Pilo Traveling Show (Pilo Family Circus #2)

17. ABOVE

It was quiet among the tents in the twilight above—in fact, so quiet Jamie felt the hairs on his neck stand up. There was no snoring, or murmuring in sleep that was the usual late-night soundtrack to the aboveground show at night. JJ seemed not to notice, happily whistling as he retrieved a shovel from under the caravan and went to the buried stash. "What's with you, Jamie?" he said, pausing mid dig and looking into Jamie's eyes with his own flat buttons.

"What do you mean?"

"You gone all quiet just lately. All quiet and thinky."

"Guess I'm just trying to think up a plan, as to what we can do about all this. It might be different for you, but I come from a place where all of this stuff is not normal. Freaks me out sometimes, you know? We're not taking on an easy job."

JJ resumed digging. "Job? Oh, all that stuff you wanna do. Guess I forgot about it."

Jamie tried not to make it obvious that he watched JJ closely. Could not a suicidal, homicidal loon be made valuable to almost any cause? Maybe tasks awaited that Jamie and Dean simply had no stomach for. But what he now remembered of JJ troubled him deeply; the clown may have agreed to help them on a moment's whim, which could change literally at any second, with JJ blabbing what he knew to Gonko or Kurt. Suddenly Jamie and Dean were in one hell of a hurry or . . . a quiet voice suggested deep from his mind's recesses, there were ways to ensure JJ wouldn't say a word of it to anyone, ever . . .

"Help me bag this stuff," said JJ, yanking out one of the powder sacks from its hole. "Don't just stand there deep in contemplative thought."

They'd portioned out only three velvet bags with a meager pinch of dust in each (JJ pocketing a far greater amount for himself) when a strange voice warbled "Help, help." Strange because it was not too unlike the sound of a baby Goshy, but much deeper. JJ, Jamie, and the entire night—from the moon, stars, curtains of cloud, and silhouetted trees beyond the clearing—tensed and listened. Faint sounds of feet scuffing clumsy on the grass; a gargling noise. And "Help, help," again, deep and not quite human. The voice was filled with fear, seemed to say with its one word Something preys on me. . .

"Hurry," Jamie said. He crept through the dewy grass to the caravan. Dark drops and splashes spattered the cream-colored canvas at its rear. A small shape dropped out onto the grass when he parted the flap to look inside. The cry that came out of Jamie was as involuntary as his backward jump; really, he did not think by now that the sight of a severed hand should be this much of a shock, even when unexpected. There it was by his shoe, perfectly harmless, adorned with a cheap brass ring with crescent moon. Shoo, clown, he imagined he heard her say.

Gonko and JJ had done it already, was his first thought. But when? And there was no need to look in the caravan—he knew already what he'd see. He reached through the caravan entrance and fumbled around blindly, seeking the lantern the carnies hung on a hook. It took a very long time to find it. Longer to find the matches on their little shelf next to it. Finally the lantern was lit, and he was surprised to find his hands calm and unshaking.

"Help, help," came the call again. Drunken steps scuffed the ground, over at the tent where the dwarfs slept. Shadows reeled away from the lantern light. Jamie kept his footsteps silent. The dwarfs' tent front had been ripped away and left on the ground like shed or torn skin. "Help," came the fearful cry again from inside. Jamie leaned in, the lantern held high, its light thrown over the ruined mess of five bodies—their parts flung across the mattresses, the faces mostly chewed away. The gorge rose in his throat. The lantern nearly slipped from his hand when something in the mess moved, something covered in red on its front half. The back of it wore clown clothes identical to Goshy's, for this was one of his small replicas. Maybe it was the same one Jamie had rescued from the freak show tent just a couple of nights before . . . now it was the size of a large toddler. Its mouth opened again to say, "Help, help," in a voice mimicking helpless fright through jagged yellow teeth. Its eyes glowed white.

Jamie turned, ran. He heard it coming after him with steps unsteady but fast. Something tripped him—the thing had gotten under his feet. He rolled to a painful stop and lay still in one long, drawn-out second. The creature stood over him and breathed death over his face. Slime dripped from teeth that sprouted out in cruel shards. Jamie swung a fist up, landed on its jaw. It felt like concrete. Its teeth snapped at his wrist.

"Not to my best pal you don't," JJ yelled. There was a meaty crunch Jamie would not soon forget; JJ's shovel had swooped down and split the thing's head like a melon. From the wound spilled not blood or brain, but just a thick greenish sludge. It gave one final "Help, help," before it fell back into the grass.

Jamie panted up at his "best pal." Right then it was not a point to argue; JJ had probably just saved his life. And like nothing had happened at all, JJ said, "I got the dust all bagged, just like the boss asked. Let's head back. Proudest moment in clown history, Gonko called it. Guess I'm kind of indifferent, but you gotta suck up to the boss."

"Thanks," Jamie whispered, his heart refusing to slow down. He followed his dark reflection through the gates, back to the circus.

***