There he was, the carny from before, the doppelganger of the ringmaster, yet with the same defining differences, the same compromising characteristics that the old animal tamer had that set him apart. With stubble shading his chin, his muscles more worked and defined, and licks from his experience with the circus creatures, the ringmaster seemed more a twin than a reflection. Yet the tamer matched perfectly the image of the man from before, or at least his image prior to having been whipped and left whimpering before me. And strangely enough, looking also as he must have before gaining the nasty scar from the lion’s claw. I remembered him defeated, half his face disfigured and bloodied. Yet now he stood before me, unscathed by maiming claws or brutal whip.

     “I’m sorry, gent, but I believe you’ve been mistaken. I’m in no harm,” the animal tamer reassured. I stared back at him in bewilderment.

     Finally, I asked him: “You must be another animal tamer. Could I meet with one of your partners? The one that tames the lion?”

     He gazed off for a minute, as if I was talking nonsense, then replied, “I’m sorry, but no one tames the lion anymore. It is hard to teach a beast who is beyond the grave. He died out of the blue but a few hours ago. The reasoning is still unknown. In fact, we believe someone from the crowd might have snuck in and poisoned him.” The animal tamer then turned an accusing eye on me, and I felt the tables turn on the interrogation. Yet I would not stand for it, and I continued with my dignity (and my temper) welling and sizing me up for the challenge.

     “Where is the tamer whom the lion had attacked? The one with the slash down his face and a missing eye?” I demanded. The half of the circus troupe, done with their acts, who had managed to find their master and escape the commotion of the ongoing show, had stopped to observe us. It felt very much as if I was on trial, and they were the jury. Yet I knew in fact I was only a witness, and it was the ringmaster who was at fault.

     The ringmaster assured me that all the animal tamers were present, and none of them were victims to an attack, from him nor any of their professionally tamed animals. I counted their faces (all mirrored in appearance) and realized with dismay it was the same amount as had been in the ring when the troupe had introduced itself during the previous show, no more and no less. It would have been impossible for the ringmaster to have found another doppelganger and shown him the ropes in such a short amount of time. Even I began to believe I had imagined the whole thing, and that perhaps the animal tamer from before was standing in front of me, unhurt and unaware of his master’s cruelty. Nevertheless, I had seen him strangle the juggler, and the performer was still propped against the pole, wheezing and overwrought.

     “This circus must be shut down! You’re a fiend and belong in a jail cell rather than in the ring!” I spat. The ringmaster threw aside his veil of innocence. He knew he could not convince me to turn my face on his crimes again, not when one of his victims remained within view. While I shook with fear, and my mind scolded me for being foolish, my soul was set. I would not let him continue his atrocious performances behind the scenes. The top hatted man took a step towards me, his thin mustache almost curling with anger, and my face grew pale. At that very instant, a woman’s voice rang out.

     “Young man, you best leave that fellow be! If he goes missing, it’ll go noticed. If you let him run, that’s all he can do. He has nothing on you yet, nothing damning. Though damned you will be if you lay a finger on him!” My eyes had been focused on the foe in front of me, and when the command had been spoken, I noted the change in his face. He had flinched slightly, and the fire behind his eyes deadened.

     I recognized that commanding voice, and judging from the ringmaster’s change of air, he did as well. Yet while the voice stirred within me a contempt, I saw something else stir within the stricken showrunner. The one difference that had separated the ringmaster from his doppelgangers—that had made him stand out like a lion among kittens—had been disturbed. No longer did his gray eyes gleam with cruel triumph. The fear that echoed in all their eyes now greeted the showrunner, but in a different form.

     It was not a slave’s fear of his master. Rather, it was a dread often seen in the eyes of a child for their mother or father—a fear that comes from respect. A fear of disappointing them. The ringmaster gave me a final glare, then lowered his head. He backed away, as if hit with a heavy blow. Yet the only weight upon the man was what little scrap of consideration he had left. I began to wonder how the voice in which I found only scorn had managed to gain this beast’s deference. I turned my back on the ringmaster, his threat now blind to me as I made one of my own at the newest arrival. The great voice that had stilled the master was none other than the deceitful psychic.

     “You!” I shouted. Fury blinded me as I turned my eyes on the old lady. I forgot the ringmaster as I remembered my stolen watch. We all stood for a minute, tension pinning us in place. At last, the old hag dashed off into the shadows in which she had appeared. My brashness sent me sprawling after her, but before I could take off, I was held back by my collar. I watched helplessly as the fortune teller vanished from sight, escaping. I felt my captor bend down to my ear and whisper a final threat before releasing me.

     “You witnessed nothing. You could not begin to understand what conspired here nor do you need to. Now leave the lady and us be.” The ringmaster tossed me aside, and even though she had a good lead on me, and I was extremely disoriented, I followed discreetly in the direction the old lady had vanished. I could do nothing about the cunning snake in the top hat behind me, and I could only hope the ringmaster’s relation to the old woman would lead me to some answers.