Thread: Carnival: Shadows And Whispers Under The Big Top (Dane Stalling & darkangel76)

Albert laid Felicity down on the ornate divan in his trailer. He soaked a soft cloth in cool water and knelt next to her. He dabbed her forehead with it gently. This divan was rescued from an opium den in Singapore, he said, and touched the deep red fabric with the tips of his fingers. It's almost too precious to sit on. He saw dirt on the girl's wrist where the monster had held her and he washed it carefully. He was almost disappointed not to find a bruise. The drama of the rescue was diminished, but only a little. There was dirt on her throat too, and he caressed her neck with the cloth, then a towel, then his fingers. You're safe here, he said, shrugging off the long coat and tossing it over his table. The lock on the door is strong, but I don't expect the brute to come around as long as I'm here to protect you. He tilted his head and looked into her eyes. You are the most fetching creature I've seen since... He wondered how long would sound appropriate. ...well, since... ever. It would be a crime to leave a blemish on such a perfect girl. In fact, I would be remiss in my courtesy if I didn't make every effort to know that you are uninjured. You need to be thoroughly examined, pretty. Tell me your name. The curtain blew with a soft gust of wind. A man's reputation could benefit from a window kept ajar. Albert drew a finger along the girl's cheek with one hand and loosened the bow on the back of her corset with the other. ---- Doctor Manuel filed his nails carefully, part of a nightly ritual, when a knock came on his trailer door. A man stood there, a driver perhaps, a nervous family servant of some sort. He had a fraying bowler in his hands, and he nervously picked at a loose string. Begging your pardon, sir, but my Lady, Miss Lucas is possessed of a desire to, ah, satisfy her curiosity about... The man swallowed. ...your therapy, sir. I have no more appointments in Faraviata. We leave at dawn. The Doctor's glasses reflected the man's face. The therapy is strenuous and I am tired. If she is well enough to travel, we will be in Kaland tomorrow and I will take patients the day after. Oh, sir, she doesn't need you to, ah, exert yourself on her behalf. She is quite healthy and possessed of all of her faculties, excepting perhaps an excess of financial wisdom and moral discretion. She only wishes... I wish simple conversations could be managed by simple people. Stella Lucas held the edge of her dress just off the muddy grass of the field and stepped into the Doctor's trailer uninvited. I wish to talk to you, Doctor. I have a fortune burning a hole in a dreary bank vault and coin in banks is boring. I'd like to talk with you about something much more exciting than coin in banks. She checked a chair for dust and sat. I'll have champagne. The Doctor raised his eyebrows as the girl swept in, but he closed the door, leaving the man outside. I have tea, Miss Lucas, and whiskey. Stella. she said, Three spoons of honey. The Doctor thought if anyone took honey in whiskey, this might be the girl to do it, but deep pockets had ticklish lawyers that might try to prove that an impressionable heiress under the influence of liquor wasn't responsible for her contracts. He opened the tap on his boiler and drew hot water into a plain white bone china pot with a careful measure of oriental red tea. Your approach to the disposition of coin appeals, Miss Stella. How can I interest you further? Explain this therapy of yours. How does it work? The principle is simple, the Doctor poured into a teacup that matched the pot and set it in front of the girl. Some women suffer from an excess of hysteria, a kind of essence that collects in the womb. If the essence finds no means of escape, then she may have troubling imaginings, the most remarkable fantasies. She may have nervous compulsions of various severities, from grinding of the teeth to embracing bed-pillows believing them to be phantom-lovers. In advanced cases a kind of mania emerges, a very perilous abandonment of morals and decency. Stella sipped, covered a grin with the edge of her cup. I've heard it's an appalling affliction. What does one do to ease it? The doctor found an old book on his neat shelf and pulled it out, The Chirurgeon's guide to the Vexed Womb. I treat these poor creatures with a variety of womb stimulation therapies that coax the hysteria out of the body in a kind of physical crisis known as a hysterical paroxysm. The practice can be delicate and tricky, involving various and extensive digital manipulations of the patient's female organs. Stella frowned at the cover of the book. And the fantasies and compulsions go away? Well, that's where further investigation and experimental therapies would be tremendously helpful. Relief seems to be temporary. Sometimes it lasts as long as three months... Three months! Stella laughed. ...but more often it lasts a week or two. Sometimes only hours. The key, I believe, is in the quality of the paroxysm. If I can consistently increase the intensity of the crisis by means of some cunning device or engine, perhaps I can ease my patients' suffering for months or even years at a time. The Doctor rubbed his wrist absently. It would be a miraculous gift to all women given to hysteria, he said, and to all physicians treating such patients. ---- Callum curled in the back of his cage until the big yard lights went out. His ears whistled and rang with the torturous racket of the evening and his throat burned. Finally, he took the key from his pocket, unlocked the cage and crawled out. He picked up the girl's bag and crept out of the back of the tent and crossed the yard to the tinker trailer in the shadows. He lit a tiny oil lamp he had made himself from a 40mm artillery shell. One could still pick up brass from the Notch War amid the ruined downtowns of the South. The big city boiler silos had been primary targets and when they blew, they took entire downtowns with them. Most of the machinery had been picked over by a hundred years of scavengers, but those who could fashion their own machines could start with cruder materials and create finer devices, and more beautiful. The flame steadied and Callum opened the bag and saw the word gleaming in the low light Metamorphoses. He cleaned his hands carefully, never taking his eyes off the book. He opened the cover and studied the frontispiece , a print of winged Eros and innocent Psyche, nude on a hillside meeting spot, a butterfly floating over her head. He turned to the place where the bookmark kept the girl's place and he read the story of the monster and the beauty, about palaces and jealous sisters, and trysts in the dark. Always in the dark. He closed the book, put it back in the bag. In fairy stories, the monsters became beautiful in the end, but it didn't happen that way in the world, though, Callum thought, bitterly. In the world, even the beautiful became monsters in the end. Everyone was a monster.