I sat on the hard wooden bench and applauded until my hands smarted. Doctor Macabé doffed his top hat and bowed his head, acknowledging the audience. "Thank you!" his voice boomed above the crowd. "Thank you!" He gave the crowd a sly smile. "Of course, should you wish to show your appreciation, my lovelies shall pass among you."

At this, a pair of women descended the steps at the side of the makeshift stage. They held back velvet bags, ready to catch whatever coins the audience saw fit to give in payment for the doctor's puppet show. The women were dressed in identical costumes, their faces hidden by porcelain masks. It was impossible to read their expressions, to tell if they approved or disapproved of what they were given.

As the audience dispersed, I approached the stage and tried to gain Doctor Macabé's attention. It took a moment before he deigned to notice me.

"Good evening!" This close to him, his voice was overwhelming. "And what may I do for you?"

I swallowed to moisten my throat. "Doctor Macabé? Sir? I was watching your show and I was most impressed by -"

I got no further. The doctor reached down and took my hand. "Thank you!" he boomed. "I am not a man sufficiently hypocritical for false modesty. No. It is always a pleasure to receive praise."

"Actually," I said, "I wished to ask you a question."

The doctor's bonhomie subsided a notch, but he recovered quickly. "I am nearly always happy to answer questions. You are a puppeteer?"

I shook my head. "Merely an aspiring amateur."

The doctor's smile widened. "Well, I am always willing to help one who wishes to join our brotherhood." He paused and looked around the stage, as if verifying that we were alone. "What do you wish to know?"

"I was fascinated by how lifelike your puppets are. Their movements seemed so natural - and their appearance! How do you achieve such verisimilitude?"

The two assistants had returned to the stage; the bags they carried bulged. Doctor Macabé turned to them. "Take the money to my caravan," he instructed them. "And I have a guest to entertain." Then he turned back to me. "I shall be happy to show you some of my secrets."

Doctor Macabé gestured to me, an invitation to join him on the stage. It was a temporary platform, made from rough planks of wood. A tent of striped canvas had been raised above it. At the rear of the stage was a crudely-painted canvas backdrop that concealed ladders to a puppeteers' nest, where a quartet of puppets dangled on their strings.

"As you can see, my puppets are constructed to be life-sized and in the exact proportions of their subject. They are made from materials which almost exactly approximate the properties of flesh, hair and bone. Then they are coloured to better appear real under the lights. Please! Do not touch!"

This last rejoinder was because I had reached out to feel one of the puppets' limbs. I pulled my hand back.

The doctor gave me a thin-lipped smile. "Thank you. Now, you will note that the joints of their limbs resemble those of real people. This adds to the illusion I create."

I looked up at the puppeteers' nest. "How do you control them? Surely these puppets must be very unwieldy."

The doctor laughed. "Not at all! When I pull upon their strings, my creations respond as if they have a mind of their own. It is a secret of their construction."

I nodded to show my understanding. "Could you show me how you control them?"

"I regret that I will be unable to show you with these. However, if you will do me the honour of accompanying me to my caravan, I will show you some techniques you may find useful."

His caravan was immediately behind the stage. It was a combination of workshop, storage and living quarters. Inside, it was cluttered but not untidy. The doctor's two servants were also there, still wearing their porcelain masks. One of them handed me a demitasse of strong coffee.

"Now," Doctor Macabé addressed me, "let me take your essential measurements." He fussed around me, taking note of the lengths of my arms, legs and spine. Then he handed me a small puppet. "Please. Show me your technique."

For the next hour or so the doctor observed my efforts at puppeteering, providing guidance on how I could improve. The porcelain-masked women continued to bring me coffee, but, as the evening wore on, I became more and more drowsy until I fell back into Doctor Macabé's arms, exhausted.

"I feel tired," I mumbled.

"Of course," the doctor replied gently. "Allow me to help you."

I felt arms embrace me, lift me, then carry me into unconsciousness.

When I awoke, my mouth was dry and my limbs were numb and unresponsive. Doctor Macabé leaned over me, his face filling my vision and his breath caressing my flesh.

"Ah," he said. "You have awakened from your slumber. I trust that you still wish to learn my secrets - for now you shall."

Doctor Macabé gathered tools from his workbench, laying them out in front of him. I could not turn my eyes to see what they were, and so I felt a sense of dread overtake me.

"Hold his limbs still, if you please," the doctor commanded. I felt my arms being stretched and turned. Then Doctor Macabé addressed me again. "My puppets are more than mere constructs of wood and cloth. They are living, breathing beings, held in a stupor by drugs that I have devised. As a result, they have lost all volition, but will respond readily if they are physically urged to do so.

"In order to keep them healthy, I must feed them and tend to their needs - with the aid of my two assistants, of course. In return, they have a life that is free from pain and want." He sighed. "Such a pleasant life. And it is one that you shall come to enjoy. However, I must first prepare you for your new existence."

Doctor Macabé picked up a steel eyebolt with a needle-like tip. "I must affix your strings. Do not worry, I am no monster. The drugs I have given you shall ensure that you feel no pain."