Tucker’s Grove by Kevin J. Anderson

among the crowded tracks. A small figure crouched on the horse ’ s back, a dwarf dressed in a brilliant blue tunic and scarlet cap.
    The dwarf held a rolled sheet of paper in the crook of one arm as he guided the black horse with his other hand. Past quiet storefronts, past the saloon, past the three old men who sat on the boardwalk every afternoon at five o ’ clock to talk about the weather, the dwarf pulled his horse to a halt in front of the town ’ s gallows. The gallows had never been used in Tucker ’ s Grove, though every town needed them, if only to scare away the rif f raff.
    The dwarf unrolled the paper and smoothed out the wrinkles then, without dismounting, he tacked it to one of the wooden be ams of the gallows. Finished, he spurred the horse into motion again , and was gone the way he had come.
    The sunset continued without him.
    People began to gather, led by their own curiosity and the three old men whose never-changing discussion had been so r udely inte r rupted. They circled the gallows post, pushing closer to stare at the poster.
     
    Collier and Black ’ s Traveling Circus
    ONE NIGHT ONLY
     
    Cameo sketches of clowns, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, a fire eater, and a knife thrower formed a border a round the pos t er, but the central image showed a tall mahogany-skinned woman dressed in flowing robes, her eyes staring out of the paper. Flowing lions surrounded her, snarling at something only they could see, dodging the caress of her whip.
     
    From Abyssin ia — Ramonza, Mistress of the Lions
     
    As the crowd gazed at the poster. A fat man, who had moved to Tucker ’ s Grove from Chicago, muttered, “ A circus! About time we had something out this way.”
    Isolated in the Wisconsin farmland, the town rarely drew a t tention : a clump of people who had followed their dreams to vi r gin land, or maybe they had just lost their momentum on the way to somewhere else. Founded forty years earlier, Tucker ’ s Grove had never thrived, though it wasn ’ t quite stillborn.
    And now a circus was coming to town….
     
    The tents set up just outside of town. People gathered to watch, but the circus recruited no help from the locals. Someone sold pennants; stores closed as if it were a holiday; entirely u n necessary posters were tacked up around town. The Methodist minister cried out that circuses were evil, but nobody listened. The dwarf sold tickets; and people smiled. Tucker ’ s Grove had begun to come alive.
    At nightfall the town was empty, but not the cir cus tents. The people sat scattered among rickety wooden benches — not a big crowd, but Tucker ’ s Grove did the best it could.
    The ringmaster stood before the audience and introduced the first act. A fire-eater performed to applause, then two tired-looking ac robats, then a clown, but the audience had been captivated by the haunting picture of Ramonza and her lions that threatened to leap from the poster.
    The ringmaster stepped into the center of the ring again.
    “ Ladies and gentlemen! Collier and Black ’ s Trave ling Circus is proud to present, from the heart of darkest Africa — Ramonza, Mistress of the Lions!”
    Suddenly Ramonza was there, standing among her lions, the torchlight reflecting off her dark skin. The five lions, two males and three females, flowed around her, unchained, snarling at the audience.
    The crowd fell into a hush of joyous fear, then erupted with applause.
    With a superior smile, Ramonza searched the faces, scrutini z ing the people of Tucker ’ s Grove. She snapped her fingers at the lions, and they fell into a neat row like feline soldiers.
    Turning away from the benches, Ramonza motioned to the cats, and her lions performed, first jumping through a ring of fire, then they made a pyramid of themselves. For a time they rolled large colorful balls about and chased after the clowns.
    Once again, Ramonza snapped her fingers, and the lions lined themselves up on the far side of the ring; in unison they