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Dusk was long past and the Ringmaster was locked in his private chamber. For all intensive purposes he was alone, except for two of his elite guard who were positioned on either side of the door, far on the other side of what was an enormous space. Their presence hardly changed the feeling of solitude, their forms hovered quietly, never moving, their blank, masked faces staring straight ahead.
The Ringmaster leaned back on a well cushioned chair with broad armrests, his arms propped and legs extended, feet resting on a heavy wooden ottoman. He was relaxing, letting his eyes rest on the generous take of this season’s first show. His armor, headdress, canopy like robe and sturdy leather boots were removed. All he wore was a regal tunic, simple but finely made, its edges embroidered with
