He glances over at Poppet, who is looking at him instead of the sky. She gives him a grin and then turns away.
Bailey wonders if he should ask if she sees anything in the stars.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Widget says, anticipating the question.
Poppet turns to make a face at him but then focuses her gaze upward, looking into the clear night sky. Bailey watches her carefully. She looks as though she is contemplating a painting or reading a sign from far away, squinting just a little.
She stops suddenly, putting her hands to her face, pressing her white-gloved fingers over her eyes. Widget puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Bailey asks.
Poppet takes a deep breath before she nods, keeping her hands over her face.
“I’m fine,” she says with a muffled voice. “It was very … bright. It made my head hurt.”
She takes her hands from her face and shakes her head; whatever distress she had been in has apparently passed.
For the remainder of the ride none of them look up at the star-speckled sky.
“I’m sorry,” Bailey says quietly as they walk down another curving stairway in order to exit.
“It’s not your fault,” Poppet says. “I should have known better, the stars have been doing that lately, making no sense and giving me headaches. I should probably stop trying for a while.”
“You need some cheering,” Widget says as they return to the din of the circus. “Cloud Maze?”
Poppet nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit.
“What’s the Cloud Maze?” Bailey asks.
“You haven’t found
“Widge can see the past,” Poppet says suddenly, diverting the conversation. “It’s one of the reasons his stories are always so good.”
“The past is easier,” Widget says. “It’s already there.”
“In the stars?” Bailey asks.
“No,” Widget says. “On people. The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now. I can … well, read isn’t the right word, but it’s not the right word for what Poppet does with the stars, either.”
“So you can see my past on me?” Bailey asks.
“I could,” Widget says. “I try not to do it without permission if there’s nothing that jumps out automatically. Do you mind?”
Bailey shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Widget stares at him for a moment, not quite long enough for Bailey to become uncomfortable under the weight of his eyes, but almost.
“There’s a tree,” Widget says. “This massive old oak tree that’s more home to you than your house but not as much as this is.” He gestures around at the tents and the lights. “Feeling like you’re alone even when you’re with other people. Apples. And your sister seems like a real gem,” he adds sarcastically.
“That sounds about right,” Bailey says with a laugh.
“What are the apples?” Poppet asks.
“My family has a farm with an orchard,” Bailey explains.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Poppet says. Bailey has never considered the rows of short, twisted trees lovely.
“Here we are,” Widget says as they round a turn.
Despite his limited experience with the circus, Bailey is amazed that he has never seen this tent before. It is tall, almost as tall as the acrobat tent but narrower. He stops to read the sign over the door.
Inside, the tent is dark-walled with an immense, iridescent white structure in the center. Bailey can think of nothing else to call it. It takes up the entirety of the tent save for a raised path along the perimeter, a winding loop that begins at the tent entrance and circles around. The floor beyond the path is covered with white spheres, thousands of them piled like soap bubbles.
The tower itself is a series of platforms swooping in odd, diaphanous shapes, quite similar to clouds. They are layered, like a cake. From what Bailey can see, the space between layers varies from room enough to walk straight through to barely enough to crawl. Here and there parts of it almost float away from the central tower, drifting off into space.
And everywhere, there are people climbing. Hanging on edges, walking through paths, climbing higher or lower. Some platforms move with the weight; others seem strong and sturdy. The whole of it moves constantly, a light movement like breathing.
“Why is it called a maze?” Bailey asks.
“You’ll see,” Widget says.
They walk along the path and it sways gently, like a dock on water. Bailey struggles to keep his balance while he looks up.
Some platforms are suspended from ropes or chains from above. On lower levels, there are large poles driven through multiple platforms, though Bailey cannot tell if they reach all the way to the top. In some places there are swoops of netting, in others ropes hang like ribbons.
They stop on the far side, where the path swings close enough to jump onto one of the lower platforms.
Bailey picks up one of the white spheres. It is lighter than it looks, and kitten soft. Across the tent, people toss them at each other like snowballs, though instead of breaking they bounce off of their targets, floating gently down. Bailey tosses the one in his hand back and follows Poppet and Widget.
As soon as they have walked a few paces into the structure, Bailey can see why it is called a maze. He had expected walls and turns and dead ends, but this is different. Platforms hang at all levels: some low by his knees or his waist, others stretch high above his head, overlapping in irregular patterns. It is a maze that goes up and down as well as side to side.
“See you later,” Widget says, hopping onto a nearby platform and climbing onto the one above it.
“Widge always goes straight to the very top,” Poppet says. “He knows all the fastest routes to get there.”
Bailey and Poppet take a more leisurely route, choosing platforms to climb at random, crawling up bits of white netting and maneuvering carefully through narrow passages. Bailey cannot tell where the edges are, or how high they have climbed, but he is relieved that Poppet seems much less troubled than she had been on the Stargazer as she laughs, helping him through the more difficult turns.
“How do we get down?” Bailey asks eventually, wondering how they will ever find their way back.
“The easiest way is to jump,” Poppet says. She pulls him over to a hidden turn that reveals the edge of the platform.
They are much higher than Bailey had suspected, even though they have not reached the top.
“It’s okay,” Poppet says. “It’s safe.”
“This is impossible,” Bailey says, peering out over the ledge.
“Nothing’s impossible,” Poppet responds. She smiles at him and jumps, her red hair trailing out behind her
