Drutherstone found himself thinking about Janus at a continuous clip during his journey to Arabia. Maybe not about Janus specifically — he told himself — but about how the two of them had run the circus together. What a nice little operation they had had going. When times were fat, that is. In its leaning out season though, no circus is fun to be around. Perhaps, Drutherstone thought, the start of the troubles was his doing. Nitpicking at Janus for his beautiful and careless habits, Drutherstone’s own uncontrolled mood swings when Janus would yawn about the endless nights and days stuck in bucolic nowhere. He knew things had gone stale but couldn’t muster the courage to go away with Janus anywhere. So Janus had gone away without him.
Angrily, Drutherstone wondered what Janus had really given up on them for? The hot pursuit of another long interlude of hot pursuits? A sexcapade carnival in the crackling hot singe of Arabia? The sewer drenched fink! How was it all so easy for him? Just to sail away on a notion and a care?
The truth was Drutherstone had never met the Janus type before. And Janus Tewditch was a Janus to top all Januses. Prior to their joint business venture turning carnal, Drutherstone had only ever identified as “Clownmaster,” never having had a passionate romantic interest with anything or anyone, despite his many centuries on the mortal coil.
Drutherstone tried to reconcile his thoughts in preparation for seeing Janus — perhaps even for the last time. He smoothed his frock coat and tried to ease his cares. Things had been less spontaneous without Janus, but maybe it was better that way. He could finally get back to his former state as the consummate Clownmaster of his own circus.
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