With a pleasant air, Topher eyed the surroundings. “So this is Colme, huh?”

“Not as I remember it,” I said. The road was surrounded by tents, wagons, and more than a few people involving themselves with said tents and wagons. “So there’s a circus in town? That’s cool.”

“That or gypsies,” said Topher.

I smiled. “Just as fun.” The nearest carnies were inspecting their wagons, each of which seemed to have its own unique sign that advertised “The Fleethand Circus”. More often than not, there was a caricature of a man with a neatly trimmed, waxed mustache and an overly enthusiastic smile in various gesticulative poses. Each of these portrayals had the added tagline, “With Ringmaster Mercario!” The workers paid us no mind as we gawked. “When I think about Cirque du Soleil and the stuff they come up with, I can’t help but wonder how awesome a show with actual magic would be.”

“I dunno,” drawled Topher. “I always thought the awesomeness of those shows came from the idea that they’re doing it all without magic. It takes away from the spectacle when you think that there isn’t any ingenuity to the acts other than magically force-feeding us what they want us to see.”

I hummed. “Never thought of it that way. Well, I guess it gives us incentive to wrap things up here before the circus leaves, so we can check it out.”

“Speaking of,” said Topher. “Hey, you! Excuse me?”

Someone too large to be called a boy, yet too baby-faced to be called a man, broke from a hard look at his surroundings. “Er, me, sir?”

Topher stood up tall. “Damn straight, me sir. You work the circus?”

“I do—uh, well, for the circus.”

“How long’s it in town?”

The carnie took one last look to the distance, then back to Topher. “Uh, it’s… ‘We stay as long as demand dictates,’ or something.”

“Can you ballpark it for me?” asked Topher.

“Can I… what?”

“Guess. Any idea how long you’re usually around in a town this size?”

He furled his brow. “Well, I’d guess it’s—“

“Grund? Grund!” A commanding voice pierced the conversation. The carnie went slightly pale, then closed his eyes in a sigh of self-admonishment.

“Yes, Mr. Heller?” said the carnie, turning around.

A tall, thin man in black strode towards him. “Excuse me,” he said to Topher and me before taking the man-boy off to the side. “What is that cart still doing there? It is not supposed to be within a hundred feet of the road!” the man in black hissed. The carnie sputtered a few words in response and ran away. The man watched him go, then turned to us with a smile. “I’m sorry; it’s so hard to find good help these days.”

It was an old cliche, yet it sounded fresh and new in his voice.

Topher shrugged. “Seems like a nice kid. Mr. Heller, was it?”

The man’s smile widened. “Only if you work under me. As potential customers, you can call me Elias.” He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. And Grund is a nice kid; just needs some structure.”

Topher took his hand. “Call me Tophercion. This is Mac.”

I smiled and shook Elias’s hand when offered. “Mac, was it? I don’t suppose you’re a bard, by any chance?” He nodded to my lute.

I stifled the flicker of panic at the thought that he knew we were wanted. “A bard? Well, I know my way around a tune or two, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, then looked down to my waist. “Yet you wear a component pouch, if I’m not mistaken.”

He could tell it held magic reagents? Clever carnie. “I dabble. I find it’s best to hold onto some modesty when meeting new people.”

He raised an understanding hand. “That’s wise. I was only asking because we lost a couple of our musicians back in Rikston.”

“Oh dear,” I said. “Nothing terrible, I hope?”

“No, no, no, of course not.” He snickered at the misunderstanding. “There’s a booming music scene there, and they felt the call of their craft. If you’re going to be in town for a while, Mac, we could use some help. Assuming you’re any good, of course,” he smiled. “Are you part of the band, Tophercion? You guys here with anyone else that might be interested?”

I smiled back. “It’s just the two of us, and I’m the only one that plays. I am good, however. But if I worked under you I’d have to drop familiarity and start calling you Mr. Heller, wouldn’t I? Too steep a price, my friend.” He laughed exactly as much as I did at that. “By the by, I see you have a component pouch too, but no instruments. You’d be the most personable wizard I’d have ever met, so I’m guessing you’re more likely a sorcerer? Maybe a warlock?”

He nodded. “The latter, though I don’t care for the term - has a bit of a connotation, you know?”

“Then what term should I use?”

With a pose, he said, “Elias Heller; why put labels on someone so unique?”

“Fair enough,” I laughed. “So who’s your patron, Elias Heller?”

His eyes shone with an impressed glint as he nodded. “You understand a bit about it? Refreshing. My ‘patron’ is an old, fat devil whose name isn’t even worth repeating topside.” He waved his hand dismissively as he said it, the derision clear in his voice. “I know learning magic from such a horror makes me come across as, what ignoramuses often call, ‘a witch’, but I did not go into my contract as a doe-eyed calf tempted by the fruit of power, like many others who lose themselves in such dealings. The first thing I understood - the first thing anyone has to understand, if they want to survive - is that such beings are Evil. There is nothing else to them. No matter what you discuss or how they appear, the bottom line is they want power over anything and everything, and you hold no more sentiment than cattle do a butcher.”

His eyes had shifted down, focused on nothing in particular. “Patiently, they dangle over you sweeter, juicier fruits with one hand while holding a carving knife in the other. They wait for when you’re at your weakest, most desperate—dare I say, hungriest moment—lower the fruit ever so slightly, and Slice!—a knife right to your throat as you reach to take a bite, them carving out your body, mind and soul for their sick pleasures.

“Too many fall for this trap too quickly, but I am not one. I know exactly what my ‘patron’ wants from me. He understands this as well, and that’s where the liaisons begin - each of us forever tempting the other, him always asking me to lift my chin just a little higher, me always begging for the fruit to be just a little lower. It’s dangerous, but I love it; there isn’t a more interesting pastime in the world for me.”

His smile was unabashed, but then he pulled it back about seventy percent. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually go into wild exposition about myself.”

I gave him my full smile. “Don’t worry - I’m very trustworthy. Just watch out if I start offering you fruit.”

We laughed together. Topher shifted focus between us a few times. “You know,” he chimed in, “you two are pretty similar. You have the same laugh, same smile….”

I had noticed it, too. This Elias Heller said the right things the right way, knew how to stand, how to gesture, when to smile, how hard to laugh; everything he did told me he was “just like me,” and that I could trust him.

In short, he set off every alarm in my brain.

“Charming minds talk alike,” I said.

“So, Elias,” said Topher. “What was in that cart that had to be so far away from the road?”

With a grin and a glint, Elias said, “Would you like to guess?”

Topher enjoyed guessing games, which worried me more about this carnie and his ability to read people. “Something either secret or dangerous. Or both. A special act for the circus?” He thought out loud, rubbing his chin.

Elias clapped his hands. “Right! We’re experimenting with some more dangerous creatures for our show. We’re not quite ready to add them, but once we are it’ll be fantastic. There’s no chance they’ll get out of their cages, of course, but we like to be safe.”

A thought hit him. “Actually, did Grund ever end up moving it?” He craned to look, but turned back. “I should probably go check on him,” he grumbled. Frowning at me in an earnest plea, he asked, “Are you sure I can’t interest you in playing for us? Even if it’s a one-time deal - we’re putting on a special show for the city’s Consul and other people of importance tonight. I’ve got so much to do; it’d be great if I could just audition you now, get on with the rest of my day, and worry about finding long-term solutions tomorrow. You did say you were good, right?”

I really didn’t trust this man. That being said, if he was speaking truthfully, it’d be too good a chance to pass up. Topher knew that too, judging by the look he gave me. “Well, that sounds more like a crowd I’d be interested in. What kind of special show?”

Elias brightened immeasurably. “Oh, we always do a short set of the best for the higher-class people on the first night. They tend to frown on mingling with ‘commoners’, and this lets us make them feel special by catering to all their prejudiced needs without having to segregate them during the real shows. We’ll pay you well, it being a high class affair and all. Are you willing?”

I pretended to hem and haw over it. “I guess I can make time. When and where should I go?”

“Thank you! Oh, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.” He pointed to my lute. “Can I hear you play?”

With a confident smirk, I shifted my lute. “What kind of music will work best with the act?”

“Give me something… pleasing, yet pompous.”

Pompous? The only thoughts I had for pompous music was classical, but that wasn’t really my forte (pun intended). I knew the few Mozart pieces everyone knows and a little Chopin from when I messed around with the piano. Neither were particularly suited for the lute, as far as I could tell. This would be difficult no matter what I chose.

Thinking on a couple different pieces, I asked my fingers what was possible. They replied that, while difficult, there were shortcuts and modifications I could employ to make it easier. I swallowed and gave myself fully to their expertise.

Chopin’s Grande Valse Brillante, or at least a reasonable facsimile, burst out of my lute. My Rainbow in the Dark delighted in its bouncing peaks and frantic valleys, perhaps overly enthusiastic to be dancing to a song that was actually meant for dancing. Not that there was anything wrong with Metallica, of course.

I stopped halfway through, partly because I’d forgotten the ending. “That should be more than enough to showcase my talents,” I said, smirking.

A small crowd of carnies audibly showed their disappointment at the unfinished performance. Always leave them wanting more. Elias, after shaking himself back to the here and now, barked at the others to go back to work. Once he made sure no one was lingering, he turned to me. “You, sir, have the job if you want it. I can pay you twenty gold for an hour’s performance.”

I was pretty sure that was bordering on the extravagant. “Couple that with an introduction to the Consul, and I suppose it’ll do.”

Elias smiled. “Perform like that again and I’m sure he’ll come to you!” He pointed to a large, though not circus large, tent that was already erected a ways from the road. “See that blue and white one? Meet me there a little after sunset. I’ll discuss some things with you beforehand.”

Topher stepped up. “One thing: Can I come too? I might not get a chance to see the circus at all while I’m here.”

Elias seemed as though he wasn’t sure if Topher was joking or not. “I… Well, it’s…” He then waved a hand as though he was clearing cobwebs from his face. “You know what? I’m sure no one will complain if there’s one ‘lowly commoner’ hanging in the back. If they ask, we’ll just say you’re a stagehand or something. Sound good? Good.” He started backing away. “Remember; that tent, a little after dark. Just tell them I asked for you. Oh—“ He stopped short, then gestured to our armor. “And… please wear something nice? Maybe leave the weapons behind?”

“I’m sure we can do that,” said Topher.

“No weapons in sight, at least,” I added.

Elias laughed. “Cautious and wise - a great combination. I’ll see you gents later!” With that, he turned and disappeared into the maze of wagons and carnies.

“Nice guy,” said Topher as we went on our way.

I made sure no one was following or listening. “I don’t trust him. Too nice.”

“Too nice?” Topher tried to twist his facial features to show incredulity, but as a half-orc, it came across as a sneer. “You don’t trust nice people? Who hurt you?”

“I’m just advising caution,” I said. “We don’t know who all might be out to get us, right? Now this guy comes out of nowhere and wants me to meet him in his tent after dark with no weapons or armor? For a ridiculously well-paying job? A musician’s job that, in spite of there being a ‘booming music scene’ in Rikston, he couldn’t find a replacement for?”

Topher snorted. “You can make anything sound suspicious. And if you’re so worried about him, why’d you agree? We still have the introduction letter, so it’s not like we need this job to meet these people.”

I had tucked the letter safely away, but felt for it just to be sure. “There’s always a chance Teague put something in the letter that might tip off the Consul, even if Kevin did check it with Thieves’ Cant. That, and any of us guys could approach him using it, not just me. Who knows if we’ll need to tackle this with different angles?” I double checked that no one was paying attention to us. “At the very least, we’ll make sure Kevin and Jenn are ready to swoop in and save us,” I whispered.

We kept walking, but I could feel Topher stare at me from time to time. “How are you feeling, Jack?” he asked.

“Fine. A little paranoid, but that’s nothing unusual,” I joked.

“What are your thoughts on Kevin and Jenn?”

My neck tensed. “I’m sure they’ll be fine by themselves,” I said, keeping my eyes forward.

“Not what I meant,” he said. “I saw your face when Kevin pulled the whole Scooby-Doo ‘Let’s split up, gang!’ and took Jenn.”

“He wasn’t as obvious about it as Freddy is with Daphne.”

Topher raised a shoulder a fraction of an inch. “Maybe not, but it still provoked a reaction.”

“So what if it did?” The words came out about fifty times more peeved than I intended them to.

He took a wide step away and put his palms between us. We carried on as before.

“I mean, his reasoning was sound,” I said, abruptly enough to even surprise myself. “We’re still a distinct group of…” I looked around, then whispered, “…wanted people. An elf and half-elf can blend together better than either of us can with either of them.”

Topher nodded.

“And she was okay with telling Kevin about her whole god problem first,” I added through gritted teeth. “Maybe there’s some other things the two of them want to talk about.”

Topher walked along quietly.

“And maybe it’s—“

Topher threw his head back. “Holy crap, dude, you’ve only known her for like, a week!” With a smile, he bumped the back of his hand into my chest. “She’s cool and all, but you’re getting way too upset about this. There’s plenty of other women out there. Why is this one so important? Are you just upset that Kevin might be getting some action sooner than you? Is this a rivalry thing? Because it’s not like you’ve had enough time to figure out that she’s the love of your life.”

I kept my jaw clenched. The whole situation was upsetting me - a lot more than I had cared to admit. Was it just ego? Did I secretly feel like I was the obvious first pick of the three of us?

I wondered if I could use Enhance Ability on my wisdom to help me figure things out.

We had gotten past the tents and moved onto the city proper. The streets were just as busy as last time, though the people seemed to have a more excited energy. “Besides,” said Topher, “Jenn doesn’t seem the type to rush into a relationship. It’s still anyone’s game.” He looked thoughtfully up at the purple sky. “And I still think she’s too tall for him.”

I shook my head. “God. You’d think we’d have played enough D&D to know to keep the inter-party drama down,” I breathed.

“To be fair, you’ve kept it mostly to yourself.” Topher had to sidestep to avoid another half-orc heading the opposite direction, with whom he exchanged friendly nods. Most people were careful not to run into us, seeing as how we were both a head taller than almost all of the populace.

“Well, not well enough, it seems.”

Topher looked me over, but I just kept focused on the road in front of me. Out of nowhere, he grabbed me and yanked me behind him at speed.

“What the—Topher! What are you doing?” My mind raced at the thought of what might’ve gone wrong.

Topher was excusing himself through the crowd as his head went side to side to see each building. “I’m not liking your mopey self. You need to clear your head.”

“And this is supposed to help with that?”

“It will.” He hurriedly begged forgiveness from an inattentive lady who ran into him, then turned toward me with mischievous grin. “You said this town has a brothel, right?”

My feet slammed into the ground, but Topher was much too strong to let that slow him. “No—C’mon, man, I’m not a ‘pay to play’ kind of guy.”

“Think of it as getting help. I guarantee you won’t be nearly as upset about Kevin and Jenn afterwards.”

I was grabbing his arm and trying to pull back. “That’s not the point! Don’t you think it’s… degrading to women, or something?”

“Her body, her choice; everyone’s gain. Hey, is this it? …’Betty’s Brothel of…’ “

“—Yes,” I said before he could finish.

He let go. “Awesome. Let’s do this.”

“No.” I folded my arms. “If you feel you have to, then go ahead. I’ll be outside.”

He stopped, slumping his shoulders in exasperation. He turned back to me. “Seriously, dude.” He looked me right in the eye. “You need to get the thought of some other girl into your head.” With a point to the brothel, “I’m not clear on exactly how it works, but I’m pretty sure you pay them for their time, not their services. You don’t have to do anything untoward if you don’t want; just flirt a bit and enjoy their company. Strike up a conversation. Because they’re paid, there won’t be any of the pressure or stress that would go along with hitting on girls in a bar. You can go in and relax. Do you even realize how tense you’ve been since I mentioned Kevin and Jenn?”

I stood firm, though I did notice my neck had started cramping up. I tried very hard to nonchalantly unclench it.

“Tell you what,” said Topher, patting me on the arm. “I’ll go in and check out their pricing!” And with that, he took off.

I watched him disappear inside, flabbergasted. This whole thing came up completely out of the blue. Topher was never even a real fan of strip clubs, let alone this. You think you know a guy….

But I did know Topher. This was uncharacteristic, so what was going on? A jostle to my back told me it wasn't something I should think about in the middle of a heavily trafficked street.

I apologized to a perturbed short man, then checked to make sure nothing had been stolen. There was too much noise to get any real thinking done. People were out in droves, running errands, chatting, working, whatever else people around Colme did. I leaned against a nearby wall. With a quick clearing breath, I closed my eyes. Was there something wrong with Topher? Had that warlock magicked him somehow without me noticing? Probably not. Maybe he was under more stress than he let on. He did say some interesting things when he was drunk. Or maybe he felt that this would be a new experience, and that made it okay. Maybe…

I shook my head. It was too loud. Pieces of conversations assailed my mind: “…never been to the circus…” “…barrels of lamp oil—gone!” “…won’t cost that much…” “…back in Rikston for half that…” “…in the Hells is New York, anyway?” “…next year, if we’re lucky…” “…until you’re older…” I was finding it impossible to string coherent thoughts together.

…Wait.

I opened my eyes, frantically looking around. I saw them - two men in gaudy clothes and jewelry, heading into the whorehouse. I ran in after them.