Circus: Fantasy Under the Big Top by Ekaterina Sedia Page A

how I was going to accomplish anything . I had no money with which to fund research. No connections, no experience. I was a Patent Office Clerk. Any money in the family was my wife’s; her inheritance, held in tight reign against my spending. I had no way of freeing Kally from her cage. None of this occurred to me until I was on my way home. None of it mattered at the time.
    Our hushed conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door and the loud voice of McKenzie on the other side. “You okay in there, Kally? Hope you’re not talkin’ a load’a hot air to your admirer now,” and he laughed. “We really should be shuttin’ up for the night. ’Tis getting late and coal costs money, ya know.”
    “Yes, Mr. McKenzie,” Kally said and then, softly to me, “Thank you, sir, thank you, but you really should go now. Mr. McKenzie has let me talk far longer than usual but I fear his patience will soon end.”
    I stood quickly, almost knocking over the stool, and put my hand on her arm. It was hard and cold through the material of her dress and didn’t feel at all human. I don’t know why I was surprised. I assumed padding, I suppose, some attempt at making her feel as realistic as she looked. But then she was not designed to be touched. Somehow this revelation made her life seem all the more tragic.
    “I will help you, Kally,” I said, whispering, reaching for the door handle. “I will be back tomorrow night. I’ll bring some money—to help the Belgian if he is your only hope—but I’ll think of something else. Something to get you away sooner.”
    She smiled at me then, subtle gears turning, working her mouth into a perfect bow. Her eyes glowed with what I imagined was new hope, steeling me for the promises I’d made.
    “Tomorrow night, be ready,” I said and stepped out the door.
    The lights were off and my wife was already asleep when I returned home around ten o’clock that night. I crept through the house and climbed into bed as quietly, and as carefully, as I could. My wife did not stir but continued snoring softly as I lay staring at the ceiling.
    Sleep did not come. Answers did not come.
    Calliope music and Kally’s beatific voice played constantly in the back of my mind. Her face formed out of shadows like angels seen in the chance shape of a cloud but darker, more beautiful than any angel could be. A Muse caged for the entertainment of the masses. I had to help her. I had to free her. I could not think how.
    Eventually the first grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains. I arose and moved silently to the credenza in the corner of the room, mindful of loose floorboards as I went. The credenza’s cover was down and as stiff and creaky as a crone. With cautious deliberation I was able to raise it and hunt around for our financials. I found them where I expected; a bundle of papers bound with string, tucked at the back of the top drawer.
    I took the bundle and a pile of clothes and dressed in the hall. I did not take breakfast nor leave a note. I left with as much stealth as a middle-aged man is able, feeling excited and guilty, and as naughty as a schoolboy.
    The office was still locked when I arrived. I let myself in with my key, locking the door behind me, knowing I had a couple of hours before anyone else was likely to arrive.
    I went straight to Archives and pulled every registered patent on steam-engines I could find. I searched for variations on Sterling’s thermal-engine, and even found a rejected patent for a dangerous sounding “internal-combustion” engine. I piled them all on my desk and started to read.
    My problem was one that had plagued the best engineering minds for a generation. How to build a smaller, lighter, more portable engine? A steam-engine that did not need continual stoking and feeding? I was a patents clerk! How could I hope to find an answer where other, greater minds had failed?
    None of the patents before me could answer the questions either.
    But were they the