Lady of the Rings
by Brandy Dewinter and Ellen Hayes
(All rights reserved)
Chapter 4 - Not Half So Think As I Smart I Am
Build: 12
It was like a searchlight had gone on inside my head, it was so
brilliant.
"Not simple brass but solid gold, not one free ride but
yours to hold."
I knew I was after a magical ring, and special rings are gold in
all the fairy tales so I figured the business about solid gold referred
to my first target. And I expected to be able to keep it, so that
covered the "yours to hold" thing. The other parts of the riddle must
cover where to find the gold ring of my quest. Brass instead of gold
for the ring, a free ride instead of permanent possession for the prize,
and I figured I needed to look for a brass ring you use to get a free
ride.
The kind they give out on carousels.
Somewhere among the brass rings would be a gold one, and I could
find that easily since I could recognize magic. The clue in Andreas'
note wasn't so hard after all.
I started to wander over to where the carousel was being set up when
some straw boss yelled at me, "Hey! What are you doing here?"
"Just looking around."
"Employees only beyond the tent. We got enough liability problems
the way it is," he said as he pointed at a tent with a (big surprise)
"Hiring" sign on the front.
I walked over there, now with two reasons to get a job in the
circus. I needed the money, but more than that I needed access to the
grounds. I figured it would be a lot easier to check out the rings when
there weren't dozens of screaming kids trying for the same prize. Or,
God forbid, a wrestling match trying to take it away from some too-lucky
brat.
The line of job seekers wasn't too long. Gainesville looked to be
a fairly prosperous little community and probably didn't have too many
idle workers. The wealth in the town must have been the reason the cir-
cus set up here. As it was, I wondered if they'd make enough to turn a
profit.
My mind seemed to cling to these simple thoughts in an attempt to
regain the balance lost when that SOB Andreas had tossed me into this
stupid adventure, and into this stupid body. What did I care whether
this stupid circus made any money? All I wanted was a job so I could
get the stupid ring and be done with this stupid quest. God, that was
repetitive. And infuriating. I had my hands jammed in my pockets so I
wouldn't hit the guy in front of me, and I was seeing if I could work up
a good Litany of Hate in Latin when I got to the front of the line.
"Name?" the question came from the man sitting behind a folding
table. He was even worse than the truck driver: fat, greasy looking,
and sucking on a filthy cigar that (thankfully!) had gone out. Absorbing
his foulness had kept me from answering immediately.
"You got a name, girly?" he asked, starting to look up.
"Yeah, uh," then I paused as another of Andreas the Asshole's little
tricks became clear. He'd been calling me Stefan because he knew all
along he was going to do this to me. 'And how is little Stephanie
today?' Well fuck him and the horse he rode in on. No way was I gonna
be Stephanie. I needed another name, though, something to fit the body I
wore.
I was going to say something clever like "Jane" when my memory dug
up a name and dropped it straight to my mouth, which uttered, "Brittany."
There'd been a girl I had a sort of lingering fascination with, back
in high school, who had black hair and lean features. That was what I'd
been trying to think of when I was looking in the mirror, back at the
diner. She had been Brittany and the need for an appropriate name had
triggered that response before I could invent something better.
Great, now I had the same name and hair as a girl that had been the
topic of locker room conversations. Just exactly the image I was looking
for. Shit!
There was a long pause as his gaze drifted languidly from my crotch,
just higher than the level of the table, to my waist, then my (yes,
dammit!) tits, then finally to my face, where his leer turned to a dis-
missive sneer, "You got a last name?"
Oh, God, he thinks I'm ugly and stupid both. I wanted to turn and
run but in this damn body I'd probably fall on my oversized ass after
the first step, so I just answered, "Yeah, um, Janeway."
Oh, peachy. Janeway was, in fact, my real last name. Which was
exactly what I didn't want to give him. I think I flinched when I
realized what I said.
My name brought a snort from a man standing behind the table, the
first man I'd met since my transformation that didn't look fat and old.
The slob at the table didn't even look up from where he was writing on
some sort of application form.
"You got a problem, Tom?" the slob asked.
"No, just a suggestion. Give this one credit for taste, but not
originality," the guy, Tom I guess, replied.
"Hey," I challenged him, "I had it first. I'm trying to get royal-
ties, but the she thinks she's safe over in the Delta quadrant."
That response had become automatic back when I was still Steven.
My standard retort came out different, somehow, when I said it in my new
voice; a lot more like Kate Mulgrew. I think I'd have liked that dif-
ference if some girl had been speaking to me, but it horrified me when
Tom's face lit up in a big grin.
There was another person behind the table as well, a frumpy older
woman, at least 45, and wearing too-loose jeans and a sloppy flannel
shirt. She had a nice smile, though. You could just about see the twin-
kle in her eyes and I expected her to claim to be my fairy godmother or
something.
Of course, I might have believed her, too.
The clueless slob at the table tried to get back in charge of things
and continued the interview, "What sort of acts have you worked?"
"Acts? What do you mean? I just want a temporary job, helping set
up or something."
"Everyone in a circus has to work the show as well as help out with
the manual labor. That's the way it is. If you can't find an act, you
don't get a job," he said dismissively.
"I can use the help," Tom played the knight's role. "If you can
work with dogs, Miss, um, Brittany?"
Exactly what I wanted, some flea-bitten dog act in a run-down circus
with some guy who thinks I owe him something. And I had to go and name
myself after a dog to boot! Etruscan thoughts were flooding right to the
tip of my tongue when the old lady spoke up.
"Dear, take the job. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
All of the sudden I remembered how much I needed that job since I
had no money, no ID, and a damn strong hunch that the first ring had to
be around here somewhere. So I nodded and signed "Brittany Janeway" at
the bottom of the application form.
"Alright, you get minimum wage except when you're performing or
practicing under Tom's supervision. Then it's minimum plus a buck. His
word on how much time you spend on the act; don't even bother arguing
with him or me about it. You're expected to help out with whatever needs
doing whenever you have any spare time. If I find you slacking, you're
gone. Paydays are every Friday. Sarah has the costumes. Next!"
I walked past the table to where Tom and the older woman were
waiting.
"Hello, dear, I'm Sarah," not much of a surprise. Instead of a
handshake, she gave me a quick hug - still trying out for the fairy
godmother role. "Come by after Tom's done with you."
Tom's smile at that comment had me getting ready to pop him one,
just on general principles, when he changed it to an open, friendly grin
and held out his hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Brittany. I promise to be good," he'd picked
up on my irritation at his smirk and got rid of it quickly enough to de-
fuse my anger, at least my anger at him. I stuck out my own hand in re-
flex, giving him an ordinary handshake.
Well, it would have been ordinary, in my ordinary body. First off,
my new hand got lost in his and the tough calluses made my own seem
soft and useless. It was hot, too. Well, not hot exactly, but it made
my hand feel funny. I jerked it back.
"Look, Brittany," a pause like he expected me to say something,
but then he continued, "I'm sorry if I was disrespectful, but I assure
you, I honestly need an assistant and I'll be good."
"Oh, um, fine," I stammered. Damn, another one who's going to think
I'm stupid. And don't forget ugly. And too sensitive. Terrific. This
change-the-body-and-dump-me-somewhere thing had me completely rattled
today.
He led me through the tangle of tent stakes and cables and RVs to
an old Winnebago, opening the door as he said, "By the way, my name is
Tom Highland, and here are the other girls in the act."
A hundred yapping puppies poured out the RV in an avalanche of
energy. They were mostly terrier types, but there was at least one
Sheltie, and a couple of dachshunds, and one pony wannabe. I was so
overloaded with their frantic happiness that I almost missed Tom's next
comment, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you were, uh, a,
uh..."
He stalled out as I tried to decide what his problem was. So he
considered me a girl. I might not like it (damn straight I didn't like
it) but it wasn't his fault. Then it hit me and for the first time since
I found myself in this damn body, I laughed.
"So, you put me right up there with the other bitches, hmm?"
"No! Not at all!" He looked like he had a guilty conscience.
"Not up to their level?" by now I was teasing, and actually enjoying
myself.
He flushed from his collar right up to the part in his hair and
tried to stammer out another apology, "No, I meant . . ."
"Don't worry about it," I eased up. "If they don't mind, I won't
complain either."
Then I tried to change the subject, but I couldn't resist at least
one more jab, "Just how many 'other girls' are there?"
He grinned sheepishly (I guess he needed that Sheltie) and answered,
"Well, we use 12 in the act, the Sheltie, her name is Star, because she
is, and both dachshunds, they work a dual act, and the four schnauzers
are a drill team, real Prussian. Fluffy, the poodle rides Freya, the
Great Dane, and the three Cairns are teases, they pretend to upset the
other acts. The others are just family."
Those others were about 4 or 5 additional dogs. One was clearly
elderly, another Sheltie. The rest were puppies and it appeared that
one of the schnauzers might have gotten overly friendly with a passing
cocker spaniel. In all, a somewhat oversized but clearly happy family,
quite modern and multi-cultural.
While he was performing the introductions we were all picking our
way through additional clutter to an open area already set up with a low
circus ring. In it were pedestals, a teeter-totter, a large rotating
hoop like an oversized squirrel cage, and lots of balls and ramps. The
next couple of hours were spent training the new girl, me, in the act.
Have you ever been laughed at by a dog? It happens, you know. In
my new body I was clumsy and uncoordinated, and at least four of the
dogs could catch a ball better than I could. The others could have
probably done so as well, but that skill wasn't in their part of the
act. I was frustrated and tired and hungry when Tom finally called a
halt.
"Let's go get a coke, then you can get your costume," he offered.
"Thanks, I could sure use one," I agreed. At least he had behaved
normally during the practice, no suggestive remarks or looks. He sensed
my frustration though, and tried to get me to talk about it as we sipped
our sodas.
"Where are you from?" he asked politely.
"Oh, all around," I evaded, but I realized I'd have to tell my new
co-workers something. Might as well stick with the truth. "I've just
been seeing a bit of the world between high school and college." Quite
a bit, considering I had no idea where Andreas's lair was.
"Where's your home?" he persisted.
Was that a guy trait I had never recognized in myself, stubborn
refusal to accept a polite evasion? Why did he care anyway? I already
knew I wasn't really pretty for a girl, which was just fine with me.
Maybe I was overreacting to his questions. Would he have been asking a
new male worker the same sorts of things? Anyway, I decided I had to
answer with something. He wouldn't be the only one to ask.
"Well, I guess you could say I don't really have a home. My
parents moved after I graduated. They stayed until I finished, though,
so that was nice. Right now they're living in an RV, sightseeing. I
decided to do the same, just not with them." There, let him trace me
back from that. It wasn't quite true, my parents had completed their
move to someplace in Oregon that I'd never even been, but it wasn't
really home to me.
"Where'd you graduate from?"
Doesn't this guy ever give up? I need to stop this before I get in
too deep. "Fort Worth. Oh, shouldn't I be getting to the costume lady?
What was her name?"
He smiled a funny little smile, as though in not really answering I
had answered in some way. Or maybe it was his success at getting at
least one straight answer out of me. I gave the right one, or almost. I
had actually graduated from a suburb of Fort Worth so that couldn't
really be traced either, but I could handle questions if somebody else
familiar with Fort Worth showed up somewhere. Anyway, my questions gave
me an excuse to stop the interrogation.
"Her name is Sarah. Her trailer is down there near the carousel,"
his smile was encouragement and dismissal in one, along with that funny
little undercurrent that had been missing during the time with the dogs.
I smiled thanks for the soda and hurried off to the carousel, which
is where I wanted to go in the first place. As soon as I got there, I
looked for the free ride rings. Most of the carousel had been set up,
apparently by a young man I saw working.
"Hello," I said tentatively.
"Well, hello," he said with a big grin. He must have been a lot
more desperate than I would have thought. He was tall and reasonably fit
and I didn't think he would have been interested in an ordinary-looking
girl like me (thanks again, Andreas you pervert), yet he smiled like I
had made his day just by noticing him. He didn't even focus on my
"bumps."
"I'm Jim Chandler. You interested in a job?" he asked with warmth
in his smile that I still didn't understand.
"Well, yes, I guess. I got hired today to work in the dog act, and
I'm supposed to be getting a costume, but the man behind the table said
everyone works more than one job."
"Right, and working the round is one of the things that counts as
manual labor, no bonus above minimum wage unless you're senior grunt like
me."
He said it without any air of bragging, letting me know being a
senior grunt was not that big a deal, at least to him. Probably not to
anyone else, either, considering the lack of help he had with the
carousel.
"So, what's your name?" he asked.
"Brittany. Where's the rest of the stuff for the carousel?" About
half of the horses and things were installed, but there were missing
sections of carving along the inner wall and some of the horses were in
pretty bad shape. There also weren't any brass rings.
"There isn't much more," he answered. "We have horses for the
remaining locations, but the rest is pretty run down. We're getting
some new stuff at the next town. I don't know if anyone told you, but
this is really our first site for the year. We're taking everything out
of winter storage, trying out the acts and equipment, stuff like that.
That's why we're in such a small town."
Ah, another question answered. However, not the important one.
"Do you do the brass ring thing? For free rides?"
"Why, do you want a free ride?"
"Not really, I mean, I like riding the merry-go-round well enough,
or used to anyway. I was just curious."
Then he pulled the rug out from under my feet so hard I almost fell
down for real. "We don't do that anymore. If kids fall off their rides
when they reach for the rings, we're liable. Another venerated tradition
falls before the juggernaut of a thousand new lawyers every year."
No ring?
(
geocities.com/b_dewinter)