proclaimed AMBER THERAPY in old-fashioned script.
The other three were dressed just as oddly: the one whose chariot read PHRENOLOGY wore an outfit that looked like something made for Aladdin. A turban hung with dark gems swaddled his head. Next was HYDROTHERAPY . The driver of that chariot wore a dusty toga and a green wreath on his brow. Last of all came MAGNETISM . Natalie didn't notice what the driver wore because he turned his head, took off his silvery spectacles, and caught her in his gaze, and when that happened Natalie couldn't look away.
It was as if someone had tied strings around her eyeballs and now the man in the Magnetism chariot had both strings in his hand. She leaned forward, drawn by the pull on the invisible strings around her eyes. She tried to haul herself back to the step she sat on, but the pull, the
pull
...
Tom's fingers drummed just a bit louder on the guitar. Natalie shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, the Magnetism chariot had moved on and a contraption even more outlandish than the One-Man Band was passing in its place.
Tunes vaguely reminiscent of ragtime music tinkled from an upright piano weaving back and forth across the street. The piano tilted crazily from side to side thanks to its being mounted on, of all things, a
bicycle
âand not just any bicycle, but a high-wheeler with one giant, spindly wheel as tall as a man in front and a tiny one in back. A couple of folks in Arcane still rode high-wheelers, even though they were very old-fashioned. Her father had worked on a few of them ... all without pianos, of course.
How on earth a piano had managed to get stuck somewhere in the middle and how the spindly high-wheeler could support it was anybody's guess. But the cyclist's seat over the front wheel put him at just the right level both to play and to be able to see over the top. In place of proper pedals going around in circles, the high-wheeler's went up and down like a pair of bellows, changing the timbre and the resonance of the piano. The rider played with frantic, alien motions of his arms that made absolutely no sense until Natalie spotted the leather belts wrapped around his elbows. The belts were looped at their other ends through a pair of brass rings in the wooden panel just below the keyboard, which seemed to be the closest thing to handlebars the contraption had.
Not much of the One-Man Band's face had been visible behind his grid of wire and instruments, but Natalie would have sworn he and the piano player were twins.
The smallest member of the parade sat precariously
"
The Paragons of Science!
"
Dr. Limberleg announced with another flourish.
on top of the wobbling piano, legs dangling off the front as if he were riding between the handlebars of an ordinary bicycle: a small child dressed in a jester's costume. The balding velvet triangles of the costume ended in tarnished bells that jingled as the child wiggled in time to the music. After a few minutes' watching, Natalie still couldn't tell if it was a real kid or a wind-up doll.
The procession ground to a halt, and the four men Dr. Limberleg had called the Paragons of Science stepped down from their chariots. The child on the piano climbed off with the ease of a squirrel and somersaulted the last few feet to the surface of the dirt road. Each of them clutched a sheaf of handbills.
The doctor strode forward into the street, stepped up into the vacant Amber Therapy chariot as if it were a pulpit, and swept his tall hat from his head with a deep bow. His red hair swirled in the air as if caught in a current, and in the bright afternoon sun the gray streaks flashed like silver.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced grandly, "I invite each of you to tomorrow's official opening of Dr. Jake Limberleg's Nostrum Fair and Technological Medicine Show! Yes, friends, tomorrow, thanks to the generosity of the good Mr. Simon Coffrett, who has graciously allowed us use of his lot"âhere Dr.
The other three were dressed just as oddly: the one whose chariot read PHRENOLOGY wore an outfit that looked like something made for Aladdin. A turban hung with dark gems swaddled his head. Next was HYDROTHERAPY . The driver of that chariot wore a dusty toga and a green wreath on his brow. Last of all came MAGNETISM . Natalie didn't notice what the driver wore because he turned his head, took off his silvery spectacles, and caught her in his gaze, and when that happened Natalie couldn't look away.
It was as if someone had tied strings around her eyeballs and now the man in the Magnetism chariot had both strings in his hand. She leaned forward, drawn by the pull on the invisible strings around her eyes. She tried to haul herself back to the step she sat on, but the pull, the
pull
...
Tom's fingers drummed just a bit louder on the guitar. Natalie shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, the Magnetism chariot had moved on and a contraption even more outlandish than the One-Man Band was passing in its place.
Tunes vaguely reminiscent of ragtime music tinkled from an upright piano weaving back and forth across the street. The piano tilted crazily from side to side thanks to its being mounted on, of all things, a
bicycle
âand not just any bicycle, but a high-wheeler with one giant, spindly wheel as tall as a man in front and a tiny one in back. A couple of folks in Arcane still rode high-wheelers, even though they were very old-fashioned. Her father had worked on a few of them ... all without pianos, of course.
How on earth a piano had managed to get stuck somewhere in the middle and how the spindly high-wheeler could support it was anybody's guess. But the cyclist's seat over the front wheel put him at just the right level both to play and to be able to see over the top. In place of proper pedals going around in circles, the high-wheeler's went up and down like a pair of bellows, changing the timbre and the resonance of the piano. The rider played with frantic, alien motions of his arms that made absolutely no sense until Natalie spotted the leather belts wrapped around his elbows. The belts were looped at their other ends through a pair of brass rings in the wooden panel just below the keyboard, which seemed to be the closest thing to handlebars the contraption had.
Not much of the One-Man Band's face had been visible behind his grid of wire and instruments, but Natalie would have sworn he and the piano player were twins.
The smallest member of the parade sat precariously
"
The Paragons of Science!
"
Dr. Limberleg announced with another flourish.
on top of the wobbling piano, legs dangling off the front as if he were riding between the handlebars of an ordinary bicycle: a small child dressed in a jester's costume. The balding velvet triangles of the costume ended in tarnished bells that jingled as the child wiggled in time to the music. After a few minutes' watching, Natalie still couldn't tell if it was a real kid or a wind-up doll.
The procession ground to a halt, and the four men Dr. Limberleg had called the Paragons of Science stepped down from their chariots. The child on the piano climbed off with the ease of a squirrel and somersaulted the last few feet to the surface of the dirt road. Each of them clutched a sheaf of handbills.
The doctor strode forward into the street, stepped up into the vacant Amber Therapy chariot as if it were a pulpit, and swept his tall hat from his head with a deep bow. His red hair swirled in the air as if caught in a current, and in the bright afternoon sun the gray streaks flashed like silver.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced grandly, "I invite each of you to tomorrow's official opening of Dr. Jake Limberleg's Nostrum Fair and Technological Medicine Show! Yes, friends, tomorrow, thanks to the generosity of the good Mr. Simon Coffrett, who has graciously allowed us use of his lot"âhere Dr.
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