She spoke in a soft calm voice: “I am Ursalina, born of woman and animal. Fret not and fear not,” she said to the females who remained clutching to their menfolk as if the winds of freakish maldeavor might blow them from the tent. “Proud I am to have been born between worlds. Proud I am to see through eyes as much beast as human, for I see twice as much and twice as far.” She put her blonde-haired hands upon her hips and gazed back and forth across the watchers, and off to the left of the stage the boy in the purple hooded robe stood watching just as entranced by the force the young girl was exercising upon those present. “You may think me repugnant,” she told them. “You may think me cursed of God, but this I say unto you: as God works in mysterious ways, so God has created me just as yourselves and your children are created by the divine will. Shall we question that will, in any of the people you have seen and are yet to see?” She paused to let that linger; Adam knew this must be a speech from Saulsbury’s script, but the girl delivered it as if truly from the heart, as mayhap it was.

  “I am Ursalina,” she repeated. Her chin was lifted, her dark eyes shining in the lamplight. “Not cursed,” she said. “Blessed, by the will of God.” And so saying, she gathered her coat around herself once more, and walked offstage just as Jolly jumped back upon it to make his foolish and frantic merriment.

  The show went on.

  When the last of the audience had departed and the lamps were turned low to save the oil, Saulsbury looked down upon Adam from his perch atop the shoulders of Prometheus.

  “You did well,” said the little master gardener. “A bit rough at the beginning, but all rough stones must be polished before they shine. But hear me, young man: you are well-suited to the role. The gallery thought so, the other entertainers did, and I also. How do you feel?”

  Powerful, Adam wanted to say. But instead he gave a noncommittal shrug. “All right, I suppose.”

  “You will do me the favor of acting as Dominus for one more show?”

  The Black Crow’s son looked into Saulsbury’s small and intelligent eyes. No words were needed.

  Thus Adam’s wagon was repaired and Mavis was ready to travel, but neither took to the road except as part of the travelling caravan.

  October’s rain became November’s frost, then December’s snow. Adam turned fifteen on the eve of a show in the port town of Fleetwood. For a time he had told himself that he truly was still on his way to his aunt’s house in Leeds, but that time also passed. Saulsbury’s Garden Of Delights And Pleasures trouped onward from town to town where the labors were hard and dangerous, the pay low, and the entertainments few and far between; thus people flocked to spend their two shillings on sights both bizarre and at the same time comforting, for they could go home and—as Saulsbury said—breathe a sigh of relief at their own reflections in a looking-glass.

  Not all towns welcomed the bizarre. Though the townspeople might crave such, sometimes the local vicar and the sheriff arrived—often with a contingent of stiff-backed ladies urging on their heroes of upright morality—to put an end to the show even before Dominus had finished his initial application of mysterious marmalade on the evening’s bread. But, as Saulsbury also said, the show must go on and there were many towns where the vicar might be raising holy hell at such affronts to the senses of right and wrong but the local officer of the law was in the audience fresh from his nightly pint at his favorite tavern.

  And so … the further passage of time.

  Adam Black had found a place where he was important. Indeed … powerful. The Crocodile Man might still give him the shudders, though Mr. Karanik could spin very interesting tales of witchcraft and hauntings in his native country once you could understand what he was saying, but Adam found he was a valued member of a family. His performances as Dominus became more intense and sinister, even as Adam grew more relaxed and happy, for that was what the audience expected and what they paid for: a chill in the air, a fright kept at arm’s-length, a painting in the imagination done of strange and perhaps even darkly touched doings that promised to hold them for two hours yet freed them at the end as deftly as Jolly could juggle a trio of horseshoes.

  Yet there was one element in this particular panorama that began to disturb the Black Crow’s son, if disturb might be the proper description.

  He was beginning to feel an attraction to the very pretty seventeen-year-old Susan Yarrow, who by the dint of her physical condition was called “Ursalina”.

  Twenty-two

  When did it begin?

  He suspected it had begun at the very first, when Susan had walked out upon the stage on the initial evening of the birth of Dominus and displayed her body to the audience. From that time on she was never far from his thoughts, and he reasoned also that she might think of him as well for the mere fact that she took flight like a wild deer whenever he approached and began having her meals in the caravan wagon she shared with Lady Indigo.

  But the situation disturbed the Black Crow’s son. He knew nothing of girls, indeed had been laughed at and shunned by them at school, and being of the vicar’s blood set him further apart. Therefore he was disturbed because he felt he had come to a crossroads at which no signpost stood, yet he must go in one direction or another … so which?

  Disturbing also—yet exciting, in the excitement a boy felt in such a condition—was the fact that however one might describe Saulsbury’s garden, this particular flower was a beautiful freak. And yes, he dared to think the word. Freak. As they all might be, himself included in that cast, but her freakishness attracted him … indeed, set him aflame thinking of her at night, and very careful he had to be on the sheets that covered his cot in the little gardener’s wagon.

  Things might have remained as they had been from October through December, but for the incident at the show presented in the copper mining town of North Molton. At that performance on a cold wintry night, as soon as Ursalina took the stage the tent was invaded by a troupe of women blowing horns and a black-clad vicar furiously waving his Bible as if it were the flaming sword of judgment. Evidently the vicar had been successful in bringing along some of the male members of his church as well, and when that bunch came in hollering Bible verses and beating drums they were set upon by the roughneck miners who did not appreciate the interruption of their entertainments. In a moment the place became a chaos of flying fists and bodies, and as Susan was frozen upon the stage in this tumult both Adam and Saulsbury rushed out to shield her from injury, followed closely by Jolly and Prometheus.

  It was then that the young girl chose to use as her shield the Black Crow’s son. She got behind him and pressed herself against his back, peering over his left shoulder as the commotion progressed into further violence that involved the use of the audience’s benches as battering-rams against flesh and bone.

  “Away! Away!” Saulsbury cried out, and neither Dominus nor Ursalina needed any further stage management. Off they went, missing the event a few moments later when the Crocodile Man crawled into the tent and, thrashing about under the heavy boots, caused an instant cessation of all enmities and rages due to the fact that the fighters ran over each other in their haste to get out.

  “Are you all right?” Adam asked the girl.

  “Yes,” she answered, the soft brown eyes wide in the blonde-haired face. “Are you?”

  And that, perhaps, was the real beginning.

  From that time on, she no longer avoided him. In fact, she was nearly always where he was. She spoke to him—good morning, good evening—in her quiet Susan Yarrow voice, far different from the dark-toned but defiant vocals of Ursalina, and he returned the favor far from his Dominus voice. He heard her laugh at Jolly’s antics as the clown—tipsy, it was true—practiced a new pratfall; he watched her walking at the edge of a snowy forest and wondered if he approached her, just the two of them alone, might she take fright and bolt like the wild half-animal as she presented herself to the audience. Quite by accident he came upon Lydia Perigold brushing the shining blonde hair that covered the girl’s back—a forest of its own—and he retreated with his eyes cast down like a true gentleman. Burning, yes, but cast down.

  It was her aroma that roused and intrigued him, he realized. He had never gotten her aroma out of his nostrils and out of the robe where she’d pressed herself against his back that chaotic night in North Molton. It was both a sweet feminine aroma and the more musky scent of an animal. Her essence clung to him as she had upon the stage and put further flame to both his curiosity and his desire. Thus it was that as the year progressed and the Black Crow’s son took his position of Dominus as a way of life, April slipped into May and he found himself walking with the girl wherever the caravan had stopped its travels. Of course they walked either across meadows or through woods, as they both wished to avoid the villages. They talked of their past lives, their experiences with the world—neither had very much—and in time her furred hand found his long fingers, and he accepted the touch.

  Did he ever think of his mother and father, and of continuing his long-delayed journey to Aunt Sarah’s house in Leeds? Of his mother, yes, with concern about what might have happened when it was discovered how she’d helped him escape their so-called justice; of his father, very little except to fear again for his mother caught in the storm of the Black Crow’s anger. And of Leeds: one day, but not today.

  For today, this sunny afternoon in the middle of May while the caravan was halted on the outskirts of the village of Whitby on the North York moors, Adam and Susan on their walk across the rolling purple-flowered hills saw perhaps a half-mile away the leaning roof of a long-abandoned barn, and both knew without speaking.

  Doves stirred and cooed in the rafters. The leavings of a farmer’s hay were dry underfoot, and dry under body.

  “I’ve never been kissed,” she said. And then, hesitantly: “Would you kiss me?”

  He would, and he did.

  The moment had arrived. It had been approaching in their lingering glances, their walks, and their touches of hand. It might never have happened under the watchful eyes of Ambrose Saulsbury but the dwarf was not here, and thus the moment offered itself as Susan opened her arms to draw Adam in.

  There was much nervous fumbling, much unbuttoning and unwrapping until the long pale body and the blonde-furred one were intertwined, and even so the girl was hesitant about revealing her breasts, which were small mounds of curly hair with the nipples peeking shyly out. But that was only another moment and that moment passed, and so the Black Crow’s son pushed himself into the willing Ursalina, and as it was both their first experience it was a short duration, after which the girl wrapped herself around him and he lay back in the straw with his heart still beating hard and his eyes—blurred in the aftermath of desire—watching the doves flutter back and forth in the rafters above.

  They both knew this was strictly a private thing, if it was to be continued at some future opportunity. No breath of passion for each other should reach the ears of any member of the travelling garden, for the master gardener would make certain they were never again alone. As time went on, May moving into June and then July, they did enjoy several more walks that led to a secluded glade or an abandoned house or empty barn, and if Saulsbury or any of the others suspected anything it never reached the point of revelation.

  And then, after an evening performance in mid-August at the village of Chesham, twenty-five miles northwest of London, Adam came out of the show tent clad in his Dominus costume and was confronted by a figure that stepped into his way out of the deeper dark.

  “Pardon me,” spoke a man in as refined an accent as Adam had ever heard. “May I have a word?”

  Smoke curled from a fist-sized black clay pipe in the man’s mouth. In the glow from a nearby hanging lantern Adam could make out a chiselled, strong-jawed face below a tan-colored tricorn, the man’s clothing being of the same color. The copious ruffles of his white shirt were edged with pale blue. Fifty or so in age, Adam thought, and shoulder-length gray hair.

  “I was entertained,” said the man before Adam could respond. “Do you have a name other than Dominus?”

  “It’s time for my supper,” Adam responded. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show, but if you’ll excuse me, I—”

  “My name is Gavin Flay. I live in London.” A fragrant puff of smoke wafted into the air. “I am passing through on business, and I happened to see one of your broadsides. It was quite worth the shillings, I must say.”

  “Again, sir, I appreciate the compliment. Now, if you’ll—”

  “Have you ever been to London, young man?”

  “What? No, I haven’t. Sir, the show is concluded.”

  “I don’t think so.” The man gave a slight and very refined laugh. “I think that for you … the show may be just beginning. How old are you?”

  Why do you ask? was Adam’s mental response. But his verbal was: “Fifteen years.”

  “Ah! Very tall for your age. I would’ve guessed you as approaching eighteen. But fifteen … actually, all the better.”

  “All the better for what?”

  “My interests.” Flay pulled on the pipe and released another small cloud that drifted past Adam’s face. “I pay well and the experience is invaluable. You are the type that appeals to me and to my concerns.”

  “What type would that be, sir?”

  Flay leaned slightly forward, his gray eyes catching cinders of light. “Different,” he said quietly. “Markedly so, in your—may I say—physical attributes. Yes, fifteen years would be all the better. May I ask, are your parents hereabouts?”

  “I am on my own, sir, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please allow me to pass, as my supper is waiting.”

  “Oh, of course. But here, do take this.” From a pocket the man presented a small card and pushed it into Adam’s hand. “My London address. When the appeal of this show palls on the young man, as it will in time, recall this moment. In the meantime, keep my card and consider at some point a visit to London. I can promise you a very interesting ex—”

  “Who is this gentleman, Adam?” There was a chill in the voice, and certainly in the air. Lady Indigo had just come up behind the boy. She put a blue-tinged hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Is there some business being conducted here?”

  “No business, madam,” said Flay, with a slight respectful bow of the head. “Simply an introduction.” He put a finger to the brim of his tricorn. “I shall say goodnight … Adam … and wish your very fascinating show good fortune.” With that, he turned away and began walking toward the carriage he had likely rented in the village.

  “What was that about?” the lady asked when Flay was out of earshot.

  “Nothing, as far as I can figure.”

  “Hm. Well, it suits one to beware the person who comes up upon you when the show is concluded. It doesn’t happen very often, but … just beware.”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? We hold an appeal for a certain type of person who wishes more than a show. Further than that, my sensibilities prevent me from saying. Come along now, supper’s getting cold.”

  Adam nodded and followed the blue lady to the cook’s wagon, but his fingers had already deposited Gavin Flay’s business card into a pocket of his breeches beneath the robe of Dominus, not for any intent to follow the man’s strange invitation, but simply as a mark of curiosity to regard the address under the proper light. He intended to discard the item as of no consequence.

  But he did not.

  One Thirty-Three Hightower Lane, the address was. The name: Gavin Archibald Flay, and the manner of business Fine Leather Goods.

  For you the show may be just beginning, the man had said. Meaning what?

  He put it aside, and on went the shows he was accustomed to, and the sinister performances of Dominus.

  Came a morning in late August, the caravan having rolled its way upon a field at the edge of the tin-mining town of Choptom, and when all was settled Susan took his hand and they went walking. The sun was warm but the day not yet hot, and at their feet yellow butterflies flittered back and forth across the grass. A crow cawed in a tree, another answered, and holding Adam’s hand the girl quietly asked: “Do you love me?”

  The question nearly caused him to stagger, but he kept up the easy pace and also the easy half-smile he had been wearing as easily now as he wore the robe of Dominus. “Yes,” he said, but his heart was empty. Did he even know what love was, and how one was supposed to feel? “Yes,” he said again, as if fearful she hadn’t heard it but actually fearful the first affirmation had come strangled from a crimped throat.

  They walked on a while longer, the blonde-furred figure pressed against the one elongated and staring at the earth as if each footstep might sink him deeper into a mire.

  “I am going to have your baby,” Susan said at last.

  He gave a great intake of breath that she took as the same excitement and exhilaration she felt, and she rushed on: “It will be wonderful, Adam. We needn’t stay with the show. I have money saved. Oh Adam, my Adam! And now a new life, made from each of us! What a miracle that is!”

  He stopped and looked into her face. At the thousands of fine hairs that adorned her cheeks, her forehead, around her eyes, on the chin and at the jawline that she now allowed him to clip with the shears, at the fur around her mouth and the boiling curls of it that grew from her throat and down her neck into the bodice of her tattersall dress. She looked up at him with her soft brown eyes, loving and hopeful, and at that moment the Black Crow’s son felt within himself the coldness of an immovable stone.

  “Are you sure?” he managed to ask.

  “Yes! Certain! Oh Adam, think of it! Our lives forever twined, and our baby with us!” She squeezed both his hands nearly to the point of giving him pain. Her eyes glowed with joy, taking his silence as stupefied surprise, which it was … along with less noble emotions. “I have always dreamed—” she began, and then abruptly stopped because tears had suddenly clouded the glow. “Always dreamed,” she continued, with an obvious effort, “of … a normal life. Of love. A family. A cottage. A home for both of us, and our child. I have money … enough to get us started.”

 

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