Life In The Flea Circus

While the rest of the group waited for the professor, Vladimir squeezed through a crack in the corner of the room and launched into his usual rant.  "Fleas of the world unite!  You have nothing to lose but your chains!"
"Give it a rest, Vladimir," Foo Chow said.  "We'd do something if we could."
Foo Chow was right.  There was no way out of work.  When the professor was ready to open the show and send them onto the stage, they had no choice but to do as he wished.  The worst off were the newest members who were assigned to the orchestra because they wore copper collars, not the gold ones of the principal performers.  The orchestra members were attached to a metal plate that was connected to a power supply. As their tunes played, the hotter the plate got, the more energetically they gyrated, and the deeper the copper collars cut into their necks.  If they survived a month, they might be assigned a role in the main show.  At least the professor fed them all well. 
"You're alive thanks to me," he'd say, "and I'm alive thanks to you." It didn't always feel like adequate compensation for what they were forced to do. One or other of the troupe was always in a grumpy mood, moaning about his lot, and making plans to run away, but there was no escaping the professor.  Their golden chains might be the envy of many, but there was no escaping their fate except by happy accident. Vladimir had been one of the best, but a mishap took place in a performance that allowed him to slip out of his collar and run away.  He didn't disappear completely like the others might have done, as he still needed the professor for nutrition. So far he had surreptitiously managed to get what he needed.
"Worker's rights before profit!" Vladimir shouted.
"We're trying to keep our cool here and save our strength for the show," Hercules said.  "Why don't you find some other peons to pester?"
"That's because I know you guys," Vladimir said.  "I care about you, and I want you to be free like I am."
"Ha!" Hercules said.  "If you're so free, why don't you take off out of here and stop making us feel bad?  There's nothing we can do.  You got out because you were lucky.  Your preaching doesn't do a damn thing except make us feel worse about our lives."
"Can it!" Foo Chow hissed,  "I smell the professor getting close."
Sure enough, there was a commotion outside the room, along with the smell of more people than the professor. Everyone knew the signs.  The growing vibrations meant the audience must be assembling. When the air was loaded with carbon monoxide, it would soon be time for the professor to let each performer out to play his part.  An hour earlier, they'd been through the first stage of preparation by having their anchors removed. This didn't free them because each of them was immediately attached to the equipment he would use when the show started. Their tethers were needed so they didn't leap off the stage.  This kind of accident was exactly what had got Vladimir out of his collar. Victor, who had seen some of the world, compared them to sailors about to be launched into the sea.  
"You'd better make yourself scarce if you don't want to get found out," Hercules said to Vladimir.  "The professor would be happy to nab you again because you already know the routine."
Vladimir ran to the corner and slipped into a gap just before the professor opened their room. The performers with their gear attached weren't allowed to run out onto the stage, but were lifted out in the right order, one by one.  The members of the orchestra were first.  The rest of the group waited in silence for the professor to put all six of the instrumentalists in their places. When the music started, there were whimpers of discomfort from the musicians, noises only their waiting colleagues could hear.  The audience laughed and clapped along with the music.  The professor turned up the current on the orchestra platform as the music crescendoed until the violins and horns were frenzied.  The shrieks from the stage were desperate. 
"One of these days he's going to kill someone," Foo Chow said.
"It almost got to me back in the day," Hercules added.  "Luckily, I'm bigger and stronger than the new guys, so I could stand it.  I was on drums because the professor thought I wasn't exciting enough to be a clarinetist."
"Vladimir is right," Victor said.  "It's cruel and unusual punishment just for a sip of nectar."
"Relax," a new guy named Sampson said.  "He needs us.  If one of them checks out, he'll have to train somebody else. He'd rather keep the crew he has."
"I'm not so sure," Victor said.  "We're all expendable."
The music outside rose to a fever pitch, and some of those waiting their turn closed their eyes.  Most of them had done a stint in the orchestra, so they knew how intense the finale could be.  When the music finally stopped, everyone relaxed.  The main performer's turn was coming soon.  At least they wouldn't get their feet roasted.   
To keep the audience watching, the professor brought out one act at a time, starting with a duel between Hercules and Victor.  Their swords were tied to their hands with thread, which made the maneuvers easier, and their natural armour protected them from accidental stab wounds.  The participants were lifted onto a tightrope to spar, and because of the way their feet were formed, they could do it right-side up or upside down.  The crowd leaned in to see better as the two went about trying to clobber each other. Hercules eventually knocked Victor off the wire, something he expected as he had more experience in all the stage arts. Next, it was Sampson and Foo Chow, who were attached to chariots for a race.  They must have done a good job going round and round on the stage as the audience laughed and clapped.  After a couple of circuits, Foo Chow was clearly ahead, and the novelty had worn off with the audience, so the professor picked up the two with their chariots still attached and set them down backstage.  Next, a foursome was brought out and seated at a table where they played an animated game of cards.  There were no laughs this time, but a murmur of wonder from the audience.  After that, there were a couple of roller skaters who went around the same route as the chariots, but the audience seemed bored as the chatter and applause were more subdued than at the start. It was the same with every show, perhaps because the professor himself began winding down once the initial excitement had worn off.
After the audience left and all the performers were assembled backstage, the professor unhooked the equipment each one had been wearing and immediately attached their collars and weights to make sure they didn't jump out of the box.  There was an excited buzz among the performers as they knew mealtime was imminent.  Though they weren't allowed to indulge every day, they could last a long time without their life-giving nectar. They all knew after every performance, they would be given a treat. 
The troupe were resting in anticipation of their meal when Vladimir showed up again. "One of these days the professor is going to catch you," Hercules warned.
"I can smell him coming, but in case I don't, I hope one of you will warn me."
Nobody said anything, but it was not a surprise they were not happy being reminded of a life they couldn't have.  Some were tempted to say nothing and allow Vladimir to be caught because they were sick of him flaunting his freedom. He didn't make things better when he started shouting, "Overthrow your oppressor.  Only that way can we change the world."  He went on about revolution and liberty until he had to pause for breath. 
"Put a lid on it, Vlady!" Hercules called out.  "You're making everyone feel worse.  Either go back to your hiding place or shut up."
Everyone knew that Vladimir was hanging around in case there was some spare nectar the others spilled when they had drunk too much.  Although the leftovers weren't the best, they were enough to keep him going. He couldn't participate in the main feast or the professor would pick him out as the only one without a collar and harness.  Occasionally, if the professor wasn't careful and fell asleep in the vicinity of the performers' accommodation, Vladimir would sneak out and get fresh nectar on his own, but he was at risk of being found out and kicked away by an irritated foot.  Used to being shunned by his old friends, Vladimir went back to his hiding place so he wouldn't be seen when the professor took the others out to dine. 
 Knowing how important his performers were to him, the professor took them home every night, packed into a special travelling suitcase.  Once they reached the professor's house, their compartment inside the suitcase was opened so they had access to a larger space.  Their collars, chains and weights were not removed, as their boss didn't want them wandering around his house.  He needed them all in one small area until it was time to collect them for another performance. 
The train ride from Paddington Station was always noisy and confusing, as they were used to the stable atmosphere of backstage or home, and the commotion of travel was always stressful.  On this particular day, the journey was rougher than usual.  Their coach bounced around so much that a few of them ended up in a heap on the floor. The real shock came when there was a bang like a clap of thunder.  The coach made such a violent lurch that the suitcase fell off the rack, and its hasps sprang open.  The lid of the inner compartment split open, leaving them exposed to the bright carriage lights. As much as they could, those who weren't at the bottom of the upended compartment scrabbled to escape. Vladimir was the first one out because he was unencumbered by a harness or weight. He disappeared so quickly in the confusion that nobody noticed where he went, though afterwards, those who survived said they had seen him jump onto a man with no socks.  It took the professor a few moments to realize what had happened.  "Damn railways!" he said to those passengers who had been thrown from their seats. By the time the professor picked up the suitcase and the damaged compartment, Hercules, Foo Chow, and Victor were missing. A couple of members of the orchestra had been decapitated by their copper collars.  It pained him to see their legs and arms twitching as they slowly expired. From the professor's shaky hold on the compartment, those who were still inside it thought he might be weeping.  
Examining the harm done once they got home, the professor was distressed to see the dead.  Another of the orchestra was half decapitated, and his head fell off when the others scrambled out of the box, dragging their weights behind them. Hercules, Foo Chow, and Victor were nowhere to be found.  They hadn't slipped out of their collars in the accident like Vladimir had once done, so that meant they were somewhere on the train carriage pulling their weights.  The chariots, the orchestra plate, and the tightrope were still intact, but a few of the musical instruments and the duelling swords were nowhere to be found. He'd need to make new ones before there could be another performance. That night, he let his performers have an extra feast and apologized to them about the loss of their friends.   
"It wasn't my fault," he said. "The train stopped so suddenly."
While he took stock of the new equipment he would have to make, the professor rewarded the remaining orchestra members with gold collars to replace their copper ones.  He'd have to search for new individuals to fill the musical positions, but creatures like the ones he employed were getting difficult to find. Nobody really wanted the job to start with, and there were simply fewer of their type around. People were more squeamish than before about his little circus, and some said they were positively revolted. The scorn was getting worse, and rents were going up, but he had no other way of making money. 
The evening of the accident, a child on the train called out, "Look, mummy! It's moving!"
"What darling?" she asked absently.
The child pointed at the floor, but it was hard to see anything on the patterned carpet that had been installed to hide spills and grime. "Whatever are you looking at?" she asked.
"A farthing!" the boy said.  "It's a farthing, and it's moving."
"Nonsense," his mother said. "You've eaten too many sweets.  You're imagining things."
"There it goes again," he said.  "See?"
His mother squinted in the dim light, and sure enough, there was a small coin moving across the carpet near the boy's feet.
"Well, I never," she said.  "It must be some kind of magic."
"Can I pick it up?" he asked.
"It's dirty," she said.  "Leave it be."
"But it's moving," he insisted.
"Then stop it," she said.  
The child hopped down from the seat beside his mother, and stepped on the coin, but before his mother knew what he was doing, he had picked it up.  It was indeed a farthing, but it had a small hole drilled into one side, and a filament of gold wire led out of the hole.  He looked at it this way and that, until he noticed a tiny creature attached to the other end of the wire, waving its arms and legs. Peering closer, he studied the frantic pedalling, and assumed the little thing had been on the floor and had accidentally been caught on the wire.  Holding the farthing between a thumb and forefinger, he used those on his other hand to detach the little creature from the wire.  Unfortunately, it took the head off the thing, so he rolled the body in his fingers until its mangled remains dropped onto the floor.  
"Look, mummy," he said.  "A farthing.  And it's got a wire attached."  
"How strange," she said. "I wonder what for."
And so Hercules met his end.  He knew he was the last one because he had seen Victor get scuffed flat on the floor and fall through a crack, while Foo Chow had been stepped on so many times there was no way he could have come out intact.  The circus would go on without them.