BLUEMANTLE

would never switch allegiance. But meeting any of the Troubadours had this effect on him – still, after all these years. He looked at the space that Chief had filled and took a deep breath. Then he looked down at the piece of paper in his hands and carefully unfolded it.
Three sets of numbers.
Date, time and place.

Chapter Four
The Telltale Circus was not a circus at all, but a travelling theatre troupe who performed on a stage inside a big top. For generations, they had crossed continents, performing to audiences in countless countries. The founding families each originated from a different part of the world, bringing with them stories from their own cultures – folktales that held special meaning beyond mere character and plot. It was these folktales that they adapted and performed as plays, along with tales they had collected through their life on the road.
One day, they had set up their orange and green striped tent on Standings Cross on the edge of Old Wydeye Town, a short distance from the revered Wydeye Deep. The Old Town itself had been founded upon superstition and folklore, much of which revolved around the mysticism of Wydeye Deep – a vast crater with a sheer drop to its fathomless base.
The Circus had performed its plays for the standard run of twenty-one nights. Then a twenty-second night. Then a twenty-third. That was almost eighty years ago.
Elders of the Old Town attributed the extended residency to the influence of Wydeye Deep; it was safer for the Circus to remain under its protective eye, they said. Others maintained it was the city’s own folktales that held the attraction, most notably The Travelling Minstrels and The One-Legged Crow. The theatre troupe themselves were not swayed by local superstition, despite building their livelihoods on similar such tales. However, they could not account for their mutual desire to settle.
Over time, the next generation of actors took to the stage – men and women born into the life of a travelling theatre, but who had never left the limits of Wydeye. One of those native successors was Ursel.
In her late thirties, Ursel had cropped hair, dyed black with a blue streak on one side and a tattoo of a question mark on her left upper arm. Born with a congenital amputation, she had no right arm. Her parents and grandparents had been accomplished actors. The stage was her home – performing, akin to breathing.
By the time Chase and Naylor arrived at the Circus from Wella’s quarters in Rader, Ursel had just returned from her day job at the iron refinery in Coxen Lyme.
“Are you Ursel?” said Chase.
“Not quite, but that’ll do. Who’s asking?” she said. She faced them through tall iron gates, security having barred their entry.
“I’m Chase. And this is Naylor. We’re looking for my sister, Wella. Your height. Fair hair. Forty. She’s gone missing. Do you know her?”
“I might. If I do, she didn’t mention an older brother.”
“She’s a private person.”
“Sounds like I know your sister better than you do.” She studied her visitors through narrowed eyes. “How do I know you’re not from the A?”
“Do we look like we are?” said Chase, a hard edge to his voice. It had been a hot ride up from Creaser, an exhausting day of searching.
“Now you sound like you are.” She turned and began to walk away.
“No, wait,” said Naylor, elbowing Chase. “Please. We’re sorry.”
Ursel stopped but didn’t turn around.
“We’re just worried for Wella. Chase here’s convinced there’s something wrong and I’m of a mind to agree. We just want to find her, to know she’s okay.”
Ursel turned to face them and walked back to the gate. “If you’re after Wella, why come looking for me?”
“We found this. In her quarters.” Chase handed her the folded pamphlet through the bars of the gate.
“Are you mad?” she hissed, snatching the pamphlet and stuffing it into her tunic. She glanced around her, eyes wide and searching.
“Listen,” said Chase, gripping the bars, “I don’t know what it is, but I know what it’s about. Which means I know enough to fear for her safety. There were others, too. But this one had your name on. So, if you know something, tell me.” He could sense she was about to turn and leave. “Wait. Okay, so you probably do know her better than I do. But she’s my sister. I just need to know she’s alright.”
Ursel hesitated. She looked at Chase’s hands, his knuckles white from where he gripped the bars. She noticed his strap shirt, soaked from the heat and soiled from dust and clinker, and the open canteen hanging from his belt. She gave a brief nod to the security guard, then said to Chase, “It looks like you could do with some water. Follow me.”
–
“I’ve known Wella for a couple of years. She’s a good friend.” Ursel had led Chase and Naylor around the side of the big top to an area of smaller tents, yurts and colourful wooden caravans. They were now sat on the floor inside a small yurt, no more than twelve feet in diameter, which Ursel introduced as her home. “If you don’t see her, why do you think she’s missing?”
“We were due to meet. This morning. It was important. When she didn’t show, I knew something must be wrong.” He looked to Naylor.
“He’s worried about the swallow hole,” said Naylor. “Do you know if she would have had a reason to be in Glos on Wednesday night?”
“Not as far as I know. She hates the A as much as I do. And they’re the only people that live around there, right?”
“That’s what I figured. But Chase here can’t help but interpret coincidence as conclusion.”
“When did you last see her?” asked Chase, his broad frame hunched over as he knelt awkwardly on the floor.
“Not since the hole, I’m afraid. But that doesn’t mean anything. She works long shifts and I’m tied up here when I’m not at work. We normally only get to meet up