Kitten-Credited Introductions

Beyond Sage’s regular surveillance tonight she has a special task, though it is not, strictly speaking, assigned by her instructor.

Tonight she is watching the boy.

She has noticed him wandering the circus several times in the past and has only recently begun to wonder how he appears so often, and hardly seems to enter any of the tents. This is the first tent in which she has encountered him, and he does nothing save for observe the kitten leaping through strategically placed hoops and performing flips and jumps from trainers’ hands and shoulders.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, watching the cats thoughtfully as Sage edges around the canvas walls. When she is close enough to see his features clearly in the dim light, she stops. His hair, peaking from beneath his cap, is so pale it is almost white, physicality Sage has never seen before, despite her ever-growing list of travel destinations.

She is not sure what is so intriguing to her about the boy, apart from his costume, which is a meticulous mess of filigree buttons and scraps of many different materials. It may be his pale skin; so white he could be born of the moon himself. It may also be that unlike other patrons he does not wander around the circus, but moves with purpose as though attending some outstanding appointment. Her curiosity trumps her nerves ands Sage resolves to identify the mysterious boy, hoping desperately that he not turn out to be someone mundane.

While Sage ruminates on the plausibility of following the boy into the deeper, winding paths of the circus, she has drifted closer to him without realizing it.

Sage is considering ways in which to introduce herself when at her a feet a smoky grey kitten begins to amuse itself with the laces of Sage’s boots. She bends to pet the kitten that tamely rises on its hind legs to embrace her finger in its paws.

“Her name is Saffron,” says a voice behind her. Sage waits as Saffron perches herself on her shoulder before turning to address the speaker.

“Do you know all of the kittens in the circus?” she asks. Saffron has begun to climb up the sleeve of her jacket, marching toward her shoulder.

The white haired boy adjusts his hat while he replies. “Yes. I know all of the animals. Most of them are sweet though some of them are only just being trained and they aren’t very friendly.”

“How did they train them so well?” Sage asks as Saffron performs a perfect somersault down her arm, before perching in her palm.

“We must train them when they’re very young, so they will be used to it.” He reaches on of his pockets and retrieves something small but it smells strongly of herbs. “Of course, treats help too.” He tosses the morsel to Saffron, the kitten leaping upon it, her expedition up Sage’s arm momentarily forgotten.

“Did you train them all yourself?” Sage asks.

“No. The kittens mostly, but the cats and wolves were trained by the others. They’re in the bigger tents down there,” The boy waves a hand at the flap of canvas.

“I haven’t seen them yet,” Sage replies.

“Have you seen the statues?” Farrin asks.

Sage nods.

“There is a statue all in black with a long cloak, and some of the animals sit with him sometimes. When they’re tired. He’s called the King of the Jungle.”

The kitten leaps from Sage’s wrist and sprints suddenly across the tent, pouncing on a length of string.

“Where on earth did the idea for the statues come from?” Sage asks.

“It’s a part of the atmosphere, so you can experience the circus everywhere. They’re tucked in all the intersections and really anywhere they can fit. I believe they were originally all meant to be dancers, but there is a beauty in stationary things.”

The boy watches calmly as Saffron tumbles over several other kittens in her attempt to cross the tent again. She rolls to her paws gracefully and comes to stop before Sage. Sage leans forward, reaching out to pet her head.

“Come Saffron, don’t be a pest,” the boy says, almost apologetically, when the kitten playfully bites Sage’s fingers.

“She’s not a bother,” Sage says at the moment Saffron rolls onto her back. Sage strokes her velvety stomach.

“Now she is enamored with you,” Farrin says. “She will not leave you alone at all.”

Sage is about to say she does not mind but the boy continues, his cheeks bright pink.

“She loves to be pet exactly there. On behalf of Saffron I would like to thank you, if you would oblige me. There a more animals, older and better trained than this, backstage. I am headed there, if you would care to join me?”

The boy sounds polite and friendly, but there is a hint of something else in his voice. A curiosity he barely conceals. It is that, coupled with her own curiosity that causes Sage to nod her consent.

The boy weaves through the kitten acts and the few patrons who remain distracted by their talent, and pulls aside the flap of the canvas door. When Sage steps out he follows, and leads her on a path between the tents, long and with so many twists and turns Sage is certain he cannot be recalling a path and they will soon be lost.

They eventually arrive at a break in the fabric of a tent, an uneven edge where the black and silver lines do not line up. The boy smiles and slips through them. After some hesitation, Sage quickly follows.

The “backstage” is a riot of colour, a complete contrast to the tents outside. Bathed in rainbows and sunset. Books with gilded spines pile on every available surface, tucked around circus paraphernalia and empty teacups. Candles stumps are propped up in crystal candelabras and lie in halves on the ground. The furniture comes from across the globe, bamboo from Asia alongside teakwood and carpets from Tabriz. The space is filled with tapestries and pillows and antique furniture decorated in rust red and scarlet, in wine and ember.

The boy is not disoriented by the transition from silver and black to colour but Sage feels discombobulated. She has not seen so many colours in one space since she last took some respite in maison Beaulieu.

And they are not alone. Resting on a cushioned teakwood seat piled with cushions is a young woman, maybe only a few years older than Sage herself, reading a dilapidated book, which she closes and sets aside as the boy lets Sage in.

“Farrin,” the young woman greets him, smiling. “And who have you brought with you?” she turns to Sage.

Farrin steps between them, gesturing to the woman first. “This is Rose, she is the illusionist.” He gestures to Sage. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name…”

“Sage.”

“This is Sage,” Farrin replies. “I was going to show her the animals while they rested, but I wasn’t sure if they were performing on the hour or the half hour.”

“The quarter hour actually,” Rose says, standing and moving around the pile of books to the only open space in the room, occupied by Farrin and Sage and a small nest of tabby kittens crouched by the towers of books like guardian dragons. When Rose is a metre away she holds her hand out to Sage. “Lovely to meet you.”

Sage takes the hand, feeling the lace of the illusionist’s cuff tickle her wrist. “You too.” She withdraws her hand and clasps it with her other hand behind her back, feeling suddenly nervous in the warm space, without the anonymity of a regular circus patron.

“I’m sorry there isn’t more entertainment,” Rose says, looking down at the kittens on the floor, appearing mostly sleepy, save for one padding toward Farrin’s foot. “You are welcome to stay and amuse yourself with the kitten if you wish. I will just be reading for a while, it has been a busy night.”

Rose returns to her seat as Farrin sits cross-legged on the plush red carpet. Sage follows suit, folding the hem of her gown beneath her.

“It must be interesting to know an illusionist,” Sage says, though it occurs to her that Farrin must be acquainted with most members of the circus, if not all.

“She is one of the greatest illusionist’s in the world,” Farrin says, as a kitten sprawls across the toe of his shoes.

“One of the greatest?” the illusionist repeats, raising an eyebrow over the top of her book.

Farrin blushes, his pale cheeks turning red as apples. “The greatest, absolutely brilliant,” he amends.

Rose laughs loudly and returns to her book, eyes flickering from line to line.

An indeterminate amount of time passes, punctuated only by the illusionist’s departure and return to her tent. Farrin attempts to teach the kittens to roll over, and with Sage they make some progress before Farrin runs out of treats. The kittens lose interest in his empty pockets and return to their positions at the foot of the piles of books.

Standing, Farrin brushes off his pants and offers a hand to Sage.

“We have at least an hour before the circus closes, if you are able to stay,” he says, checking a watch drawn from his pocket.

“I am,” Sage responds.

They emerge from the tent, plunged into the monochromatic circus once more. Sage is momentarily shocked, feeling as though she has been much farther away from the circus than in a tent separate from the myriad of exhibitions.

Farrin navigates the circus expertly, leading Sage on a dizzying number of paths before coming to rest before a pitch black tent with a sign hung by ribbons over the front. It reads Dream Catcher, and it flaps in the occasional winds.

Inside it is not an act, but a piece of art. At first it appears to be a giant spider’s web, the overlapping gossamer threads resemble fine filaments of ivory silk against the inky blackness, taking up the entire tent. But clinging to the threads are not flies, instead there are pieces of quartz, clear and roughly cut, and other trinkets; raven and dove feathers, nacreous beads and black bells that tinkle with the smallest shifts of air.

They spend some time investigating tiny treasures hidden within it, then Farrin takes a button from his pocket and adds it to the mess, tangling a loose thread in it and pulling it taut around the rim. He leaves it secured and while he encourages Sage to leave something there as well, she politely declines, insisting she would rather see other attractions.

As they walk Farrin tells her small stories of the circus, vignettes from his childhood with kittens and fire and stars.

They spend a significant amount of time in the fire breathers’ tent, enough that the first rays of dawn are shimmering on the gates of the circus and most other tents have closed when they emerge.

Farrin walks Sage to the gates.

She turns to says goodbye and he responds with a slight bow.

“You will be back again, won’t you?” he asks as he straightens.

“Yes,” Sage answers. “If you promise to show me more of the circus.”

“I do indeed, there seems to be too much you don’t know about it. I will have to show you every tent I can before we leave next.”

Sage feels fatigued even thinking about it. “I do not think that is possible. Of course, half the things I see here I wonder how they are possible,” she says breathlessly.

“Magic,” Farrin says dramatically.

Sage smiles. “Possibly.”

They part ways, promising to meet again, to continue their exploration, which has been adjourned sine die. With no definite plans for the future. 

Text by Lucie MacAulay