Free Wild Boy by Rob Lloyd Jones

— it was just like the one the Professor had once worn, inscribed with the letter
G.
    The man spoke. His voice was calm and measured. “Gentlemen. You will all leave this place.”
    Mary Everett scoffed. “You all stay right where you are,” she ordered.
    Wild Boy saw her hand shake, just a little, as she lit another cigar. Very few people made Mary Everett nervous.
    “You’re a copper,” the ringmaster said. “You ain’t wanted here. Ain’t that so, fellas? Coppers don’t know nothing about our world.”
    Wild Boy could barely believe what happened next. The golden-eyed man laughed — a great booming roar that filled the stable. Still without as much as a glance at Mary Everett, he turned and addressed one of the porters.
    “You,” he said, his voice now deadly serious. “Your name is Richard Carson. You are currently on parole from Newgate, where you served three years for burglary.” He turned to the rest of the crew and addressed them in turn. “You are Isaac Solomon, a deserter from the French Foreign Legion. Theodore Lent, you are a part-time fence. Samuel Swales, leader of a notorious gang of grave robbers. And who could forget Mr. Silas Cullen, escaped convict from the prison ship
Defiance.
”
    The men were speechless.
    The golden-eyed man turned to the ringmaster and plucked the cigar from her mouth. “And you, Mrs. Mary Louise Everett, are the holder of a circus licence that would certainly be revoked were someone to report your employees’ various indiscretions.”
    He shoved the cigar back into her mouth. “Now, I wish to speak with the boy.”
    Wild Boy was as stunned as the porters. These were rough fairgrounders, but this man spoke to them like they were children.
    Several of the men rushed from the stable. The others hesitated, glancing anxiously at Mary Everett.
    After a long moment, the ringmaster nodded. “You got five minutes,” she said as she led the remaining porters outside.
    The golden-eyed man closed the stable door behind them and slid the bolt. The moment the door sealed, he slammed a hand against the wooden wall. He gripped his cane and grimaced, fighting some terrible agony in his head.
    Wild Boy watched, astonished, as the man reached to his false eye and plucked it from his face. He gave the golden globe a shake, and then tipped some sort of liquid from inside onto his coat sleeve. He pressed the sleeve to his nose and inhaled deeply.
    His one good eye rolled upward. The other eye’s empty socket glistened in the light from his lantern as he turned and finally looked at Wild Boy. “At last,” he said, “we are alone.”

T he golden-eyed man came closer, drowning Wild Boy in his shadow. Calmly he slotted his false eyeball back into its socket and shook his head to settle it in place. He smoothed back his silver hair.
    “It is very important,” he said, “that you remain calm.”
    The last thing Wild Boy felt was calm. Lashing out a leg, he kicked the cage bars. “I dunno who you are but don’t you come no closer!” he warned. “I’m a monster! Ain’t you heard? It was me what done the Professor, and I’ll do you too if you come any closer!”
    A slight smile flashed across the man’s tight face. “No,” he said. “You will not. Because you are lying.”
    “I . . . Eh?”
    “I heard what you told the ringmaster about these marks in the mud, and the noise of the horses. It was . . .
unexpected.
You have quite the gift of observation. I wonder whether you could actually have convinced those men of your innocence had you not been so busy being angry.”
    Wild Boy’s shoulders pressed against the cold cage bars. “Who the hell are you?”
    “A man has been killed. I rode here as soon as I heard.”
    “Rode? You came by steamboat.”
    Again that flicker of a smile. “Interesting,” the man said. “Did you observe the patch of soot on my sleeve from the ship’s funnel? Or the ticket stub there in my pocket?”
    Wild Boy had seen both, as well as