Poppet turns to make a face at him but then focuses her gaze upward, looking into the clear night sky. Bailey watches her carefully. She looks as though she is contemplating a painting or reading a sign from far away, squinting just a little.
She stops suddenly, putting her hands to her face, pressing her white-gloved fingers over her eyes. Widget puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Bailey asks.
Poppet takes a deep breath before she nods, keeping her hands over her face.
“I’m fine,” she says with a muffled voice. “It was very … bright. It made my head hurt.”
She takes her hands from her face and shakes her head; whatever distress she had been in has apparently passed.
For the remainder of the ride none of them look up at the star-speckled sky.
“I’m sorry,” Bailey says quietly as they walk down another curving stairway in order to exit.
“It’s not your fault,” Poppet says. “I should have known better, the stars have been doing that lately, making no sense and giving me headaches. I should probably stop trying for a while.”
“You need some cheering,” Widget says as they return to the din of the circus. “Cloud Maze?”
Poppet nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit.
“What’s the Cloud Maze?” Bailey asks.
“You haven’t found any of the best tents yet, have you?” Widget says, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to come back, we can’t do all of them in one night. Maybe that’s why ’Pet got a headache, she saw us having to drag you through every single tent to see what you’ve been missing.”
“Widge can see the past,” Poppet says suddenly, diverting the conversation. “It’s one of the reasons his stories are always so good.”
“The past is easier,” Widget says. “It’s already there.”
“In the stars?” Bailey asks.
“No,” Widget says. “On people. The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now. I can … well, read isn’t the right word, but it’s not the right word for what Poppet does with the stars, either.”
“So you can see my past on me?” Bailey asks.
“I could,” Widget says. “I try not to do it without permission if there’s nothing that jumps out automatically. Do you mind?”
Bailey shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Widget stares at him for a moment, not quite long enough for Bailey to become uncomfortable under the weight of his eyes, but almost.
“There’s a tree,” Widget says. “This massive old oak tree that’s more home to you than your house but not as much as this is.” He gestures around at the tents and the lights. “Feeling like you’re alone even when you’re with other people. Apples. And your sister seems like a real gem,” he adds sarcastically.
“That sounds about right,” Bailey says with a laugh.
“What are the apples?” Poppet asks.
“My family has a farm with an orchard,” Bailey explains.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Poppet says. Bailey has never considered the rows of short, twisted trees lovely.
“Here we are,” Widget says as they round a turn.
Despite his limited experience with the circus, Bailey is amazed that he has never seen this tent before. It is tall, almost as tall as the acrobat tent but narrower. He stops to read the sign over the door.
The Cloud Maze
An Excursion in Dimension
A Climb Though the Firmament
There Is No Beginning
There Is No End
Enter Where You Please
Leave When You Wish
Have No Fear of Falling
Inside, the tent is dark-walled with an immense, iridescent white structure in the center. Bailey can think of nothing else to call it. It takes up the entirety of the tent save for a raised path along the perimeter, a winding loop that begins at the tent entrance and circles around. The floor beyond the path is covered with white spheres, thousands of them piled like soap bubbles.
The tower itself is a series of platforms swooping in odd, diaphanous shapes, quite similar to clouds. They are layered, like a cake. From what Bailey can see, the space between layers varies from room enough to walk straight through to barely enough to crawl. Here and there parts of it almost float away from the central tower, drifting off into space.
And everywhere, there are people climbing. Hanging on edges, walking through paths, climbing higher or lower. Some platforms move with the weight; others seem strong and sturdy. The whole of it moves constantly, a light movement like breathing.
“Why is it called a maze?” Bailey asks.
“You’ll see,” Widget says.
They walk along the path and it sways gently, like a dock on water. Bailey struggles to keep his balance while he looks up.
Some platforms are suspended from ropes or chains from above. On lower levels, there are large poles driven through multiple platforms, though Bailey cannot tell if they reach all the way to the top. In some places there are swoops of netting, in others ropes hang like ribbons.