Chapter One: Buster's Big Opening
Reference to the song by the same name.
Okay, so, I'm not guaranteeing a steady release of chapters. This story is very, very rough. So basically, y'all are getting the Beta version on tumblr, and then I'm going to polish it up for Ao3. However, I want to test this out and see how everyone likes it so far, or has any suggestions on how to make it better!
So, for preface, this is a steampunk fantasy set in an alternate version of Europe (particularly England) in the 1890s. Lots of fun with magic, machines and giants, fairies and changelings. I hope you all enjoy this little brainworm I've been cooking up!
Art from This Post
Warnings: Kidnapping
Wordcount: 3.7k
Story below the cut
Chapter One: Buster's Big Opening
The circus had rolled into the village the night before. The entire town had been abuzz since the first rumours had passed through the papers and the whispers under the lamps in the English countryside fogs. Then the posters began to show up. First on telephone poles, and then on storefront windows, and then on the front page of the newspapers too. Each one was printed in black and white, but someone had painstakingly gone in and painted in the red flag at the top of the tent with a quick flick of their wrist. The paper seemed too old to be new, which only added to the rumours.
Then there came the harkers.
Little boys dressed as though they were in photographs came in, the only sign of life being the flush to their skin and a red bowtie around their neck. These boys yelled and called to anyone with ears about the extraordinary acts of the circus. They spoke of mechanical animals glinting like stars and women who could twist themselves into the pretzels they made fresh each night. These little boys were stars among the village. Men took to wearing red ties, and women red scarves or ribbons around their hats. Some of the village urchins took to copying their look and acting like them, swanning around town with red handkerchiefs hastily tied around their necks as though they too could manage to capture some of that raw star power.
You only learned of the circus when you went into the village to collect some goods for the farm. It had taken two buses and a tram, and while you waited for the bus home you spotted a flyer. Normally, you would’ve ignored it. It was just a simple little flyer. And yet, something about it called to you. It felt only right to take it off the board and fold it once, twice, then tucked it into the fold of your jacket.
It wasn't common for big shows to make a stop in your sleepy village. It was so small that it barely registered as a printing smudge on travel maps given out in London down south. It was such a simple and quiet village that you could sleep a week away and wake up thinking only a few hours had passed. It was plain, simple, but perfectly befitting of a few farming families and a humble clergyman to guide them on their ramshackle path to Heaven. You didn't think many of them would make it. Most of them were too stubborn to admit so much as a stain on the front of their shirt. Humility wasn't the bread and butter of the working man. With hard work came pride, and with it high heads and higher expectations. Such was the way of village life.
With a population so small but starkly traditional, it was any wonder that so much as a busker passed through town. And yet, to the amazement of you and many others, the circus had arrived.
When you made your way back home, your grandfather called you to the living room.
“You’ve got something for me, haven’t you?” he asked.
You took the flyer out of your purse and handed it to him.
He looked it over with a speculative eye and a more curious hum. You watched him run his fingers over the little red flag. He curled his fingers back into a tight fist. His lips pulled back and he stroked at his white beard as he leaned back in his rocking chair. He took a puff off his pipe and fixed you with a steady glare.
“I was a manager in a circus once, you know?” he asked you.
You rolled your eyes with a derisive laugh, “I know. You tell me at least once a day. Something about magic being more than just scholarly malarkey, right?”
Your grandfather huffed and puffed his pipe before he said, “Quite the mouth on you.”
“And where do I get it from?” you gave him a cheery smile.
“You'd better not be saying I'm to blame!” your grandpa coughed before he said, “I made a deal to my old ringmaster a long time ago. I can't… I can't say what it is,” he shook his head and sighed, “but if old Zero's right, there's not much I can do.”
“Zero?”
“Old friend from way back when,” your grandpa waved you off flippantly, “but look. You must understand that I do not say this lightly,” he gave you a stern look, “you’re not to go.”
You expected as such.
“You’re going to go anyway, aren’t you?”
You gave him a half smile and nodded.
Your grandfather rolled his eyes and took another draw of tobacco. He let it out in a long stream as he turned to look out the window at the rolling hills of sheep.
“If you go,” he said, “then can you bring something back for me?”
You smirked and leaned on the doorframe, “What are you looking for?”
“The reddest candy apple you can get me,” your granda grinned.
“You’ll be able to eat it with those teeth?” you teased.
Your grandfather sulked, “You’re no fun, are you?”
You sighed and shook your head, “I’ll get you an apple, old man. You won’t go telling any of the others where I went, will you?”
“Not if you go tonight,” your grandpa said as he cleaned his glasses, “I’m under oath, you see.”
You thanked him and left upstairs to your room, where you sat down with a book and read until the first bruise of twilight stained the sky.
You looked out over the fields. It was later than you expected, but early enough to still see where you went if you took your bike down the road.
You left without dinner. You put a clean shawl over your shoulders and left without a sound. You figured that your mother heard but didn’t have the energy to chase after you after a long day in the fields. You took your bicycle from the back of the house and set off into the weeping dusk.
You peddled along the road, your scarf keeping the bite of autumn from your neck but leaving your face bare for a nipping at your nose and cheeks. The crisp winds smelled of the decay of plant matter and the promise of colder nights to come. As you drew closer, the thick, sticky scent of toffee and beckoned you forth. Then, closer still, the smell of hot butter and chocolate. The cold of the dusk released you from its clutches, almost forgotten as you pulled up to the front of the circus.
From outside, you could see the achromatic tents dotting the landscape. A whirling set of red lights came from the right as a machine twisted and twirled, the passengers with their arms stretched above their heads up above in joyous delight. It struck you that from outside, the circus was entirely silent. Not a whimper, not a hiss, nothing came from the circus. Only the whispers of night surrounded you.
You looked at the toll booth then patted your pockets, only to realise that you’d left your purse at home. You were without so much as a penny to your name as you stood at the front. With a frown, you took up your bike and determined to find another way into the fair grounds.
It took you the better part of half an hour, but you managed to find a spot behind a tent and discarded your bike before slipping through the flaps of a quiet tent.
To your delight, the tent seemed entirely empty, more a placeholder than an attraction. From there, ducking out into the fairgrounds was easy enough.
When you stepped in the fair, you heard a soft hiss and a pop in your ear before a slow din rumbling from the edges of your senses. You looked around and the sounds grew in volume as your eyes widened at the sights before you. Lights became brighter, sounds became real; the circus came to life before your very eyes. You looked around in wonder at the magical world you'd stepped into.
Slipping into the crowds was as natural and easy as breathing. In one moment you were an observer, in the next an active participant in the joyous fair. Black and white tents stood between similar stalls that framed the aisles that had been strategically wound through tight spaces. As you walked, there were stalls filled with black and white bears hung up above a ring toss. Beside it, a man with a mask over his lower features moved cups on a black table impossibly fast. His limbs were a blur and just watching him made you feel dizzy.
You walked onwards.
You felt a thrill at your successful assimilation into the average circus goer. Without a ticket, it provided a new sense of excitement to the experience. You looked into the eyes of a woman standing by a game of darts and she locked eyes with you. You felt a chill as she stared you down, then relief as she tore her eyes away to smile at a group of young children begging for a turn.
You figured that you’d come the next day to pay your ticket. It was the right thing to do. But tonight, you could live dangerously, and you could sneak into the circus like a brave little mouse.
It wasn't long before you found a burly man setting out bright red candy apples out along the edge of his stall. He smiled as he handed a young couple a giant mound of candy floss, lit up beneath the strange white glow of the hanging bulbs. It was while he had his back turned that you swiped two of the tastiest looking apples you saw before ducking back into the crowds. You'd pay later, right? That's what you told yourself. Whether that was true or not was yet to be seen.
The big top called to you with promises of mystique. There was something about the silver and white stripes that stood out from the more blocky black and white of the rest of the circus that drew your eyes to it. Above it, a bright crimson red flag flapped in an unfelt wind. A smell of smoke and diesal burning from the heart of the tent brought you closer and closer, until you were finding yourself slipping inside and taking a seat on the stands.
The show had started long ago by the time you made your way inside. You sat beside a large man and his larger wife, their popcorn forgotten on their laps and their jaws gaping as they stared down at the sight below. You realised their expressions mirrored nearly each and every audience member before you turned to see what they were all looking at.
In the center of the stage, a woman in a diamond studded grey dress hovered at least thirty feet above the ground, suspended only by long draping red ribbons. She turned slowly, her slender arms stretching above her head and her fingers splaying wide before they pinched at a ribbon above. Without a word, she slipped out of her silk cocoon and dropped. There was a collective gasp, only held back when the woman effortlessly wound one foot in a ribbon, leaving her face only inches above the dirt.
A lone violinist swayed with the sweet song he played. You could see the conversation between them, lovers torn apart but left to yearn for the other. His song was low, slow, languid in how it hung in the air as the woman hung in the ribbons. With a trill, she rolled back up into the safety of the ribbons and continued her performance.
Only when the woman’s pointed feet touched the ground did the crowd finally clap and cheer for her performance. As though she only just noticed the crowd, she flushed and took the violinists hand before raising it high above both their heads.
They left for the next act, one equally beautiful and stunning accompanied by someone playing a lilting waltz on a calliope organ. But where there was grace and elegance with the ribbons artist, this man was captivating in his strength, dexterity and ease with each knife he threw. You watched as he hit a dartboard thrown up into the air, then another knife into the handle of the first, and a third landed in the second. Effortless expressions of skill from the man behind a black and silver demon mask that only covered up to his nose.
The next act was silly and fun, a pair of clowns joking and playing games as a mechanical bull chased them round and round the ring with big puffs of steam and brazen bellows.
You laughed, you cried, you did everything in between as the circus brought out act after act, each one just as incredible as the last. Not a hair out of place, not a singular note misplayed. It was pure perfection captured under hot stage lights. You clapped joyously as the last act left the stage, only for a man to waltz in with a black cane and a long top hat. He looked up to the crowd with a twinkle in his blue eyes. His mutton chops framed his dazzling smile and he called to the crowd to give one last hurrah for the performers.
You cheered, but the moment you stood you felt the man’s eyes snap to you. His smile still fixed in place, you felt a pure malice radiate from his being as he looked at you.
You slipped out of the tent quickly after that.
Stepping out into the crowds, you cooled your hyperventilating by losing yourself in the crowd once more. You let them draw you in circles around the big top, but each time you felt yourself draw too close, you swore you could feel the man’s eyes on you once more. You could feel his malice, his pure hatred for you. This hatred was personal, and it spoke one truth to you: you did not belong in this circus.
So you stayed away while you could. However, without any coin to pay for games or snacks, you soon found yourself growing more and more alienated from the joy around you.
You stumbled upon a man standing in a crowd. His black mask covered his whole face, save for the bright blue eyes that flickered dangerously around the crowd. He took a small dagger and held it up to the crowd. They booed and he shook his head, also disappointed. He took up a small sword, and the crowd booed again. The man picked up a long sword, and the crowd enthusiastically cheered.
You watched in awe as the man’s mask split at the mouth, and he tilted his head all the way back. He slowly raised the sword up high into the air, then slowly fed it down his throat.
Children turned into their mother’s dresses and their mothers pressed their hands to their face. A group of young men crowed as the swordsman slowly pulled the blade down, down, down until logistically, the blade should have passed right through him. And yet, he pulled it out and then stuck it in the ground beside him, the pummel level with the top of his head.
You left him as he waved the crowd away. You felt his eyes on you as you slipped into the crowd once more.
The next act was that of a dark skinned man standing in front of a set of anvils. He pulled the black straps of his working overalls and called up two men from the crowd to try lifting each anvil, but despite their huffing and puffing, the damn things wouldn’t budge. You watched in awe as the man lifted two, one in each hand, and then threw one into the air, followed by the second and the third as the man juggled the anvils as though they were not but hacky sacks in his hands. The sheer show of strength was impossible to you, and yet the man stood, the metal brace on his torso and legs flexing with each time he took an anvil into his hands.
You turned as he added another and slipped away.
You passed by a petting zoo of silver animals. Somehow, you felt as though the animals could actually breathe and have a heartbeat, and you scurried away as a leopard turned to watch you with a hungry look in its eyes.
You were shoved further and further away from the circus until you found yourself at the very outskirts, just by the tent you had snuck in from. To your amazement, there was a big black tent with a white sign promising strange oddities from across the lands.
You looked over your shoulder before you ducked inside.
The first room held two children connected by their skulls, and the second a man covered from head to toe in hair. By the third room, you realised that the people were either wax or saddened actors who's pain radiated through their acts. They were fakes. You disappointedly walked through each room after that. It seemed strange. The rest of the circus was full of wild wonders and delights, but all you saw here were impressive feats of art and engineering, but nothing that would shock you to your core.
You came across two tent flaps. One claimed to be the exits, while the other claimed to house the most fearsome creature to walk the lands. Something cruel, wicked and violent by nature. The thought was laughable. There were no giants in the cloudlands. They never came up, lest they wreck havoc on the land. Destructive, greedy and proud creatures, there was no chance that a giant truly laid beyond that door.
You rolled your eyes, but wanting to give it a shot, you stepped through the door promising to bring you to the beast named ‘König’.
You sucked in a breath as you looked at the man across from you.
Lit by flickering Edison bulbs, there sat a humongous creature behind iron bars. You stumbled into the room, amazed as you looked up at the man.
He was an incredible creature. His muscles were strapped across his frame as though they were sculpted by an artist. His hairy arms flexed and tensed as he felt you scrutinize his every move, and to your curiosity, it seemed that he shrank under your stare. His lower half was fitted into a poorly fitted pair of pants, but his face was covered in a dark shroud with twin red tear streaks coming from the eyes that saw you.
This was no savage beast, but something else.
There was a startling… Humanity to him. There was an intelligence there that shouldn’t have existed. It felt that, for just a moment, there was no animal in this cage. Only a broken man.
You slowly sat down on the stool across from him.
“Hello?” you tried carefully.
The man’s sloped brows furrowed behind his black hood. Strangely, the red tear tracks painted on it almost seemed to be real.
“Can you understand me?” you tried again.
The creature huffed, “Yes.”
Your eyes widened as you soaked in the meaning of the interaction.
“Are you going to hurt me, or will you stare?”
His voice was higher than you expected, but with an accent that sounded distinctly undercloudian. Almost as though he were raised among humans.
The giant snorted again, “You will stare.”
You felt yourself snap to attention.
“I’m not staring,” you said.
The giant gave you a glare.
You swallowed, “Okay, well, maybe a bit. But it’s just…”
“You’ve never seen one of my kind before?” the giant filled in for you.
You nodded sheepishly.
“Well,” he raised up his arms like an albatross spreading its wings before the sun, “now you have.”
You fiddled your thumbs in your lap meekly. Somehow, this giant had you completely cowed. You almost felt humiliated by his cutting observations.
“I didn’t expect you to talk,” you admitted.
The giant shrugged, “I’m not supposed to.”
“You’re not?” you asked, “then why did you speak to me?”
The giant laughed, a hearty sound from deep in his chest.
“Because, little girl,” he sneered, “you’re not meant to be here.”
You felt the air leave your lungs.
“Anyone working here could see it from a mile away,” the giant continued, “you snuck in. Like a little mouse, hm?”
You squirmed on your seat, suddenly feeling how uncomfortable the wooden stool was.
“Huh. I expected you to talk. Funny how that works,” the giant leaned his chin on his fist.
Your face flushed, “I was going to pay for my ticket tomorrow…”
“You were?” the giant raised a dark brow.
“I was!” you pouted, “I don’t need sass from you! I don’t even know your name!”
The giant tilted his head as though you were stupid, “Did you not read the sign, little mouse?”
You thought for a moment, “The… The sign?”
The giant held up his hands, “First she doesn’t speak, then she doesn’t read,” he sighed, “dumb little mouse.”
“I’m not dumb!” you shot back.
“You’re dumb enough,” the giant said.
“Dumb enough for what?” you sneered, “dumb enough to talk to a giant?”
The giant shook his head.
“No,” he drawled, “you’re not dumb for trying to talk to me. You’re dumb to walk into a trap though.”
Your eyes widened.
You realised you weren’t the only two people in the room.
Slowly, ever so slowly, you turned around to see a tall man holding a pipe. His brown eyes narrowed at you behind his skull mask.
You turned back to the giant in the cage helplessly, but he provided nothing to help you. Instead, he tucked a knee to his broad chest and lay his head on his knee, amused by the entire event.
“By the way,” he told you, “my name is König.”With that, the lights went out.
Konig Dump
AU Masterlist
Steampunk Circus AU
