My blood still boiled, and I set after her like a hound after a rabbit. Despite the odd illusions and tricks the circus slavedriver tried to use on me, I saw the situation for what it was. Or at least, at the time, half of what it was. The most of what I could have understood, and perhaps the part you will be willing to believe. Yet you can trust me in telling the truth in that he was little more than a serpent. A heartless brute twisted around his circus troupe, pressing them to do his bidding and threatening to crush them if they refused.

     The performers, perhaps too naive or frightened, could do nothing to escape their master’s grip. And yet the snake left no trace of venom with which I could use to condemn him. The evidence I needed was shrouded with my ignorance of the full affair. I could not denounce this slithering showrunner without support, and thus I focused on the only reasonable course of action: running down the old woman. After all, she was the reason I was in this mess. She still held tight to my watch, I wouldn’t have doubted, and I was not willing to let it slip away for two tickets to some sinister circus.

     I had already braced myself for disappointment. In this light and commotion, the crafty psychic could have made a disappearing act as easily as the trained performers still bowing to the applause ringing from the fairgrounds. The big top loomed up in the distance, and I considered heading back to the show, but a sound brought my incentive back to life. There was the small, dark form of the old lady, lithely slipping behind a carnival stand. She could move surprisingly swiftly for how elderly she appeared.

     After weaving through the booths after her, I found myself back at the entrance to the big top. The sky above was dark, night creeping on quickly. The wind picked up, ruffling my coat, and muffling the noise from the show still going on inside. I thought I had lost her, the only other sign of life coming from the half-dead circus freak in his cage, when she appeared before her own stand. It was there, exactly how and where it had been the previous day, as if it had never been moved.

     We stood there, across from one another, separated only by the wooden table, and secluded from the rest of the circusgoers (who huddled unheeding in the tent). I halted, watching her like a guard watches a convict, waiting for any attempts at escape. Yet she did not seem afraid of being cornered. In fact, I began to realize she had hoped I would follow her. It suddenly made sense why I had been able to keep on her tail so easily, for indeed she was trailing me to her stand. She hunched over behind it, breathing heavily, for she was truly old and weary, despite her surprising speed and energy. After capturing her breath and composure, she looked around cautiously, but not for me. After reassuring herself that I was the only one in the vicinity, she spoke to me in a collected tone.

     “I believe we are safe, for now. He could not be within earshot. Nevertheless, I believe you might have worried him. He will be after us soon, to make sure you have not done me harm, and he knows this is the place I would flee to.” I was taken aback.

     “W-what in blazes are you babbling about? Surely you know why I chased you! I demand answers! What has been going on here? Who really is that man? What have you done with my watch?!” My face only grew redder with rage while the woman’s filled with sympathy and patience. She let my stammering go on, then hushed me.

     “Please, sir, calm down. We mustn’t draw attention, lest the ringmaster see us together, but I doubt it. Yes, I doubt it. He could not follow without first covering his tracks... ridding of-” I interrupted her with a scoff.

     “Surely you do not welcome my company! Cover his tracks? What’s he going to do to that poor juggler? Explain, old woman! I saw how he responds to you. What is your connection to him? How long have you known of his heinous acts?”

     “You ask many questions. I hold many answers.” The lady paused, peering wearily through the dark. At last, she continued in a whisper. “Yes, I know him. In fact, I know him well. I am aware of what he has done and what he hopes to do. It is my knowledge and my guilt that has led me to seek your assistance. It was not my ruined sack that troubled me that night but rather this ruined circus, and I cannot save it on my own. I-I fear it may be beyond saving.”

     I was at a loss, but seeing the look on the woman’s face, a sympathy grew within me. Her eyes spoke of shame. Tears began to stream down her wrinkled cheeks. She whispered faintly, finishing her speech as if it were addressed more to herself than to me, “And it is all my fault.” I slackened at her trembling tone and let my voice soften.

     No longer did I hold onto my anger as I whispered reassuringly, “Please, miss, don’t cry. I’ll help. But only because I cannot turn away from this outrageous offence. You can’t deny it. The ringmaster is an evil man, torturing his poor performers. But I must know what it is we are going up against. At least tell me his name.” The old woman looked up at me as if my question was a waste of breath. Yet she answered nonetheless, if unsatisfyingly.

     “Why, he does not have a name. He never has; none of them do. He is the ringmaster, as the acrobat is the acrobat, and the juggler is the juggler.” As she spoke of the mysterious man I grew only more confused. The ferocity returned in me, burning brightly a fire in which I hoped to smoke out the ringmaster’s crimes.

     “Then I care not who he is, but what he does! I never asked for a part in this, but I have witnessed it now, and he shall pay for his actions!” With my outburst came another cry from the crazy woman, and she flung herself on my arm.

     “Please! Please do not pour you rage down upon him. He is a horrid man and deserving of his fate… but there is an innocence in him. This ringmaster is not the man I once knew, and you know only of this horrible side of him. Please, take pity upon him. There is more to his story, and his heart is pure, if misled.” Her tone was laced with love and fear. I was disgusted by the concern she had for this putrid man. How she could pity the beast who bit at his pack’s heels, who was more poisonous than a snake, was beyond me.

     “Do not beg me to give sympathy to a wicked beast who deserves none!” I spat. However, the dread in her emerald eyes was enough to silence me. She replied in a calmer voice, having gained back what composure a senile croon such as herself had in the first place.

     “He will pay, this I can assure you. But the price for now is your cooperation.” I was not reassured by her words but managed to bite my tongue. Perhaps the old lady had a plan, or perhaps she was up to more mad mischief. Nevertheless, the only way I could solve this case and work out what was going on was at her side. She seemed relieved when I did not argue and rapped her wrinkled fingers on the wooden stand.

     “Meet me back here at dawn. It is too dangerous to continue this meeting now. All shall be explained, and we may decide on a course of action.” I reluctantly gave my word. We would meet again at dawn. As if she could not bear to be with me until then, she vanished, like a puff of smoke in the wind. I was left, pivoting blindly in the dark, wondering how she could have escaped my vision. I was on my own, the wind tugging at my coat and my brow furled with concern.

     With no better plan, I found myself wandering back to the big top, sneaking back into the performance, as if I had never left. Almost mockingly, the show had gone on, not a peanut out of place or a suspicious thought in the minds of the jolly crowd. I tried to distract myself, watching the bright lights and twirling figures. At the time, I still knew not of how fantastic the whole ordeal truly was, yet I could feel the evil lurking behind the gaudiness. Not even the gut-busting performance of the circus clown and the boisterous blowing of the bugles were able to lift my spirits from their grim charge.