Table of ContentsEpisode 1 · 1 episodes availableIn this Season · The Fairweather FilesReading order
About this story
When Julian Fairweather attends Vorchov's Family Circus on an unwanted date, he expects acrobats, questionable fairground games, and perhaps a little snack. He does not expect murder. When one of the circus family is found dead during the matinee, suspicion falls quickly and a little too neatly in Julian's opinion. With Fiadh Brandywood joining him once again, the pair are drawn into a world of secrets. At Vorchov's Circus, the murder may not be the only thing hiding behind the curtain.
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These warnings apply to the story as a whole.
Murder
Non-graphic violence
Grief
Alcohol/substance references
Animal peril
Wharton first realised something was wrong when his intended target led him towards the animal cages.
He'd chosen her deliberately, out of everyone he might have gone to. Known her long enough to trust she wouldn't do anything rash. That trust was starting to look like the worst miscalculation of his life.
Through the pleasantly fuzzy haze the wine had left behind, the little man tried to regain control of the situation.
"Look. I know I came on strong, but you have to understand that we need the money."
"Get up."
The voice had lost most of its earlier warmth.
A hand pushed him towards the steps leading up to the last cage anyone in their right mind wanted to be anywhere near.
Rain hammered against the red and white striped canvas stretched over the smaller animal tent, loud enough to drown out almost everything beyond it. The tiger wagon stood towards the edge of the circus grounds, separated from the clustered living wagons and main tents by a useful stretch of churned grass.
Private.
That had been what Wharton wanted.
He'd made this walk a dozen times before, in daylight, on ordinary errands. It had never once felt like this.
It felt considerably less appealing now.
"Are you sure about this?"
He clutched the neck of his wine bottle tighter and blinked until the cage stopped trying to become two cages.
That wasn't right.
He hadn't drunk that much.
Two glasses. Perhaps three.
Certainly not enough to explain why his legs seemed to have developed an independent interest in collapsing beneath him.
The storm didn't help. Rain rattled against canvas and metal, filling the silence between them until Wharton could barely hear himself think.
Not that his thoughts were doing anything particularly useful.
Something moved inside the cage.
A deep growl rolled out of the darkness.
Every sensible instinct Wharton possessed abruptly woke up.
Sultan lifted his enormous head from the straw.
"Oh, bloody hell."
Wharton took an involuntary step backwards.
He had spent years around the circus animals. He knew perfectly well that Sultan was not some mindless monster waiting for the first opportunity to snack on a passing manager.
Knowing that and standing within reaching distance of a Bengal tiger were two very different experiences.
His companion made a small gesture.
Sultan stopped.
The change was immediate.
The tiger's ears flattened against his skull and he retreated reluctantly towards the far side of the enclosure.
Wharton swallowed.
"I thought it best we wouldn't be disturbed."
There was something different in the voice now.
Something that made the great cat crouched only a few feet away seem considerably less threatening.
"After all, this is a matter of life and death, as you said."
Wharton tightened his grip on the bottle.
He wished Pavel were there.
He had deliberately kept his young charge out of all this. Pavel was good-hearted to a fault and Wharton had no intention of dragging him into the less pleasant side of securing their future.
Still.
Pavel was also built like someone had taken an ordinary man and accidentally selected two hundred per cent on the enlargement settings.
Wharton was reasonably confident he could wrestle a tiger if circumstances demanded it.
Probably.
"Look. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye."
His companion gave a short laugh.
Wharton scowled.
"Yes, very funny."
The ground shifted beneath him again.
He put one hand against the cage for balance.
"If you give me half the profits from next season's shows, I promise I'll keep your secret. Me and Pavel just need enough to get out of this damned country and somewhere a little more civilised towards people of our... talents."
A pause.
Then another laugh, softer this time.
Wharton's stomach turned.
"Now what makes you think I have secrets worth paying for, Mr Pedder?"
This was going very badly.
He had expected anger.
Negotiation.
Possibly threats.
Threats he understood.
This calmness was much worse.
Wharton licked his dry lips.
"The one about your fam—"
Something scraped behind him.
He turned.
Another figure stood in the entrance.
For one brief, stupid moment Wharton felt relieved.
Then the newcomer stepped into the dim light.
"Oh."
There were two of them.
That changed things.
"Now, hang on."
His knees buckled.
Wharton caught himself against the bars.
The bottle slipped through his fingers and hit the edge of the step with a dull clink before rolling into the straw.
He stared after it.
He really hadn't drunk enough for this.
Not remotely enough.
His tongue felt thick.
His hands had started tingling.
A strange coldness burned deep in his stomach, spreading outward through his limbs.
"What did you..."
Neither answered.
Wharton pushed himself upright.
Or tried to.
His body had apparently stopped taking suggestions.
"If something happens to me, Pavel knows."
That was a lie.
Pavel knew about the money.
He knew Wharton had been working on something that could finally give them choices.
A better circuit. Better pay. Somewhere they weren't treated like curiosities before they had even stepped into the ring.
He didn't know where the money was coming from.
Wharton had promised to take care of it.
Wharton always took care of things.
The second figure blocked the way back towards the circus.
Wharton's pulse thudded in his ears.
"You don't need to do anything stupid."
Metal glinted.
Three narrow points.
Wharton stared at them, trying to make his sluggish mind understand what he was looking at.
Then they punched into his chest.
He gasped.
That was most definitely unexpected.
The weapon jerked down.
Three hot lines tore through jacket, shirt and skin.
Wharton toppled backwards into the straw.
For a moment he simply lay there, blinking up at the shadowy roof of the enclosure.
Shouldn't it hurt more?
He had always been afraid of dying.
He'd imagined screaming. Pain. Panic.
Instead there was only the dull ice burning in his stomach and the peculiar sensation that his head had stopped being properly attached to the rest of him.
Rain hammered overhead.
Someone spoke.
The words drifted past him.
Wharton tried to focus on the two shapes above him.
Couldn't.
Pavel.
He had promised Pavel.
That was the worst part.
Not the cage.
Not the blood.
Not even the fact he had been stupid enough to believe he could control people with a secret they were clearly willing to kill for.
He had promised they were getting out.
Wharton tried to say his name.
Nothing came out.
Darkness crowded in.
The last thing he heard was the rain.
Then nothing at all.
Sultan crept forward.
The scent of blood overwhelmed the unfamiliar chemical tang in the air and the tiger stretched his neck towards the still figure lying in his straw.
He sniffed.
Confused.
This was one of the little humans who came and went around his enclosure.
The little human was not behaving properly.
"Back."
Sultan froze.
The command carried more than sound.
Pressure bore down against every instinct urging him to investigate.
He flattened his ears and withdrew.
Another human moved close to the body.
Something pale slipped unnoticed into the straw.
Neither of them saw it.
A few moments later, the cage was quiet again.
Sultan remained crouched at the far end, deeply unhappy with the change in routine.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
~
Several hours later, Violetta Hunter woke with enough enthusiasm for two people.
"Good morning, Duchess!"
Her roommate opened one soulful brown eye.
Then closed it again.
Dearest one, must you be so energetic before the sun is properly awake?
Violetta grinned and threw back her blanket.
"Oh, Duchess, how can I not be excited? Today is the day Illya said my costume would be finished."
That earned her a second eye.
Violetta bounced across the little wagon and grabbed her hairbrush.
"That means I'll finally get to be a proper part of the famous Hunter act."
Duchess yawned.
The elegant black and white borzoi stretched across her faded silk cushion, front paws extending almost comically far in front of her.
Are you sure Rishi is ready for the spotlight? Last week you were still calling that creature a baby.
Violetta's reply was muffled as she dragged a mostly clean linen shirt over her head.
"He's already over a year old, Dee. You just don't want to let another one of your babies grow up."
He tried to eat your boot on Tuesday.
"He was expressing himself."
With his teeth.
Violetta pulled her dark chocolate curls free of the collar and attacked them with the brush.
Duchess jumped down from her cushion and padded over.
Darling girl, you know I love all of the creatures you bring back for training.
"That sounded suspiciously like a 'but'."
But I am more worried about you.
Violetta stopped lacing her knee-length leather boot.
Duchess sat beside her.
You forget your limits when you think you have something to prove.
Violetta ruffled the silky fur behind her ears.
"How can I forget when I have you as my nursemaid?"
I prefer adviser.
"You nag too much to be an adviser."
Duchess sniffed.
Violetta finished her other boot and stood.
"Now, how about we see whether Cookie has started breakfast yet?"
She cut Duchess a sly look.
"And if we get there early enough, I'm sure he'll have something nice for you."
Duchess was already at the door.
I suppose that is reason enough to get up.
"Traitor."
Violetta swung open the brightly painted wagon door and jumped down without bothering with the little ladder.
Duchess followed with considerably more dignity.
The circus smelled fresh after the storm.
Wet grass. Mud. Woodsmoke. Horses.
Water dripped steadily from the awnings and gathered in puddles between the wagons. Somewhere nearby someone was swearing at a wheel which had sunk into the mud overnight.
The storm had made a mess.
Nothing unusual there.
Violetta breathed it all in.
Home.
Ambrose Callanan sat outside his wagon wearing one sock, one shoe and half a clown face.
He was polishing the shoe already on his foot.
Violetta slowed.
"Morning, Ambrose."
He looked up.
For a second, he didn't seem to know she was there.
His face was pale beneath the white greasepaint.
"Morning."
"You all right?"
Ambrose blinked.
Then smiled.
"Perfectly."
He started humming.
The tune stopped after three notes.
Violetta frowned but let Duchess pull her onwards.
Ambrose was odd even by circus standards. Trying to determine whether he was being unusually odd before breakfast required more brain power than she currently possessed.
Olga and Ana passed carrying a basket between them.
"Morning, Violetta."
"Morning, Duchess."
Violetta stared after them.
"Do you think they practise doing that?"
Yes.
"You answered very quickly."
I have considered it at length.
They reached the breakfast tent to find Cookie already presiding over several pans and a table full of food.
Violetta brightened.
Duchess brightened more.
"Morning, Cookie."
"Sit."
Violetta sat.
Cookie pointed at Duchess.
"You too."
Duchess sat.
Violetta narrowed her eyes at her.
"You listen to him."
He has bacon.
A large plate appeared in front of Violetta.
She had barely picked up her fork when Pavel dropped heavily onto the bench opposite.
Violetta looked up.
Something was wrong.
Pavel was usually one of the easiest people in the circus to read. Happy looked happy. Angry looked angry. Confused looked very confused indeed.
This morning he looked worried.
"Morning, Pavel."
"Morning, little one."
He glanced towards the tent opening.
"Have you seen Wharton?"
Violetta shook her head.
"Not since yesterday."
"He never came back last night."
Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
That was strange.
Wharton might drink too much.
Wharton might get involved in one of his endless schemes.
Wharton might disappear into a card game and surface twelve hours later complaining that everyone else had cheated.
But he came back to Pavel.
Always.
Dante lounged further along the table, looking irritatingly immaculate for someone awake this early.
"He was drinking."
Pavel's jaw tightened.
"He drinks. He also comes home."
Dante lifted one shoulder.
Duchess leaned against Violetta's leg beneath the table.
He is frightened.
Violetta knew.
Across the tent, Illya Vorchov sat with both hands curled around a cup of tea.
Cat occupied the chair beside her, a huge white mound of fur with bright blue eyes.
Violetta smiled.
"Auntie Illya!"
Illya looked up.
"Morning, little bird."
"Is it done?"
Illya blinked.
Then laughed.
"Breakfast first."
Violetta groaned.
"You said today."
"And today has barely started."
"You are cruel."
"So I am told."
Cat yawned.
Violetta pointed accusingly at him.
"You stay out of this."
Cat washed a paw.
Duchess sighed.
You are arguing with a cat.
"He knows what he did."
Illya smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Outside, a gust shook rainwater from the canvas.
Illya glanced towards the sound.
Something in her expression made Violetta pause.
"Are you all right?"
"Of course."
Cat stopped washing.
His blue gaze settled on Illya.
Violetta looked between them.
Neither was convincing.
Before she could ask again, Pavel stood.
"I'm going to check the other wagons."
"I'll ask around too," Violetta offered.
Pavel managed a smile.
"Thank you."
By the time breakfast was finished, Wharton's absence had begun to spread through the circus.
Not panic.
Not yet.
Just questions.
Had anyone seen him?
Had he gone into town?
Had he fallen asleep somewhere?
Had somebody checked the pub?
Violetta headed back outside with Duchess trotting beside her.
"I need to check Rishi before Mama comes looking for me."
You mean before she discovers you ate bacon before training.
"That too."
They crossed between the painted wagons.
Ahead, the path divided towards the animal quarter.
Duchess stopped.
Violetta took two more steps before realising she was alone.
She turned.
"What?"
Duchess stared down the path.
Her ears had gone forward.
Her body was rigid.
Something is wrong.
Violetta looked towards the animal wagons.
Nothing.
Only damp canvas shifting in the breeze.
"What sort of wrong?"
Duchess sniffed.
Once.
Twice.
I don't know.
Violetta frowned.
That was considerably less reassuring than Duchess probably intended.
She stepped back towards her.
"Come on. We'll have a look."
"Violetta!"
She turned.
One of the younger grooms was jogging towards them.
"Your mum's looking for you. Practice ring. Now."
Violetta sighed.
Of course she was.
She looked back towards the animal quarter.
Duchess did the same.
"Mama first. Rishi afterwards."
Duchess hesitated.
Then followed.
Behind them, muffled by canvas and distance, something large gave a low, unhappy rumble.
Violetta glanced over her shoulder.
But her mother called her name again.
And she hurried on.
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