Pilo Traveling Show (Pilo Family Circus #2)

18. BELOW

Jamie wanted badly to get back to the loose fence post and check on Dean, but like JJ had said, it seemed important to watch the unfolding excitement by George's trailer. By now a sizeable crowd had come to witness and jostle for a better view—all but Mugabo and the Matter Manipulator seemed to be there. Gonko stood just outside the trailer door with a look of orgasmic serenity as he called the occasional word of encouragement in to George, or lashed out with a boot at someone in the press of bodies who got too close.

Again JJ beat a path through the crowd, winning few hearts and minds as he trampled and kicked. He tossed the sack to Gonko, who in turn spilled the velvet bags out into the grasping hands of the carnies. "Here's the hidden stash I told you about," he called. "Squabble amongst yourselves in an orderly fashion." Those lucky enough to catch their own bag or two darted off, followed by an enraged group who'd missed out. The crowd thinned.

A whiff of faint perfume, foreign and pleasant, trickled through the pushing bodies and reached Jamie moments before a hand closed on his wrist, pulled him close to a woman who'd come to stand behind him. Her lips were close to his ear. "It won't be long now," she said. The fortuneteller nodded to Gonko, who was having fun with JJ calling various "soothing" remarks in at George. They were trying to outdo each other for saccharine sweetness, and were slapping their knees with laughter.

"You will soon see what you are really fighting," said Shalice. "Even now, it climbs the tunnel below the Funhouse."

Jamie tensed. She knew; she knew everything. He looked at her, tried to read her face, but saw nothing other than weariness. "Not sure what you're talking about," he said. "And if I knew what you were talking about, maybe I wouldn't discuss it here near so many people."

She looked about, and he'd have sworn it was the first time she'd noticed the jostling crowd around them, still numbering in the dozens. She said, "Why don't we retire back a way? But not too far. You will profit from seeing what comes."

They sat on small wooden chairs behind a hot dog booth, but not before Jamie looked into every hidden nook nearby for someone who might overhear. They had a vantage point of those coming and going through a juncture of lanes to George's trailer—right now that just meant carny rats seeking dust and forming small hit squads to find it. Jamie said to Shalice after a minute or two of silence, "How do I know I can trust you?"

She laughed. "You don't. If you cannot trust me, it is already too late for you."

"You know what we're trying to do, don't you?"

"I know enough. It may ease your fears to know I am not quite who I was, when last we met. Circumstance took from me many of the pleasing lies and blind spots I had to cultivate, when I was a willing part of this . . . enterprise."

Jamie reviewed his memories of the fortuneteller and found them faint—he did not have much to do with her last time, other than JJ stealing her crystal ball, and of course her lies when he first arrived, to make it seem he was better off here. "You know what we want to do. Will we succeed?"

Her eyes never left the alley that led down to the Funhouse. "Suppose I knew you would succeed, but if I told you so, it might make you complacent or overly bold, and thus you would overlook important things, and fail. Or perhaps you succeed at incredible personal cost, so much that you'd fear to try what would otherwise work. Or suppose I knew you would fail, but that your attempt would unlock a door for others to try, at some future point. Do you see why I will not say all that I know?"

"Yes. Although frankly a little encouragement really wouldn't hurt."

"What happened with the last usurpation? The house's occupants were hurt, its furniture was ruined, and a frightful mess was made. The house still stands, and now the occupants are back. Nothing has changed. You will need to do more than last time."

Jamie said nothing. He followed her gaze as a group of terrified carny rats sprinted down the path, away from the Funhouse. "It's coming," one of them called to a friend over by George's trailer.

"Hush now," said Shalice. "If it looks this way, do not look into its eyes or it will know you."

A quiet fell over the showgrounds. Faintly came a sound like chains being dragged over hard dirt. Jamie felt the thing coming well before he saw it. It was like a winter wind that blew fear and malice instead of cold, and there was hate and envy for everything living in a body with warm blood, and other things it could mimic but never be. The shape imposing upon the dark alleyway between stalls and games was taller than any man, though effort had been made to cloak itself in garments: a black coat and cape, and to fashion for itself limbs which stiffly carried it in awkward lurching strides. It was darker than the night behind it, hobbling slowly, each step a battle like someone in sinking sand. Its thin arms shivered with anger; Jamie glimpsed bone-like talons in place of what had seemed moments before a hand in a black glove. Two red flames burned in its face. A hissing rasp whispered, "George, ahh . . . George, sss."

It did not look their way. He saw in its face twisted and chewed husks of bone, scale, skin, all wound together in shuddering lumps. Then it passed from view, moved toward the trailer. Ahead of it, screams pierced the hush, and then were quickly silenced. A stampede of footsteps beat across the ground; everyone near the trailer fled, the newer carnies gone pale, frightened, once more hit by rekindled doubts about their new world. JJ ran ahead of the others. Gonko they did not see in the fleeing rush.

They heard the split and crack of the wood barricading George in his home. They heard George's scream, and the sudden quiet falling like a blow when it stopped. Slowly, awkwardly, the creature came back the way it arrived, George dragged by a foot clutched behind it until, finally, it passed from view and the hush cautiously lifted. The distant murmur of carny folk resumed—awed whispers telling each other what they'd seen.

Gonko strolled past them, whistling happily. He paused to cast his gaze after the thing, sighed in contentment, then walked off toward the freak show.

•

"Now do you see?" said Shalice after a long while of neither of them speaking.

"How many are there like that, below?" Jamie asked.

"Fewer than you might expect. There are some lesser types than the one you saw, in greater number."

"It seemed sick, the way it moved. And it seemed like it . . . didn't like being up here." They were poor words for what he'd seen; especially on its return to the Funhouse, its outlines had wavered, and at times it almost looked like the air would soon dissolve it. Jamie had seen parts of it blur into something like pixels, swirling clouds of black dots held together by an irritated twitch of its hand.

"It does not belong here," said Shalice. "It comes from somewhere, or somewhen, never revealed to any of we slaves. What we might call magic is a kind of instability in reality that its presence causes. An instability much study and labor has learned to shape—to control. These showgrounds are a halfway point between its world and yours. This place borrows the laws of reality from both places, mixes them in ways they should not be mixed. You saw that it did not enjoy the solidity even of this halfway point . . . it cannot yet handle the physical realm. In the same way, you could not live on the ocean floor or in outer space. You are not built for those places, and they are not built for physicality. All my alterations of history, done on their instruction, may have been to change your world so that one day, they can survive your world and do there as they like." She caught his eye. "A little physical matter, in its presence, it could handle. Just as you could stand waist deep in water; not comfortable, perhaps, but easily enough. Too much physicality would harm it. Even kill it, if death is an apt term for the ruin of something not alive, as we understand the word."

Jamie shivered. "What are we going to do, Shalice? Can you help us?"

"I'll not promise anything more than this. Gonko and the other clowns are your greatest danger and impediment—not the only one, but the greatest. I can, when the day comes, keep them from interfering. You must survive until then. As for what you will do, it is not for me to tell you."

"Why not?"

"I do not see everything. The illusion that I do has served me well. Scraps of the future come to me in little flashes, that is all."

When the day comes. As the fortuneteller walked off without another word, Jamie found for some reason that those words sat heavy in his mind, more than all else she'd said. The day was indeed coming, he knew, and coming soon.

He went to back to the loose fence plank, mostly unseen on the short walk, and wrenched it back. "Dean?" he called to no response. Reluctantly he slipped out, sidled onto the narrow rock shelf, trying not to look down, then making himself look down and not care about the empty abyss. If he was to get rid of JJ, this was the obvious way: one quick wrench after luring him here on some pretext. The JJ who'd tried to drive him insane last time, ultimately tried to kill him . . . the JJ who tonight had maybe saved his life.

The thicker platform was an empty slab of sand-colored stone island—Dean was not there. If he'd slipped and fallen, naturally there would be no trace.

•

Most of the george is watching signs were already smashed and defaced. Gonko took a couple as souvenirs—he'd never been happier to see that face in all his life. "Let us go and put the final icing on the grandest suck up cake ever made," he told his crew, minus one of the J's. He could hardly tell the pair apart, but they seemed to be getting along this time around.

Goshy however was all riled up about something; he'd been doing that thing where he'd walk back and forth about three meters at constantly increasing speed, to a point he'd become a colored blur and maybe even set the ground on fire. Usually Doops could chill him out, but it was taking a while, this time. When Jamie returned, the clowns were on their way out, and his presence set Goshy off again: one stiff arm pointed an accusing finger, the mouth flapped mutely, a puff of steam from the ears—the whole shebang.

"Whatsa matter, Goshy?" said Doopy, pawing his brother's shirt. "He's tryna tell us something, Gonko, something real important." They all watched, waited. Jamie began to sweat. "C'mon Goshy, tell us!"

Flap flap, the lips smacked the gums with little plop sounds. Squinting, Doopy translated: "Jamie's gonna . . ."

Flap flap.

"Jamie's scheming to put an end to . . ."

"Come off it, this is silly," said Jamie, edging backwards.

Flap, flap, flap. "You was hiding out, and you heard Jamie say . . ."

Goshy's accusing finger shook, jabbed the air.

"Oh wow!" Doopy screamed. "Wow wow wow! Boss, boss, we gotta talk, you just gotta hear what Goshy says, it's reaaaaal important . . ."

"Spit it out!" Gonko said irritably.

"Jamie's gonna buy us all a present! A super duper present! Ain't it the bestest thing you ever saw? It's gonna be shiny, and pretty, and tasty, and it's gonna make us forget we ever hurt real bad."

"Jamie's going to buy himself a new pair of pants first," Jamie said.

Gonko snapped, "Knock it off, you jiggling tits. We're gonna set Kurt loose, then we're gonna bask in his gratitude from now til eternity. But he's a funny one. Just got a hunch it's best not to talk about the ol' secret upstairs show thing. Got it?"

They got it, and Goshy walked very close behind Jamie as the clowns headed for the freak show tent, a puff of steam now and then whistling out his ears.

"Why, good evening clowns," said Kurt from the glass case, his thick lips pulling their corners up through rosy cheeks. "My, hasn't it been an interesting day. I hear George has got himself in a spot of bother with . . . upper management."

"We're all just flabbergasted, boss," said Gonko. "Who woulda thought, eh? But someone's gotta run this joint. What say we let you out of there?"

"Hm! Well, why not. If it's no great trouble."

"None at all, boss." Though it was trouble disassembling the cage's ribs of metal and wood, under the pensive gaze of Dr. Gloom. It took an hour before Kurt could finally be dragged out, by which time they all got pretty sick of the tune he was humming.

Kurt's human flesh had regrown, though he was thin and looked brittle. He stood naked, smiling serenely at each of the clowns as Gonko retrieved one of his old business suits and helped him dress. "It will take some time to regain the strength in my legs," said Kurt, taking a few experimental steps. "Ah! There it is, that's better. Now, if you'll pardon me a moment, I must find something to eat a touch more substantial than fish flakes." Kurt sprinted away, and they heard no more from him for a while, unless the hideous shrieks of pain that soon followed were of his making.

Gonko, a touch irritated, led them back to their tent for a game of cards. Rufshod said, "Boss. Wasn't he meant to be, you know, a bit more grateful and shit?"

"Give it time," said Gonko, but the way he dealt the cards, ripping most of them in half, showed he felt the same way.

•

Bright and early the next morning word got around (via George's therapist, now apparently Kurt's secretary and minus a couple of teeth) that a Special Meeting was to occur in the acrobat stage tent. All performers gathered there, as did about half the carny rats, who looked no less edgy and murderous than they had yesterday. Kurt was five minutes late, after which he spent a further five minutes apologizing for it and lecturing them all on the importance of punctuality, as well as striving for excellence.

"In other news, my beloved performers (and assorted other no-less-valued staff), it appears that I, Kurt, am again the proprietor of the circus." Kurt waited expectantly. And waited. Gonko figured out why, stood and applauded gustily, followed by Rufshod, JJ, and Doopy. Kurt blushed, swished a paw at the air. "Now, now, remain calm. So, a few new ground rules. One, the clowns are officially Management's favorites. Be advised that in any inter-performer conflict, the clowns shall be default beneficiaries of every judgment call and or property dispute slash damages claim, until further notice. Two, should the clowns require any remedial massage treatment and or sexual favor from any other employee, it shall be given freely and with good cheer, with any who break this protocol answerable to me—Kurt Pilo—and my horrendous punishment apparatus. Three, if it would amuse any of the clowns to see other performers inflict self-harm, the clowns may request this service of any employee, and it must be delivered within twenty-four hours, provided it does not impact upon one's ability to perform on show day. Four, general groveling toward the clowns is henceforth encouraged, with the added proviso that should a clown snap his fingers, all within earshot must at once provide said clown a sincere compliment—sarcasm shall be punished. Any questions?"

Goshy stood up and screeched like a barn owl til the others wrestled him down.

"Very good," said Kurt. "Oh! I had a phone call. Surprise, everyone! Today is a show day." A groan passed through the audience. Kurt remained smiling, but his eyebrows angled downward. "Now, now. Turn those groans to moans. At once. There have been difficulties of late. Today, we strive for excellence! You must all remember what brought you into circus work, and recapture that spirit of enslavement. I expect the utmost professionalism. Do it in memory of my dear brother George—a fine show is just what he would have wanted." Kurt wiped away utter dryness where a tear may otherwise have been. "Which brings me to one final point. There has been some mischief of high order. George's show was sabotaged! This must shock you as much as it does me. Be strong! We must get to the bottom of what happened to George's show. A thorough investigation will be launched in the coming days. Every employee shall be interviewed at length. Large rewards and amnesties are offered for squealers and tattle-tales. If you have a suspicion, rumor, or conspiracy theory, you must tell my secretary, and she will compile a list for my perusal. A large ‘culprit cage' will be constructed to prompt the guilty into a state of increasing terror.

"Thank you all for your warm welcome back to the Pilo Family Circus. I shall now end the meeting and stalk out."

With that, the meeting ended and Kurt stalked out.

•

Somehow Gonko managed to keep his poker face on til they got back to their tent. Rufshod was in his ear the whole way: "What the hell was all that? Didn't he know? He musta known! You said he knew, right?"

"Gosh, I'm mighty confused," said Doopy while Gonko paced back and forth, shaking his head in bewilderment. "‘Cause, see, the boss says we're super duper, but then says we done did bad! Which what did we done do what that was bad good, Gonko?"

Gonko stopped pacing, eyed the card table. "Just when I fucking think . . . that I understand that big sack of weirdo dog shit . . ." The card table was then severed into several much smaller card tables. Rufshod dashed off to find a replacement.

"Gee-whiz," said Doopy.

"I like the sexual favors part," said JJ. "Does that apply to us? I mean, if I said to Doopy—"

"We gotta find out what gives here," said Gonko. "I'm gonna go see Kurt. The rest of you rehearse an act for today and make it good."

•

The culprit cage construction was already begun—a group of nervous carnies had found a platform and were measuring for cage bar holes around its edges. Kurt was gnawing on a human-looking femur when Gonko entered his trailer. "Come in, come in," Kurt said cheerily. "Mandible? They're fresh." he shook a jar one quarter full of yellow teeth—some of them still attached to chunks of pink gum.

"New collection, boss? Looking good," said Gonko, taking one out of politeness.

"What can I do for you, Gonko? Has a sarcastic compliment been given?"

"Nah, boss, it's just . . . I had to ask . . . you see . . . hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but . . . why exactly are we clowns getting the royal treatment?"

Kurt sighed. "I did not much enjoy my time in the freak show, Gonko. It was a pleasure to watch Dr. Gloom's exemplary conduct, but the worst part was being poked with a stick. There were also several hurtful remarks. Tell me, Gonko, do you think I am an ‘ugly ass butt?'"

"Crazy talk, boss."

"Hm, yes, but that's what one freak show guest called me, right after three very firm pokes. Although it was under George's instruction, every employee poked me. But not you, Gonko, nor your underlings. I knew that should I ever manage the circus again, the clowns would be my temporary favorites for a good while."

"Aha. I see."

Kurt linked hands and leaned forward over his desk. "Isn't life funny sometimes, Gonko?"

"What d'you mean exactly, boss?"

"I remember when we were together below. And you asked a rather prescient hypothetical question, about what may happen if George failed to cut the mustard. And lo and behold! No mustard was cut."

Gonko swallowed, turned his poker face thoughtful. "I guess life just is funny sometimes, boss. But it looks like fishy business to me. Got any leads on the sabotage case yet?"

"Mm, several! My secretary has been meeting with dozens of eager performers, taking down notes. I shan't have time to review them today, for we're doing a show—how exciting! Tomorrow perhaps, or perhaps after I conduct the first wave of interviews."

"Good thinking, boss," said Gonko, edging to the door. "I'll keep my eyes peeled too. So anyway, I better go rehearse. See you, boss, it's great to have you back."

"Catch you later, Gonko."

•

The rehearsal did not go well, mainly because Goshy refused to join in on any sketch or gag. Instead he kept one stiff arm pointed at Jamie the whole time; from his mouth came mute gum flaps, kettle sounds, sharp tropical birdcalls, and phlegmy warbles. Each outburst seemed to get him more worked up. "What's that, Goshy?" said Doopy. "Jamie's secretly planning to what? Jamie and Deeby's gonna destroy who? Jamie's gonna . . . he's gonna . . . he's gonna fetch us all a bowl of popcorn?" Doopy crash tackled Jamie, apparently from sheer gratitude, crawling over him til they were nose to nose and Jamie's world filled with stale hotdog breath. "That's so neat," said Doopy. "I just can't wait to taste it, Jamie. You really shouldn'ta."

"Anytime," Jamie whispered, nerves frayed near to breaking. He had to get out of there. An hour remained before the tricks were due in; by now the ticket collectors would be at their location. He could only hope Dean was with them, that he'd not slipped in the abyss when edging around the fence. Also of concern was JJ's enjoyment of Kurt's new rules. He wasted no opportunity to snap his fingers on a stroll through Sideshow Alley, provoking a chorus of "Nice shoes, Mr. Clown," "Looking good, sir," and "Handsome devil right there," all the while with an ear cocked for sarcasm. A dozen Sideshow Alley inhabitants had already been ordered to present JJ with a variety of entertaining injuries, from phallic burn marks to stapling accidents making temporary conjoined twins. Jamie could see it all too clearly: JJ was fast losing interest in any idea of rebelling against the show. And that was not a small problem.

When Gonko returned, it was clear that whatever had happened with Kurt had him very nervous. He said only, "We're fucked. We need to frame someone and frame 'em fast. Rufshod, get upstairs and bring down the rest of my stash."

Jamie slunk around the less populated places now, waiting for the tricks and for Dean to come in with them. At last, that transpired: Dean, Curls, and two others followed the last group of people into the showgrounds as the circus music began its song. The crowd was not made of train commuters this time but people headed for a day out in some local fair, somewhere on the surface world. Near their wits' end, the exhausted carnies somehow did their thing: Step right up. You sir, you look pretty lucky, care to play a game of dice? Clown show in twenty minutes folks, you won't want to miss it . . . And their collective mood picked up to no small degree when, lo and behold, whatever curse had kept the dust from falling was lifted, and the ground was soon sprinkled with a glittering carpet.

Jamie took Dean by the arm. "Man, I thought you'd died. Look, we have to hurry. Whatever idea you have, we need to do it tomorrow or today. Goshy knows about us, and he's trying to tell the others."

"Tomorrow it is. But we're going to need Jodi's help for what I have in mind. Are they making her up today?"

"I haven't seen any kissing booth. She's staying with the fortuneteller. Who is also on our side now, Dean, or at least I hope so. What's your idea?"

"Just meet me tomorrow, early. And don't get killed in the meantime."

•

He didn't get killed during the clowns' act, but it was a near thing. Goshy had it in for him in a way beyond normal slapstick, and often as not would interrupt a sketch to charge him, either with some ear-splitting screams or an actual weapon in hand. Gonko seemed too distracted by his own worries to care, and besides, it got the crowd laughing. But sooner or later, Jamie knew, the others would look closer into all this, or Goshy would succeed in taking him out or communicating what he knew to the others.

The tricks left at the act's end, leaving behind a healthy glimmering spread of dust, which the collectors began to bag at once. Gonko beckoned Jamie over with one crooked finger. "Got a job for your trick friend buddy pal, Deeby."

"What kind of job?"

"He's gonna help us frame some chumps to take the heat off. And tonight, we get busy. Understand? Put away your morals, ‘cause if this goes bad, you are just as fucked as me. There's a bunch of carnies who know. Gonko is feeling the heat and getting paranoid, edgy, horny, and pissed off. Tonight we bury the hatchet, and the axe, and lead pipe. Jamie the so-called clown, you capered up a storm onstage. You capered oh so pretty and convincing and made the tricks all go giggly. But answer me this, for you also know. Are you in, sport?"

"You mean, will I help you tonight?"

"I mean what I mean when I mean it. Are you in?"

Gonko stared hard out of narrowed eyes. The other clowns peered at him from their deformed and made-up faces. "Course he's in, boss," said JJ. "He's so in, he's in over his head! Way over."

"Course I'm in," Jamie said. "Let me at 'em."

Gonko's mouth tilted sideways. "Pretty ear music you dribble, young Jamie. Now bring me your trick friend buddy pal. And hustle."

•

Jamie found his friend buddy pal standing by the exit gates as the last of the tricks were shepherded out. The relief about the showgrounds was palpable: rumor said Kurt was very pleased with the show and there would be no rampage through a blood storm this evening, and better yet, a day of rest tomorrow. The carnies would be paid a full wage at long last. Perverse gleams of anticipation came to many eyes as lustful wishes beckoned. Jamie noticed a distinct easing off of anti-clown sentiment as he made his way to Dean. "You have to be careful," Jamie told him as they headed back to the clown tent. "Gonko is going to do something tonight, maybe to everyone who knows about his rebel circus. Which includes you."

"And you."

"And Jodi. I'll be safe, if I help him kill the others. I think."

"So you'd better help him."

"Now I've got to kill people. Great."

"Get it through your head. What we're doing tomorrow might kill everyone here, along with you and me. These aren't people, bro. They're enemy combatants, and we're fighting a war. Got it?"

"I know the theory. Picture it though, standing there with Gonko and the others watching, an axe in my hand, and I'll have to swing the thing down and . . . man, I don't know if I can physically do it. You're right, I know. Just be ready to hide, after this job, whatever it is."

Back in the clown tent, Gonko handed Dean a sack and a Polaroid camera. He said, "The mission: you are a huge fan of the acrobats. You simply gotta have a picture of them, while they are holding this here sentimental sack—your prized possession. Get 'em to autograph your sack, take a happy snap while it's in their hands. Then off to Mugabo to do the same. The lion tamer too, while you're at it. They must be holding the sack when you take a picture. Get it?"

"What's the point of this again, sir?" said Dean.

"This, pal buddy friend, is a frame up. Note, the sack is empty. It will later be filled with stolen powder, the whole stash from our secret show, and then discovered by the boss. It's what we in showbiz call a skin-saver, yours as much as mine. Right now, a handful of dirty snitches who were up top have had a chance to squeal. We, however, are gonna uncover a massive powder theft and smuggling ring so Kurt has someone to punish. Dig it? The sack gets buried in the acrobat tent. Kurt's secretary gets a little note and some happy snaps mysteriously emerge. And Kurt will dine that night on acrobat, lion tamer, and Mugabo. Do we follow?"

"Yes, sir," said Dean. "Only, I'm not too clear on where all these performers live. Maybe Jamie can come and supervise?"

"Only if he stays out of sight. You are taking the photos so the accused will not point fingers at the clowns for framing them. Do we further follow? Get busy, chumbo." Dean saluted and went on his way with Jamie following.

Gonko watched them go, muttering to himself. "Tricky tricky tricks. They're lucky I'm already paranoid and suspecting everyone of everything, or I'd swear they were planning a crooked little scheme right before my eyes. Catch you later, says Kurt. Not see you later, but catch you later. Hey JJ, a little job for you too. When Deeby gets back here, you know what to do."

"Make him become not quite so alive as he currently is?"

"Yep. But don't do it in front of Jamie. We'll say his buddy pal ran away or something, and if he makes any noise about it, he's next."

•

"Excuse me, just wondering if I might have your autograph?" said Dean, extending the sack to the acrobats. They were flattered; it was the first time anyone had asked such a thing, and in truth, this was long overdue. Dean got a good shot of them all examining the sack between the three of them, slightly puzzled that such a thing would hold such value for this (rather attractive) fan. The camera's light fired like a gun's muzzle flash (only adding to the acrobats' excitement), and Jamie had to admire Dean's ruthlessness—there was no one in this circus he'd extend any mercy to, if he had his way.

Dean and Jamie left them to preen amongst themselves. Claudius said, "It's like all our hard work has paid off. Finally, some recognition."

Mugabo snarled and growled at the same request, sensing a trap. "Treek!" he bellowed, wagging a long finger. "You treek me! Spill it! What now? For truth!"

Dean backed up, not sure what to say. Jamie jumped in. "All right, sir, you saw through us. The truth is, we need the advice of a great mystic. We believe this sack has been cursed, bringing its bearer bad luck. Can you lend us your expertise?"

"The day I help clown, is the day of not help at all!" Mugabo raged. He grabbed the sack and shook it menacingly. "Take you stink sack, take ever thing and run, opposite!" The camera flashed and Dean got a good shot of Mugabo, sack in hand and teeth bared, but they had to sprint away as ozone filled the air—the Polaroid flash was interpreted as some kind of attack. They made it out as lightning struck within the tent, after which the magician collapsed, weeping.

The lion tamer—a diminutive, miserable-looking man with a curled black moustache and sad drooping eyes—was having dinner with his tiger, which was remarkably adept with a knife and fork. It was clear he'd not believe the autograph hunting story for a second, so Jamie (ignoring again Gonko's directive to stay hidden) said, "Sir, sorry to trouble you, but I have OCD. I need you to hold this sack for the count of three or I will be unable to bathe this week, for fear the water may turn to acid."

"No one wants that," sighed the lion tamer, getting slowly to his feet. He opened the empty sack, glanced in, which made a nice picture. "Terrible condition," he said, handing it back. "Best of luck to you, young man."

They left, not without a touch of remorse on Jamie's part—both the lion tamer and the acrobats seemed halfway decent sorts. "Now we have to talk about JJ," Jamie said. "I've got a really bad feeling he's going to give us up."

"So, do you have the balls to take him out, or not?" said Dean.

"It's not that so much. It's that I'm not sure. He's already helped me out a few times. And if we do this thing tomorrow, maybe we can get it done before he turns on us."

"Jamie, this is our one and only chance at this. We will probably die doing it, win or lose, and no I won't tell you yet, just in case something weird happens to you and they make you talk. What I have in mind, he'd be useful for, but not essential. You tell me, is he a risk or an ally?"

"Both, it seems. I just don't know."

"That means he's a risk. What's your gut tell you?"

"That we're in deep shit either way." Jamie sighed. "He's having a lot of fun with these new rules of Kurt's. I think he's a danger of reappraising how he feels about us at any second."

They both fell quiet as the clown in question appeared up ahead, shouldered his way through some carnies, and ran to them with big goofy knee-lifting strides. "Amigos! You'd better not go back there. Gonko gave me an order to make Dean be dead."

"I wondered about that," said Dean.

JJ took the Polaroids and the sack. "I'll deliver these to our boss, how about it? I'll concoct lies as to Dean being waylaid by someone and needing to dispose of this stuff. Don't you sweat it, trusted comrades. JJ's got your back."

JJ smiled proudly at them, waiting for praise. Jamie tried to hear his gut and warning bells sounded there. "JJ, you've been a great help to us. Come meet us by the loose fence post, near the popcorn seller, out where Fishboy used to meet his gang. There's something we need to show you."

"Sounds like a plan! See you there, pal." JJ bounded off, snapping his fingers as he went, provoking volleys of compliments from carnies along the way (who glowered after him and spat.)

Dean met Jamie's eyes and nodded. It was the safest thing to do, Jamie knew it, but it didn't make the deed sit any easier with him . . . in fact, he felt like the world's biggest shithead.

•

JJ was gone for nearly half an hour, plenty of time for wretched internal debate and self-doubt. Dean watched it all play out inside Jamie without much comment. "Here he comes," said Dean. "Game on. Man up, quickly."

So Jamie manned up, which he found a funny way to describe lying to lure someone into a trap. Nonetheless, he said, "You remember the platform out here? The little path and platform, where Fishboy used to hold meetings?"

"Sure," said JJ, a puppy's eagerness on his face that broke Jamie's heart.

"There's someone out here you should meet." Jamie pulled the loose board back and edged through.

"Okie dokie," said JJ, "although might it be easier if they come here?"

"He can barely walk, this guy," Dean said smoothly, edging through the gap after JJ. "But he's got some stuff to say you need to hear."

"Sure, that passes muster," said JJ, mollified. They climbed through the fence gap, JJ following Jamie. They were a few meters around the jutting dirt ledge, with a drop to oblivion just beyond their shoes. Jamie had his back to the fence. He felt dizzy. JJ faced the other way, his belly to the fence. The main danger, of course, was JJ grabbing hold of him as he went down. It would need to be quick, and yet his hands did not want to obey their orders. Here they were now, at the thinnest part of the turf ledge, the very spot

he had in mind. It had to be now, but he couldn't . . .

"Go!" Dean screamed, startling Jamie so much he almost fell himself. "do it!"

He did it. One hard pull at the back of JJ's collar, then quickly shuffling to his right, as far out of reach as he could get. JJ stood poised for moment on the points of his toes, arms windmilling fast in a doomed quest for balance. "See ya later, fucker," said Dean.

JJ toppled forward. "I guess disappointment and surprise are what I feel the most," he said as he dropped, arms and legs thrashing just like a swimmer. They watched him fall, watched as he blinked out of sight after around four seconds, swallowed by nothingness.

"Did you have to say that to him?" Jamie said. "I mean, did you really?"

"It'll be the least of his problems," Dean said, heading back toward the entrance. "Pardon me if I'm not the nicest guy to know right now. I've been through a lot."

There was just the scuff of their feet on the flat turf, and the ripping sound of clothes scraping the fence boards for a while. Dean said, "Just a random thought here, but . . . you've seen anyone jump or be pushed off the edge before?"

"Uh, no. Why?"

"Well . . . where's the drop actually lead? How do you know it actually goes anywhere? I mean, he didn't keep falling like I expected. He fell a little then . . . poof, vanished. Kind of weird."

"Guess it was. You suggesting that void might be some kind of illusion?"

•

They heard the noise at about that second as JJ crashed through a caravan roof, punching a neat JJ-shaped hole in it as he plunged through to the mattress of a bed below. "Motherfuckers!" his scream reached Dean and Jamie as they put the fence post back in place.

"Hide," said Dean.

"Hide where? Shit! We can't hide out there anymore. And I can't hide in the goddamn clown tent. We're screwed. Completely. There's nowhere to go."

They looked at each other for a second in total helplessness before the idea came to them both at once: "Fortuneteller." They ran.

•

"Something's off here," Gonko muttered, pacing. His fingernails were gnawed to the quick. Now and then he'd lash out with his boot at anything in range or crush to powder some Chinese stress balls.

"What d'you mean, boss?" said Rufshod, dodging a kick.

"JJ just fibbed to me. Said he'd offed Deeby, but he didn't."

"Say, boss, don't take it wrong, but you're kind of paranoid. Remember five minutes ago when you pulled a gun on your own shadow?" Rufshod pointed at the bullet hole in the ground. "Maybe JJ did it after all."

"And what's Goshy so stirred up about?" said Gonko, as if he hadn't heard. "He's got some beef with Jamie, and he ain't cooling down about it. Maybe he heard something we need to know."

Rufshod saw no way to answer this. He said, "Good photos, hey? They look so guilty."

"You took 'em to the therapist like I told you?"

"Course I did, boss, along with the note. And the stash is buried out behind the acrobat tent like you said."

"Just one thing left for us to do then. Pity about Curls, I really don't mind him so much. Grab yourself an implement of bodily destruction, Ruf. We're going snitch hunting."

•

Kurt's face expressed no anger, only delight as he peered at each of the Polaroid snaps for the thirtieth time. "Oh my," he whispered. "It's so very exciting." The anonymous note, which by some quirk of cosmic coincidence looked rather like Gonko's handwriting, said that the illicit stash of stolen powder could be found behind the acrobat tent. Delicious! Kurt basked in anticipation for just a moment longer, sucking on a wisdom tooth. Then he lifted his frame from the desk and loped outside.

•

Jamie and Dean tried not to be noticed on their way to the fortuneteller's place. Thankfully most of the population was asleep or whacked out on wish powder—only the occasional curtain parted with evil eyes glaring out through lamplight. There at last, a familiar caravan connected to Shalice's hut, a familiar trace of strange perfume threading through the air. The window was dimly lit. Jamie knocked very gently at the window. Footsteps within; the hut's door opened.

"You have to hide us," Jamie whispered. "We're in deep shit. We messed up."

She hesitated. "Did anyone see you come this way?"

"No one important."

With a sigh she moved aside, hushing them at once as they began to thank her. "This arrangement cannot last," she said. "You must do your task tomorrow. Or tonight. Any longer and I will have to turn you in to save myself."

"Some ally," said Dean.

She laughed. "Oh, I am. And yet I have only one useful way to help you."

"I'll bet there's plenty you could do," said Dean. "I've heard what you're capable of."

"My powers are their powers, don't you see? They will not cut their own necks. I will not let myself become a Funhouse plaything if you find you lack the courage to do this thing. Stay here tonight, if you need to, and for some of tomorrow. But no longer than that."

"It's okay, we get it," said Jamie.

Jodi emerged through the curtain and down the three steps that led from the caravan to the hut. She did not have her makeup on. She embraced Dean and then with a moment's hesitation put her hand on Jamie's shoulder. "So, I'm one of the good guys now," he couldn't help saying. And she was about to rise to the bait until Shalice said, "Shh! Quickly now, tell me what happened to bring you here."

In whispers they told her about JJ. She listened without comment or question, but a grim humor seemed to sparkle in her almond eyes . . . maybe at their foolishness, or at the certainty of their doom, Jamie could not tell. She stood, pulled a shawl about herself, and said, "Do not touch the crystal ball while I am gone." She stepped out into the night, a slight, slim, young-looking woman rubbing her arms against the cold, her hunched back making a lie of her mask of youth.

Jodi rushed to lock the door behind her.

•

Rufshod and Gonko prowled through Sideshow Alley, each taking one side of the lane, knocking on doors or breaking them down when there was no answer. Gonko shined a flashlight in the face of a sleeping gypsy who did not stir. Across the way there came a thump-thump-thump, indicating Rufshod had found someone from the show above.

They met outside. "Was it Curls?" said Gonko.

"Nope. His pal, the half bald dwarf who worked the gates with him."

"Dead?"

"Proper dead."

"All right. Keep looking."

They went further up the laneway. Gonko kicked down the door of a caravan with a newly broken roof. He cried, "JJ!"

On the mattress, JJ rolled over and groaned. The face paint had turned the fall from a certain fatality into mere extreme pain. He blinked up at Gonko, taller than death in the doorway with a lead pipe in hand. "Boss," JJ whispered. "If I come clean, promise not to rough me up too bad?"

"I guess it depends. There's a good chance you're gonna be washed off them sheets come morning. But I'll try to be restrained."

JJ sighed, tried to stand, fell back. "Deeby's not dead. Him and Jamie are trying to pull a Fishboy and bring the whole place down."

"You're shitting me."

"No, boss."

"How? They doing the ol' upstairs show routine?"

"They don't have a plan yet, but they're trying to think of one. They asked me to help 'em. I said I would, but just for a lark. Didn't think they'd actually have a chance to do it. I was about to tell you all about it, I swear."

"And that's why Goshy's pissed? He heard 'em scheming and he's been trying to tell us?"

"Yeah, boss. You going to splat me into soup now?"

"Nah. But you could be fibbing. I'll talk to Jamie first to get his take on it. If I smell a lie from you, soup's on. Ruf!" Gonko fished in his pockets, and pulled out several useless items til he found what he wanted: a compass with the letter J on it. Rufshod came in, new blood dripping from his axe. "Got one, boss. I don't think he actually was on our list? But he kind of reminded me of someone who was."

"JJ says Deeby still lives, like I thought," Gonko said. "We gotta get 'em before they blab to Kurt. Curls can wait. Let's go."

They turned to leave and found Shalice in the doorway. She said, "Gonko."

"Oh Christ, what do you want?"

"It's time for my favor, Gonko. If you still honor our bargain. If I may advise you? It would be wise."

"Lady, threat time is long past. You are talking to Kurt's personal hand-picked suck up favorite."

"Yes, I was at that meeting, Gonko. And you recall there were other things said, too. Some unanswered questions."

Gonko appraised her, bluffed: "All talk, just for show, toots. You didn't hear the private chat between me and the boss, where maybe all was revealed and met with approval and gratitude. So how much should I care about the bargain? You tell me."

She met his gaze and matched his smile. The gypsy jewelry around her neck, in her ears, gleamed to share her humor. "Is Kurt the highest authority in the circus? Do you suppose others may have an interest in how their pleasures and needs were deprived, for what must have seemed a very long time?"

Gonko's poker face broke like a dropped plate. He snarled and raised the lead pipe quite involuntarily. "Not this way," said Shalice with annoyance. "You think I made no provisions and precautions, should I happen not to return? Be sensible."

With some effort Gonko splayed his hands; the lead pipe clanged to the floor behind him. Shalice shuffled inside, shut the door, and lowered her voice. "I'm calling in the favor now. What I want is for you to leave the showgrounds for exactly twenty-four hours. Take Rufshod, Doopy, Goshy, and JJ with you. Twenty-four hours, then you may return and we are again on level terms with no debt owed."

Gonko's face twisted, grappled, like someone trying to understand the incomprehensibly stupid. "What? Why?"

"It is a subtle thing," she replied, "to do with the interplay of events. And in truth—though you would never see it—I am saving you a good deal of trouble."

"You got some real iffy timing, lady. So happens, I may have uncovered a treacherous plot, carried out by certain ne'er-do-wells, whom I happen to be in the process of hunting down."

"Oh please," she laughed, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "I know what you're referring to. And what they intend will not succeed."

Gonko watched her, thinking. "Feeling tired, Shalice?" he said quietly. "Sick of it all? Yearning for greener pastures, mayhap?"

She watched him back, narrowing her eyes in a show of impatience. "Gonko. Under George's leadership, who wouldn't be tired? That time has passed. And I know who to thank. All I need now is the honoring of a bargain between friends, for reasons I can better explain to you tomorrow when events have concluded. It was you who raised the lead pipe, not me."

He sucked his teeth, looked away, and then nodded. "All right, goddammit. All right. We're out. Give us half an hour to finish some business."

"Now, Gonko. Go now. Please. It's important."

•

Curls, as it happened, was spending his pay in customary fashion beneath that very caravan, and he'd heard every word and every thump as Rufshod murdered his friend. His first instinct was to run away screaming, til he found Mr. Pilo and claimed the amnesty that had been offered to squealers. But who knew where the other four clowns were at that moment? Maybe keeping a close eye on the route to Mr. Pilo's trailer . . . maybe scouring the showgrounds for him with some bribed lookouts to help them . . . maybe the safest thing was to keep Gonko and Rufshod in sight while they hunted down everyone else who knew their secrets . . .

So he did, creeping out from what had just before been a love nest in the dark dusty space and shadowing their movements as close as he dared, flitting behind garbage cans, crawling beneath spare piles of canvas, into pools of alley shadow. He watched the fortuneteller approach, and edged closer.

Curls heard only part of the exchange between Shalice and Gonko. He had over years uncounted developed a fairly casual attitude to death, and certainly would not have said the prospect bothered him. So he was quite surprised to find himself almost blind with panic as he sprinted for Shalice's hut. Death by act of violent clown was something he'd never pondered before, and now they were after him, his only thought was the crystal ball. He'd hide in a safe spot, keeping an eye out for the clowns with Shalice's ball, perhaps until morning. He'd then see when it was safe to make a run for Mr. Pilo's trailer and squeal his lungs out. He could even take Kurt up through the gates and show him the proof.

The fortuneteller's hut was locked, but one learned a few things with enough time—the lock was no match for his special toothpick, screwdriver, and quick fingers. No sooner had he rushed in before a rough hand grabbed his arm. Dean? It was. With Emerald. With a clown! They were everywhere! How had they known he'd come? He yelled and thrashed til a hand clamped over his mouth.

"You got one choice to make," said Dean, a light in his eye placing him in the ballpark of Gonko, in terms of mortal terror. "Join the team, or die right here and now."

The hand came off his mouth. He said, "I'm in."

•

Shalice returned nearly half an hour after she'd left. She was not pleased to see Curls in her hut, but asked no questions. "I watched them go," she said. "They went up the lift. How long they'll stay away I can't be certain. You have some freedom of movement, for now. Gonko suspects I am part of your plan. Just suspects it, he does not know."

"Good," said Dean. "Curls, go now and bring back all the gate pieces. Act casual."

"I dunno, some of 'em are locked away, but—" That look was in Dean's eye again, and in the clown's too for that matter. "But that's no problem. Sure I'll do it."

"Bring them here, go go go." When Curls bustled off, Dean turned to Jamie. "We'll have some help up there now, at least. I was worried we'd have to do this alone."

"Do what? Isn't it time you told me, for God's sake?"

Dean grinned and produced several sheets of paper. "I was busy when you were looking for me." He spread the world map with lift coordinates across the small available floor space. "It's all been done already. Times, location codes, distances, and direction we'll need to walk from the lift point to the bases. Maybe one base will be enough, but we get more if we can. As many people as we can get. Then we get back here to help kick things off."

"Bases?"

"Military bases." Dean gave him one of the lists. "This tells us which ones are doing drills tomorrow. Live combat drills. Do you get it yet?"

Jamie looked at the list, laughed. "I get it, but . . . oh shit. I get it."

"I thought an actual combat zone would be better. If we got some suicide bombers down here—some edgy soldiers who've seen recent action with hair triggers. But if we got hit by a stray shot or stood on a mine, it would be game over. So, we set up the gates in a place where the troops are getting ready for their drill. They come straight down here, tomorrow when there's no show on and no music box playing. Surely we can sneak through a military base at night. They won't see us, right? With face paint on?"

"I hope not. At night, we can hide pretty easily, you just have to kind of remember you're hiding."

"This one looks likely," said Dean, tapping a location code with his finger. "Urban combat training, marines. Get them down here, Jamie. As many as you can, a hundred is not too many. And then it's game on."

"But how did you get this info?"

Dean pulled from his pocket a bunched handful of empty velvet bags. "Curls told me about the powder, how it works, the limits and rules. All I wished for was information, and that was before all this was even strictly the plan to run with. If I'd wished for a bunch of marines to come down, it wouldn't have worked. But it looks like information is allowed."

Jamie nodded. "You said you never wanted to use the dust," he said more in admiration than to contradict him.

"I never wanted to join the circus, either."

•

They waited for Curls to return, which took long enough to make them nervous, particularly Shalice. She paced and muttered to herself then sought him out with her crystal ball, but could not find him.

"We're going to be too late," said Jamie.

"I got info for the whole week, don't worry. Drills are going on all the time around the world, if my info is good. Didn't know exactly when we'd be able to do this, so I made sure we'd have options."

"You're forgetting something, Dean. You can't come up there with me for this mission."

"Why not?"

"You'd need the face paint to be able to sneak through the base. But when you put it on, you're not Dean. You're Deeby."

Dean thought about this for a second, then slapped his leg. "Shit!"

"I'll go with Curls, if he gets back here alive. Curls can sneak through a crowd at a train station without being seen, so he'll be okay up there. You'll have to stay here."

Dean paced the floor. "Now, when these soldiers get down here, how does the show respond?"

Jamie said, "They rush to turn the music box handle, put them all to sleep."

"Right. And what can we do about that?"

Jamie thought about it for a minute. "That could be where you and Jodi come in. Jodi, you have the veil?"

She pulled it up around her face. "I look like Emerald, right?"

"You do," Jamie said. "Dean, correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't Deeby the clown do just about anything to prove himself worthy of this fine piece of—of womanhood?"

Dean laughed, getting it. "He would indeed. He'd even trash the music box and use his big muscles to keep the door jammed, so no one could come in and fix it."

Shalice had been listening in silence till now. Her voice and expression showed none of the growing confidence slowly infusing the rest of them. "Jamie, make sure you return. You will need to be here with wide-open eyes. For, so far, we are discussing a plan to mess up the furniture and injure the house's tenants again, if you succeed even in that much. Nothing yet convinces me the house itself will come to any harm."

Their mood dampened. "What should I do about that then, Shalice?"

"Keep your eyes open and your wits about you. You will know."

They waited mostly in silence until Curls finally returned, panting, burdened with several lengths of curved iron. They explained the plan to him, saw his eyes fill with fright. "This is just our way of getting rid of the current clown group," Jamie lied. "You want that, don't you? Don't worry. The fortuneteller has seen the future and knows it'll work out fine."

"It is true," said Shalice. "Your future is bright, but you must help them."

"Ready, Curls? Let's head up and get this over with."

***