Ada and I sat down beside him.
She was on my left, and on my right some jackal kept grinning at me nastily, constantly trying to scoot closer sideways. No chance, you lecherous beast. I placed my bag between us, and now he could only caress the tarpaulin.
The stage seemed empty — and then lights burst out from right beneath it.
It lit up, and two hulking figures stepped onto it, bare-chested, wearing loincloths. On their heads sat sinister black masks with snarling bat snouts. The ears looked absurdly huge.
Right in the middle of this honor guard, a figure materialized in a lilac robe and a mask like the brutes' — only lilac as well.
Everyone fell silent at once. The entrance was truly impressive.
I nudged our operator, urging him to come out of his trance, carefully pull out his phone, and start the promised covert filming. He didn't react yet. Ada sat in silence, staring at the master of ceremonies with obvious dislike. What did he ever do to her?
And then he filled the space with a loud, powerful voice:
— This is your first and last performance.
Hell of a statement!
After that he took a step back and… holy shit. He stepped out of his own body. Or no — not like that.
He split.
There he was, still standing between the guards — and his new copy had stepped back, moved left, and became the third link in the chain.
Another step. And now there were four of them.
The audience, as expected, oohed and aahed — and I'll admit, I was pretty impressed myself. And how did he pull that off without any graphics?
I had no intention of applauding on principle… big deal! There was one — now there are many. We've come up with far flashier effects in our minds, and then gone on to create them in real life.
Well, "we."
I mean me, specifically.
My head turned involuntarily and cautiously toward Ada, just to make sure she couldn't hear my smug thoughts — the ones where I belittled their achievements with Odile and kissed the heels of my own (according to her, falsely) inflated ego. She was sitting there with an expression of utter disgust, staring at the whole performance. For some reason, everything about it rubbed her the wrong way.
Even though the crew was clearly working their asses off. Considering this was some backwater no-name circus with free admission, their effort looked excessive. Though… we ourselves are still operating at a loss, aiming only for maximum goals that haven't produced the desired effect yet.
But our videos, in blogger terms, are still sitting in the "scheduled" folder.
So no, we're not alike at all, you stinking circus freaks!
Even if you are giving it everything you've got.
That much I'll concede.
The ringleader vanished — along with all his copies. How did he do that? Too early to think about it. We'll analyze later. For now, all attention snapped to his guards, who faced each other and began striking axe blade against axe blade.
Sparks burst out, fell onto the stage platform, and for some godforsaken reason turned into fiery beetles, scuttling on countless bright little legs.
The man next to me lost his lewd grin — even this spectacle managed to distract him from thoughts about my ass. The only one left completely unmoved was Odile, sitting on his mat in the same frozen posture, eyes closed.
A stench spread through the air — acrid and biting, as if a ton of autumn leaves had been burned. Apparently, that was part of the pyrotechnics. The beetles' legs didn't burn through the surface, and they kept multiplying and multiplying with every measured clash of the blades.
Eventually there were so many that they bulged outward, overlapping each other, sitting atop one another's backs (do they even have shoulders?). After that, the whole armada simply began to fall to the floor.
Toward where the audience area started. Though still at a slight distance from the seating.
— I'm losing consciousness. — someone said in a casual tone, in broken English, and went silent. Apparently followed through on the statement, being a man of his word.
Many people jumped to their feet and screamed. Ada already had her bottle of drinking water at the ready, preparing to end this fiery mess with the most reliable method available.
Me? And what about me?
Well — my hands started shaking. My eyelid twitched. A full-blown bout of the shits was ready to break loose, and I was holding it back by sheer force. To be honest, I wanted to grab the others by the collars and bolt out of here as fast as possible.
The only thing stopping me was the feeling that this was just part of the performance. Nothing more.
So who's the genius here?!
Turns out I read it right.
The moment the beetles reached the first line of boxes with mats, they began to wither and instantly turn into cinders. That's how they fell, carpeting the floor with their little bodies. The smell was horrific — which pleased only me, since it overpowered my own.
The crowd gradually calmed down and pulled out handheld fans (those who had them), or simply handkerchiefs, trying to waft the stench away. Clearly, no ventilation system had been planned. And the bare-chested brutes on stage lowered their axes and snapped to attention.
Ada's palm slid into mine, and mine closed around it at the exact same second. Yeah… we got properly scared. A sweaty hand timidly touched my other one, and without even looking I brushed it away. Maybe that pervert was reaching out because he was scared too — but I didn't care. Let him touch himself.
Any chance he's related to that weirdo from Greenland?
Just as some woman cheerfully said: