The day the ringmaster died, so did civilization.
Knowing nothing of what was to come, we complained of boredom as the ship steamed from Bombay* to Boston. There was little to do except rehearse, drink, and gamble over cards. Everything tasted of salt, and bathing in seawater anointed us all with the perfume of dead fish. A plague of short temper spread through the troupe. I had no friends among them, so I took pleasure at seeing them snarl at each other like fighting dogs.
A three-day bout of seasickness* soured the ringmaster's disposition further. Though Mr. Loyale's health seemed to recover, his temper didn't. When Miss Miller (The Fabulous Lady Equestrienne Who Defies The Fiery Rings of Death!) declared her intention to begin her dress rehearsal without him, her expression was promising.
Promising that if Mr. Loyale berated her for not waiting, he'd better hope a gelding knife wasn't to hand.
Promising a fine show for us.
I definitely recommend checking out this story!
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