“Is it always this crowded? The boats can barely move.”
Kiernan laughs. “The passengers aren’t in it for exercise. They’ll gradually work their way a quarter mile or so downriver. The police have increased their arrests, but the couples keep on coming.”
“Arrests? For what?”
“Necking in the canoes. Canoedling, some of them call it.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Why make out in a canoe? There are people all around them. It’s not very private.”
“People in the other boats are doing the same thing, so they aren’t gonna pay you any mind. In a few years, when there are autos everywhere, the backseat will put these canoe vendors out of business, but right now, those boats are the most privacy you can buy for a dime.”
We wander around for a while, and then a light rain begins to fall, so we trudge up the hill toward the building at the top. The sign out front reads Great Steel Theater, and that’s a pretty accurate description of the massive gray structure.
Kiernan groans, then digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of nickels. “If Josephine was working, you wouldn’t need a ticket,” he says in a low voice. “But Agatha is hard-nosed. I’m pretty sure she resells some of the tickets and pockets the difference. She’s gonna get caught if she’s not careful. Easley may be stupid, but his wife isn’t.”
He slides the coins across the wooden ledge. “Hi, Agatha. I brought a guest today. We’ll go backstage first, but she’ll be watching the show afterward.”
A heavy-set, older woman glances up briefly from her book and does a double take at my face, like she’s trying to figure out where she’s seen me before. Sure enough, there’s the fading ghost of a lotus flower on her hand. I don’t hold her attention for long, however. The book—a tattered paperback entitled Mischievous Maid Faynie—is clearly more interesting than a girl who bears a passing resemblance to a picture at the temple.
We wait for a moment, and then Kiernan says, “Her ticket, please? Just in case Tito checks.”
Agatha gives him a foul look and then tears off a ticket, shoving it toward us.
The show doesn’t start for twenty minutes, but there are already a few people who’ve come in early to snag a spot near the front. The auditorium is partly enclosed, but the large steel curtains on the sides are open, letting in a bit of a breeze. Kiernan leads me toward a door near the stage, and we walk into a dim room crowded with stage props. There’s a trail of sorts between the junk, and Kiernan seems to know where he’s going.
A few yards in, we pass a wooden coffin on a raised platform, and he knocks on the top. “This was the trick I auditioned with. But I’ve upped the ante since then.”
At the back of the room, a small flight of wooden steps goes up to stage level. A curvy blonde in her midtwenties turns as we approach, a welcoming smile on her face.
“Somebody pinch me. Are you Kate? I’m Eliza Easley. It’s nice to see you actually exist.” She slides her hand up Kiernan’s arm and winks at me. “You have no idea how many girls ask me to introduce them to this guy, but he keeps saying he’s taken.”
Kiernan shoots me an apologetic glance and squeezes my hand. I wouldn’t blow his cover either way, but I wish I could believe that he’s been saying that simply to ward off her matchmaking attempts rather than because he’s still convinced that we belong together.
“Hi, Eliza. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m gonna show her the setup,” Kiernan says, “then take her out front. I’ll be back about five minutes before I go on.”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, kid. Perry up and quit. I’m going to need some extra muscle moving the sets between acts.”
He makes a face. “That’s okay. I’ll get her settled and come right back. Why’d Perry quit?”
“Same reason you’ll quit, and same reason I’ll quit eventually. My jackass of a husband.” She grins, but I get the feeling she’s not exactly joking.
Kiernan nods, then leads me to the other side of the stage, toward a black rectangular box about the width and maybe two-thirds the height of a telephone booth. It’s sitting on a wheeled platform a few inches above the floor. He pulls the curtain that surrounds the box to reveal a glass case, filled with water. Another cart a few feet away holds an assortment of metal cuffs and chains.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope,” he says. “We pull someone from the audience and cuff him, just to show everyone these aren’t trick cuffs. Then I jump in the bath, they pull the curtain to hide me and parade around—and when they slide the curtain open, I’m out of the cuffs.”
“What about your tux?”
He taps his chest. “Bathing suit. Underneath.”
“Oh, please tell me it’s not one of those one-piece things that come down to the knees?”
“Yes. And I look very handsome in it,” he deadpans.
“I’m sure you do,” I say, fighting back a laugh.
The auditorium is filling up rapidly when Kiernan walks me out. The light rain has turned into a downpour, and most of the people coming through the doors are shaking water out of their hair.
A tall, thin man with a mustache, wearing a deep red jacket, is on the far side of the auditorium, trying to lower a heavy metal curtain to keep the rain from gusting in. He’s already fastened the one on the wall closest to us, but it looks like the other curtain is stuck. He jerks the crank back and forth to jar it loose, but it doesn’t seem to be working.
“It’s gonna be a full house. Ticket sales always go up when it storms. I was hoping you’d get a better seat. Do you want to go backstage and jump back a few minutes so we can get you closer?”
I shake my head and take a seat in the center aisle, a few rows from the back. “That’s okay. I can come another day and get a closer look if I need to.”
“As much as I enjoy your company, I think we should avoid that. Listen, I’m gonna help Tito with that storm curtain, and then I’ve got to get backstage. See you after.”
He pushes through the crowd, and I watch as the two of them give the crank an extra hard shove and the barrier begins to roll down. When it reaches the bottom, Kiernan pats Tito on the back and says something to him, nodding in my direction. Then Kiernan hustles down the aisle, turning to flash me a quick smile before he disappears through the stage door.
I start to feel a little uneasy as soon as he’s out of sight. I tug at the ruffled neck of my blouse until I locate the cord attached to my CHRONOS key. I rub the cord between my fingers nervously while I look around at the audience. Some are eating popcorn from soggy cartons, while others try to read the program in the dim light.
After a couple of minutes, a small orchestra begins to warm up. A violinist takes his bow for a practice run across the strings, making an eerie screech at exactly the same moment I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I jump, but it’s just the guy Kiernan called Tito. He’s older than he looked from a distance. When I look up at him, I see a flash of recognition in his eyes.
Dear God, do they only hire Cyrists at this park?
But then he breaks into a grin that deepens the wrinkles in his face. “You are Kate?”
I return his smile, still a bit wary.
“The magician boy, Boudini, he ask me to give you this.” His accent sounds Italian, or maybe Portuguese. He hands me a program and leans in a little closer. “So it finally work, eh? You make him notice you?”
I look at him, puzzled, and shake my head.
“Ah, no need to be shy. Tito will keep your secret. I no forget a pretty face, such pretty eyes. And is nice to see you smile for a change. Every show I see you watch him, you and the other man.” He nods toward the other side of the theater. “Then you sneak away before the next act, never stay to see the whole show. You stay today, okay? Is good show!”
The smile is frozen on my face, as I glance around the auditorium to see if I spot Prudence or the blue glow from her medallion.