The Adventures of Mr. Maximillian Bacchus and His Travelling Circus by Clive Barker, David Niall Wilson, Richard A. Kirk
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each and every one of you!” led the way towards the town, beating the drum.
The wind blew paper down the empty streets, and the rainwater gurgled down the gutters. But there were no towns-people to be seen or heard. Mr. Bacchus marched up and down for a while, beating the drum, but had to admit it was useless. Then he spoke to Angelo.
“Dear boy,” he said. “Get out your pipe and play.”
So Angelo took out his reed pipe from his belt and played a single wavering note on it. Malachi, meanwhile, stood up, closed his eyes, clasped his claws in front of him, and began to sing excerpts from “La Traviata.” Domingo balanced on his blue ball, and juggled oranges; Hero lifted Ophelia on one hand where she pirouetted, while Bathsheba performed head-stands on his other palm, then stood on one leg himself, while Mr. Bacchus went from door to door and knocked loudly.
At the windows of some of the houses, dirty curtains were parted an inch or two, and children’s faces appeared out, grinning. Then, up and down the street, there came the sound of bolts being slid, and one by one the doors cracked open. One little boy slipped through the half-open door and ran into open air, laughing and clapping. But his mother pursued him, looking up and down the street in fear all the while, and snatched him up in her arms.
“Go away,” she said to Mr. Bacchus. “Or they’ll come for you.”
“Who or what?” said Mr. Bacchus.
“The trolls,” the woman replied under her breath. “The trolls.”
At the mention of the word “trolls” the doors slammed closed again, and the bolts were driven back into place, and the curtains swiftly drawn. But Mr. Bacchus only laughed.
“Trolls!” he exclaimed to the rest of the Circus. “They’re afraid of trolls!” and he laughed until the tears ran down his face and mingled with the rain. Then he began to beat on his drum louder than ever and called down the street: “I’m a magician! A veritable maker of miracles! My magic is laughter! My spells are dances! Come out into the streets, my friends! Come out into the warm rain and dance in the puddles! The Circus is here!”
Cautiously, the faces re-appeared at the windows, and the bolts were drawn again.
“Come out! Come out!” Mr. Bacchus continued. “The show begins in only a few minutes! Spectacle! Danger on High Wire! The strongest man in the world! Grand Opera from Venice! Comedy and juggling from the World’s Greatest Clown, Domingo de Ybarrondo, pupil of the Great Grimaldi himself! The dance of moths! Bathsheba the orang-outang taming the great Ibis-bird. Prodigies! Delights!”
Then he began to beat the drum once more and the company danced out of the town. At first, the towns-people were too nervous to follow, but the children slipped through their parents’ legs and were away with the wind, screaming and laughing, and the people simply had to follow. Of course, the further they were led from their homes, the more frightened they became, but the music and Bacchus’ words overcame their doubts, and the procession made its way along the wet road to the field where the World Ended.
The rain had gone off by now, and the sky was clearing. The flags were drying in the wind, and Thoth the Ibis-bird was preening his feathers.
A few minutes before the sun set over the Edge of the World, the performance commenced. The towns-people loved every moment of it. They clapped, shouted and whistled when Ophelia danced on the wire with a parasol in one hand and a vase of rosemary on her head. They wept with laughter when Malachi sang excerpts from Wagner. They sat in awe-struck silence when the torches were doused and Angelo gathered the moths around his head like stars. They gasped at Hero’s strength, and cheered when Bathsheba rode the bucking Ibis-bird.
While the performance was going on, a dark, hunched form appeared from the gloom over the Edge of the World, its deep-set black eyes reflecting the torch-lit stage at the other end
The wind blew paper down the empty streets, and the rainwater gurgled down the gutters. But there were no towns-people to be seen or heard. Mr. Bacchus marched up and down for a while, beating the drum, but had to admit it was useless. Then he spoke to Angelo.
“Dear boy,” he said. “Get out your pipe and play.”
So Angelo took out his reed pipe from his belt and played a single wavering note on it. Malachi, meanwhile, stood up, closed his eyes, clasped his claws in front of him, and began to sing excerpts from “La Traviata.” Domingo balanced on his blue ball, and juggled oranges; Hero lifted Ophelia on one hand where she pirouetted, while Bathsheba performed head-stands on his other palm, then stood on one leg himself, while Mr. Bacchus went from door to door and knocked loudly.
At the windows of some of the houses, dirty curtains were parted an inch or two, and children’s faces appeared out, grinning. Then, up and down the street, there came the sound of bolts being slid, and one by one the doors cracked open. One little boy slipped through the half-open door and ran into open air, laughing and clapping. But his mother pursued him, looking up and down the street in fear all the while, and snatched him up in her arms.
“Go away,” she said to Mr. Bacchus. “Or they’ll come for you.”
“Who or what?” said Mr. Bacchus.
“The trolls,” the woman replied under her breath. “The trolls.”
At the mention of the word “trolls” the doors slammed closed again, and the bolts were driven back into place, and the curtains swiftly drawn. But Mr. Bacchus only laughed.
“Trolls!” he exclaimed to the rest of the Circus. “They’re afraid of trolls!” and he laughed until the tears ran down his face and mingled with the rain. Then he began to beat on his drum louder than ever and called down the street: “I’m a magician! A veritable maker of miracles! My magic is laughter! My spells are dances! Come out into the streets, my friends! Come out into the warm rain and dance in the puddles! The Circus is here!”
Cautiously, the faces re-appeared at the windows, and the bolts were drawn again.
“Come out! Come out!” Mr. Bacchus continued. “The show begins in only a few minutes! Spectacle! Danger on High Wire! The strongest man in the world! Grand Opera from Venice! Comedy and juggling from the World’s Greatest Clown, Domingo de Ybarrondo, pupil of the Great Grimaldi himself! The dance of moths! Bathsheba the orang-outang taming the great Ibis-bird. Prodigies! Delights!”
Then he began to beat the drum once more and the company danced out of the town. At first, the towns-people were too nervous to follow, but the children slipped through their parents’ legs and were away with the wind, screaming and laughing, and the people simply had to follow. Of course, the further they were led from their homes, the more frightened they became, but the music and Bacchus’ words overcame their doubts, and the procession made its way along the wet road to the field where the World Ended.
The rain had gone off by now, and the sky was clearing. The flags were drying in the wind, and Thoth the Ibis-bird was preening his feathers.
A few minutes before the sun set over the Edge of the World, the performance commenced. The towns-people loved every moment of it. They clapped, shouted and whistled when Ophelia danced on the wire with a parasol in one hand and a vase of rosemary on her head. They wept with laughter when Malachi sang excerpts from Wagner. They sat in awe-struck silence when the torches were doused and Angelo gathered the moths around his head like stars. They gasped at Hero’s strength, and cheered when Bathsheba rode the bucking Ibis-bird.
While the performance was going on, a dark, hunched form appeared from the gloom over the Edge of the World, its deep-set black eyes reflecting the torch-lit stage at the other end
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