The Adventures of Mr. Maximillian Bacchus and His Travelling Circus by Clive Barker, David Niall Wilson, Richard A. Kirk Read Free Book Online

smile and a bow.
    Sneering, Bentham, followed by the rest of the Theatre of Tears, swept up the gangplank onto the ship.
    “Up plank!” yelled Hent, triumphantly. “Cast off!”
    The Doctor and his associates were too eager to reach Bathsheba to notice the ship was now moving away from the quay, and turning into the estuary. His howl of wrath, however, when he reached the effigy, and realized he had been deceived, was hideous, and he stabbed at it again until pieces of fur littered the tide. But by now it was all too late. The ship had already reached the mouth of the Dee and was in the grip of the Arctic currents. Even when it was well on its way, however, the Doctor’s voice could still be heard, cursing with axiom and syllogism alike.
    “The sea is salt,” said Mr. Bacchus, half to himself. “And full of fish. The good Doctor wanted his audience swimming in tears….”
    Presently, even the Doctor’s voice faded, and in Parkgate there was only the sound of the tide lapping against the sloping harbour wall. The Doctor’s black caravan still stood on the quayside, however, with the giant armadillo asleep in a ball beside it. Mr. Bacchus tapped its hairy shell gently with his stick, and a small shining eye appeared.
    “Excuse me, beast,” said Mr. Bacchus. “But the good Doctor has left the continent for a spell.”
    “Oh?” said the armadillo. “Where?”
    “He has gone North,” replied Mr. Bacchus.
    “Good,” said the armadillo contentedly. “I need a long sleep.” And he rolled back into a ball again.
    Later that year, the people of Parkgate brought milk and shrimps for the armadillo, whom they called Piers. And Hent’s ship did not return on the April tides, but remained sailing around the Arctic for fear that the warmer clime might melt the cargo, and bear them to the ocean bed.
    And thus, Mr. Bacchus’ Travelling Circus left the silting port with the armadillo on the quay, and the black sail disappearing over the horizon into the endless midnight of the Arctic, and set off again along the road that lead to Asia the Deep, to Cathay, and so, at last, to Xanadu, of which the poet had dreamed.
     
     

 

     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    This is another story about Mr. Maximillian Bacchus and his Travelling Circus, and it concerns the Clown, Domingo de Ybarrondo, who had the misfortune to fall off the Edge of the World.
    Mr. Bacchus’ Travelling Circus had been on the road to Asia the Deep for several weeks, hoping to reach the fabled city of Xanadu, there to entertain the great Khan called Kublai. But since they had been given directions by the old man who sat under the hawthorn bush, the road had twisted and turned North, South, East and West, yet there was no sign of the gleaming towers of Xanadu. In fact everyone in the caravan was becoming tired of the whole business. Several weeks had passed and the Circus had not stopped once on its way, to put on a show. What was the use of being in a Circus that never performed?
    In the middle of the lurching caravan stood Hero, the strongman, lifting Ophelia, the sad trapeze-girl, with one hand. Bathsheba the orang-outang was dangling from the light, Domingo the Clown was juggling green oranges, and Malachi the crocodile was snoring under the wardrobe. As always, Mr. Bacchus was sitting in his large wicker chair, but the expression on his face was far from his familiar smile. His chin was resting on his hands, and the leaves in his beard and his white hair had wilted. To be honest, he was beginning to suspect that the man at the side of the road had been mad, and that Xanadu had been some fancy. Outside, driving the giant Ibis-bird, Thoth, who pulled the caravan, sat Angelo, the young man with the black curly hair and the strange eyes, whistling “This is My Lovely Day.”
    Inside, Malachi woke from fitful sleep. “If that Angelo doesn’t stop whistling, I shall personally have the pleasure of eating him,” he said. “What’s he got to be happy