he was to be allowed to go and see the play and walk around the theatre district for a few hours unaccompanied. (No one had a heart hard enough to point out that he didn’t need anyone’s permission for that.) Usually, the local playhouses closed up when the circus rolled into town, so he had to catch the earliest showing, since it might be the last for a while. And sometimes, due to some scheduling mishap, Teddy had the immense pleasure of seeing a play in an empty playhouse, and on those rare occasions he experienced a sense of freedom like he’d never known, with no eyes upon him.

It also might be of some import here to note that Teddy hadn’t been entirely truthful when he agreed to read aloud a story from his book. The stories in Teddy’s book were written in a somewhat lofty and mature style, not intended for children, unless of course the aim is to put them to sleep. But he knew the stories well, having read each one backwards and forwards, so instead of precisely following along with the text, he held the book open in his hand and told a simplified tale from memory. At times he stood up and stepped into the center of his cage,—as it was really quite spacious—and with lunging thrusts and jabs, wielding his cane like a sword, he re-enacted the scenes; in this case he was mighty Perseus, rescuing Andromeda from the dreadful sea-monster.

Needless to say, Lucy was well entertained, but not at all in the way she was expecting to be.

~

As for the rest of them, they skedaddled the wrong way. Jim hadn’t led them out into the mid-way, he’d gone behind the tents, down a back lane he’d traversed several times that day during setup, and they had ended up near the cook’s tent, where the workers were all eating in long rows at long tables. Liz was insistent they all head straight back to the old coach, citing the very real possibility that Lucy had been snatched away by that horrible woman. Willy just wanted to get back to the crowds, so he volunteered to go with her.

One of the workers stepped out of the tent. “Oy!” he shouted, making an impatient gesture at Jim. They had pots to scour, and cages to clean.

“You’re not coming to the show?” Liz had a sour look on her face. She was understandably disappointed, and maybe even a little hurt. She didn’t like the idea of being separated from her brother so far from home. He told her it was something they were going to have to get used to, and pointing to the ground he added that this was going to be their home now. Liz didn’t understand and crossed her arms firmly in protest.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Jim reached into his pocket, and told Liz to hold out her hand. When she did so he dropped two thick hairs, each about two inches long, into her hand.

She frowned again. “Yuck, Jim.”

They were elephant hairs, plucked from the tail of an elephant and given to Jim by one of the hands. It was good luck to have them, he explained, and even better luck to pass them on to someone else. “It’s a circus thing.”

“Okay.” Liz remained deflated. Jim placed a hand on her shoulder, and she brushed it aside.

“You don’t want to stay back here all night do ya?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, “it stinks over here.”

“Come on Liz,” Willy said, “let’s go see the show.” He held out the crook of his arm like a gentleman. Liz bopped him in the shoulder, and smiled. “Suit y’self,” he said. Her mood had lightened at the thought of seeing an elephant.

Some time in the dawning days of circus history, when the trick-riders, and acrobats, and jugglers, and fire-eaters, and all of the various performers that make up the circus were brought together, it was decided that clowns were not allowed inside the dressing rooms. With all of the powders and make-up they had to use it was just better for everyone if they did it outside. (I’m sure there were other reasons, but we won’t go into that.) So the clowns took their trunks and gathered near the rear entrance of the big top, in the open air, and this area came to be known as Clown Alley.

The first performers Liz and Willy came across were two young asian girls who were spinning wooden yoyos, called diabolos. The older of the two had several bobbins spinning on her line. Liz stood mesmerized, stumped as to how the bobbins were kept spinning. She thought perhaps if she were to try it herself she could see how it is done. Beside the diabolo girls a young clown was tossing a single club, flipping it up and down, back and forth, and following its arc with his eyes. Liz stepped closer and stood before the little clown. She couldn’t be certain this was the same boy she’d seen before with Martin and Willy at the magic show. His hair was clean and combed, his make-up was nicely done, similar to the older, professional clowns, and instead of dirty sailor rags he was wearing stiff, striped pants and a sharp, new, royal blue coat with a mayflower embroidered on the lapel. When the boy noticed Liz standing there he smiled and let his club fall to the ground with a clamour. He was comically fumbling for it when Willy strolled up. “Well look at you,” he said, “what’re you doin’ back here?”

“It’s kids’ night,” the clown shrugged.

“Plenty of parents too,” Willy replied, always seeing the bright side.

But the clown had a full belly, and he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere. First he wanted to tell them all about the day he’d had. How the tall, rich man had come to see him early in the morning, just as he was getting started, and had invited him to come and see the camp and have some breakfast. Of course he wanted to see what was going on over there, and a free breakfast wasn’t something he could miss. So they went back to the camp and sat together under a shade, and watched as a vibrant tent city bloomed all around them. As the boy ate, and ate, and ate, the clowns were coming over to the table in small groups of two or three. They weren’t yet in costume or make-up, so the boy had no idea who they were. The tall, rich man acknowledged each of them, but said nothing. After the clowns looked the boy over, and some were pretty thorough about it, each of them returned to the tall, rich man a nod, and left. Eventually the boy ate so much that he fell asleep in his chair. When he awoke he was wrapped up in a bundle of blankets in the corner of a trailer. The walls were lined with bunkbeds and trunks that were covered with stamps. He was given two large, red pails, one for drinking, and one for washing, and he could fill them once a day. So he filled them up at the pump, and had to carry them back one at a time, and he washed himself up. And the barber cut his hair, and they gave him new clothes, and this new club! And after a week, if he practices, he’ll get another club! And he was taken around to see some of the animals, and some of the acts. Then they sat him down in the make-up tent and painted his face for the carnival. And one of the clowns gave him a make-up kit (which was actually just a wad of make-up in a sock) so he could do his own, with lots of red!

The clowns, all two dozen or so, had gathered that morning for a very important—very serious—clown meeting. It was a new company, and some of the clowns were meeting for the first time, and those who did know one another had catching up to do. So introductions were made, and news was exchanged, and most had heard talk by then of the orphan boy who juggled in the Halifax harbour. Eventually the issue was addressed by a very large clown named Bud, who had a good deal of stubble shading his jowls, and his hair hadn’t been washed in weeks. He spoke of a pair of their number, a married couple, with whom he had toured England and much of the continent, and with whom many of the present clowns had worked before and were intimately acquainted. Some were aware that the couple had been blessed with a son, others had heard they had booked passage to Halifax, and some were hearing for the first time the tragic news that they had been killed in the explosion. But nothing had been heard of the boy. And what the little clown didn’t realize, as he ate and ate and ate his fill, was that he truly was being examined. One of the clowns had even lifted up his elbow and poked him in the ribs! “Hey!” the boy had shouted. Although many admitted they couldn’t be certain of any familial resemblance in his eyes or aspect, the general consensus was that it simply must be him.

“Where else could he have learned to juggle like that?” proposed one clown.

“And at such a young age!” confirmed another.

A few of them, Bud included, even became emotional over finding the boy, and several of the ladies insisted on adopting him at once! Tears of joy were shed in clown alley that morning.

Regardless of parentage, any child who takes it upon his or her self to perform in a public space on a regular basis would likely catch the eyes of a talent-seeker. However, he or she might not be taken into the fold so quickly. Many orphans and runaways joined the circus. Most entered the workforce, but some had talents that could be developed for the show, and those who became rookie clowns would tell you that outside of training hours none of the other clowns made so much as a peep in their direction until they had completed at least one full circuit. This boy was a special case, but he would still need to prove himself, and earn his place, and he had been ordered by the Senior Clown to practice, and not to leave that spot. “Would you like to come along?” he asked the diabolo girls. Both girls stood firmly in their crouches. The small one looked up and smiled. The older girl made no response, keeping her eyes on her line, but as the clown turned away she quickly gathered her bobbins and in the blink of an eye was ahead of him.

“We must koong foo,” she said, stopping him, “and you as well.”

“I can kung fu with them,” he said, stepping around her with a smile.

She rolled her eyes and resumed her practice.

As the children approached clown alley proper they saw jugglers, hoopers, ropers, archers, knife-throwers, and plenty of dancers, tumblers, and acrobats, some practicing their acts, some stretching or holding difficult poses, and some simply standing around conversing and such. A few of the ladies were holding babies and bouncing them up and down. Liz was inspired by the strength and grace of the female acrobats and filled with awe by the fancy costumes and glamorous make-up. Ahead of them was an open corral where various performers and clowns were seated at tables, eating, playing cards, and smoking greasy cigars. Someone was frying fish on a grill nearby, and they had a large stew-pot with lobsters on the boil. A litter of dalmatian puppies were bouncing, and bounding, and racing, and dodging all over the place, spreading nothing but cheer as puppies do. The mother lay stretched out on her side, with one eye open, beside a second, smaller corral, where I assume the pigs were supposed to be, but most had wandered out and were milling among the crowd. And not only pigs, but farm animals of nearly every kind. There were chickens, ducks, geese, sheep, goats, even a donkey, and all seemed to be free roaming, and none got in the way of the other.

The clowns were in full make-up and costume by then, and fully in character, having performed two shows already that day. There were big clowns, little clowns, tall clowns, and skinny clowns. They were laughing, pulling ears, and bopping one another on the nose. The clowns were always practicing their slapstick—and their balance! Several clowns were standing just outside the corral, silently balancing various objects on their noses, chins, foreheads, arms, and shoulders, and several more were standing behind them, up on top of their trunks, doing the same. It was not an uncommon sight at any time in clown alley to see clowns balancing balls, clubs, sticks, plates, cups, bottles, top hats,—just about anything—and some with multiple objects going at once.

When the children passed by, one of the clowns turned and addressed the little boy clown, calling him “Joey.” As they moved along, Liz asked the boy if that was his name.

“No,” he said, as confused as she was, “it isn’t.”

“Well, what is your name, anyway?” she asked.

“My folks only called me Curly,” the boy replied.

“Is that your real name?” Liz laughed.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

Realizing she had hurt the boy, Liz suggested that she kind of liked the name Joey, and that Curly was a very good clown name. Just then a lady clown emerged from behind a dressing screen and started strutting around in funny clown steps, practicing her gag and catching the eyes of the children. Two other ladies poked their heads out from behind the screen, made funny faces, and withdrew. Liz had seen a few clowns, at holiday parades and town fairs and the like, but the thought had never occurred to her before that a woman might be a clown, so she turned to the little clown and asked if he could paint her face like his. He said his new kit, and all of his other things, were stowed in a trunk in a corner of the trailer belonging to the Senior Clown, and they would have to go there and fetch it. Willy wasn’t waiting anymore, so he split.

To get to the trailer, the clown showed Liz a short-cut around a few busy pigs and in between two rows of hastily constructed dressing booths. Along the way Liz noticed they were being followed, and when she looked back she could hardly believe her eyes. She had never seen a chimpanzee before, and this one was wearing work clothes and holding a broom. The name-tag said: Phil. She asked the chimpanzee if he needed anything. After a quiet moment the chimp spat a gob of grass and mud off to one side and waddled back the way he had come, sweeping as he went. The encounter reminded the boy of something the clowns had told him when they were showing him around: monkeys hate clowns. One of the clowns had even demonstrated the point by performing a silly dance in full view of the monkeys, and they all started howling and screaming and shaking their cages.

“He didn’t seem upset by you,” Liz commented.

Apparently the trained chimps were okay, they actually worked with the clowns in some of their acts. It was the baboons, and all of the littler monkeys that he didn’t know the names of, that they had to worry about. “And the big-foot,” he added.

“Big-foot! My foot!” Lizzie stamped.

The boy laughed.

“What do you know?” she demanded, thrusting her finger up in his face.

He shook his head, smiling. “Can’t tell you that, they made me swear an oath.”

“Ohhh!” Lizzie stomped again.

“Once we paint your face,” he said, “you’ll have to avoid the monkeys.”

Liz paused in contemplation. She definitely wanted to see the elephants, and the zebras, and the giraffe, and all of the big cats—and now she wanted to see the monkeys.

“We could just rosy up your cheeks a little, we’re almost there.”

“That would be nice,” she agreed.

Senior Clown was smeared in large, black letters on the side of the trailer, which was otherwise decorated with bright colours, shapes, and stripes, like most everything else in the circus.

“Who’s the Senior Clown?” Liz asked.

“He’s an old, old man, who says he was the President of the United States,” the boy replied flatly. In truth, the title of Senior Clown was of no real significance aside from his age, and his claim to the trailer was nothing short of preposterous. All of the clowns lived in that trailer. “He should be asleep, so we must be quiet. If we wake him, we’ll never get out of there.”

Liz nodded, and they entered the trailer. They slipped carefully down the narrow aisle between the bunks, all the way to the end, to a small, corner office. The old man was snoring soundly, so sneaking by him was easy. Of course, when they opened the trunk everything spilled out onto the floor, making a terrible racket, and when they tried to flee they found the way blocked by the Senior Clown. He was standing bolt upright, in his tattered Union coat, holding the boy’s new club very close to his face and examining it with a puzzled look. “Is this mine?” he asked, addressing no one in particular.

“You gave it to me!” the boy pleaded.

“Ah! So I did,” the old man grinned. His smile was sparse, and the few teeth he had remaining were yellow. Instead of handing the club over to the boy, he began tossing it back and forth, over his shoulder and behind his back, with effortless glee. As is usual in his waking moments the Senior Clown had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and since he doubled as history teacher in the circus school, when he saw the two children he assumed he had nodded off in the middle of a lesson. So he chose a lesson he was fond of, and hoped no one would object if it wasn’t the right one. The children sighed and slinked off to the corner, and while they learned all about General Sherman and his march to the sea, Liz opened up the make-up kit and blushed up her cheeks. Then she started playing around with the make-up, and most of that had to be wiped off, but she did end up with nice, rosy cheeks, and looked as pretty as a petal on a flower in bloom. And because the little clown boy had been kind to her she decided to give him one of the elephant hairs she had gotten from Jim, for good luck, and saved the other one for Lucy.

~

When the story ended, and Perseus had used the Gorgon’s head to turn the evil king and all of his subjects into stone statues, Teddy closed the book and yawned, and reminded Lucy that every last one of those people was a no-good evil-doer. They were gossips, and gawkers, schemers and deceivers—and if there were any good people on that island they were at home, minding their own business!

Lucy applauded and told Teddy it was a good story, and seeing he was nearly falling asleep in his chair she opted to dismiss herself. “Well, I’d best be off to the clock tower. Goodnight Teddy,” she said.

Teddy checked his pocket watch and told her she was early yet, and recommended, if she couldn’t find her brother, she go down the way and see a new show by the inventor Mae Zelle. “Just look for Harry,” he added, “the fire-eating dwarf.”

When she got to the clock tower she looked around and let out a deep sigh. She didn’t see Martin, and she didn’t see Liz. And she wondered why she couldn’t hear Willy’s trumpet. Willy’s trumpet was like a beacon of hope. If she could hear him, she could find him, and she usually found her friends there too. He’d been so excited earlier to tell them all about his audition. Perhaps he was off somewhere with his new band, she thought.

Willy had been in a band back home, before his father had shipped out. On their last night in port they had a party, and in a special ceremony Willy was made an official member of the Lucky Fellas. His father took him aside and handed him a ticket to New York and said the captain was an old friend who would smuggle him up to Halifax. Told him to go there, and blow his horn, and he’d come for him when all of this was over.

When the Americans joined the war they first sent troops to Britain, and these men spent most of their time drilling, and doing jumping jacks, and getting all beefy. But the African American units stopped only briefly in Britain, and were sent straight on to France to fight in the trenches. It was late in the war, so the Americans suffered relatively fewer casualties (still plenty). Unfortunately, Willy’s father and the rest of his bandmates, all talented swing musicians, were among those casualties.

And when the war ended everyone came home, and there was a big to-do about it. And a few months went by. And then a few more. Eventually Willy received the news that he was the last of the Lucky Fellas.

So Lucy thought it was good to hear that he would be playing in a band again, and great to hear that he would be joining them on the train ride. That is if Martin got the job. She crossed her fingers and kept them crossed as she wandered around looking for this Harry character.

She got bored looking for Harry and found herself a seat on an upturned crate. Then she really did feel like pouting, but just as she was about to descend into the valley of despair she looked up and saw a little man, dressed in red, with a little red cap, holding a torch. She thought she’d seen him before, but she couldn’t recall when or where. So she stood up, straightened out her purple frock, and walked straight over to the little man. On closer inspection she saw that his red coat was beautifully embroidered with elaborate gold leaves, which produced a glowing effect, making him appear to shine in the torchlight. “Hello,” she said, “are you Harry? The fire-eating dwarf?”

He smiled, then he tipped his head back and slowly and gradually lowered the flaming end of his torch into his open mouth, and the fire vanished. He burped, and a small puff of smoke escaped. “Pardon me lassie,” he said, “yes, that’s me, I’m Harry.” And he asked why she was looking so glum just now.

She did her best to explain how she wasn’t really lost, she was where she was supposed to be, but all of her friends seemed to be lost, and so, as a result, she felt lost, too. She then added in a very dreary sing-song that she was meeting her brother at the clock tower at half past eight.

Harry told her that he had a brother too, and that he was just like him and they were the best of friends. He went on to say that her friends were likely not so much lost but somewhere on the grounds having a wonderful time. “If you tell me their names I can call out to them. I’m a good caller, I’ve been standing here, right here, calling and calling all evening. Our seats are nearly full, and our show is about to begin. So what is your friend’s name?”

“Lizzie,” she said.

“Lizzie!” Harry shouted, “Lizzieee! Oh Liiiiiiizzieeeeeeeeee!”

Lucy looked around optimistically at first, but there were so many children running around, and so much noise—

“You’ll not find her like that!” she laughed.

But Lizzie did hear it. She and the little clown were passing behind that same tent when she heard her name being called, and she thought it strange that she didn’t know the voice. It was some time before the Senior Clown had nodded off again and they were able to sneak by. Then they witnessed a great commotion: a large mandrill, which is similar to a baboon, had gotten quite loose and was running amok through clown alley. It bowled straight into the corral and all of the clowns who had been sitting there moments before, enjoying their food and drink, were suddenly just gone. Everyone else scattered with abandon. It took a dozen men, four lassos, and a firehose to finally contain the animal. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises no one was seriously hurt. The clowns came out from their hiding places, the tables and chairs were re-assembled, and everything went on essentially the same as before. The two children had ducked behind a barrel and watched the whole thing in silence. After that they made their way around the big top and were headed to the clock tower when Liz heard her name.

When the girls were reunited, and neither was worried about the other any longer, Lucy suddenly adopted an inquisitive posture. “Something’s different, what have you done?” she asked.

Lizzie’s heart sank as she touched her fingertips to her cheeks. “Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Lucy smiled, “you look beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you!” Lizzie blushed some more. Then she looked in her pocket for the elephant hair Jim had given her, but it wasn’t there, and by then the little clown had already handed his elephant hair to Lucy. Liz explained how it was for good luck, and everything else Jim had told her, and Harry confirmed it. Underwhelmed, and a bit grossed-out, Lucy offered it to Harry, and he accepted it gratefully before clearing his throat and insisting that the show was about to begin and all that. The clown decided he was going to stay outside and do some clowning.

“Can we go in, Lizzie?” Lucy was very excited.

“What’s in there?” Liz asked her.

“It’s a new show!” Lucy exclaimed.

Lizzie was not satisfied by the answer she’d been given, so she followed Lucy inside where they found two seats together with a good view.

The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted, as Harry walked across the stage. Suddenly he turned and called out to every corner of the room, cutting through any remaining chatter. “Presenting! For your entertainment! The majestic! Mysteeerious! Madam Mae Zelle! And her marvelous mechanical chess-player!”

The crowd applauded as Mae Zelle strolled out to center stage in long, dark heels, fishnet stockings, a tuxedo shirt with a bow-tie and a top hat, and a deep purple robe of oriental design that hung down behind her, nearly grazing the floor. In her hand she carried a baton, which she spun at her leisure. She bowed gracefully, removing her hat and letting her jet-black hair shine in the spotlight. “Welcome one and all,” she said finally. She introduced herself and gave a short history of her homeland, and of her lineage. She spoke of her grandfather, who had invented the original turk, and of her father, with whom she had travelled several of the continents throughout her life. And she, carrying on her family’s legacy, had created her own new and improved chess-player. She spun her baton and spread her arms wide as sparks burst over her head and the turk rolled forward from the shadows, revealing its menacing grin to the crowd and looming over the chessboard. The clink, and clunk of machinery was heard reverberating within the oblong box upon which the turk sat. The arms began to move up and down alternately. The eyes of the turk opened, and the pupils, by some internal clockwork, ranged from side to side, seemingly scanning the room.

Mae Zelle pulled back the little black curtain that covered the turk’s belly and opened the two doors at the front of the box. Inside gears were seen spinning, and pistons pumping. And as Mae Zelle explained to the audience the inner workings of the machine, and assured everyone that everything was purely mechanical, she closed the doors, spun the turk around, and slid open the single panel on the back, showing much the same in the way of valves, machine parts, and steam. The automaton was then rolled back into place behind the giant chessboard, and Mae Zelle shouted out for a volunteer. “Who among you thinks he can beat my turk?”

One of the fishermen stood up, holding his hat in his hands. “Does ‘ee play checkers?” he asked, laughing along with the bulk of the crowd.

The girls had played plenty of checkers on rainy days, and Lucy sometimes won with Liz’s help, but they had never played chess before. They assumed it was boring, a game for old men. The pieces in Mae Zelle’s chess set, however, were unlike any they’d seen before, and Liz was intrigued by the handsomely wrought figurines of knights on horseback, kings, and queens.

A few of the sailors gave it a try but the turk beat them handily, the longest game lasting only seven moves. Some of the sailors and fishermen had become invested in the matches by then, and they managed to find among the crowd an assistant professor of mathematics over at Dalhousie. He confessed he didn’t play much chess, but he felt he knew enough to beat a simple machine. So he was patted on the back and shoved rather forcefully up to the stage. He took the seat across from the turk and the game began—feverishly at first! Back and forth they went, with the professor laying out a series of quick opening moves and the turk responding without hesitation. As the match went on the professor slowed his pace, pausing for longer and longer intervals between moves, yet the turk rarely paused. But it did pause! Or so Liz thought. A few times, on some of the more difficult moves, when the professor sat upright and smug, thinking he had the thing licked, the turk paused momentarily as if it was thinking, or calculating its next move. And in one of the silent moments, when the crowd had finished shuddering, and the more frightened children had been removed from the tent and scolded for breaking the professor’s concentration, Liz thought she heard a cough coming from behind the little curtain that covered the turk’s belly.

“Lucy,” she said.

“Yes,” Lucy affirmed. Neither took her eyes from the game.

“Do you remember when we went to that farm in the valley?” Liz asked.

“Yes.”

“And the man had that new farming machine?”

“Yes.”

“And the machines on the docks, with the big hooks?”

“Yes.”

“And the automobiles we see in town sometimes?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Lucy laughed impatiently.

“Well. There is always a person operating the machine. I think this is no different.”

“But I don’t see anyone,” Lucy commented.

“He must be inside,” said Liz.

“But a man couldn’t fit in there,” Lucy said.

“No,” Liz replied, “but a little man could.”

“Hmmm. Or a child,” Lucy countered.

“Yes, but do you play chess Lucy?”

“No,” she exhaled.

“Neither do I. I think the former more likely.”

“But Harry is there,” Lucy pointed.

Liz looked to far stage left, where Lucy was indicating. “Yes, I see him. Perhaps there is another.”

Lucy gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “He did say he had a brother,” she whispered, “who was just . . . like . . . him.”

Lizzie grinned.

Eventually the turk triumphed, and the professor leaned back in his chair and toppled his king. He was perspiring when he was escorted off . . . well, off to the Blind Pig I suppose.

After the show, when everyone stood up and started moving on out, Lucy went ahead and disappeared into the crowd, so Liz stopped for a moment to chat with Harry. “You don’t play chess, do ya?” she asked.

Harry bobbled his lips nervously. “Never in me life, mam.”

“I bet!” Lizzie laughed. She had to look around outside for a while, and saw Lucy strutting along the top of a bench. Lucy could often be found tip-toeing along fences, rails, docks, or any short stretch of crumbling wall or rowboat’s edge that was good for the purpose wherever they went—among her favorites were the narrow ridges of gravestones. By the time Liz got over there Lucy had hopped down and was telling the little clown—who was juggling—all about the turk and Mae Zelle. But the clown was only half-listening, he was deep in thought about his name, which was something he’d never given much thought to before. A few of the clowns had been calling him Joey, and even little Harry had addressed him as such. He thought maybe he could slip into the name and no one would ever know the difference. Less than a handful of people had ever asked him his name, and no one had ever called him by it, or anything else for that matter—except for that copper, who only shouted “Clown!” before chasing after him. Maybe, he thought, it’s because a policeman’s brain is similar to that of a monkey. And that thought made him laugh, and the laugh timed well with Lucy’s punchline, so both were content, though Lucy was starting to get hungry. Liz wanted to wait a bit so she could keep an eye on Harry, who was standing by the entrance as the spectators slowly filed out.

“What are we watching for?” Lucy asked.

“You’ll see,” Liz replied.

It was only a few minutes, and Lucy spent them dancing, and trying to get Liz to dance with her, while a swing trio played on a small stage nearby. Liz pointed off to the pie cart. “Have you looked at the menu?” she asked.

Lucy nodded. She had looked at the menu, thoroughly, several times in the course of her wanderings, but she had chosen to wait, hoping the two of them could eat together. “They have fairy floss,” she smiled, “and the lemonade is pink.”

When the last of the spectators had gone, Harry sealed up the flaps and disappeared inside the tent. Liz took off to the far side and Lucy followed, and when they peeked around the corner they saw Harry with another little man, who must have been the brother he’d spoken of, exiting the rear of the tent and walking off together, arm-in-arm. They appeared to be celebrating.

“Did you see that other little man inside the tent at any time during the show?” Liz asked Lucy.

“No. Can we eat now?” Lucy laughed.

“I’ll meet you at the pie cart.”

In a dozen or so quick and silent steps Liz had overtaken the two men and cut them off, and inquired if, by chance, either of them was up for a game.

Harry looked side-eyed at his companion. “She knooows,” he said.

“Aich! It’s opening night fer cryin’ out lowd!” The old grandmaster sighed, “what is it ye want lass?”

Being a remarkably honest child, the question caught Liz unaware. She hadn’t thought about blackmail at all, she simply wanted to know the story behind it, but after a moment’s ponderance she added, in a much more demanding tone than she was accustomed to: “Chess lessons. Three nights a week!”

“Look here now!” Harry burst in, “we’re a travellin’ show!”

It was at that moment Liz fully accepted and embraced the idea that she and her brother were running off with the circus. She informed the grandmaster so, and they settled on one night a week, for one hour, and she could borrow his chess manuals to read in her bunk. Then Otis, as the old grandmaster was called, spat frothily into his already sweaty palm, and looking her straight in the eye, offered it to Elizabeth, who spat what little she had at that moment into her hand and sealed the deal. (And she really—really—didn’t enjoy that part.)

The conversation took a lighter turn when Otis admitted that, though he was truly considered a grandmaster, Mae Zelle still beat him every time. “And she’s been beatin’ me, her dotin’ tutor,” he said, “since she was a weeeee lass.” Otis told Liz that Mae had spent her childhood working the controls inside her father’s turk and had beaten many a grandmaster.

“Three in a single day, ‘tis true,” Harry injected.

“Ay.” Otis went on to explain how the three grandmasters together would not be satisfied, and demanded to know the truth, threatening to cause an uproar among the chess community. Mae’s father was compelled to buckle, and introduced the men, one at a time, to his daughter. After meeting the child who had bested them, all three vowed to keep the secret. “By her fourteenth bairthday she had outgrown the tairk, and I resumed ma place.”

When Liz relayed all of this over pie and pink lemonade—in trust of course—Lucy could hardly contain herself. She was beyond ecstatic, she wanted to shout out to the whole world.

“Lizzie! You solved the mystery!”

“We solved it, Lucy, my dear. It was elementary.”

END OF PART ONE