Chapter 5

The flags at the zenith of each large tent flapped lazily in the thin breeze that gained energy this short distance from the concentrated buildings of the city. Rhosyn craned her neck to look up at the green banners emblazoned with the golden bow and arrow of Archer's Circus.

She picked her way through the main thoroughfare, boots sinking gently into the well-trodden ground of mud and hay. Even though the Circus had only been open for a day, word seemed to have spread quickly. What appeared to be half of London had turned out at the end of the workday to see the spectacle.

The air swirled with excitement and the rich, buttery aroma of popcorn, working to dispel the frustration that clung to Rhosyn's consciousness throughout her day patrolling the lower city. Even now, Mr. Gower's whispered conversation with Hamish replayed in her head as she tried to make sense of it and decide where she might look for Paul and Olivia next. Maybe she should turn around and spend the night scouring the rooftops for the Hood.

Instead, she trekked towards the tallest tent, standing proudly at the center of the festivities. That was where Ansel had indicated he would be when he sent her ticket with a messenger, and Rhosyn could certainly do with the distraction of some entertainment right now.

As she walked, she peeked through the entrances of some of the surrounding structures, revealing small stages occupied by brightly dressed jugglers or gaudily painted contortionists. At one point she jumped at the roar of a mighty beast somewhere nearby. She had seen posters for a lion tamer, and she hoped he was skilled enough to keep the animal in check.

Finally, she reached the grandest of the quickly erected structures, marveling that such a cathedral of green and white striped canvas could be constructed overnight. This tent seemed to be drawing the bulk of the crowds, and Rhosyn let herself drift inside with the milling tide.

The setup looked familiar: tightropes and trapezes towered above the stands, already filling with spectators. It seemed the acrobats were considered the crowning jewel of Archer's Circus—the Merry Men, as Ansel had introduced them.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a touch at her elbow drew Rhosyn from her thoughts, where she gaped at the network of ropes above her.

"I was hoping you'd come," Ansel said by way of greeting. He smiled magnanimously, just the barest peek of the silver stripe in his hair visible below the silk top hat he wore.

"Why wouldn't I?" Rhosyn followed in the direction he nudged her elbow, out of the thickest of the entering crowds.

"I know you're busy." Ansel shrugged. "Clearly you've been working."

Rhosyn glanced down at her pressed, navy-blue uniform, looking dusty after a full day's wear, and inwardly shrank. She might have changed, but she wasn't inclined to ruin one of the dresses Contessa gifted her in the muck of the grounds, and it had become clear last night that her older clothes were no longer a safe option.

"Crime never sleeps," Rhosyn grumbled.

And neither do I, she added silently.

"Then we'll have to make the most of your time off. I saved the best seat in the house for you." Ansel led them through the spectators, milling this way and that as they found their seats, and back behind a flap that appeared to separate the backstage area.

He turned right up a narrow set of wooden stairs, only slightly too deep to be called a ladder. Rhosyn took her first step upward only to find this angle gave her an extremely close view of Ansel's backside. Immediately, she paused, letting him get a few extra steps in front of her and looking determinedly at her feet as she followed. She should be behaving professionally, especially while in uniform, Rhosyn reminded herself, not gawking crassly like the lower city street urchin she was.

Such thoughts were forgotten when Ansel pulled back the curtain at the top of the steps and revealed a small box overlooking the stage from above. From this height, she was nearly level with some of the tightropes. As Ansel beckoned her into the space, she approached the edge and looked over the railing at the other spectators below.

What would it be like to be one of the acrobats, to dangle from this height with only your balance and wits to protect you? Even as the idea made her dizzy, a thrill ran up her spine.

"I take it you like the accommodations?" Ansel asked, a brow raised.

"I think a private box might be a little grand for just me," Rhosyn said, turning to the small number of comfortable-looking chairs crowded into the tight space.

"You did best me," Ansel argued.

"Don't think this will get you out of showing me your circus act." Rhosyn jabbed a finger into his chest. It was surprisingly firm, indicating more muscle than his size would suggest. "Were you an acrobat? The strong man?"

"You don't have much patience, do you?" Ansel deflected. "Even when you're given entertainment fit for a king to occupy you while you wait."

"Why is patience always the virtue people espouse?" Rhosyn grumbled. "Why can't getting things done be the virtue?"

Ansel chuckled. "I guarantee I'll give you the promised demonstration. For now, I must leave you to your own devices to go and get the show started."

With a small bow, he backed out of the space, leaving Rhosyn to take her seat. She didn't have to wait very long until Ansel appeared on the stage below, raising his arms. The voices of the spectators fell to hushed whispers, the air practically quivering with the barely contained tension of anticipation. It captured Rhosyn in its threads, pulling her to perch on the edge of her seat, leaning forward so she wouldn't miss anything.

As Ansel spoke, thanking the audience for coming and welcoming them to Archer's Circus, the Merry Men slipped quietly onto the platforms across from her, from which they would leap. They wore the same green outfits as before, and Rhosyn's heart rate accelerated in excitement. Sitting level with them, imagining diving off the edge in a freefall before catching the trapeze at the last moment, added a thrill she hadn't anticipated.

The crowd erupted in applause as Ansel finished his introduction, gesturing upwards to direct the rest of the audience's attention to the acrobats, moments before they began the dizzying dance of falling and flying.

Seeing the Merry Men for the second time did nothing to lessen the heart-pounding effect. Gravity seemed to have lifted its spell temporarily, letting the performers achieve feats that Rhosyn wouldn't have even dreamed of attempting.

As one of the men flipped off a platform before easily grabbing a swinging trapeze at the peak of its arc, the image of the Hood performing a perfect front flip from the fence last night flickered through her mind. She had entertained the thought he was one of the circus performers before, but dismissed it when she didn't spot anybody fitting his build at the King's ball. Maybe he hadn't been performing that night though. Or perhaps she had missed something.

Rhosyn's eyes narrowed as she began consuming the performance with a clinical eye. One by one, she appraised the men flying through the air. A good number of them she ruled out quickly for being too tall. A few were too thin, while several were bulkier than the wiry strength of the arm banded across her chest last night would suggest.

What's more, something in their posture was off. As awe inspiring as the Merry Men were, none of them quite carried themselves with the effortless confidence she remembered on the Hood as he repetitively slipped from her grasp.

Rhosyn shook herself. She was just exaggerating the Hood's prowess for being the most challenging and intriguing criminal she had encountered in years. These men were her best suspects. After all, she had encountered the Hood for the first time just the day before they performed at the King's ball.

She just needed evidence.

Rhosyn tore her attention from the spectacle before her, instead inspecting the rest of her surroundings. For now, she was unattended, and everybody in the vicinity was preoccupied with the performance. If there was any evidence to be found backstage, now was the time for an unapproved investigation.

With one last look to confirm Ansel's position at the corner of the stage, eyes darting between the forms flipping above him, Rhosyn slipped from the private booth. She descended the ladder to the ground level quickly and quietly. When she turned and looked around the backstage area, she found it deserted, as she had hoped.

Finding what she was looking for, though, might be another challenge entirely. The area wasn't exactly organized—or if it was, it was sensible only to the people who had done it. Cracked open crates with swathes of colored fabric spilling out the top dotted the area. Rhosyn had to slip past a large spinning wheel and a stack of painted wood slats as she perused the area.

Finally, in the back, against a wall that had green curtains hung against it, folded over as if for storage, lay a series of bundles. They looked like discarded clothes and personal effects—likely where the performers kept their things after changing into their less practical costumes.

Rhosyn knelt and began rifling through the bags and bundles with deft fingers. As she went, she carefully catalogued exactly how clothes were draped and packs stacked. It was a habit from years of lifting little trinkets and emptying purses to feed her young charges—and thankfully one that returned quickly when she wanted to investigate without giving herself away.

As she reached the third pile of belongings, she asked herself exactly what she was looking for. Maybe the familiar hood itself, or the wrist bow that the Hood seemed to favor, although he might not carry those everywhere. She had already uncovered several small blades, but carrying a knife didn't necessarily mean one was a criminal. For those who walked alone at night, Rhosyn would nearly consider it reckless not too.

Although, as the fourth bundle revealed yet another set of knives—clearly well cared for and stored in sheathes that could easily be strapped to ankles or forearms—she did have to wonder at how well armed this performing troupe was.

So focused was Rhosyn on looking through the remaining contents of the satchel, intent on sussing out any hidden pockets that could contain incriminating evidence, that she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. A hand reached over her shoulder and deftly pulled free one of the knives, forgotten in her hand as she continued her search.

She spun in place, already swinging her leg out in her crouch to catch her potential attacker in the ankles. Rhosyn stopped her kick just short, as she found Ansel staring down at her with a bemused expression.

He tossed the knife up, where it flipped twice before he plucked it out of the air easily by the handle. Rhosyn blinked, nearly forgetting that he had caught her looking through his performers' belongings. He hadn't even been looking at the knife as he tossed it. The only person who she had ever seen handle a blade so confidently before was Nate.

"You don't seem concerned with waiting for a warrant," he commented. He twirled the knife absent-mindedly and Rhosyn suddenly became all too aware of her position kneeling at his feet. She shot upright and scowled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"An officer of the Royal Police rifling through my circus unattended? One would think you suspected us of something," he shrugged. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

"Maybe it was personal curiosity," Rhosyn deflected, knowing it was a weak argument.

"I thought you made it clear this wasn't personal when you showed up for a night of revelry in uniform," Ansel said, and although his tone remained teasing, for some reason the observation rang of sadness to Rhosyn.

She shrugged. "Well, it hardly matters, because I didn't find what I was looking for anyways."

"Oh, and what was that?"

"Clues to what your circus act was, since you seem intent on keeping that information under wraps." Rhosyn knew Ansel was too sharp to let her meddling drop, but was surprised when he rose to the bait, eyes twinkling as a smirk curled his lips.

"Oh, but you did." Ansel tossed the knife in the air again, and Rhosyn's gaze tracked the swirling silver as it rose and fell.

She raised her brows in question.

"Call a target," Ansel instructed, gesturing to the empty backstage.

Rhosyn's eyes swept over the cluttered area and landed on the stairs up to the box she had occupied before her ill-fated exploration.

She pointed. "The steps. Fourth one up, dead center."

Without windup or preamble, Ansel's arm whipped past Rhosyn's face, wrist snapping forward a moment before the knife embedded itself in the wooden stair with a solid thwack—exactly where Rhosyn had specified.

She blinked in surprise, but quickly schooled her features.

"Psh. That's hardly worth selling tickets to see. I could do that."

On a good day, with a healthy amount of practice, she amended in her head. She had once been proficient with throwing knives, but they hadn't been in her repertoire for a while now.

"You're a tough sell." Ansel reached for Rhosyn's hand and pulled the second knife out of the sheath, which dangled forgotten at her side. "How about something a little tougher then."

He bent and rustled through the packs at their feet, making no effort to leave them looking undisturbed, as Rhosyn had. He emerged with an apple and handed it to Rhosyn.

"I'm not really in the mood for a snack," she commented drily.

Ansel fixed her with an impatient look. "Go on. Throw it."

Rhosyn gave him a look of question. When his expression remained sincere, she shrugged and gave the fruit a solid toss. It arced through the air away from them.

At the zenith of its flight, Ansel threw the second knife. It embedded itself in the far wall a moment before the apple fell to the ground, split neatly in two.

Now, Rhosyn didn't hide her surprise. Comparing knife tricks was a classic pastime among the gangs, but she had never seen somebody perform such a feat.

"I'll admit, I don't have any tricks quite that good."

"Come now, I'm sure we could find a place for you in the circus if you got tired of police work. Maybe some sleight of hand?"

Rhosyn sighed dramatically. "Well, I do know one trick." She turned to face Ansel and stepped close. He blinked at her sudden proximity. Rhosyn took advantage of the moment, leaning in and widening her eyes at him pleadingly. "It's silly though, so you have to promise not to laugh."

Ansel swallowed thickly and nodded, clearly so thrown by her sudden invasion of his space that he paid little attention to anything besides her face, inches from his. It was far closer than people tended to get in proper society, but she wasn't above using her lack of her propriety to her advantage.

A smile split Rhosyn's face and she stepped back. As Ansel frowned, Rhosyn lifted her hand, which had subtly slid into his pocket as he was distracted.

"I'm quite a good pickpocket. Let's see what we have here."

Ansel lunged forward as if to steal her prize from her grasp, but Rhosyn danced back to examine what had felt like a slip of paper. Perhaps it was a secret note or an embarrassing letter.

To her confusion, upon examination, it seemed to be a single playing card. She turned it over in her fingers, wondering why he might be carrying such a thing in his pocket. The three of spades stared up at her and her eyebrows knit together.

An image flashed in her head—the Hood, hunching over her and picking up a fallen playing card from the ground as she gasped for air. He had tucked it into his jacket before slipping away into the poisoned smoke.

Rhosyn had swapped this card for the queen of hearts in her hand the night of the Gower's party.

Her head snapped up to stare at Ansel, but he had already realized his mistake by the time her mind fit the pieces together.

His fist flew towards her face, but she had just enough time to turn away. The blow brushed past her nose by the breadth of a hair.

Rhosyn let the momentum of her dodge carry her into a full spin. As she came back around, she threw her elbow out. It caught Ansel square in the chest and he stumbled back. With him on the back foot, she advanced.

She lashed out with fists and feet, her standard issue police baton remaining forgotten at her belt. Sure, she was attempting to apprehend a criminal, but the Hood's crimes remained in the back of her mind.

This brawl was personal.

Ansel had flirted with her and tricked her—he had been right under her nose the whole time, smiling and dancing. He would answer to her fists. Rhosyn was a daughter of the Lions, after all.

With a kick to his knee, Rhosyn sent Ansel sprawling to the packed dirt ground. She fell on top of him, pinning his torso to the ground beneath her thighs. As frighteningly competent as he was with a knife, both blades were now on the opposite side of the room, and he was no match for Rhosyn in an all-out brawl. She was used to inelegant fights and had the crooked nose to prove it.

However, even as Rhosyn bore Ansel into the ground, his hands remained free. He managed to get one on Rhosyn's face, shoving it to the side. This time, she didn't refrain from biting him, closing her teeth savagely around his finger.

His howl of pain split the air as Rhosyn tasted copper. His shout was loud enough to risk being heard in the main tent, even over the roar of the still-cheering crowd.

He wrenched his hand away, trying to hook Rhosyn's legs to flip them over. Rhosyn countered by grabbing his wrist, trying to pin him to the ground. She nearly lost focus as pounding footsteps sounded behind her. Ansel's shout must have drawn an audience to their tussle.

"You. Are under…arrest." Rhosyn grunted as she continued to wrestle Ansel into the ground despite his struggles. She was suddenly glad she was wearing her uniform.

"John," Ansel gasped. "John!"

Rhosyn only had a moment to frown before thick arms wrapped around her torso, hauling her up and back. She kicked and hissed but it was no use.

The form behind her was easily twice as broad as Ansel. Her efforts to dislodge his grip were as fruitless as attempting to push a steam engine by hand. Still, Rhosyn kicked out, nearly catching Ansel in the head as he pushed to his feet. She bared her teeth, prepared to call him a set of creative names, but a cloth pressed over her nose and mouth just as she inhaled.

It smelled and tasted just like the smoke from Hood's bomb, but so concentrated it made her eyes water and throat burn. She coughed as her lungs tried to reject the vapors, but it was too late. Her vision began to swim, her efforts to escape weakening quickly.

Ansel's mouth moved as if he was saying something, but his voice reached her muffled and quiet, as if she were listening to him from under water. Just before the darkness at the edges of her vision closed in, Rhosyn met Ansel's eyes, but instead of triumph, she could have sworn they held regret.