Menagerie Boy

 

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Chapter 1

Adventure doesn’t always touch the right people. It can pass over those that desire it the most, reach for it with every fibre of their being, and land on some undeserving sort. It doesn’t mean to do this; it’s a simple case of being in the right place at the right time. A simple change of circumstance- a missed train, a wrong turn, a distraction of sorts- can turn fate on its head. Of course, some people don’t want adventure; they are quite willing to sit down and let life pass them by. Others crave it like oxygen, and only feel as though they are alive when they are breathing in the spice of a new country, the salt of a foreign sea, or the sweat on their own toiling brow. Quintessence Beechwood was of the craving type, and almost missed her own adventure. Perhaps if she had, this story would lend itself to another- or perhaps it would not exist at all. Still, it did, and it has, and it will be.

Quinn was fourteen years old when she dropped down from the market wall and tore through the streets of East Eyck, her heart fit to bursting out of her chest. She was being followed by a pair of rather bumbling police officers, but their legs were longer than hers and their stamina far better. The fact she was wearing trousers definitely lent her some advantage, as she ducked and dived and jumped over the various obstacles in her way.

Market day was always busy in the lower district, and Quinn knew how to make the most of it. The city had its classes, and each bled into one another like ink blots on a page, but stealing wasn’t tolerated in either segment. It wasn’t exactly stealing. She had every intention of paying for it. But then again, it was only an apple. The offending object was nestled in her jacket pocket, bouncing along with her stride, but she didn’t dare drop it. What would be the point in taking it, if she was only going to give it back afterwards?

“Come back here boy!” one of the officers hollered, and she gave a smug little smile in reply. Boy. That was a nice word to hear on their tongues. Her disguise was paying off. Go outside as a girl and the world was a danger- go as a boy and it was a playground. Figured.

She turned sharp down an alleyway, completely wrong-footing her pursuers, and made for the fence at the end. I can make that, she thought as it grew closer and closer, taller and taller, I’ve done this thousands of times in other districts. Come on. She waited until she was three strides away from the fence and leapt, the steel mesh biting into her palms as she scrambled upwards towards freedom.

“You get back here right this instant!” the other officer shouted, but it was no use. There was no way she was going to slide back down the fence like a good girl and take her punishment. She reached the top and wiggled as she tried to keep her balance. One officer, unhelpfully, gave the fence a shake- maybe it was to knock her down onto their side, she wasn’t sure- and she was forced to windmill her arms feverishly to keep herself centred. For a worrying second, she thought she was going to drop down right into the arms of the waiting bluecoat. She had her excuses ready and waiting when she managed to swing her leg over the other side of the fence and throw herself off the top.

The ground rose up to bite far quicker than Quinn expected, and she let out a howl as the wind puffed out of her like a cloud. She lay in the dirt for a moment, making sure she hadn’t gone and done something stupid and broken a rib, before slowly, steadily rising to her feet. The bluecoats were staring back at her through the mesh dumbly, not too sure of what to do now their prey had evaded them. One looked up the way she had gone, and reached the same conclusion Quinn had when she’d decided on the alley- there was no way he could get over that without coming to some sort of harm.

Quinn brushed the dirt out of her eyes and flashed them a quick grin. “All of this for an apple?” she queried.

“You’re a thief and a devil!” The first bluecoat shouted. He looked more experienced than the other one. That one was young, and looked more ill than annoyed. Quinn wondered whether the three year training had set him up for a leisurely sprint through the town.

She saluted the pair solemnly and turned on her heel, straightening her cap as she went. “Same time next week fellas!” she called over her shoulder.

“Damn you boy! Damn you to hell and back, and damn the mother who birthed you!” was the parting call.

Quinn snorted at that insult. Would they be so bold, she wondered, if they knew who her mother was?

She was still pondering the question when a meaty hand closed around her shoulder like a steel trap. “Alright now lad, you’ve had your fun.”

Oh shit.

*    *     *

Beechwood house was a modest property, all things considered. It stood on a very well to do street, in the middle of a well to do neighbourhood, and smelled like new money. The trees there were always neatly cut, arranged like upside down ice cream cones all the way down the street, and the pavements were whitewashed and as gleaming as street pavements could be. It was a quiet street with respectable neighbours, and no one had been robbed, murdered or kidnapped for decades- which was more than could be said for the other segments of the city. Unfortunately, it meant that when a constable carriage trotted down its quiet boulevard, everyone knew who it was for.

Quinn kept her head pressed against the window, drawing her cap down low so it covered the majority of her face. The constable chosen to sit with her was the young man from earlier. He didn’t look sick anymore, but he kept peering at her like she was an exotic bird. Quinn didn’t like the way it made her skin prickle. He’d been under strict instruction not to make conversation, but as the carriage drew to a stop and the door opened, he muttered something under his breath that sounded surprisingly like ‘good luck’ to her.

She was frogmarched up the steps of her house and the doorbell was rang. Quinn kept her head down. She hoped no one was home. She wouldn’t have even minded her father answering the door, so long as it wasn’t-

“What can I do for you today officer- oh.”

So long as it wasn’t Albie.

He was dressed far nicer than usual, with a sleek black tailcoat he reserved for going out on the town with his friends and his hair slicked back into something resembling tidiness. When he looked down at Quinn, she didn’t even try to land a grin on him. She just looked away, blew out her cheeks and waited for the horror to be over.

“Sir, does this ragamuffin belong to you?”

Albie raised a brow. “Belong to me?” he repeated.

“Yes,” the officer pressed, “is he under your employ?”

At the mention of a ‘he’, Albie’s mouth curved upwards into a smile. “Unfortunately not,” he replied, “but I am her step-brother.”

Quinn looked up in time to see the officer’s eyes bug out of their sockets. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m her step-brother. Albert Darkwell, at your service. I would introduce my step-sister Quintessence, but it looks as though you’re already firm friends.”

The colour the officer turned resembled a bowl of blackcurrants. “I- well- he- no, I mean she-”

“What’s the damage this time? Wearing trousers in public? Disturbance of the peace? Gross indecency? I’ve heard them all, you can spare my gentile nature.”

The officer was lost for words. It looked like every time he attempted to speak, something inside him prevented the sentences from coming out. He just stood there, puffing and spluttering like a purple steam train on the doorstep. Quinn took the opportunity to wrest herself free from his grip and dive into the confines of the hallway. When Albie didn’t grab for her collar, she took the opportunity to bolt upstairs with the angry splutters and bristles ringing in her ears as she went.

She felt safe only when she closed the door to her room and leant against the woodwork, closing her eyes in an attempt to breathe slower. God, that was close. Too close. If her mother had opened the door… if her father had opened the door…

She flung her cap off her head and watched it fall gracelessly to the floor, and began to unpin her hair from the unrelenting bun she’d wrestled it into. Her hair began to fall down her back bit by bit, waves of auburn cresting and coasting like waves as she freed more and more tresses. Eyeing the dress laid out for her on the bed, crisp and pale, made her close her eyes again. She knew that dress. It was the ‘we’re going out and so help me you’re going to look like a respectable young lady’ dress. She tucked her hands slowly inside her jacket pockets and clasped the apple tight. The knock on the other side of the door made her jump.

“Quinn, get this door open.”

She rolled her eyes and flung it open to meet an unimpressed Albie on the other side. “Yes?” she said.

“You’re lucky it was me. I think that bluecoat scared himself to death realising that he manhandled the daughter of Doctor Beechwood. Pretty sure we won’t hear anything else from them for a while.” Albie pushed into the room without asking permission, and Quinn shut the door behind him. “But Christ, Quinn, you have to be more careful. Playing the part of a bratty little heiress is starting to get a bit immature.”

“Speak for yourself,” she grumbled. “You don’t have any responsibilities. You’re just the son from Dad’s old marriage.”

“I’m your self-proclaimed chaperone. If they’d found out you were wandering around the lower district without me, we’d both be in trouble.”

“Well, it’s lucky they didn’t recognise me then, isn’t it?” She crossed the room to her dresser and sat down with the haughtiness of a teenager who was used to being scolded. “Besides, it was your cruddy idea.”

Albie’s face split into a sneaky grin. “And you were the one who failed.”

“Who said I failed?” She flung the apple, a little bruised and battered but otherwise intact, at his chest. “You owe me another chaperone-free night.”

Albie clucked his tongue as he inspected the apple. When he decided it was proof enough, he shrugged and sank his teeth into the fruit. “Fair ‘nuff,” he said, muffled from the juice dripping down his chin. Quinn curled her lip. For a man of nobility, he ate like a pig. “I’ll give you next Saturday.”

Quinn wrinkled her nose. “What do you want to be doing on a Saturday?” He didn’t answer. Quinn shrugged it off and reached for the damp cloth on her wash basin, dipping it into the lukewarm water and daubing the crusted dirt off her face. Dirt had been a good idea, she reckoned- it had meant that she could pass as a young working class boy without being detected for her full lips and elfin features that were a tad too feminine for any man of East Eyck she had met. She made a mental note to keep some dirt handy for when she next decided to venture out, and gestured to the dress behind them. “What’s that for?” she asked Albie. “Please tell me we’re not going to Mrs Ramstock’s again.”

Albie sniggered. “God, no. I was just told to dress up by father. Family outing, apparently. Some new place is looking for patronage, and he’s interested in pledging.”

Quinn barely supressed her groan. Oh god, not another pledge parade. “Does this mean another one of those stinted dinners with small talk, where I get grouped with the kids and you get to listen to all the juicy gossip?”

All Albie did was give her a wry smile. “I think it’s something a little different to all that. This isn’t just some law firm or bookbinders. Quite a few investors are interested. Father’s going to have to fight to pledge to it.”

Quinn frowned. That didn’t sound like something her father would be willing to do. He was used to getting his own way when it came to companies. He didn’t have to sell himself to anyone. She wondered what kind of business it would be that would make it so sought after by so many different people. She refused to let herself get excited about it, though. There was no point in getting her hopes up, after all- Albie’s judgement wasn’t always reliable. Some things he did Quinn found immeasurably boring. “Well, anyway,” she said, turning back to the dresser, “I need to get changed, so kindly clear off.”

“Hey, I thought you were the down and dirty boy of the Backstreets?”

“I thought you were a gentleman?”

“Seems we’re both mistaken, eh?”

The boot she threw at him as he exited made a resounding BOOM against the wood of her door.

*    *     *

Doctor Beechwood was a man of two faces. The first, gnarled and cold, was one he showed to his students, quivering in their tailor-made boots as he lectured them on the great intricacies of the human body and its functions. His voice during this time was like a bulldog, gruff and unyielding to any kind of nonsense or troublemaking- because, yes, even medical students misbehaved like the naughtiest of schoolboys. His disciplinary voice was even worse, cutting and crueller than any surgical knife he exhibited during his talks. The second was jovial and soft spoken, the kind of face and voice that put patient’s minds at ease and soothed the aches and pains that ailed them. There was never a kinder word spoken about the country doctor come to live in the city, and walking the streets in his company was bound to bring about the tipping of hats and pleasant greetings befitting nobility.

Being Doctor Beechwood’s daughter was a hindrance as well as a help, Quinn found, especially when she was found causing the exact kinds of trouble her father detested.

He came home early from the surgery that day, and she was only a quarter of the way done with her corset when she heard his voice call down from the stairs, “And where have we been today, Madam?”

She flushed. “Nowhere!” she bleated.

“Lies don’t breed well on rosey cheeks, my dear.” The laugh in his voice calmed Quinn’s rattled suspicions, and as she peeked around her door she could catch a sliver of his profile between the thin iron of the banisters. He hadn’t even taken his hat off, she noted. That could only mean one thing. “Are you almost ready?” he called up. “We’re heading out again soon.”

So soon? She cursed and flew back into her room, slamming the door without another word and tugging on her corset ties even more voraciously. "Need some help miss?"

She turned at the sudden appearance of the maid in her room. She jolted. "Hattie, don't sneak up like that!" she squawked, nearly flinging a hairbrush at her in the process.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to miss, honest I didn't!"

Quinn rolled her eyes, but allowed the maid to trot forward and spin her around to get at the corset ties. Every breath felt like an effort, drawing the air into her lungs more sharply than usual with every tightening of the knot. She felt like she was being tied into her very own little cage, with nothing and no one able to free her from it until society dictated that enough was enough and it was time to go home from whatever formal dinner or dance or get together that was going on. Quinn clapped a hand to her hardening stomach with a gasp at the last tugging of the string. She was certain she saw small lights pop at the corners of her vision, but they danced away quickly enough. She blinked. There was a reason she didn't wear corsets that often.

"There were are, miss. Told you I could do it!" Hattie said.

Quinn let out a small chuckle. At least Hattie was eager. "Thank you," she said, and meant it. She regarded the dress with distaste, and took a long sigh. Oh well. One down, one to go.

When she finally came out of her room, she grimaced at the reflection in the hall mirror. To her horror, Albie was just walking past when her door opened. He doubled back to take a look, and bit his lip around a grin. "Why, Quintessence... you look absolutely-"

"I look like a show pony," she said, the words falling out of her mouth bland and flat.

Albie snorted. "I was thinking 'well-groomed greyhound' but show pony works well too." His nose wrinkled. "Looks like someone had a love affair with a ribbon factory and a shepherd."

Quinn gave him a hearty whack on the arm amid his cackling. "Shut up! I don't exactly want to wear this- not like I've got a bloody choice."

"Swearing is uncouth for a young lady," Albie reminded her gently, a chide only a stepbrother could give, "but I do have one question for you before you head out."

"And that question is?"

He barely had time to muffle his sniggers. "Where's your crook?"

"Oh, you are for it."

Unfortunately, Albie's hoarse yell from her onslaught of whacks and punches was enough to arouse the suspicions of their father. "Quintessence! Albert! If you two are up there playing the silly fools we don't have the time for it! You can kill each other in the carriage!"

"Is that a promise?"

"Shut up, Quinn."

"Now, you two."

Quinn descended the stairs before Albie, elbowing him roughly out of the way as she jogged down the remaining steps to her father. He was wearing his favourite green coat, the colour of the country they had left so recently, and when he looked the both of them up and down he let out a sigh as he shook his head. "Quintessence... who the devil dressed you?"

Quinn tried to stop her eyes from straying to the landing, where Hattie was no doubt watching and waiting for the sound of approval. "I, uh, don't really like the dress, father," she answered.

He scratched the back of his head like he was trying to figure out what it was, exactly. "It was your mother's choice," he said, as though that explained everything.

Albie sniggered again, and got another punch. "Now, now, you two, there'll be none of that." He beckoned to the open door and the waiting carriage. "Your mother is already waiting for you."

"She's her mother, not mine," Albie muttered under his breath, but this time the playful hit came from his father.

Quinn wasn't sure how she and her mother were related. Albie used to tell her stories of changeling children, creatures left by the fairies when a human child was stolen away from its parents. The changeling took its place, and the family never noticed it. He used to tell Quinn that she was a changeling child, and for a while she was upset at the thought of it. Now, as she took a seat beside her mother and kept her gaze on the floor, she was pretty sure Albie had it spot on. Her mother wasn't the regal sort, though she liked to think she was, and Quinn's only real inheritance from the family was the hair that tumbled down her shoulders. Her mother's family were renowned for their wild hair and even wilder tempers, though her mother’s fire had cooled to a crackling, spitting kind of meddling that worried Quinn to no end. It was only a matter of time before she’d broach the dreaded subject. And, sure enough-

"Oh darling, you look simply divine," she cooed, threading her fingers through Quinn's hair enough to make her cringe away. "I knew that colour would look splendid on you, simply splendid." A lot of things were ‘simple’ for her mother- Quinn liked to think it was because her mother thought it less Fire-blooded to talk like she'd been living in East Eyck all her life. "You will be bringing the boys out of their houses before too long, my dear, they will not be able to resist those eyes and that hair and that figure..."

"I don't know, I think I know a few that would be able to resist," Albie muttered.

"Albert Darkwell, you dare to speak to your sister that way!" Mrs Beechwood quivered like a disturbed hen on a roost.

Albie shrugged, brushing a chunk of his unruly hair out of his face. "I'm just saying. Maybe Quinn doesn't want all the boys after her. Maybe she's perfectly happy chasing them herself."

"Oh pish posh, a lady never chases, she waits to be pursued."

Quinn made a face. Well, she was ready to run for the hills. Past the hills, even. She was quite happy, if time permitted, to run until she could run no more, so long as it got her out of the way of all the slavering boys of her district. She didn't bother arguing, however- she merely contented to watching the world go by outside her window.

Her mother's annoyed outbursts were soon drowned out by the hailing of hooves on the cobbles, and the creaking of leather as the horses leaned into their harnesses. Quinn sidled as close to the door as possible- all the better to leap out, should her mother's talk grow that dreadful- and made note of where they were heading. The main boulevards were rolled away like a blanket being tucked away somewhere safe, and the gleaming whites and silvers of the Middle District made way for the grit of the Lower District. She'd never done to the High District. Albie said that he'd snuck in once, and everything was gold and bronze. Quinn wasn't sure how much she believed of that.

She frowned, however, when even that was curled away under the rolling of the horses' hooves. "Father, where are we going?" she asked.

"I wondered how long it would take you to ask," he smiled. "Where we are going is not quite the city."

"The country?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with the prospect.

He chuckled. "Not quite the country, either. It's sort of in between the two."

Quinn sunk back into her seat. "Albie said it was something to do with an investment."

"That it is," he agreed, "but it's a rather special kind of investment. You'll understand when you see it. It's not long now."

The carriage bumped over a particularly rocky patch of ground, and Quinn almost fell into her mother's lap. The elongated tut and the, "Really, now!" were enough to get her back into position.

Quinn started to pay attention when the bumps evened out, and she saw that they were heading over a little stone bridge. She remembered this bridge, from when they had moved to East Eyck. She had been sat in a carriage with her father, moping and refusing to look out at their new home out of dumb loyalty for her old one, but the bridge was something that had grabbed her attention, as it did now. It felt steeped in history, like a thousand feet had worn the stones smooth under their weight and each one left an imprint. Even their carriage horses were leaving marks. This was the city limits. Beyond this was nothing but thick forest and a thin path that leant too much to the imagination on dark nights. Quinn’s quizzical look wasn’t answered by her father. He simply tapped the side of his nose and bid the driver to pick up speed.

The land grew flatter here, and springy with grass and dirt. Quinn was practically leaning out of her window when her father gave the command to stop, and was nearly sent flying out of it in her eagerness. She ignored Albie’s burst of laughter as she straightened up and smoothed down a crease in her dress, to her mother’s clucking irritation. “Here we are,” her father said, his smile enigmatic as he stepped out of the carriage. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Come see where I’ve brought you.”

“Honesty, Harold, if this is another one of those excursions you used to bring us on when the children were tiny-” Mrs Beechwood complained as she, too, stepped out. Albie and Quinn shared a glance, shrugged, and followed suit.

Quinn wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t what she saw when she stepped out of the carriage. The light hadn’t started to fail yet, but there were lamps everywhere. They sat like orbs in the field of her vision, short and squat on the ground and long and elegant where they hung above her on small hooks linked to almost invisible wires. They gave off a soft glow that wasn’t quite fire, and when she stepped closer she saw the tiny specks floating around inside them. Fireflies. Thousands and thousands of fireflies. They were placed delicately a few feet away from one another, creating a long winding walkway away from the carriage and into the deep underbelly of the forest. If Quinn squinted, she could see a path; it had been created by many tracks gouged into the earth, but it was nonetheless there. She looked to Albie, but he looked as confused as she did. Her father, meanwhile, couldn’t stop smiling. “Just wait, just wait,” he kept saying gleefully under his breath as he began to walk down the path lit by the firefly-lamps, beckoning them all to follow him.

“He’s finally lost it,” Albie said faintly. “The old man’s finally lost the plot.”

“Don’t be dense, boy,” Quinn’s mother replied. “He knows what he’s doing. Your father is a man of sound reasoning.” By the slight tremor in her voice, Quinn wasn’t sure she believed what she was saying.

Quinn set off regardless, drawn by her faith in her father and the desire to see her mother further rendered nervous. She could hear Albie treading carefully behind her, but she didn’t look back. She just followed the fireflies, each little orb alive with its own community of insects. Each one seemed to have more fireflies in, or at least brighter varieties, as the further they walked, the more dazzling the lights became. More and more, brighter and brighter, and Quinn realised she’d started running too late to stop now. The path twisted and turned and curved in places she didn’t expect, and each time the lamps grew brighter until they were almost blinding…

And that was when she fell to a halt.

The last two orbs, fat and gleaming with what seemed like a million fireflies inside their bulk, were hung on the very top of two striped maypoles. Tied between these two maypoles was a banner proclaiming the words, ‘TOMBCANN’S MIGHTY MENAGERIE’ in great golden letters. Beyond that were more lights, but smaller this time, and what seemed like a large arrangement of caravans. Before Quinn could open her mouth to form a question, Albie caught up to her.

“G-God in heaven, Quinn, don’t go running off like that! Your mother almost blew my eardrums out with her screechi-” His scold cut off mid-sentence as he stared up at the banner. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his eyes widening, and then they narrowed. “What are we doing here?” he asked aloud. He didn’t sound happy. Quinn frowned, but again didn’t get the chance to inquire.

“My lords! My ladies!” 

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Chapter 2

The man that stepped out from the shadows to the left of the firefly-lamps seemed like he'd materialised there, his coat the colour of the forest around him and his willowy, tall form not unlike that of a tree itself. He was every inch the showman, from the way he walked in a gentle sashaying step that could be seen as a swagger and the arrogance of his greeting. Showmen were like that, Quinn had been told. Ever the show offs. The man wasn't old; he looked younger than her father, with not a white or greying hair on his head to be seen. He peered down at them all behind a slightly too big for his face nose and beady eyes that shone in an almost inhuman way. For some reason, Quinn didn't register their colour. She had a sudden feeling wash over her of total ease; at that moment she became light and airy, uncaring about the world and what lived inside it. It was as though she were in her own private bubble, floating and bobbing amongst the trees and foliage, all because this man looked at her. Showman's confidence, some would say- but it felt too real to be a parlour trick.

It was a strange feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it.

The suspicion was what popped the bubble around her, and in a moment she felt clarity hit her. The man was staring at her with intrigue. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he crowed, leaning down to get a better look at her. "A little girl?"

"Hardly little, sir," came a voice from behind the man, and Quinn was relieved to see her father clapping a hand to the stranger's bony shoulder. "She's a growing girl. She'll be introduced to fine society soon."

"Is that so?" The stranger laughed, a jovial, ringing sound that reminded Quinn of bells. "I really have been gone too long, in that case, if I mistake young ladies for girls!"

Quinn wanted to remark that she was hardly a lady either, but the dark look Albie shot her kept her silent. There was a strange look in his eye that she couldn't pinpoint. When she looked quizzical, he shook his head. Later, his body language said. Quinn would make sure to hold him to his promise.

"So, you are here to look around my little menagerie, are you?" said the stranger. Ah, so this was Mr. Tombwell. "Splendid, splendid. I assure you, there is plenty to see here- you won't be disappointed!" He seemed to take a liking to Quinn, to her immense displeasure, for he swept down to encase her in one stick-like arm. "Shall I show you the way?" he cooed in her ear. Quinn's nose wrinkled, but her father's brow furrowed and she sighed.

"I would like that very much, Mr. Tombwell," she said, playing her part.

"Excellent!" He gave her arm a rather hard smack and steered her forwards, underneath the banner bearing his name.

He led them forwards into a large clearing that had obviously lain there for quite some time without anyone realising. Quinn couldn't stop her stomach from twisting in a strange kind of excitement. She wasn't sure she knew what a 'menagerie' entailed; she had read about collections of animals and plants in books before, but none were detailed enough to give an accurate picture. The clearing she walked into wasn't exactly what the books described. Albie fell into step with Tombwell, casting glances at both him and Quinn as they walked, and she was grateful. She saw the way he clenched his fist and tightened his jaw, and tried to pay attention to the rambling words falling out of Tombwell's mouth like fairies. "You see, this is a very tightly run operation- has to be, for what it is- and we make sure that the utmost care is taken," he was saying to her father, who nodded along. "You will see for yourself what fascinating creatures reside behind our bars. You won't be disappointed." Quinn had a feeling that disappointment may have been the only emotion she felt if Tombwell didn't stop saying it like it was a family motto.

The clearing had a horseshoe of wagons skirting its edge, with the heavy-boned horses that pulled them pulling snatches of grass in the makeshift paddock nearby. Each wagon was decorated differently; one was green with silver coil-work, another was blue with black spikes reminiscent of the gothic buildings Quinn had seen in books. Green, blue, red, orange, yellow, white. Those were the wagons, and all were mismatched in different shapes and sizes. Quinn wanted to take a step closer, but Tombwell's hand tugged her a different way. She found herself being led towards a smaller row of caravans, the kind she had seen trundling along the country's paths by Romanies. The closer they got, the more people melted out of the gloom. They appeared like Tombwell, shadow-people until the fireflies caught their edges and curves and cast them into strange reliefs. They watched the newcomers with a sort of wariness Quinn hadn't seen in people before, and she felt the overwhelming urge to console them. "Our men and women are more than used to dealing with creatures of this kind," Tombwell was saying. "Most come from the same place- I seek to gain the greatest possible authenticity, after all- and have something of a bond with their beasts. They welcome you, as I welcome you!"

The people didn't look too welcoming. Quinn didn't manage to wriggle out from under Tombwell's arm until he decided to cast his attentions onto her mother, who was far more excited by the prospect of talking to a 'seasoned exhibitionist' than Quinn ever would be. "Come on," Albie whispered in her ear whilst the adults were distracted, "let's see what this menagerie is really about."

They slipped away from their calmly chattering parents and headed in the direction of the wagons. "This place feels strange," Quin said. "Don't you think it feels strange?"

Albie nodded, his frown only deepening as they walked. "It feels...strange. Like it doesn't belong here."

Quinn couldn't help but agree. "What's so special about a menagerie anyway? I mean, these animals have all been discovered, right? There's nothing new. Nothing we can't see in a book, or in the paper."

"What happened to the adventurous girl caught for stealing an apple?" Albie teased. Under her hot flush of anger, he added, "Just keep quiet. You don't want to spook the animals."

They crossed the little patch of ground close to the paddock where the wagon horses were grazing and approached the first wagon with baited breath. This was the one painted green, and where the side had been gouged out of the wagon, solid iron bars replaced wood. Quinn wasn't ashamed of grabbing onto Albie's hand when a growl sounded from the stomach of the cage, swelling from its inhabitant's chest like a warning. It wasn't like the purr of a domestic cat- this noise was loud and wild. "It's alright," Albie said, "he can't get you."

Quinn tried to steel her breathing and quell the shakes in her hand that betrayed her nerves. She took a breath. Closed her eyes. Took a step forward.

"Ah, I see you've already met our first exhibit!"

Tombwell's joyful shout nearly made Quinn's heart burst free from her chest and run for cover. She wheeled around wide-eyed and ready to attack something, but the man only laughed his bell-like laugh. "I know what you young souls are like. You cannot resist the temptation of new sights and smells! Well, behold." He thrust a hand out at the cage.

There was nothing to be seen. Quinn wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief or break into laughter- either seemed appropriate. Tombwell's mouth jerked down for the first time since she'd met him, and he took a step forward. "Atlaaaassss," he crooned through the bars. "Come out, come out and play!"

Something solid moved in the dark. Quinn grabbed for Albie again, and was thankful he didn't shake her off. She could hear something moving, stretching, yawning. Then there was the gentle padding of paws, heavy thumps on the floor of the cage that sounded like thunderclaps to her roaring blood. And then, stepping into the light, came a lion. It wasn't just any lion either, it was a huge lion. The mane that framed its regal head was dark and tawny, the blending of both colours reminding Quinn vaguely of the tortoiseshell stray that used to come looking for milk, and reached all the way down its chest and along its underbelly. Its actual coat was the kind of golden Quinn saw used in portraits of the animals, rich and rippling with muscle as it moved closer. The eyes that stared out from that mane were two little suns that squinted at the visitors, before the animal gave another heavy growl and sat back on its haunches. Tombwell spun around with a grin. "Now you see a true lion! Taken from the Barbary Coast, no less, Atlas is a one of a kind male. I'm sure you'll agree!"

Quinn dared to take a step forward. The head snapped to her, the eyes narrowing like the lion was searching for something. Quinn gulped, but took another step. Another growl ripped free from the animal's throat, and it rose from sitting to pad closer to her, nostrils flaring pinkly as it poked as much of its head as it could manage through the gaps in the bars. "Now, you be careful girl," Tombwell warned, the bravado slipping for a moment as she stared, "Atlas isn't one of your tame moggies, you know!"

"I know," she found herself saying. "He's just...just..."

"Beautiful? Majestic? Astounding?"

She wanted to say that he looked sad. Such a large creature, noble and wild, trapped in a cage so small was hard to look at. She bit her lip and drew away, knowing better than to trust the way the lion was looking at her, and looked back to Albie. "He's amazing," she said, in a voice so small it didn't suit her.

"Well, there's plenty more where that came from," Tombwell said, recovering his showmanship, "just you wait and see!"

They didn't get much farther. A bizarre bellow that sounded like a trumpet mating with a foghorn came from the white wagon- or rather, from behind it. Tombwell gave a good-natured little huff and strode towards the source of the noise, muttering a, "really, this is too much," under his breath as he did so. Quinn didn't have to think twice. She followed him at a jog, ignoring the plaintive shouts of her mother, who had apparently been bringing up the rear of the group.

When she turned the corner of the white wagon, she was met with an animal the like of which she had never seen before. It was large and grey and wrinkled, and gazed down at her with a gentle, honey-coloured eye. The best description she could come up with was a cow- a very large cow- with ears the shape of dustbin lids and a long nose that was swaying idly where it stood. There was also something she did recognise coming from what appeared to be its mouth; the white points that grew at a slight curve from the base of the creature's mouth were yellowed with use, but nonetheless identifiable.

Ivory.

Quinn had seen the exact copies of the ones on the animal at a formal dinner last season. They had been brought out by the beaming host to show off from his exploits to India. Ivory, he had said, was one of the great wonders of the civilised Indian world, and the knowing nods from the adults around the table had caused much confusion for Quinn. Now she saw why. She could recall a great tale of having to wrestle with the animal to whom the ivory belonged, and how vicious it was.

As she stared at the animal now, as it slowly chewed mouthfuls of hay like a bizarrely lumpy horse, she wasn't sure she believed that host's story. As they watched, the creature swung its nose up in the air like it was trying to catch the scent of something on the breeze, and without warning the sound came again, the grating oddity of playing every single brass instrument at the same time. So that was where the noise was coming from.

"Honestly, boy, what's with all the racket?" Tombwell called out. "Is it upset?"

That was when a boy, dark and small and spry, ducked underneath the behemoth's stomach and stood to rigid attention. He had a small nose and thick black hair that curled at the nape of his neck rather like Albie's did when he'd just woken up, and wore similar colours to Tombwell himself. Green and gold seemed to be the uniform of the menagerie, Quinn figured, even though the boy's clothing looked far less rich than that of his master. He didn't say a word, but ducked his head down and laid a hand flat against the skin of the creature, perhaps in an attempt to quieten it. Quinn caught herself wondering what it felt like, to hold a palm against such wrinkled and crusted skin.

"Well, who do we have here?" she heard her father ask. Evidently, he had talked to the other workers enough and decided it high time that he joined the impromptu tour. His eyes went straight past the boy, as all eyes would, and rested on the creature before him. "My heavens, would you look at that," he said, voice full of wonder. The creature looked at its visitors in turn before inclining its head towards the boy that stood next to it. They seemed to have a silent exchange, of what Quinn couldn't decipher, before the boy nodded his head and the creature turned back to her father and offered its nose, a tiny little nubbin at the tip of it twitching like a tiny thumb. With Tombwell's encouragement, her father got given a strange, slightly loose handshake by the animal. He barked out a laugh of delight, and the nose drew away. "Incredible," he breathed. "Simply incredible."

"What is it?" Quinn asked. She couldn't help it.

The adults all turned to look at her. Tombwell spoke first. "My dear, have you never seen this animal before? Not even in a book?"

She flushed hotly. "I do plenty of reading," she said, "but I've never seen an illustration close to this."

"Why, my dear," Tombwell said, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth, "this is an elephant."

Elephant. The word rolled around on her tongue nicely. It felt like a tribal word, the kind of word that had its roots in the heart of forests a thousand miles from where she was standing, and she relished the sound of it. "Elephant," she repeated, just to make sure she was saying it right, and Tombwell's smile fledged.

"That's right," he said, quietly enjoying the look of sheer awe on her face. The boy was looking at her too, now, and she avoided his eye by fixing her gaze on the elephant. It continued to chew rhythmically, its large ears flapping dolefully every now and again, but now she had a name to place it in her mind, it wasn't so out of place. "He's a very special kind, too. He comes from the East, from the desert and the oasis."

She wanted to get closer, but she dared not- not when the boy was staring at her like she was the elephant. He gave Quinn a jolt, the way he stared.

His eyes were bright blue, icy blue, and were stark against the pallor of his skin. He was also a head or so taller than her, and she guessed he was probably a little older than she was. He stepped closer to the elephant like it was an instinct, his eyes then darting from her to her father and the rest of the party. They lingered the longest on Albie, but Quinn didn't ask why. Her father had clearly noticed the scrutiny too, for he turned his attention to the boy quick enough. "Who's this?" he asked Tombwell.

"He is the elephant's mahout. It's an indian word, for 'keeper'. They are paired with them as children. They grow up together."

Quinn's father appeared to deem this enough of an introduction to directly address the boy without the proper formalities. "Hello. There," he stressed, making sure to speak as slowly as possible. "We. Are. Friends. Come. To. See. Your. Elephant."

The boy raised a brow, but said nothing.

"We. Mean. You. No. Harm," her father tried again- this time, with actions. "Where. Do. You. Come. From?"

The boy blinked at him. The eyebrow arched up even further. "Somewhere that teaches their children to talk faster than here, apparently," he said. His voice was rich and full of an accent that spilled over from lands unknown to the East, but it was very eloquent and definitely very English. Quinn saw the smile playing behind his mouth. She failed to stifle her snigger, and got a cuff around the head from her mother and a stricken look.

Her father, meanwhile, had flushed deep crimson. "I-I apologise," he stammered, mollified, "I did not mean-"

"I know what you meant, sir, but I know that it was meant with good intentions," the boy said. He finally offered a half-smile. "After all, us 'savages' don't always know the Queen's English, correct?" His brow cocked. "Not all of us had the opportunity for a good education. Lucky I was one of them, isn't that right Mr. Tombwell?"

Tombwell stepped in before Quinn's father could blabber more apologies or get truly maddened by the words that dripped with sarcasm. "James, that is quite enough from you," he said. "There is a reason he does not speak often, Doctor, I can only apologise-"

"N-no," her father said. He wiped his sweating palms on his jacket. "The fault is mine, for assuming...for being... it hardly matters." He thrust his hand out to the boy. "It's good to meet you," he said cordially. "Doctor Beechwood. I'm looking to impart an investment into the collection you have here."

The boy seemed as surprised as anyone that he'd suddenly been offered a hand to shake. He took it with a suspicious squint. "Hullo," he said uncertainly. "I'm James." He then gave the haunch of the animal he cared for a hefty pat. "This is Surus."

"His name is Jumbo," Tombwell chipped in. "You know, after the big old blighter in London."

"His name is Surus," James replied coolly, "and you know he won't be trained under any other name."

Quinn grinned. She took a step forward, and the eyes immediately honed in on her. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. "I've never seen an elephant before," she said, in way of introduction. "He's..."

"He's an elephant," James shrugged. "Like any other elephant."

Quinn looked up at the giant, and watched the way his stomach grew and shrank with every breath. His long nose was pulling at a few strands of hay dropped on the floor, the little nubbin poking sadly at the remains of dinner as he flapped one ear in a lazy swoop. "Perhaps," she replied, "but I haven't exactly got the notes to judge."

James stared at her, but said nothing. Quinn thought it may have been too far to lay a hand on the animal, but she reached forward anyway. When she saw the crease appear between James's brow, and heard the heavy grumble from the very pit of the elephant's chest, she drew her hand away. Everything relaxed when she did so, like that was the reward, and she saw another tiny half-smile grace James’s features. “Yes, well,” Tombwell began, cutting off any attempt to continue a conversation, “shall we continue? Might as well get the whole menagerie toured now the young lady has started us off on the right foot.”

“Splendid idea!” Quinn jolted at the sudden elbow from her father. “Quinn here likes her animals. She’s quite the little naturalist.”

“Is that so?” Tombwell said, intrigued. “Well, you’ll find a lot of interesting creatures here to feast your eyes on, if nothing else.”

They moved away from the boy and the elephant, but Quinn looked over her shoulder as the space between them grew. The boy’s shoulders had sagged, the urge to stand on ceremony gone, and he turned back to his charge, who wrapped its proboscis around his shoulders and squeezed like a tentative parent.

The rest of the tour passed by in moderate slowness, with Quinn lagging behind in an attempt to keep the animals in her sights as Tombwell prattled on about the particulars of running a menagerie. Her father was listening, but nobody else seemed to be. Albie looked thoroughly bored, and kept his gaze on his shoes as they walked and Quinn’s mother looked about ready to ask when they were going home. She wasn’t a creature for the outdoors. It was another difference between herself and Quinn.

The tour concluded back where they started, with the coach horses snoozing in their paddock and the crows and shouts from the menagerie workers drifting down on the air. By then, the night was upon them, and the firefly lamps truly came into their own. “When will you be opening up this place?” she heard her father ask.

“In a week, with any luck,” Tombwell said, puffing out his chest like a bird. “We are a proud people, Doctor Beechwood, and we will not open our gates until we know we are the best we can be!”

“What about the animals?” Quinn asked, keeping her eyes on the horses as she spoke. She felt the burn of eyes landing on her, but brushed it off. “Does that include the animals?”

“Why, of course, of course,” Tombwell said brusquely, “but the presentation! The workers! The ambience! These are the important factors in any form of entertainment’s success, and I assure you that you-”

“Won’t be disappointed,” Albie cut in with a snide smirk, “right?”

Tombwell gave him an odd look. It was almost one of surprise, like he didn’t understand why he was being mocked in such a way as he’d never before experienced it. But then the moment was gone, and he turned back to their father. “Now, would you like to take a chair in my office and we can discuss… potential investment?”

Her father was an important man. Quinn wasn’t an idiot; her father had saved many lives since they had moved to East Eyck, and had a lot of influence. If a man like him decided to invest in a place like Tombwell’s, it was a sure as sugar seal of approval for the entire city- well, at least the middle district. Tombwell was no fool. He did his research.

Quinn backed away from the bargaining men and trudged towards their carriage, her feet a little sore and in need of releasing from the ridiculous shoes she’d been forced into. Albie followed suit, dropping down like a sack of potatoes on the other side of the carriage. “So?” she asked.

He raised a brow. “So what?”

“So, what do you think? About the menagerie?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “I don’t like the guy.”

“Tombwell?”

“Yeah. He’s false as a scarecrow.”

“I guess all showmen are like that.”

Albie made a face. “Not like this one.” He chanced a look out of the carriage window where the man was gesticulating wildly as their father looked on with the calm demeanour of a man who knows what he wants. “I don’t know, Quinn, there’s just something…out of place about him.”

“Maybe he’s a vampire,” Quinn joked. Albie didn’t laugh. “You have to be impressed by the animals, though!”

“Oh yes,” he said. “The animals are great.” He didn’t sound too enthused. His eyes were still on the world outside, squinting past the dancing balls of lamp-light and trying to seek out the shapes of the wagons. “It’s like a faerie world out there,” he said, his voice soft on the breeze. “Feels like if you stay there too long you’ll be sucked in. There’ll be no way out.”

Quinn thought about that on the drive back, after her father had clambered into their carriage and waved goodbye to an energetically waving Tombwell. She thought about it when they got home, she undressed, swapped her tight corset and overly complicated dress for something more light and simple. She even thought about it past dinner, when she retired to her room and gazed up at the ceiling. Faerie world. The menagerie was a faerie world, with wonders the like of which she had never seen before, and sounds and smells so new they might as well have been from another world. There was a story, another one Albie told, about how in the world of the faeries time went slower. A few seconds in faerie world was a hundred years in the real one, and as Quinn lay thinking about that for a while, she wondered whether or not it was true for the menagerie.

And that boy… that strange, strange boy…

She fell asleep, her slumber dreamless. 

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Chapter 3

Her father had chosen to invest. He told her of his plan gleefully over breakfast the next morning, and considered the menagerie, “the epitome of modern entertainment.” Quinn was happy for him, but uninterested. Now she had taken the time to dwell, the menagerie was probably not as spectacular as she thought it had been. She’d been swept along in the tidal drift, and now she was safe on dry land she could see the real picture. But still she nodded, congratulated her father, and drank the juice put in front of her.

Albie was teaching her English after breakfast. The annoyance of having a stepbrother ready to attend university only increased when he had decided that teaching was his goal in life. Quinn was the guinea pig, and her mother was overjoyed at the money they were saving on professional tutors. It wasn’t that Albie was a bad teacher- it was just that everything other than studying seemed like the far better option. “Quinn, are you even listening?” he asked, for the fourteenth time that session.

“Mm? Oh, yes, yes of course I was listening,” she said, turning back from the window. “You were talking about Iambic Pentameter?”

“Nice try, that was an hour ago.” Albie set down his chalk and walked towards her. “Something’s on your mind, huh?”

Quinn puffed out a ball of air. “Maybe,” she conceded, “but I’m not sure what.”

“You’re not sure what you’re thinking about?” Albie’s face set into a frown. “Quintessence Beechwood, you have discovered a new layer of yourself. Keep it up and you’ll turn into an onion girl.”

She snorted at the bad joke and looked out the window again.

When Albie dismissed her, she jumped up from her desk and grabbed her books. “Someone’s eager to get out today,” he said.

She shrugged. “M’just bored,” she answered.

“Ouch.”

“Not with your teaching! Just… the stuff.”

“Again, ouch.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and gave a sharp wave as she dived out of the door, hearing a resigned, “honestly,” uttered from Albie’s lips as she went.

When Quinn had the afternoons to herself, she made the most of them. She enjoyed the freedom, and freedom felt the best when it was the wind blowing in her hair and the taste of salt on her tongue. For that reason, she bolted up the stairs, grabbed her pair of trousers and got to work. When she slipped out of her bedroom door, down the stairs and out the pantry door without anyone seeing, she felt like she was more a boy now than ever before.

Though she eyed the stables hungrily, she knew that it was unlikely it wouldn’t be under watch. A young boy wandering into a well- known doctor’s stables and taking one of his prized horses would definitely cause alarm. Besides, it was a nice day; she could walk. She backed out of the carriage entrance, and didn’t turn back.

East Eyck was a bustling city that stretched in a great horseshoe around the mouth of the river Pye, a river that coiled thick and grey like a snake down to the coast. Walking through the Lower District got you to the harbour, where wizened fishmongers would try to sell you a handful of salted kippers and a squid, when all you went down to do was browse. This was Quinn’s playground, and she made a beeline for the Lower District as she ran, splashing the puddles under her feet and creating her own little droplets in her wake. The Sun was out and so the people were too, going about their everyday lives without a second glance in a young boy’s direction. Quinn enjoyed this gift of anonymity; for a little while, she wasn’t That Beechwood Girl or Quintessence The Hopeless Dancer. She didn’t even have a name, and that was how she liked it.

She finally reached the quay with gasping breaths, not realising how quickly she’d been running until she’d stopped. She placed her hands on the stone and breathed in, trying to ignore the little jolt her heart gave as it tried to replace the pumps it had been forced to miss as she ran. The river Pye lay before her like spun glass, misted with the heat of the sun, and she let a smile escape her.

That was when she spotted the elephant.

For a moment, she thought it was nothing but a large rock, washed down from the quarries further north, but then it moved and the image melted into view. The elephant was in the river, submerged up to its knees and its nose or proboscis or whatever it was flinging water over its head and onto its back. The water glittered on its skin, fat drops rolling down its stomach in a wide arc.

Quinn’s hands gripped the stone tighter. What was it doing here? Had it escaped from the menagerie? She knew that all animals had an inherent instinct to find a water source, so maybe this was what the elephant found. The river didn’t look the most enticing place to bathe, but the animal seemed to be enjoying itself enough.

Quinn was about to run home and get her father when she saw a small shape scramble onto the elephant’s back. She squinted. Was that the boy from the menagerie… James? He sat in the crease of the animal's neck, shimmying down from the rather humped back and letting his legs dangle precariously close to those sharp ivories, but the elephant barely noticed him. It went on with its own little ritual, flinging the water over its head- and, so it happened, over James. All he did was laugh and clap his hand against the beast's shoulder like Quinn's father would a flighty horse. The elephant was far too large for any sort of contact to bother him, it seemed. It let out a trumpet of alarm when James used his feet to splash murky Pye-water up into its face. Quinn froze as the giant shook its head, and wondered if it was going to crush the boy that wronged it so, but then she saw how James was laughing, and how the elephant grumbled, and realised that they were playing together. The realisation became all the more cemented when the nose, long and grey, dipped into the water for a few seconds and then aimed a well-timed jet at the boy's face in retaliation. Through the splutters, she heard James call out something she assumed was Hindi and the elephant made a short little 'perp' noise that sounded like it was amused.

James didn't look the same as he did back in the clearing, with the fireflies lighting all the gruff lines of his face. He looked like a child, happy and smiling, and Quinn couldn't help the smile that raised to her face too as she watched the pair. He nudged his heels into the fold of skin at the back of the elephant's ears and the animal obeyed silently, stepping further into the water with a delighted burbling noise. They were being careful, Quinn noticed; they were keeping to the bend in the river, and were making sure that no one on their side would be able to see them. She wasn't sure what the townspeople would think of an elephant bathing in their river, but she was pretty sure they wouldn't be calm about it.

"Hey, look who it is!"

Quinn spun around to see a group of boys emerging from the street she'd just walked down. Her hackles raised the moment she saw them. Dirt-stained hands. Crooked teeth. Strange little glints in their eyes. They had to be boys from the mill. They were toughened with muscle, too; where she appeared a lanky youth, they were knotted with muscle, tight as rope and biting as it too. The ringleader raised a brow and looked her up and down. "Wotcha doin' ere?" he said. "Saps like you work the ol' higher ups, dontcha? Wotcha doin' sneakin' around our patch, eh?"

Quinn glared at them. "I'm not doing any sneaking," she said. She made sure to keep her voice low so as not to arouse suspicion.

"Not sneakin', he says. Not sneakin', not... I'll tell you what's not sneakin', not bein' ere in'a first place!" This caused a chorus of chuckles to rise up from his companions, and Quinn gave a scoff.

"Very intelligently put. They'll make a miner's son of you yet."

"Wotcha call me?" The ringleader swelled to an impressive height when he stepped forward. Every muscle bulged. Quinn gulped. "I ain't no miner's son," he spat.

"My mistake," Quinn said, taking a step back. "Sorry fellas, didn't mean to upset the apple cart."

"Now he's sayin' we sellin' apples," one of the cronies said, in a voice that sounded like awe. "Won't 'ee learn, Pat?"

"Nah, don' think he will," was Pat's reply.

Quinn let out a huff. Never show you're intimidated- that was the first rule of being a boy. You stand up, you look surly, then get the hell out of there before any fists start flying. "Look, forget it. I'm leaving. You got your patch, I got mine."

"That's right white collar, just go back to yer shinin' shoes and spittin' on us common folk," the crony sneered.

Quinn was ready to leave. She was ready to turn around and stomp home, annoyed that her day hadn't quite turned out as she'd expected but carrying on nonetheless. But they had to go and put class into it, didn't they? She turned around with a glower. "That's rich, coming from someone who has no teeth, works in a mill all day and thinks he demands the right to a scrap of ground!"

Big mistake.

Quinn slunk off a few minutes later with more than just her pride dented. She was lucky the boy played by Queensbury rules, she thought with a wince as she sat down by the riverbank. The bruise on her cheek was bound to swell. Damnit. How was she going to explain that away? She scrubbed at her cheek with a sniffle, and tried not to let the pain get the best of her.

You spoke your mind. You spoke your mind and it blew up in your face. How many times are you going to do it before you realise it's a bad call?

She sniffled again. Stupid boys. She hated them.

The sound of gently splashing water made her look up. To her astonishment, she saw a pair of very large feet with crisp white nails toeing into the soft mud and silt of the riverbank. When she craned her neck, she saw the tip of the elephant's nose investigating her. She stayed very still whilst it poked and probed, and only slapped it away when it ventured to her chest. The nose drew back in surprise, and the laugh from above made her jump. "Now, now, Surus, that's what you get for being too curious," the same voice said, and when she cricked her neck slightly to see where it was coming from, she saw the boy astride the elephant, still laughing. "You may be the eighth wonder of the world, but you'll still get your trunk slapped if you're not a gentleman."

Quinn scrambled to her feet, snatching her shoes up off the ground as she went, and the elephant took a step back- clearly it hadn't expected such a swift rising from the little two legged it had been admiring. She squinted up at the elephant and its keeper, unsure of what to say. When something did come out, it wasn't exactly what she had intended. "I'm not surprised, if it hangs around menagerie ruffians all day."

James, to her relief, just snorted. "Probably right," he admitted, swinging one leg over to join its partner on the other side of the elephant. "He picks up bad habits wherever he goes. Something of a hobby for him, I suppose." He gave the elephant a final pat before sliding off and landing with a cat-like elegance. "By the way, he's a 'he', not an 'it'. And his name is Surus. Call him that and he'll respect you more."

Quinn frowned, and looked up at the honeyed eyes, blinking. Waiting. "H-hello Surus," she said.

The elephant let out a rumble. James smiled at him, and gave his knobbled tree limb of a knee a pat. "He says hello, scowly little girl from yesterday."

Quinn flushed. She realised too late that she'd mentioned the menagerie. She doubted very much there was another family who had gone to visit, even less convinced that they would have had a young man around her age and height and hair colour. She cursed under her breath. "I'm not little," she offered as grumpy admission of her identity.

James smiled- and this time it was for her. "I can see that," he said. "You have a bruise. Were you fighting with those boys?"

"Uh- oh, them?" She looked over her shoulder- thankfully, they weren't still watching. "You saw them?"

"The whole river heard your battle cry, not so little girl," he said, "it was kind of hard to miss the cursing."

"Oh, r-right."

He inclined his head to the right. "Would you like me to walk you home?"

Quinn blinked. "What about the-"

"Surus will be fine. He walks alongside me. Kind of like a dog, only bigger and smells worse." Surus lifted his nose up to drape it over James's shoulder- had James called it a trunk?- and blew air into his face for the insult. "Besides, it's also like free publicity. Hey, I have an elephant, come see it in a cage." Quinn didn't miss the dark edge to James's tone.

She chose to ignore it however and looked on towards the labyrinth of streets and alleys. "I don't think he'll fit down there," she concluded.

James made a face. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Oh well, river walk it is." He gave the giant a pat on the shoulder, and Surus began to walk forward. It was a slow, lazy walk but the length of his strides meant that he gained ground far quicker than any human. Quinn pulled on her boots haphazardly and tripped over her feet in her effort to keep up, almost falling under Surus's belly in her attempt to shove her shoelaces back inside as she ran. She could feel James watching her, and maybe chuckling to himself, but when she straightened up his face was straight as a die. When she fell into step with him, he clicked his tongue and Surus slowed his pace to match. "So," she said, "you haven't asked the obvious question."

James raised a brow. "And what is that?"

"Why I'm dressed like this." It sounded stupid saying it.

James surprised her even more by giving a shrug. "What business is it of mine whether you wear boy clothes or girl clothes?"

Quinn's mouth snapped shut. She hadn't ever thought of that. "W-well, a lot of people think it's-"

"If you'd rather I call you boy, then tell me," he said.

Quinn frowned. "I'm a girl," she replied.

James studied her for a brief minute, like he was looking for something that spoke to the contrary, then nodded. "Fine. Then you are a girl who wears boy clothes. What was your name again?"

"Quintessence."

"No, that's the name your mother gave you. What's your name? The one you go by yourself?"

She blinked. He was watching, waiting for her response with his blue eyes cutting into something deep- though she couldn't pinpoint what. "Quinn," she answered eventually. "It's Quinn."

+++

They took their time on the walk back along the river. Surus dragged his feet along the water’s edge, sending sprays of water up in front of him to dapple his skin darker shades of grey, and Quinn found herself doing the same. She hadn’t put her boots back on; she let them swing around her neck as she walked, forgetting for the moment that they were probably printing her shirt with mud.

James was the kind of person who could do comfortable silence. There were a lot of people Quinn knew that couldn’t, Albie being one of them, but James was happy just to walk. In the warmth of the summer day, he’d rolled up the sleeves of his cotton shirt and draped his coat over Surus’s back, and Quinn couldn’t help but ogle at the wiry muscle that was now on show. It was, contrary to anyone’s belief, pure curiosity; someone who had to handle an elephant, she presumed, would need far more muscle than the wisp of a boy beside her.

But there seemed to be something connecting the two. If James stopped, Surus stopped. If he looked to the river, so would Surus. They were attached like puppets jerking on the same invisible thread, so naturally it looked like an illusion. She looked away when James caught her staring. “What?” he questioned, breaking their peace.

“Nothing.” Quinn chewed on her lip. “Just… you don’t have anything to lead him. Like a bridle or anything.”

James looked puzzled. “Would I need one?”

Quinn considered it. “Well, everyone who has animals needs ways of controlling them,” she said after a pause. “Horses have bridles, dogs have collars… what do elephants have?”

“Trust,” he responded. “Surus knows I take care of him, so he follows.”

“Is that the same for all elephants?”

It was James’s turn to go quiet. They had walked a few steps before Surus noticed, and soon enough his nose ruffled and snuffed its way through James’s hair, tugging at a few strands to make sure he was still paying attention. “Ow!” James yelped, and the nose fell away. “I was listening, I was just thinking!”

Quinn laughed. She had to. The look Surus gave his master in response was akin to a glare. “Does he always put his nose on you when he wants to talk to you?” she asked.

“His nose?” James blinked. “Oh, you mean his trunk. Yeah, trunks are really important to elephants. It’s their communication tool for when they’re in the forest with their family- their form of sign language, I guess.” He let another small smile grace his lips. “You said ‘talk’, though. You think animals can talk to us?”

Quinn hesitated. She wasn’t sure if he would laugh at her if he heard her response. She knew that animals listened to voice commands and obeyed them after being trained to. She also knew that when there was a storm outside and thunder was brewing in the bruised black clouds, talking to the frightened horses in the yard calmed them. Talking to animals was definitely something people did- but she believed that the animals could talk back. She settled for a shrug and replied, “Of course I do.”

“Of course you do?” James blinked again. “Not everyone thinks that.”

“Well they haven’t been around animals for long enough, then,” she said.

James made a curious noise in the back of his throat and clicked his tongue to encourage Surus to pick up the pace. The elephant had been dawdling by a patch of rather appetising looking flowers, but immediately jumped to attention. James hung back to run a hand down Surus’s leg, his expression unreadable when the familiar rumble sounded again from the animal’s chest. Being so close to Surus, Quinn could feel the ground quaking with how deep the sound permeated in a way she hadn’t felt at the menagerie. It was a sound that brought with it images of dense jungle, dozens of elephants all packed together and calling out, and if she thought hard enough she swore she could smell the rain on the leaves and feel the crunch of the forest floor under her bare feet. “What is he saying?” she asked.

James glanced at her. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he was going to tell her- maybe he would scoff and tell her she was nothing but a silly little girl who liked to play dress up, and what right did she have to know about his elephant?- but then he smiled. It was a smile he hadn’t used before, one that was soft and thoughtful, and Quinn had the feeling that he usually reserved it for Surus. “You really want to know?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Tell me.”

He looked to Surus, asking silent permission, before focusing back on her. “He is saying ‘thank you for telling me where you are’.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and brought his shoulders up to his neck as he walked. “Elephants…they travel in big groups- herds, like horses- and they are all family. Aunties, sisters, babies, cousins, uncles, fathers. They all travel together, and sometimes they get lost.” He gave Surus’s leg a pat. “They keep rumbling to check where everyone else is, and then make the same noise when they’ve found them. They’re like little children getting lost, finding their mothers and still calling their names for the sake of it.”

Quinn stared up at the bulk of animal towering over them. “They get scared of being alone?” she said. “But they’re so big.”

James shrugged. “Nobody wants to be alone, no matter how big they are. Elephants love their families very much, and lots of them stay together for their entire lives.”

“Then what happened to Surus’s family?”

It was a genuine question, but Quinn knew she’d gone too far. A shadow had fallen across James’s face, and his mouth snapped shut. His shoulders, if it were even possible, drew up more. “He does not remember his family,” he said, short and sharp, and Quinn got the message.

They turned up from the riverbank as it began to arc into the swell of a dock, and made an eventful journey up the nearest road, to the terror and awe of the townspeople. Many had never even heard of an elephant before, and fell flat on their faces in an attempt to avoid them. There were words thrown around like ‘beezlebub’, ‘land leviathan’ and ‘danger to us all’. For someone who hadn’t known much about elephants until yesterday, Quinn shot them all the blackest look she could muster. James just laughed, and Surus flapped his ears. The quiet seemed to be forgotten as they reached the boulevard, and Surus delighted in reaching up to sample the delicacies the neatly trimmed trees and shrubs of the street had to offer. James kept an eye on him like a mother would a child as Quinn kicked her feet back into her boots and attempted to fasten them. “Thank you for letting me see Surus today,” she said, straightening up when she was done. “I wasn’t sure you were meant to be at the river.”

“We weren’t,” James said, “but we went, and people saw, and Tombwell will have to allow us some liberty.”

Quinn frowned. The way he spat out Tombwell’s name like a bad taste made her wonder whether there was some sort of bad blood between them. James hadn’t seemed as eager to please her father as Tombwell, at any rate. The mention of people seeing them made Quinn flinch. “Did you walk me back just to make sure I didn’t tell anyone?” she asked.

He raised a brow at her. “If that was the plan, it backfired magnificently when I walked Surus up a busy street and nearly caused a carriage accident.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Quinn folded her arms. “I know you didn’t much care for my father.”

James sighed. “Your father was a potential investor. He deals with money. I deal with animals.” He reached a hand up to run his hand through his hair. “It’s not my place to deal with anything other than the animals, miss. I know my place. I’m not trying to peddle anything to your father- I leave the showmanship to Tombwell. He’s good at it.”

Before Quinn could say more, the door to her house slammed open. A rather flustered Albie fell out, along with a stack of papers. “QUINN! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU WERE MEANT TO BE IN LESSONS AN HOUR AG- oh.” He stopped short when he saw James stood beside her. The elephant grazing on next door’s lawn was also an issue he wasn’t going to forget in a hurry. “Uh, hello there.”

James nodded. “Good afternoon.” He eyed the scraps of paper fluttering down the steps of the house. “Do you want me to-?”

“I’ve got it.” Albie scrambled for the stray pages, snatching them up with a tasteful shade of crimson coating his cheeks. “What is the elephant doing here? What are you doing with-?”

“He needed a bath,” Quinn said. “James took him down to the river.”

Albie blinked. “Oh.” Then he rubbed his eyes. “I should really stop drinking before five o clock. Come on, troublemaker, get in and change so we can work on your French.”

The last remaining shred of Quinn’s hope crumbled. “You’re the worst,” she huffed. She got halfway up her steps before she turned back to James. “Thanks again for letting me walk with you, and for telling me about Surus.”

James gave her one of those soft smiles that seemed rare on him. “It was my pleasure, miss.”

She grinned. “Call me Quinn. You asked for my name adamantly enough.”

“Maybe after we are more formally acquainted,” he said, stooping into a bow so graceful Quinn had to chuckle at his effort. “You changed my mind, Quinn Beechwood. Come by the menagerie whenever you like. I can tell you more about the elephant, if you are willing to do some work.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “Really?”

James gave a curt nod, let his eyes settle on Albie for a split second, then clicked his tongue for Surus. The elephant tramped over to him with a small trumpet, shaking his head from side to side and flapping his ears. It was almost as though he’d forgotten James was there, and was going about greeting him.

Quinn had the door shut in her face before she could give a second wave to them.

Albie was in her face and glaring before she had a chance to draw breath. “What was that for?!” she demanded. “He’s going to think I’m rude!”

“Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with?” Albie snapped. Quinn faltered at the fire in his words. She didn’t hear Albie angry very often. It was enough to send her stumbling back against the door, eyes wide as he bore down on her. "What are you talking about?" she asked, but her voice had a shake to it that Albie noticed.

"You know full well what I'm talking about," he hissed. His voice was even and calm, but the inferno that was threatening to break out across his drawn brows and curled lip was enough to tell Quinn to keep quiet until he was finished. "You. The elephant keeper. Strutting around together."

"I don't strut."

"That's not the point!" Albie dragged a hand down his face and backed away a fraction, causing a heavily held breath to be expelled from Quinn's lungs in relief. "Quinn, haven't you even stopped to think about the consequences of getting too close to someone like that?"

Now it was her turn to feel the licks of flame. "What's so wrong with him?" she said. "You don't even know him, you didn't even look at him when we were at the menagerie! What makes you think he's so bad?"

Something passed over Albie's face at that moment. It was like he'd walked into fog, and was confused as to why it was there. Then the glare was back. "It's not him specifically, Quinn," he replied. "It's... those people. Any of them. They're travelling people with lives we could never hope to understand. The creatures of menageries and carnivals and circuses aren't like us. They're creatures of the underworld, Quinn. They don't think like us. Something about them just doesn't sit right, and everyone knows it."

"How can you say that?" Quinn said. Albie let out a scoff and backed away still further. The tides were turning, Quinn realised, and in her favour too. "You were there yesterday. You saw the animals. Isn't it wonderful, to see those animals when you'd never have the chance to see them any other time? I could have died and never seen a lion, but I have, Albie."

Quinn knew she wasn't getting through to him. He had a grimace worked onto his face that looked unlikely to fall, and as they stood in silence in the foyer of the house, they heard the trumpet of Surus. Albie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If you must know, James... gives me a feeling," he said.

Quinn stared at him. "What sort of feeling?"

"I don't know, Quinn, just a feeling, alright? Christ, I don't have to explain myself to you, I'm your superior!" He threw his papers down on the ornate little table next to him. He had never pulled the superior card on Quinn before, and it smarted a little.

"Well, it's a little late to start playing the concerned big brother with me, Albie," she said, "considering you only decided I exist last year."

That one hurt him. She could see it in the way he looked at her. He looked ashamed that she would ever mention it. She knew why he hadn't been around. So did her father. Everyone knew. When he picked up his papers, his fingers were trembling. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "I really am. But I'm here now, and I'm ready to step up to the plate and protect you."

"I don't need protecting! I'm not a child!"

"You are fourteen, Quinn, you need far more protecting than any child." 

Quinn folded her arms tight against her chest. "You're wasting your time. I'm going to the menagerie again. You can't stop me."

"I can if it's during your tutorial times."

"You wouldn't."

"I would." When he saw the way Quinn's eyes were betraying her with tears, he sighed. "Come on, Quinn, I don't like getting you upset..."

"Then don't!" she blurted. She was swiping at the corners of her eyes with a frantic urgency, knocking the tears collecting their off their perches. "I want to learn about the animals, Albie. You've known it all along, how much I love them. I want to know everything about them. I want to study them. Didn't you ever want something like that when you were young?"

Albie paused. "I still am young," he muttered after a pause. "I'm only twenty five, Jesus..."

"Old," Quinn decided with a wry grin. She was getting through to him, bit by bit. The trick with Albie was nicking away at his edges day by day, hour after hour, until they were worn smooth to her whims. "Please, Albie. If you come with me, we could consider it science."

His mouth opened once, twice, three times, each blurting silent protests to the idea. Quinn waited. She was patient. When he finally got his voice back, he spluttered, "Did you ever stop to think about asking my opinion on all this?"

Quinn's grin became toothier. Aha. Now she had him.

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