Read Online The Adventures of Mr. Maximillian Bacchus and His Travelling Circus by Clive Barker, David Niall Wilson, Richard A. Kirk - Free Book Online Page B
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ahead of them.
“A rider’s approaching,” said Domingo, peering through the window.
“Oh?” said Mr. Bacchus. “And how does he smell?”
“Terrible,” replied the Clown.
“We’re about to be attacked,” said Malachi.
“He has a black helmet and a shark’s eyes!” the Clown continued.
“I knew we should have played Venice,” said Malachi.
“—and a sword as long as a crocodile.”
At this moment, Malachi buried himself in the costume basket. The caravan came to a halt, and Mr. Bacchus stepped out, followed by the rest of the company, with the exception of Malachi. By now, the rider was within a few yards of the caravan, and reining-in his horse. He addressed Mr. Bacchus, his breath like smoke in icy air.
“You,” he said, directing a gauntleted finger at Bacchus.
“Yes?” said Mr. Bacchus, stepping forward, but remaining out of sword’s swipe.
“Name?” demanded the rider.
“Bacchus.”
“Bac-us,” repeated the rider.
“No, no, my dear boy, Maximillian,” corrected Bacchus.
“Ah,” said the rider, and through the slits in his helmet his teeth glinted. “Max-im-illian Bacchus.”
“That’s right, dear fellow,” said Mr. Bacchus, and extended his hand to the rider. “This is my Circus.”
The rider’s eyes roved the company, until they rested on Domingo.
“Clown,” said the rider.
“Do you mean Domingo?” asked Mr. Bacchus.
The rider looked up into the sky and pointed.
“In a sky,” said the rider. “Clown in a sky.”
“They must have seen you,” said Mr. Bacchus. “When you rose.”
“Welcome,” said the rider. “To Cathay. In Xanadu Kublai Khan awaits you.”
“Kublai Khan!” shouted Hero, lifting Ophelia onto the palm of his hand. “Did you hear what he said? Kublai Khan! We’re here! We’re here!”
There was a great deal of shouting and jubilance, which caused the horse to whinny and stamp, and then, with the rider leading, the caravan began its precarious journey along the mountain road.
High into the mountains, and yet higher they travelled, and the road before them was now but a little wider than the caravan, falling endlessly away to one side. Malachi emerged from the costume basket, took one look through the window at the dizzying height, and fled back to bury himself once more. It was undoubtedly a terrifying journey, but Angelo was an excellent driver and Thoth the Ibis-bird a sure-footed creature, so there was not a great deal of danger. Only once did everyone’s heart lose a beat, and that was for quite a different reason. When the caravan had been following the rider for about an hour, everyone became aware of a thundering in the depths below them. The caravan stopped, and Angelo called:
“Look, everybody! Look at this!”
Everybody stepped into the bitter air, and the sight that met their eyes froze the very breath on their lips. Mists of fine spray and ice fell around them, pouring up from a vast fissure in the side of the mountain, from out of which there poured a ponderous flood of shining water, roaring as it cascaded into the depths to burst on the jagged peaks below. Then, even as they watched, awestruck, in the depths a bird screeched. At least it sounded like a bird, yet it had sorrow to it that no bird’s cry could equal. Ophelia looked at Hero, who looked at Bathsheba, who looked at Domingo, who looked at Mr. Bacchus.
“What was that?” everybody asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Mr. Bacchus. “Ask the Ibisbird.”
But Thoth had hidden his head under his wing, and was doing his best to shut out the echoes of the screech. Even Angelo could not persuade him to show his beak. The rider, meanwhile, was sitting on his horse a few yards up the road, waiting for them.
“We’d better be on our way,” said Mr. Bacchus, and they all returned to the caravan, to find Malachi still in the basket with his claws over his eyes.
On they drove, and the road became so narrow that the caravan could only crawl
“A rider’s approaching,” said Domingo, peering through the window.
“Oh?” said Mr. Bacchus. “And how does he smell?”
“Terrible,” replied the Clown.
“We’re about to be attacked,” said Malachi.
“He has a black helmet and a shark’s eyes!” the Clown continued.
“I knew we should have played Venice,” said Malachi.
“—and a sword as long as a crocodile.”
At this moment, Malachi buried himself in the costume basket. The caravan came to a halt, and Mr. Bacchus stepped out, followed by the rest of the company, with the exception of Malachi. By now, the rider was within a few yards of the caravan, and reining-in his horse. He addressed Mr. Bacchus, his breath like smoke in icy air.
“You,” he said, directing a gauntleted finger at Bacchus.
“Yes?” said Mr. Bacchus, stepping forward, but remaining out of sword’s swipe.
“Name?” demanded the rider.
“Bacchus.”
“Bac-us,” repeated the rider.
“No, no, my dear boy, Maximillian,” corrected Bacchus.
“Ah,” said the rider, and through the slits in his helmet his teeth glinted. “Max-im-illian Bacchus.”
“That’s right, dear fellow,” said Mr. Bacchus, and extended his hand to the rider. “This is my Circus.”
The rider’s eyes roved the company, until they rested on Domingo.
“Clown,” said the rider.
“Do you mean Domingo?” asked Mr. Bacchus.
The rider looked up into the sky and pointed.
“In a sky,” said the rider. “Clown in a sky.”
“They must have seen you,” said Mr. Bacchus. “When you rose.”
“Welcome,” said the rider. “To Cathay. In Xanadu Kublai Khan awaits you.”
“Kublai Khan!” shouted Hero, lifting Ophelia onto the palm of his hand. “Did you hear what he said? Kublai Khan! We’re here! We’re here!”
There was a great deal of shouting and jubilance, which caused the horse to whinny and stamp, and then, with the rider leading, the caravan began its precarious journey along the mountain road.
High into the mountains, and yet higher they travelled, and the road before them was now but a little wider than the caravan, falling endlessly away to one side. Malachi emerged from the costume basket, took one look through the window at the dizzying height, and fled back to bury himself once more. It was undoubtedly a terrifying journey, but Angelo was an excellent driver and Thoth the Ibis-bird a sure-footed creature, so there was not a great deal of danger. Only once did everyone’s heart lose a beat, and that was for quite a different reason. When the caravan had been following the rider for about an hour, everyone became aware of a thundering in the depths below them. The caravan stopped, and Angelo called:
“Look, everybody! Look at this!”
Everybody stepped into the bitter air, and the sight that met their eyes froze the very breath on their lips. Mists of fine spray and ice fell around them, pouring up from a vast fissure in the side of the mountain, from out of which there poured a ponderous flood of shining water, roaring as it cascaded into the depths to burst on the jagged peaks below. Then, even as they watched, awestruck, in the depths a bird screeched. At least it sounded like a bird, yet it had sorrow to it that no bird’s cry could equal. Ophelia looked at Hero, who looked at Bathsheba, who looked at Domingo, who looked at Mr. Bacchus.
“What was that?” everybody asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Mr. Bacchus. “Ask the Ibisbird.”
But Thoth had hidden his head under his wing, and was doing his best to shut out the echoes of the screech. Even Angelo could not persuade him to show his beak. The rider, meanwhile, was sitting on his horse a few yards up the road, waiting for them.
“We’d better be on our way,” said Mr. Bacchus, and they all returned to the caravan, to find Malachi still in the basket with his claws over his eyes.
On they drove, and the road became so narrow that the caravan could only crawl
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