Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Forty-Five: Vagabond

New York City was nothing like I'd ever seen before.

My brain struggled to comprehend the actual scale of what my eyes were seeing.

The buildings were monolithic. I had to crane my neck to absorb the full stature of the building, and the sun formed blinding halos around the tops of the silhouetted skyscrapers. The faces of the towers were a mosaic of reflective panes of glass, the windows to big in their numbers to count. Hundreds of those castellated spires were crammed onto every street.

The buildings were branded with names such as 'Roxxon Energy Corporation', Stark Enterprises – and the one that really caught my eye – 'Bishop Publishing Firm'; I made a note of the location of that particular building.

The roads of New York City, as I then discovered, were prone to gridlock. The boulevards and avenues were choked with traffic; the toots of horns and revving of engines deafening even to my deaf ears.

The stench of car fumes, the odour pee-soaked garbage baked in the summer sun, and the smell fried grease and fat of fast food outlets hung in the air; a bizarre and unpleasant concoction of smells.

It was there, surrounded by such alien surroundings, that I realised just how far from Iowa I had trekked, and consequently, just how out of my depth I was.

Our barrage of vehicles travelled in tow, weaving between the congestion on the way to Central Park. After nauseatingly swerving around bends and jumping across junctions, we finally pulled to a halt inside the park, ambling over the uneven terrain.

The second our feet touched the ground, we began to set up camp for the biggest date in the Carson's Carnival of Travelling Wonders tour.

Politely letting my fellow carnies out of the vehicle prior, I disembarked and joined the crew on the green to assemble the circus.

Orders were being barked in tandem by Jacques and Mister Carson, and people scurried about like ants amongst the unmowed grass, tending to their demands.

Lining up to be given instructions of my contribution to the construction of the carnival, Jacques gave me an unsettlingly broad smile and he took me aside with an arm around my shoulders. His arm felt more like a wrestler's wrangle than a cuddle of camaraderie.

"Biggest date in the calendar, Hawkeye!" He announced, an arm panning to our surroundings; rich emerald green planes, trimmed hedges and clusters of trees. "New York City, the biggest and richest of crowds!"

We took a stroll up the gravel path that trailed through the pasture, dodging the oncoming procession of people. Squirming under the weight of Jacques arm, I drunk in my surroundings.

Beyond the island of lush and flourishing greenery – in full bloom in the summer sun – there was the grey sprawl that was the city; the skyscrapers looking like a concrete fence bordering the park. At eye level, I could see the mouth of streets that lead into the labyrinth of roads and islands.

"You're the headline act!" He chuckled. "You nervous, my boy?" The words were endearing enough, but his tone was as deceitful as a serpent; and I saw right through his guise.

Feeling contemptuous, I snorted, only to receive a look of disdain from my mentor. "I've braved far more petrifying things than a few people cheering for me." I realised how arrogant I seemed when Jacques narrowed his puny beady eyes.

"Mm," he hummed, his words reeking of disbelief. "Like your audacious little affair with the boss's daughter."

I stopped dead in my tracks, Jacques arm failing to lead my faltering feet onwards. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I blurted instantly. Denial of culpability was my first line of defence.