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

about?”
    “He’s always happy,” said Bathsheba.
    “Why?” said Domingo. “If we’re not being thrown about in here, we’re out in the drizzle pushing the caravan out of the mud, or trying to light fires in gales. Why don’t we give up trying to reach Cathay, Bacchus, and head South where there’s a little sun?”
    “Because,” he said with growing enthusiasm, “once we get there, and perform for the Khan called Kublai, we will be famous. Undoubtedly word of our genius will spread across the world in a matter of weeks. The adulation will be unbounded. Mayan princes will invite us to perform for them!”
    “Not if we arrive in this tatty caravan,” said Malachi.
    “This caravan has been with me ever since I first took to the road, crocodile, and has been places you never guess existed.”
    “That doesn’t make it any less tatty,” replied Malachi reasonably, “or uncomfortable.”
    “They’ll send sedan chairs for us, anyway, won’t they, Mr. Bacchus?” said Ophelia.
    “They may very well, my dear,” replied Mr. Bacchus. “And a cart for the crocodile.”
    “Cathay!” exclaimed Hero abruptly. “What if we do reach Cathay? Do you think that the great Khan will let us perform for him?”
    “Why not?” replied Mr. Bacchus, with a smile creeping over his face. “We’re the greatest show on earth! You painted that on the caravan yourself, Hero!”
    “I also painted flying plates and entirely red gardens, but that doesn’t mean they exist,” said Hero.
    “Anyways, Bacchus, you don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you?” said Malachi. “We’re the most miserable show on earth, perhaps, but we’re certainly not the greatest.”
    At this, Mr. Bacchus rose from his chair, his face growing vermillion with anger, and started at Malachi: “Crocodile,” he said. “Teeth or no teeth, I will not tolerate pessimism. Look at us! We have the finest trapeze-girl in the world. Who else can pirouette on a slack wire with an orang-outang on her head? And Hieronymous! There is nobody alive in the hemisphere as strong as he! Why, I once saw him carry six fully-grown bulls on his shoulders, and hardly turn a hair. Then there’s that dear boy, Angelo, and his moths; Domingo—the happiest—”
    “I’m not happy,” said the Clown, dropping two of his oranges. “It’s no use saying I am. I’m extremely unhappy. And I have nightmares—”
    “Personally,” said Malachi, with a fake yawn. “If we don’t reach Cathay soon, supposing Cathay exists in the first place, I shall leave this Circus.”
    “Oh, Malachi,” said Ophelia, tears springing to her eyes, which they did with monotonous regularity. “You wouldn’t?”
    “Oh, wouldn’t I?” said the crocodile, with a hollow laugh.
    “Where would you go?” put in Hero.
    “I should go back to the Nile,” said Malachi with dignity, “where my species is worshipped. They build pyramids for us.”
    “Go then,” said Mr. Bacchus. “I shall find another crocodile.”
    “Maybe even an alligator,” said Hero. “It’s well known that alligators are a more intelligent species.”
    “What?” roared Malachi.
    “I said that it’s a well know—” began Hero.
    Suddenly there was a cry from Bathsheba, who had ceased to dangle from the lamp and was peering out the window.
    “A town! A town! There’s a signpost, pointing to a town! Stop the caravan! It’s a town!”
    “Can we put a show on here?” asked Ophelia as the caravan lurched to a stop.
    “Please,” said Domingo. “I just feel like performing.”
    “We really ought to be getting along to Cathay,” replied Mr. Bacchus. “But who could resist it? A town! An audience! The torches! The flags! The sawdust! The money! The applause! Stop the caravan, Angelo, my boy; we’re here! We’re here!”
    “It has stopped,” said Malachi with a pained expression, and opened the door.
    The caravan disgorged the members of the Circus into a muddy field, with a light drizzle falling