Victor,

I’m helping you.

I’m not sure why you’ve shut me out of your business. I want to believe that you’re trying to protect me from getting hurt the way you did. I’m worried that you think that I’m going to hurt you next, and you’ve pushed me away to plot against me. Every argument I can come up with leads me to the conclusion that you are still very scared, and scared about me specifically. Is it because of how I acted before? Or is it my father? Or is it the fact that I am of Henshaw and you are not?

Regardless, I’ve made my own decision. I am helping you. You are my teacher, you are one of the few people who have treated my intellect with the respect it deserves, and I will not be thrown away for the sake of your pride or your paranoia. I am not giving you a choice in the matter, and it is already too late to stop me. I’ve spent hours interviewing townsfolk, surveilling the circus grounds and collating information. I’ve had to keep lying to my parents about why there are twigs in my petticoats and why I’ve been talking to the other youths in town; my mother insinuated that I might be involving myself with some boy in the bushes! And after all that, I had to navigate a blackmail attempt and subject myself to humiliation for the entertainment of that devilish seductress! Whatever you are planning, I am already involved in it, no matter what you want to believe. You can let me help you or you can keep shutting me out but you can’t keep me away and you will not argue with me on this.

Having said that, I’d like to share some of my findings. There is something very wrong with this circus.

• Burk Andrus has a birthmark that keeps disappearing. When I broke into his wagon, I found an almanac covered in notes in two different handwritings, scribbled arguments about bad-tasting oats. My best guess is that the mule and Burk Andrus switch places somehow through some sort of sorcerous effect.
• Pemberton, the well-dressed man with the colored water and the glass fountain, has been studying ancient manuscripts as part of some alchemical project; his notes show he’s been working on it since 1867. Not exactly wizard texts, but difficult to get without involving a wizard.
• Duke Morrison has two identical daughters, though the circus only advertises him having one. I saw one gawking at the Blue Wench’s chaos but another nearly caught me when I tried to sneak into his cabin. Why would he lie about that? Why not just bring both of them onstage at the same time?
• Fox Dunham’s marionettes are all struck through with blasphemy. I’ve heard my father speak enough about his adventures enough to recognize the signs up close; I’m horrified that these are being shown in front of children. The skeletal puppet in particular is Stonewall-touched. If I touched it, the flesh of my hand would have sloughed off the bone.
• The circusmaster, Marvin, keeps a commendation from The Lily-White League. Weren’t they under sanction two years ago for undermining Reconstruction? He’s kept some handwritten notes from an ‘S’ and a ‘T’ that talk of sorcery; they’re members of the circus, I’m certain.
• The acrobats, the entire dozen, sleep in one wagon, beds stacked on top of each other, and have almost no personal effects or even spare clothes. My father has mentioned a few cases like these: mine diggers or railway builders or some other kind of laborers, pickled together with barely enough room to live. This isn’t how you keep people. This is how you keep homunculi.

I wasn’t able to search every wagon, and I skipped the women’s cabin to avoid further accusations of voyeurism (do not ask me to elaborate), but it’s clear that these people are aligned with sorcery and are risking quite a lot of it for this far north. If one tried to kill you, it was no doubt planned and they will try again. I’m certain of that.

Victor, these are criminals, and dangerous ones. They could threaten the whole town, not just you - I can just imagine the horrid puppets grabbing little Molly while the acrobats eviscerate the Hanes. My father is probably the only person in town, maybe even in this half of the state, equipped to deal with them, and you’re as smart as me so you know that. I’m struggling not to tell him, and I’m not sure why you haven’t. You’re afraid you won’t be believed, that you’ll be blamed for this somehow, but I believe you, my father usually believes me, and everyone believes my father the war hero. We don’t even need to say anything about the strongman; the marionettes alone would warrant an official investigation.

I would like to be candid here. I believe you. I believe you when you say I acted poorly when we first met. I believe you when you say don’t eat the horse materials. I believe you when you say it was in self-defense. I test you every time, and I will keep testing you because I need the experience to learn, but I listen to you when you say things. Because of that, I will not pretend to know better than you. You have a reason to attempt to do this alone without involving the rest of Henshaw. I do not know whether it’s a matter of your skin or the politics of the Union or some other secret thing you’re not telling me or that I’m not understanding - but I believe you have that reason. I just want that reason too, because right now it looks like powerful individuals are conspiring to commit violence on one of my few friends, if not Henshaw as a whole, and I don’t see a solution that doesn’t involve the authorities.

I’ve included copies of all the other information I was able to glean, some more notes I took when investigating the wagons, and anything else I know that might be useful. All I ask is that you either let me tell my father or tell me why I shouldn’t. I will have difficulty leaving the house for the time being; my parents’ worry is turning to frustration; I am one more mysterious incident away from getting shut up in my room until Spring. But you know how to reach me.