Chapter 25

Opening Night

Sylvie clung to the edge of the tent, wondering if she might sick up on her hooves. Inside the tent, she could hear the steady roar of the packed crowd Nightshade had somehow made appear magically inside. She could have sworn that the entire town could have fit in the tent without filling it, but somehow it was already packed to the ceiling with cheering, chatty spectators. The sheer number of faces was not helping boost her confidence-not that she had any to begin with. As the crowd rumbled expectantly for the opening act, the sour feeling in her stomachs intensified. What if she screwed this up? What if she went out there and made a huge fool of herself in front of everyone? She thought of what Nightshade might do to her if that happened, then she thought of what he might do to Taryn. Ever since they had their "walk" that morning, Taryn had been acting…different. She had been more quiet and reserved than she normally had been. Ever since "Iron Bitch", as Sylvie called her privately, had started their lessons, Taryn had been trying to keep their spirits up. Even when Sylvie staggered into the mess tent foaming and bleeding, Taryn had cleaned her up and even made her smile and giggle at some inane comment. The fact that Nightshade was getting to Taryn now made her blood boil. Speaking of blood boiling…

Not twenty feet away stood Nightshade himself, done up in his fanciest ringmaster uniform. The thing was the deepest midnight hue, with polished brass buttons that gleamed like mini-suns on his lapels. His tall top hat sat tall and sleek on top of his head. His freshly oiled beard gleamed in the dimmed light of backstage. He appeared to be watching the crowd, judging them to see when his appearance would have the maximum affect. Once their attention was riveted to him, Nightshade would introduce the acts one at a time. Sylvie already knew her place in the lineup, five acts down. First would be the acrobats, to awe the crowd, then came the Iron Bitch and her animal acts, then a juggling act, then her with her Western cow-poke rodeo act, then a clown act, a couple of oddity acts, then once again with a parade for the final curtain. Yippee.

Sylvie readjusted the outfit that Nightshade had made her wear self-consciously. As outfits went, she admitted, this one was not all that bad. Done up in what she suspected was genuine buckskin; the shirt looked like it had come off of Wild Bill, complete with the rows of fringe. There were, of course, no pants but the ten gallon cowboy hat that she was wearing had an appropriately battered appearance, yet still seemed new to her. On her back was slung a soft rifle holster that housed the fake rifle she had been given. It seemed real enough, and could fire blanks to simulate the gun firing. A small laser emitter on it would point towards hidden charges throughout the arena that would explode, simulating the bullets striking objects. It sounded very complicated to Sylvie-not to mention expensive, which made her wonder again why a rich guy like Nightshade was messing around with the show-but she recognized the security behind it. And, to ensure her complete cooperation, Nightshade had Taryn somewhere in the back with John. The thought of Taryn stuck with that killer somewhere made Sylvie sick to her stomach. She took a breath to steady her nerves and waited for the start of the show.

Apparently deciding that the crowd was ripe, Nightshade abruptly strode towards the center of the arena. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the overwhelming roar faded to a quiet din. All eyes were on him as he took his place on the Ringmaster's Stand. He raised his arms with a slight flourish, and the din disappeared as the crowd waited expectantly. With the crowd's attention on him, Nightshade seemed to grow and expand. He loved the attention, Sylvie realized. He craved it.

"Sua atenção, por favor!" Nightshade called out. Sylvie immediately blanked. She didn't recognize the language he was speaking at all. It didn't sound like any of the Spanish she had picked up in school, not even from the kids. What the hell…?

Some of the confusion must have been evident on her face, because one of the acrobats leaned in close to her ear. "He's speaking Portuguese. That's the language they speak down here, mixed with a little Spanish and Native tongues."

Portuguese! What the heck? Sylvie was completely bewildered. She knew they had traveled a great deal south, but she thought they were still in the border of Mexico, or somewhere in that area. She vaguely remembered something about heading towards South America, but she hadn't thought that they had made it that far!

Nightshade gestured grandly to her, and she started. What the hell? Suddenly the acrobats tumbled around her and began twisting, twirling, springing into handstands and twisting into positions that she hadn't thought possible. She realized that Nightshade had called them into the arena. Sweat began to pool at her brow, smudging the carefully applied makeup that had been slathered on her face earlier. How am I going to understand when he calls me in? The thought nudged at the back of her brain, as well as the fear that Nightshade would hurt Taryn if she didn't come in when he wanted. Determination to prevent her friend any more pain then necessary filled her. I won't let you get hurt for my mistakes. She promised Taryn.

The acrobats had ascended the poles and were swinging on the trapeze lines, aweing the crowd with their risky stunts and feats of strength. One of the female athletes, hanging on to her partner's wrists, let go at the edge of their arc and somersaulted through the air. Sylvie's heart was in her throat as she watched the girl soar effortlessly only to be caught by her other partner at the other side. The crowd let out a collective gasp of amazement, as did Sylvie. That was amazing! The acrobats continued to astound while Nightshade gestured off to the side. A pack of dogs suddenly raced into the ring, yipping and barking up a storm. Nightshade pretended to look surprised, while a gaggle of clowns ran behind, trying to round them up. First one almost caught up to a dog, only to trip on his oversize shoes and fall down. Another clown bounced around, excited that he caught a small dog, until he promptly dropped it in surprise when it growled at him.

"Enough!" called a voice from the side wings. The Iron Bitch strode into the center of the ring, dressed in rough-looking clothes straight from an Indiana Jones cliché. She cracked her whip once, and all the dogs immediately raced to form up into a circle around her. "Good boys!" she smiled. Tossing treats at them, she fed the ones that had obeyed particularly fast. Then she twirled her fingers, and the dogs jumped on each other's backs, big dogs on bottom, medium in the middle and the smallest at the top of the canine pyramid. Sylvie was impressed at the degree of training that had to have gone into that simple act.

A roar from the wings snapped everyone's attention away from the dogs. A massive lion strode into the ring, his enormous mane encircling his tawny hide like a giant crown. He opened his mouth and bellowed again, shaking the whole tent. More than a few people screamed. The Iron Bitch simply smiled and strode for the lion, shaking her whip. The great cat stared at her, his fierce yellow eyes glaring at this puny creature that dared approach it. Sylvie held her breath. Was this woman totally insane?! She was practically daring the lion to eat her. A tiny part of her cheered the lion on, wanting the woman that had tortured her night and day to suffer. Most of her wanted to shout out a warning, however. The lion opened its mouth to roar again, and Halls stepped forward again. "Silence!" She barked in that no-nonsense tone she used on Sylvie. The lion stopped in mid-roar and stared at her. Sylvie found herself trembling, she wanted to obey, and she was only standing! If there was one thing that Halls had, it was a dominating presence.

"Sit!" She barked. The lion immediately sat on its haunches, looking forlorn.

"Good boy!" She cheered softly. She came up to him and began scratching behind his mane. The lion purred and leaned in. The audience went wild and began clapping enthusiastically. Halls flushed with pleasure and took a bow, before walking out with the lion at her side.

After the dangerous performance with the lion, the crowd barely paid attention to the jugglers as they lofted bowling pins in complicated patterns. While they were juggling, the stage crew was moving around in the dim lighting outside, setting up for her performance. They placed barrels at various points, setting up for her run. On top they placed a variety of bottles, watermelons and other targets, already rigged for her act. The last stage hand raced off the arena just as the jugglers finished. Now it was her turn.

Sylvie breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse as Nightshade gestured towards her. Sylvie pictured Taryn, counting on her, and stepped forward. A hush ran through the crowd as the first viewers caught sight of her. It quickly spread in a stunned silence as faces showed disbelief at her. She moved smoothly to the starting line, getting ready for Nightshade's signal. She pawed the ground slightly, and settled. Focus. I can do this. The course is right there; Taryn is counting on me. Clutching on to the last thought, she waited. Nightshade dramatically raised his arm, and then dropped it.

Sylvie lunged from the line like a racehorse coming out of the gate. She raced around the first barrel with only a slight course correction. She raced to the next barrel, and raced around it, getting as close as she could. She swore she could feel the lid of the barrel bump her arm, but didn't let it slow her as she raced ahead. As she reached the main turn, she unslung her rifle while she was running. As she came around the turn, she slammed on the brakes, tearing furrows in the ground. She swung the rifle a little clumsily to her shoulder, thanking all the drills that Halls had run her through. She smoothly pulled the trigger at the first target, making the gun smoke and the glass bottle to shatter. The crowd 'oohed' as they watched. She aimed at the next few targets, and they exploded one at a time. Re-holstering her rifle, she launched herself forward. Already, her legs were screaming from the abuse she was putting on them, and her lungs were already heaving. She tried to calm her breathing as she raced for the final barrel, trying to keep from hyperventilating. Coming abreast of the barrel, she leaned into the turn, coming within a hairsbreadth of the barrel, but not touching. She was acutely aware of her spatial coordination. While she couldn't see the barrel, she knew exactly where it was, and how close she was to hitting it. It was an amazing feeling, and one that she found hard to describe, even to herself. Coming out of the turn now, she raced for the finish line. She was in the clear, the race had been run to Nightshade's expectation, and, if Taryn was right, more than a few cameras had captured her and uploaded her performance to the web. Her image would get them rescued, regardless of Nightshade's wishes. As she came across the finish line, the smile on her face was absolutely genuine as she made a victory lap around the arena.