His eyes swirled black magic… and Sophie fell right in. Like being sucked into a whirlpool and dragged under. The Circus Master’s demonic expression remained fixed as the spell bound tighter and tighter.
Dmitri bustled to the front of the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a volunteer.’ He beckoned with theatrical dynamism. ‘Come on my love. Aren’t you pretty.’ Hand half-hiding his mouth to dramatise the stage whisper. ‘Can see why he picked her!’ Inviting the volunteer forward. ‘Come on my love, leave your bag with a friend and up you pop.’
Sophie friends weren’t present. Lots of faces staring back as her eyes darted around. A smiling, red-haired woman understood and offered to take the bag. Sophie pushed it into her hands and looked back to the stage. The Circus Master had turned to oversee the set-up, but Dmitri was still focused on her.
‘Come on, my love. Don’t be shy. You’re not scared of a few flying knives are you?’ Everybody else found this funny. ‘Get out the way, you lot, give her space to get up here.’
Felt like she was getting drawn through the crowd as it parted before her. Floating along. What had she volunteered for, exactly? Knife-throwing? Obviously she wouldn’t be the one with the apple on her head. Surely? Although what did Dmitri mean about being scared of flying knives? Everyone stared as she flowed past, smiling, clapping, encouraging her forward with pats on the shoulder. Their faces swirling around, expressions glowing, eyes gleaming. Everything glittering… and spinning… and jumping in and out – visually and audibly. Simultaneously hearing the surrounding hubbub and the deafly silence inside herself. Propelled through the throng, everyone’s sweat slicking onto her skin as she brushed past. So much perspiration – a monsoon! Her face soaking wet. The stage was about a meter high, so Dmitri leant down to help her up. His grip was unbelievably strong – could feel the thick muscles in his chunky hand.
‘Hello, my love. What a beautiful jacket!’ He peeled back to run his eyes up her body admiringly. ‘What’s your name, my love?’ Holding out the microphone.
Sophie gulped back a croak, before composing herself. ‘Sophie.’
Dmitri grabbed her hand once more, raising it so their arms formed an arch. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause… for Sophie.’ He turned back to her. ‘Thanks for being so brave, Sophie.’
Pulling the bemused volunteer around as he swung towards the other performers. The Circus Master was gesturing for the giant to manoeuvre the big wheel a few paces to the right. It was clearly one of those wheels the knife-thrower’s assistant gets tied to. A lioness will look good pinned to that. What was Sophie supposed to do? Maybe she’d hand him his knives?
The Circus Master turned, catching the volunteer in his sights. His posture shifted: head dropping, brow sharpening, shoulders angling forward. The body language of a predator, in the moment before moving in… on cornered prey. Sophie’s heart wobbled. Body swaying on melted-plastic knees. He held eye-contact as he advanced… drawing to loom over her. She stared back up at him. Wonder what he looked like under the war-paint? Or was it blood? Or maybe that was his real skin? He raised his hand to pinch a tuft of her feathered jacket between his fingers. He wore a thick, metal ring, inscribed with runes: an ‘M’ and a backwards ‘C’. It looked charred, as if it’d been burned. He nodded his head slowly and leant in. His warm breath smelled like dragon-fire. Only Sophie could hear what he whispered.
‘Little Bird.’
He emphasised the statement with his eyes, brushing his finger under her chin as he turned away. Dmitri handed the little bird off to one of the lionesses. The feline acrobat’s big smile glittering under her golden hair. Her hands were absurdly strong, as well. Like being clamped in a vice as she led the dazed volunteer towards the wheel. The lioness had a small tattoo on the top of her perfect buttock. Sophie had noticed it before, but was now close enough to see it clearly. The letters ‘CM’ scalded into her flesh. A brand!
The second lioness drew up to seize hold of the volunteer’s other hand. Another solid, steely grip. The wheel was positioned towards the back of the stage, right of centre and facing diagonally out towards the crowd. They drew to a halt before it. The lionesses maintained their hand-holds, so Sophie turned on the spot as they swapped positions. She was now facing out… with her back to the wheel. Hang on a second! They don’t put volunteers on the wheel. Professional performers go there – one of the lionesses, surely? Surely!
Their impossibly strong hands dragged Sophie backwards, manoeuvring her onto a step and pressing her against the big, wooden disc. Oh shit! Both arms pulled diagonally up in the air as the lionesses stepped onto a raised platform behind. There were four wooden stakes protruding from the wheel – one for each limb. Sophie was to be suspended in an X-shape. No! Wait! She didn’t agree to this… did she? She struggled to resist, but the lionesses’ manoeuvred her firmly, placing a stake in each hand and closing her fingers to hold on. Oh shit! Maybe she should say something? The shackles clamped around her wrists simultaneously – cold, steel cuffs biting as they locked. Cuffs?! Oh shit, shit, shit! The lionesses moved to position the volunteer’s lower limbs. They were going to splay her open! Sophie clamped her legs together, but Dmitri’s playful voice intervened from across the stage.
‘Sophie, my love… open your legs for the Circus Master. There’s a good girl.’
Amusement tittered through the crowd. Sophie blushed as a lioness prized her open and placed her left foot to stand on the stake. The wheel must’ve been locked in position, because it didn’t move as the manoeuvre was repeated on the right. Manacles emerged from behind the great disc, chains pulling taut as Sophie’s legs were cuffed in place. Holy shit! Four tight metal shackles chained her to the wheel. This was fucked up! And what about her dress falling down?! One of the lionesses brandished a safety pin in the volunteer’s face, before using it to clip her dress shut. The other feline leapt onto the platform, behind, and positioned a balloon above Sophie’s head. That couldn’t be the target? It was touching her! Could sense the electricity as her hair frizzed up to embrace the rubber. Oh shit, shit, shit!
Although surely he wouldn’t be throwing real knives. This must be a magic trick – an illusion. The wheel was probably designed so a knife flicks out from the wood and bursts the balloon. He must just pretend to throw it – some kind of optical illusion that appears convincing to the audience. Surely? Dmitri was hamming it up in an excitable drum-roll of a voice.
‘And now… ladies and gentlemen… we bring you… Sophie the Brave… and the amazing… the incredible… the magnificent… Circus Master!’
The audience roared as the lionesses paraded around brandishing long, macabre machetes. They were huge! Aren’t throwing knives supposed to be small? Light sliced off the blades as dozens of cameras flashed. From the volunteer’s perspective, the raucous crowd made one vast silhouette, heaving beneath a fire-tinted mist of smoke. The Circus Master seized Sophie’s eyes and held them as he approached. Could see the enamel of his teeth glinting behind the lips. Felt like the wheel had already started to spin, churning the butterflies around inside her belly. But actually, it was still. He loomed tall, even with her strung up. Raising his hands to chalice the hourglass of her waist. His touch: powerful, but gentle. Squeezing slightly to mould her shape as he leant in to whisper once more.
‘Don’t move your head, Little Bird. Keep your eyes on me.’
Deep, dark, honey-velvet voice. Sophie was immediately aware she couldn’t move her head. The magic locked her neck rigid. Nor could she take her eyes off the Circus Master – totally transfixed. His wink wasn’t playful – it was slow and sinister. He turned and strode over to where the lionesses waited with his knives… and a large glass of red wine. Dmitri was still hyping it up – goading the baying mob towards feeding frenzy. The Circus Master drank half the glass in one go, letting the wine overflow so it drenched down his white chin.
‘Oh, do you think you should, Master… after last time?’ Dmitri turned to the chortling crowd, running a finger over his throat with a comic roll of the eyes.
The Circus Master downed the rest of his wine. Obviously, it couldn’t be real wine… and he wouldn’t really be throwing knives, anyway. Surely? He handed the glass to one of the lionesses, whilst the other assisted in removing his jacket. Sophie noticed both lionesses were branded. The Circus Master’s strong, hard, lean body was slick with perspiration. Layers of interlocking muscle chiselling a perfect symmetry of shaded grooves across his torso. The pronounced diagonals running above his haunches arrowed to point below the waistline. Could see the outline of his dick snaking below tight leather. Sophie’s lust swooned into the confusing swirl of emotions… inside and out. One of the lionesses slunk over and slipped behind the wheel. A mechanical clunk as something unlocked.