Firetale Read Free

strawberries. A smattering of applause
followed.
    “ Mr. Berry, let’s convince the
audience that you didn’t put the berries there in advance,” Greg
said. “Check your pockets one more time.” The man with glasses did
as Greg asked. This time he pulled out raspberries. The applause
was louder.
    “ Please, Mr. Berry, don’t
stop.”
    Berry put hands in his pockets
several times, and each time he took out some
berries ,
which he gave away. He looked a little woozy. He was obviously not
used to being in the spotlight. He became distraught, his face
paled, and his movements became awkward. The children and adults
were happy about the free berries, and Greg forced Berry to check
his pockets until everyone had some.
    “ Perhaps that’s enough,” Greg
said at last. “Let’s not misuse Mr. Berry’s time, because I
promised the trick would be short. In fact, Mr. Berry, I want to
pay you for this inconvenience.” Greg held up his hand, put it over
the man’s balding head and over his left ear, and showed the crowd
and Mr. Berry a five-dollar bill, clenched in his fist. “For your
pains, Mr. Berry.”
    Mr. Berry hesitated a moment, and then
hurried away, followed by the envious glances of the crowd. Greg
took his leave and went to his trailer. Now he could take his time
and wait until everyone else in the circus fell asleep. He would
have a few hours before morning, when they would start to
disassemble the main tent and load the cages. The trick with the
banknote had gone smoothly. Berry was so confused and scared that
he had not noticed Greg plucking a hair from his head. The hair was
a bit short, but it would be enough.
    Greg crossed the backyard and walked past the
brothers Blanche and Black, who barely paid any attention to him.
He hoped Martha was in a pad room brushing up after the
performance, so he would be able to stay in the trailer alone. He
was lucky. There was no one there. At the rear of the trailer was a
chest that contained supplies for tricks. The chest was small
because Greg relied more on his inner magic, his instincts, the
fire in his blood. Normal magicians only pretended they had magic,
and their tricks were carefully planned stunts, the execution of
which required a ton of stage props, boxes, mirrors, barrels,
mechanisms of all kinds, and mechanisms masking mechanisms. In
other traveling circuses, illusionists needed more space for
rehearsals and a truck to carry all their equipment. That was not
necessary for Greg. His magic was real, even though he did not
fully understand how he was able to manipulate it. Because of his
abilities, Lazarus Bernardius had picked Greg off the streets and
found a new home for him among the circus freaks and renegades.
Greg quickly realized that everything in this circus that seemed
like an illusion or like expensive makeup to fool the audience was
real. These monsters and whackos were real. Lazarus crisscrossed
the country to find them and give them shelter. To be called a real
circus, Bernardius needed only a magician.
    Or a real mage. Lazarus
insisted that
Greg not use magic outside the circus and forbade him from harming
anyone. Greg had agreed, although the prohibition annoyed him. What
was the sense of fire magic if it couldn’t be used for real
benefit? It was like having a million dollars and not daring to
spend a dime. Greg had obeyed at first, but eventually he learned
to circumvent the ban. He did not try to negotiate with Bernardius.
The craggy old man wouldn’t have approved killing people. His
philosophy was that the circus inhabitants should communicate with
ordinary people as little as possible. They should mix with normals
only to buy food, sell tickets, repair cars, and find out if they
had heard about any strange things in their
neighborhoods.
    Greg pulled an oiled bag out of
the chest. There were black candles in the bag, each one as thick
as a grown man ’s forearm. In the dim light of the trailer, the candles
gleamed strangely, as if made