"You can't be at a hundred percent all the time, I'd think," Sachs offered.

"But you have to be," Kara said simply, sounding surprised anyone would feel different.

They arrived at the Cirque Fantastique, where rehearsals for the opening show tonight were underway. Dozens of performers were walking around, some in costumes, some in shorts and T-shirts or jeans.

"Oh, man . . ." came a breathy voice. It was Kara's. Her face was like a little girl's, eyes taking in the brilliant white canvas of the sweeping tent.

Sachs jumped at the sound of a loud crack above and behind her. She looked up and saw two huge banners, thirty or forty feet high, snapping in the wind, glowing in the sunlight. On one was painted the name CIRQUE FANTASTIQUE.

On the other was a huge drawing of a thin man in a black-and-white-checkered bodysuit. He was holding his arms forward, palms-up, inviting his audience inside. He wore a black, snub-nosed half-mask, the features grotesque. It was a troubling image. She thought immediately of the Conjurer, hidden by masks of disguise.

His motives and plans hidden too.

Kara noticed Sachs's gaze. "It's Arlecchino," she said. "In English, that's 'Harlequin.' You know commedia dell'arte?" she asked.

"No," Sachs said.

"Italian theater. It lasted from, I don't know, the fifteen hundreds for a couple of hundred years. The Cirque Fantastique uses it as a theme." She pointed to smaller banners on the sides of the tent that displayed other masks.

With their hook noses or beaks, arching brows, high serpentine cheekbones, they appeared otherworldly and unsettling. Kara continued, "There were a dozen or so continuing characters that all the commedia dell'arte troupes used in their plays. They wore masks to show who they were playing."

"Comedy?" Sachs asked, lifting an eyebrow as she looked at a particularly demonic mask.

"We'd call them black comedies, I guess. Harlequin wasn't exactly a heroic figure. He had no morals at all. All he cared about was food and women. And he'd just appear and disappear, sneak up on you. Another one, Pulcinella, was way sadistic. He played really mean pranks on people, even his lovers. Then there was a doctor who'd poison people. The only voice of reason was this woman, Columbine." Kara added, "One of the things I like about commedia dell'arte was that her part was really played by a woman. Not like in England, where women weren't allowed to perform."

The banner snapped again. Harlequin's eyes seemed to stare off slightly behind them as if the Conjurer were easing up close, an echo of the search at the music school earlier.

No, we don't have a clue who or where he is . . .

She turned away to see a guard approaching, looking over her uniform. "Help you, Officer?"

Sachs asked to see the manager. The man explained that he was away but did they want to talk to an assistant?

Sachs said yes and a moment later a short, thin, harried woman—dark, gypsy-like—arrived.