Circus: Fantasy Under the Big Top Read Online Free PDF

knees. “I could say it destroyed him, if that’s how you’d like this to end.” Above them the shadow eased, the moon washing clean and white again.
    “What could you say if I wanted the truth?”
    Jacob’s glass eye gleamed as he smiled. “That it weakened him, shattered that shape. He lost the train and its cargo. That’s enough for me tonight.”
    “Not too bad, for a half-assed idea.” She tried to sit up and thought better of it. The cold retreated, letting her feel the burns on her arm and hands. “Are you going to thank me?”
    He laughed and scooped her into his arms. “I might.” And he carried her up the hill, toward the circus lights.
    Halloween dawned cool and grey. Glass chimed in the breeze as Salem untied the bottles one by one, wrapping them in silk and laying them in boxes. The tree looked naked without them.
    The wind gusted over the empty hills, whistled past the eaves of the house. The tree shook, and the only sound was the scrape and rustle of dry leaves.
    “Sorry, Grandma,” she whispered as she wrapped the last bottle. Light and hollow, glass cold in her hands. “I’ll come back to visit.”
    When she was done, Jerusalem Morrow packed a bag and packed her cat, and ran away to join the circus.

Calliope: A Steam Romance
    Andrew J. McKiernan
    Her voice is of a host angelic, but fallen. Her every breath breeds melodious paeans that pull and tear at my soul—in ways both tender and cruel—and I weep with pain and joy to hear them. For, as surely as Eros struck Apollo and Daphne, am I so sorely wounded by her song. But be that barb of gold or lead? Ah, now therein lies the tale.
    I saw her first down at the Quay or, more rightly should I say, I heard her. I was returning from my place of work at the Patents Office, on George Street, and was anxious to make the five o’clock ferry. My wife had invited guests for tea and, as was my usual form, I was running late.
    As I rounded onto Alfred Street, I saw a big four-master had pulled in to dock between two steamers. Men were in her rigging, clambering up masts and tying sails to yardarms with much agility and speed. Her cargo was being unloaded and a stack of crates, trunks and tarpaulin-covered boxes were gathering on the dock.
    A number of carts were already lined up along the street, anxious to get the best of whatever cargo the barque carried.
    The steam-horses that drew the carts were enormous machines, almost twice the size of a natural horse. They stamped at the ground, iron hooves striking sparks from the cobbles in what seemed bored frustration. I knew, having seen the blueprints, that this was but a mechanical twitching of internal gears and push-rods, a spasm of built up torque, and not any sort of emotional reaction at all. Through the haze of steam venting from their nostrils I could see they stood four deep across the road, barring the way. Slowly and carefully I made my way through, ducking under one magnificently polished beast and almost scalding the nape of my neck on the hot boiler-tank of its belly as I went.
    When I reached the wharf for the North Shore ferry there was barely a line at the ticket booth. The ferry had not even docked. Frankly, I could not believe my luck. Luck is a most unusual occurrence for me, and rarely do I find myself in a situation where the worst is not the inevitable.
    So, in order to ensure my luck was real, I fumbled in my pocket for a penny. I pulled the first coin my fingers encountered and looked down at it; a penny. I stared out at the approaching ferry and at the green shore awaiting me just across the harbour. I would be home for tea, just as I’d promised—and I knew how happy that would make my wife.
    I stepped up to the line with a new spring in my step, three from the booth and plenty of time. I clutched the penny in my hand and thought of hot tea and scones, and probably some cake. Oh, yes, most definitely, some cake.
    Two from the booth. I thought of the smile I would bring to my