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.After soaking the rag in the basin, she dabbed the wound clean and tied the rest of the towel around her calf.It wasn't the first time she had gotten cut in her act, but always before she had been wounded by accident, and never had the audience laughed.Marie braced herself against the dry sink, the cachinnation ringing in her ears.Laughter and Blood.Laughter and Blood.It was a llhe from an old nursery rhyme her father used to read to her.She still had the storybook, shelved with other fairy tales beside her door.But the books were little good to her now: the Fever had taken both her father and her eyes.Pivoting on her uninjured leg, Marie sat down on a stool beside the dry sink.The seat was warm and wet.She stood up, brushing the back of her skirt and sniffing her fingers.More blood."My leg must be bleeding worse than I thought," the young woman mumbled to herself.She reached out to the dry sink, her hand again clenching the crumpled rag.Dizzy, she shook her head, decided to lie down and clean up the blood later.Marie shuffled across the plank floor toward the bed.Her smooth-soled shoes slipped on the floorboards, and she barely caught her balance on the unlit stove.The floor was wet.More blood.Marie's heart thudded dully in her chest.She sniffed the air and stiffened.Moving to the bed, she cautiously lowered herself to sit, only to find that the bed was also wet.The pounding of her heart grew more insistent.She ran her hand along the bed frame, then drew it back sharply.A warm drop of blood clung to her finger.Dread welled up inside her as she reached toward the center of the narrow cot.Her hand fell on a leg.She stood up and whirled about.No sound, except her own, frightened heartbeat.Trembling, Marie extended her hand toward the leg and touched it.It didn't move.She pinched it, twisting the skin.Still no response.The man was dead.But it wasn't a man: the leg was short and stumpy, the leg of a dwarf.As she nervously leaned over the body, Marie's hand followed the contour of the muscled calf, past a knobby knee, and the coarse, sodden breeches.The clothes grew more blood-soaked as her hand moved upward.She half-expected the still body in her bed to sit up and seize her throat, but then her finger settled on something that dismissed the thought: a sharp, steel edge protruded from the dwarf's stomach.a sword tip.Marie stumbled back from the bed, upsetting a small stack of books on the floor.Her foot slipped on the slick planking, but she caught her balance on the performer's chest beside her bed.In the moment of silence that followed, she heard breathing.Not from the dwarf, not from her own fear-choked chest, but from someone across the caravan- someone who had watched her come in, had watched her clean and dress her leg, had watched her stumble over to the bed andfind the body.The murderer.She could feel eyes on her, could sense the killer's brutal smile.Backing away, Marie leaned cautiously toward her bedside stand.Her shaking hand fastened on'the top drawer and began to slide it open.She heard a footstep.Her right hand darted into the drawer and drew out a dagger.She flung it toward the sound.A shout of surprise and pain rang out-a man's voice-and footsteps turned toward the door.Reaching again into the drawer, Marie clutched another dagger, this time by the handle.She lurched toward the intruder as he swung the door inward.The dagger tip dug through the man's clothes and found flesh.Marie dragged the knife downward in a shallow arc across the killer's body, the blade tearing loudly through his clothes.He yelped, stumbling out the door.Marie was right behind him, gripping th* doorframe to keep from slipping on the bloody floor.She heard reckless footsteps fade away into the crowded carnival and knew he was gone.Marie stumbled down the stoop of her caravan and dropped to her knees on the woodchip-covered lane."Help!" she shouted."Please help! There's been a murder!"*****The man-giant wearily surveyed the line of children that stretched from the front of hisbooth.The queue that had formed at dusk had only grown longer as the night progressed."Me! Pick me, Monsieur Giant!" shouted another dirty child near the front, conspicuouslydropping his copper ducre in the wooden chest of coins.The man-giant turned toward the shrill cry.Torchlight glittered from his sunken eyes and cast shadows over his gaunt face and bare, bony chest."May Qin-sah grant strength," the man-giant muttered to himself.He knelt before the child.The boy squealed with delight and climbed onto the man-giant's narrow thigh.Clambering up his crossed arms, the boy slid onto the creature's wiry shoulders.The child, in his excitement, released a shrill scream, and the line of waiting children fell back in awe and fear.Wincing for a moment as the urchin's sharp-nailed toes scrabbled on his bare back, the man-giant began to rise.As he reached his full height-his hips equal to the heads of passers-by-the boy struggled to stand on the freak's shoulders."Look at me!" he shouted."I'm as tall as a tree! I can see everything!" The boy peered excitedly into the next stall, where a fire-eater lowered torches into his mouth.Beyond lay the booth of the fat lady, and farther still, a stage where mangy dogs leaped through ring after flaming ring.The boy laughed, his voice blending with the thumping tune of hurdy-gurdies, the bustling roar of the crowds, the intermittent bursts of applause."Whoa!" the boy exclaimed, losing his balance for a moment.He pitched forward, barely catching a handhold on the sign in front of the giant's stall: HERMOS, THE AMAZING MAN-GIANT.Hermos's long arms reached up to steady the boy, and he shifted his feet on the sawdust-strewn floor below
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