So what? — I stared at her, genuinely confused. — We were supposed to go to the temple at night anyway. So he decided not to wake me and went there first. Thanks for waking me up. I'll get dressed and head there too.
— No, that's not it. All day he showed no signs of life, as if he'd died inside, no matter how hard I tried to talk to him. And at one point he exhaled and said:
— It was all real. — and fell asleep abruptly.
I didn't attach any importance to it at the time and dozed off as well. But later I needed to use the bathroom, so I got up. And Odi was already gone from the room. I went down to the lobby and asked the reception if they'd seen him. They confirmed that he had left the hotel.
— And what is all this supposed to mean? — I was already putting on my shirt and still didn't understand a thing.
My colleague looked at me with pity:
— NoWay, sometimes you seem so stupid… forgive my bluntness. Isn't it obvious that he went back to the circus? Something won't let him rest, and he decided to find everything out.
— Find out what exactly?! — I snapped, genuinely angry now. — Like, the evil circus freaks somehow arranged it so he actually killed a man?
Ada lowered her gaze and mumbled:
— Apparently… Odile believes that's exactly what happened.
— Fine! — I shouted. — Then we call a taxi and go there. We grab the guy and then immediately head to the guide. We don't have much time. Let's move!
Calling a cab came first, of course, but it didn't take long. The circus wasn't too far from where we were staying, so we got there quickly.
Nighttime Egypt at least allowed you to breathe more freely, without choking — which suited me just fine. I rolled the window down and inhaled deeply while Ada chewed her nails. I'd never seen that level of tension in the usually calm Ada. What was she so worked up about? It was just a trip. Nothing more.
The circus loomed dark and massive, as if streetlights simply didn't reach it. We turned our flashlights back on, and as soon as we approached the entrance, we ran into two big men in masks.
— Yeah, yeah. You're here to greet us and add some pomp and mystery. Got it. Where's Odile? — I asked brazenly, and got a nod: "follow us." They turned and went inside the circus.
— Keep the police number ready for emergency. — I warned Ada just in case. She nodded nervously.
As we walked down the gloomy corridor, I thought out loud:
— Would be nice if there was some plot twist and bam — turns out Odile is actually the master of ceremonies himself, the head of this whole bunch. And he's not an operator at all, but the leader of some secret organization. Or no, even better! Their leader is that guide, who just found himself a new job to escape his boring routine.
— Please, shut up. — Ada said firmly, entering the hall first and covering her mouth with her hand.
I went in second. And the truth turned out to be far more banal — and therefore truly terrifying.
The entire stage was lit with neon, and in the middle of it lay our operator, bound with ropes (seriously?! Why not shackles? Did the 13th century drop by for a visit?) and gagged. One of the brutes stood over him with an axe — and, of course, the ever-present master of ceremonies.
He greeted us without the theatrical flair of the show, in a more businesslike tone:
— Your friend was interested in one question: "Was it all real, or just a cleverly staged performance?" And I will explain it — to him, and to you as well. I'll even demonstrate.
— Let him go! — I think I squeaked. A guard with a cold weapon loomed behind me, and I knew I wouldn't have time to spray him with the canister. He was clearly better trained. Oh — and here came the second one, standing right beside him. My chances dropped to about zero.
— I agree. — Ada's voice was calm and steady. — I've already called the police. They'll be here any moment.
She was obviously bluffing. I don't recall her having time to talk to the cops during our short walk to the hall. But the master of ceremonies didn't know that. Would he bite?
— You seem to forget that you're speaking to those who create illusions far better than you ever could. So don't bother trying to fool me. I won't even trouble myself with asking my brothers to confiscate your belongings. — He shook his head and smirked crookedly. — Just stand there and enjoy the continuation of the performance.
At that moment Ada lunged toward the stage and was instantly restrained, locked in muscular grips. Apparently, judging by the outcome, Odile hadn't been able (or hadn't wanted?!) to break free either. And Ada and I certainly couldn't.
I stood quietly, behaving like a good boy, frantically trying to think of what to do. There were no thoughts. So I just listened to my colleague's furious shouts and helplessly looked away.
The master didn't waste time and pressed down on a floorboard. A hole opened. The opening formed exactly where our operator lay, and he dropped into it and vanished beneath the stage. A moment later, he reappeared, rising back up on lifting planks.
— Slick. — I commented. — Pretty simple, but still not bad.
— And simplicity works. — the master confirmed. — We choose a victim from the audience whom no one will worry about or look for. Throughout history, people without a home were best suited for this role, so we decided not to stray from tradition. A headpiece is placed on the person, and they lie down in the designated spot, where their head is severed with a real weapon.
After that, the body falls through, and one of our brothers — similar in build to the deceased — takes his place. All of this happens while the light and all attention are focused solely on me.
— And Odile didn't see that? — I asked a perfectly logical question, and got a brisk answer:
— At the moment of substitution, a spotlight is aimed straight into his eyes, blinding him.