controlling seven watchful cats in a small cage must be part savage himself. And the only two things he was afraid of were Mr. Legere and the circus's one tiger, a huge beast called Green Terror.
As I said, I first saw Mr. Legere in Steubenville, and he was staring into Green Terror's cage as if the tiger knew all the secrets of life and death.
He was lean, dark, quiet. His deep, recessed eyes held an expression of pain and brooding violence in their green-flecked depths, and his hands were always crossed behind his back as he stared moodily in at the tiger.
Green Terror was a beast to be stared at. He was a huge, beautiful specimen with a flawless striped coat, emerald eyes, and heavy fangs like ivory spikes. His roars usually filled the circus grounds – fierce, angry, and utterly savage. He seemed to scream defiance and frustration at the whole world.
Chips Bailey, who had been with Farnum &Williams since Lord knew when, told me that Mr. Indrasil used to use Green Terror in his act, until one night when the tiger leaped suddenly from its perch and almost ripped his head from his shoulders before he could get out of the cage. I noticed that Mr. Indrasil always wore, his hair long down the back of his neck.
I can still remember the tableau that day in Steubenville. It was hot, sweatingly hot, and we had a shirtsleeve crowd. That was why Mr.
Legere and Mr. Indrasil stood out. Mr. Legere, standing silently by the tiger cage, was fully dressed in a suit and vest, his face unmarked by perspiration. And Mr. Indrasil, clad in one of his beautiful silk shirts and white whipcord breeches, was staring at them both, his face dead-white, his eyes bulging in lunatic anger, hate, and fear. He was carrying a currycomb and brush, and his hands were trembling as they clenched on them spasmodically.
Suddenly he saw me, and his anger found vent. 'You!' He shouted.
'Johnston!'
'Yes sir?' I felt a crawling in the pit of my stomach. I knew I wasabout to have the wrath of Indrasil vented on me, and the thought turned me weak with fear. I like to think I'm as brave as the next, and if 112
it had been anyone else, I think I would have been fully determined to stand up for myself. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Mr. Indrasil, and his eyes were mad.
'These cages, Johnston. Are they supposed to be clean?' He pointed a finger, and I followed it. I saw four errant wisps of straw and an incriminating puddle of hose water in the far corner of one.
'Y-yes, sir,' I said, and what was intended to be firmness became palsied bravado.
Silence, like the electric pause before a downpour. People were beginning to look, and I was dimly aware that Mr. Legere was staring at us with his bottomless eyes.
'Yes, sir?' Mr. Indrasil thundered suddenly. 'Yes, sir?
'I used disinfectant, yes – '
Everyone was staring now. I wanted to retch, to die. 'Now you get the hell into that tool shed, and you get that disinfectant and swab out those cages,' he whispered, measuring every word. One hand suddenly shot out, grasping my shoulder. 'And don't you ever, ever, speak back to me again.'
I don't know where the words came from, but they were suddenly there, spilling off my lips. 'I didn't speak back to you, Mr. Indrasil, and I don't like you saying I did. I – resent it. Now let me go.'
His face went suddenly red, then white, then almost saffron with rage.
His eyes were blazing doorways to hell.
Right then I thought I was going to die.
He made an inarticulate gagging sound, and the grip on my shoulder became excruciating. His right hand went up...up...up, and then descended with unbelievable speed. If that hand had connected with my face, it would have knocked me senseless at best. At worst, it would have broken my neck.
It did not connect.
Another hand materialized magically out of space, right in front of me. The two straining limbs came together with a flat smacking sound.
It was Mr. Legere.
'Leave the boy alone,' he said emotionlessly.
Mr. Indrasil stared at him for a long second, and I think there was nothing so unpleasant in the whole business as watching the fear of Mr.
Legere and the mad lust to hurt (or to kill!) mix in those terrible eyes.
Then he turned and stalked away.
I turned to look at Mr. Legere. 'Thank you,' I said.
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'Don't thank me.' And it wasn't a 'don't thank me,' but a 'don't thank me.'' Not a gesture of modesty but a literal command. In a sudden flash of intuition empathy if you will I understood exactly what he meant by that comment. I was a pawn in what must have been a long combat between the two of them. I had been captured by Mr. Legere rather than Mr. Indrasil. He had stopped the lion tamer not because he felt for me, but because it gained him an advantage, however slight, in their private war.
'What's your name?' I asked, not at all offended by what I had inferred. He had, after all, been honest with me.
'Legere,' he said briefly. He turned to go.
'Are you with a circus?' I asked, not wanting to let him go so easily.
'You seemed to know – him.'
