The Grand Ballast (27 page)

Kilroy pressed his lips together. He shook
his head. “We’ll have a new home.”

Bode sank deeper into that soft ecstasy.
“Where?”

“
I’ll show you. Once you’ve
signed the contract.”

***

The contract was for four
years. Bode would be provided food, clothing, and lodging. He would
receive medical attention when needed. By signing, Bode agreed to
become the property of Kilroy Ballast’s X-show, the Grand Ballast.
Agreed to do as he was told, so long as the consequences of doing
so would not result in
permanent damage to
the body
.

Twelve pages long. Brutally
forward. The employed
will do as
instructed
and
will
debase self in all the required
methods
and
will
perform with enthusiasm and
with a level of resistance that is entertaining but not
tiresome
and
will
sleep where designated
and
eat what is
provided
and
will
face legal action if this contract is broken.
Bode’s heart beat to the rhythm of an old wish. He knew what
he was signing. He wanted to sign it. Because in addition to paying
his debt, he’d get what he’d always wanted.

He’d belong to Kilroy.

THIS WORLD GOES UP

Bode woke again in a corner of the equipment
car, curled on a tarp. He sat up quickly, wincing at the pain in
his head. The stall was empty. Even Valen’s chains were gone. Bode
pushed himself onto his hands and knees.

I didn’t keep my promise.

The car was almost completely dark—one
lantern flickered dimly on the wall. He stood carefully, bracing
himself on the wall. Hobbled toward the door.

Which was locked.

He rubbed his head. The
last thing he remembered was Valen pulling the thorns from his
mouth.
Tonight.

He went to the window. It was too high for
him to reach. He looked around, but saw nothing to stand on. Except
the bucket. He went into the stall and grabbed the bucket, dumping
its contents into the straw. He wrinkled his nose, fighting
nausea.

He brought the bucket to the window, flipped
it upside down, and set it on the floor. He climbed up, but was too
woozy to keep his balance for more than a few seconds.

Focus.

He looked around the car again. Found a bag
of spare tent pegs. Picked one up and took it to the window. He
balanced on the bucket once more.

Focus
.

He raised the tent peg and slammed it
against the window. Pain shot through his injured hand, but he did
it again, and again, increasing the force until the glass cracked.
A few more blows, and the window shattered. He used the peg to
swipe sharp pieces of glass from the frame. Then he began to
climb.

The hardest part was resisting the urge to
drop once he was over the ledge. He couldn't afford to break his
leg on the fall. So he clung to the window with trembling arms and
lowered himself gradually until he felt grass beneath his feet.

His head was slightly clearer now, and it
was easier to move. He headed for the line of trees that separated
the rail yard from town.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked.
Eventually he found a street, and a sign with an arrow that read
THE GRAND BALLAST. He followed the arrow, ducking off the road each
time a car passed. Eventually he saw another line of trees to the
left, and beyond it, a field. He heard the calliope music. Through
the trees he glimpsed the pale tent, lit from the inside.

He crept toward it, stumbling once or twice.
Outside the entrance, several people were smoking. Bode patted his
pockets, remembering the cigarette he’d asked Kilroy for earlier.
It was in his jeans pocket, bent nearly in half.

He passed a cotton candy cart, a bored
looking girl running it. The ticket taker was on his phone. Bode
sneaked around to the back of the tent. He could hear Kilroy’s
voice coming from inside the ring.

“
And here are our next
wondeeeeerrrrrssss! Ladies and gentlemen, would you
believe…”

Bode tuned him out. He lifted the edge of
the tent and slipped backstage. He nearly collided with a large
green trash barrel. Dark curtains shuttered him from the ring.
Through a gap in the curtains he saw bright lights, and something
gleaming. He stuck his fingers through the curtain and took a
peek.

All around the ring, torches burned, their
flames contained in hexagons of glass. The bleachers on three sides
were full. And clustered at one end of the stands were the
protestors, silently holding signs. X-SHOWS SHOULD NOT X-IST.
TORTURE IS NOT ART. WE HAVE SPACE.

Bode lifted his gaze.

The trapeze rigging was empty, but high up
on the tightrope, Dee was lounging on her back with her legs
dangling on either side of the wire, one hand under her skirts. She
had her long, thin pole balanced on the bridge of her nose. Some
members of the audience were watching her, but most had their eyes
on Kilroy, who was in his red tailcoat, parading around a white
wooden platform. On the platform was a cage, and in the cage, his
neck and arms caught in an elaborate red and silver yoke, was
Valen.

“
Many of you know this
man,” Kilroy was saying. “He made a splash recently at the Hydra
Arena—” A bit of laughter from the crowd “—and now we’re very happy
to have him at the Grand Ballast. He’s not easy to control, but he
is beautiful. And after the main show, you will, for a small price,
have the opportunity to come up here and put your hands on him.
Ladies and gentlemen, this…is…Valen!”

The crowd broke into applause. One of the
protestors shouted something Bode didn’t catch. Bode started to
feel woozy again, but remained on his feet. Kilroy was moving
again, dragging someone by a leash—LJ.

“
And for this act, we have
crowd favorite Long John…” Kilroy waited through another round of
applause. “And we’ve done some work with LJ’s mouth. You all like
to see a little oral training, don’t you?” The crowd roared its
approval. “Well, LJ. Give the crowd a big smile, will
you?”

LJ opened his mouth to reveal two steel curb
plates, one over the roof of his mouth, one over his tongue
attached to the palates were empress weed thorns, white as fangs.
And not just thorns—nails too; thumbtacks, jags of glass and steel.
Sharp ends of every size. When LJ smiled, the points clashed and
made him look demented, like his mouth was some sort of magnet.

Bode wanted to look away. This was the sort
of thing his nightmares drew from—familiar faces turned ugly, made
threatening. Even worse was seeing how sick LJ was—seeing the beads
of sweat on his flushed skin, the disturbing brightness in his
eyes.

“
Do you like it?” Kilroy
asked the audience. “Mr. Lein designed it. A Lein
design.”

Bode felt something brush his leg and looked
down. Harold, the mechanical snake, was slithering up his calf,
coiling around it. Bode dropped the curtain and kicked, but was
unable to dislodge the mechanical beast.

From the ring, he heard, “So we’re going to
see if Long John would like to put Valen’s cock in his sharky
little mouth. What do you think?”

Bode kicked again. He glanced up just as Mr.
Lein stepped out of the shadows, holding Harold’s remote. Lein wore
crumpled foil epaulettes and a cap made from the bottom of a milk
jug. “Well, well, well,” he said as he approached. “What’d you
catch, Harold?”

Bode backed away. Harold wrapped tighter
around Bode’s leg.

“
Mr. Martin,” Lein said
genially. He was inches away. “Can’t resist the spotlight, can
you?” He lunged for Bode, and Bode stumbled backward, sprawling on
the ground. He gasped as Lein made Harold squeeze him until the
agony was unbearable.

“
Hurt?” Lein asked
quietly.

Bode closed his eyes, panting.

Lein made Harold’s tail rattle. “You’re not
supposed to be here, Bode. Kilroy said for you to rest.” The
pressure increased. Bode let out a strangled cry, and his eyes flew
open. He caught that familiar, hungry expression of Lein’s—longing
and fury mixed.

“
Please.” He forced the
word out. If Harold kept squeezing, Bode’s leg was going to break.
“I just wanted to see the show.”

Lein nodded but didn’t release the remote.
“It’s a good one tonight. Your little friend is a hit.” He leaned
over, and Bode saw the flash of his key ring. The gleam of a gun
handle in his belt holster. Lein extended a hand. “Why don’t you
come with me, and I’ll give you the best seat in the h—”

Bode kicked out with his free leg and caught
Lein hard in the chest. Lein staggered, dropping the remote. His
milk jug cap fell off.

Harold’s grip on Bode’s leg eased, and Bode
clutched the snake and yanked it off. He swung it with all his
might as Lein charged again. The snake’s steel body hit Lein in the
side of the neck, sending him reeling. Bode stood and swung the
snake again, but Lein caught it and used it to pull Bode forward.
Bode sprawled facedown in the dirt, and Lein scrambled to his feet,
foil epaulettes crinkling, and stomped on Bode’s shoulder. Bode’s
chin hit the ground, and he moaned, dazed. Lein stomped again, this
time on Bode’s injured hand. Bode screamed. He brought his foot up,
nailing Lein between the legs. Lein’s bellow seemed to shake the
tent.

Bode wriggled out from under him and snagged
Harold. Slung the snake around Lein’s throat. Lein gripped Harold
with both hands, keeping the steel from touching his neck and threw
his weight sideways, slamming Bode against the waste barrel. The
barrel tipped, and trash spilled everywhere. Lein’s eyes lit up
like he was looking at a mountain of treasure. Bode staggered to
his feet once more and gazed at Lein through blurred vision.

Lein glanced back and forth between the
spilled garbage and Bode, clearly torn. Then, with a cry that
sounded wrenched from the center of him, he pounced on the trash.
He rolled in it, letting loose with a childish peal of giggles.
Bode approached slowly. He could still hear Kilroy’s voice in the
ring, and the rising murmur of anticipation from the crowd. He
hesitated only a second, then kicked Lein full force in the back of
the head. Lein dropped into the trash and lay completely still.

Bode let go of Harold. Leaned over, ignoring
the shooting pain in his hand and shoulder, and grabbed Lein’s key
ring and gun.

Then he headed for the gap in the
curtains.

At first, the lights in the ring blinded
him. But he made for the nearest torch, which was along the
backside of the ring, near the set of bleachers where only a few
members of the overflow crowd were sitting. Bode snatched the torch
from its stand. It was heavy enough that his shoulder and hand
protested. He swung the torch against an empty bench, shattering
the glass. The flame roared upward, and he quickly set it against
the edge of the tent. The tent caught quickly, flames blackening
the fabric and spreading.

He dropped the torch and ran under the
bleachers, shouting, “Fire!” as loudly as he could. The crowd’s
murmurs rose to shouts of confusion, and then to screams. The
bleachers shook as people pounded down them, stampeding for the
exits. Bode struggled to see what was going on in the ring. He
hadn’t spotted any performers except for LJ and Valen. The others
were probably backstage. They weren’t kept restrained when they
were in the wings, so they should be able to evacuate. Lein, if he
was still unconscious, might not be so lucky.

Murderer. What if not all everyone here gets
out alive?

People raced across the ring; they jumped
from bleachers. They stumbled over each other as smoke filled the
tent, rising toward the…

Dee.

Bode looked up. Dee was running along the
wire, toward the ladder farthest from the flames.

If she doesn’t make it…

He couldn’t afford to think about that right
now. He drew the gun. Hopped the rail and ran into the ring, where
Kilroy stood in front of Valen’s cage staring straight ahead, a
serene smile on his face. Terrified spectators fled past him, but
Kilroy didn’t budge. LJ, still leashed, was on all fours in the
dirt.

“
Bode,” Kilroy said, as
Bode approached. “Did you do all this?”

“
The leash,” Bode shouted
over the crackle of the fire, jabbing the gun forward. “I’m leaving
with LJ and Valen. You’re not going to follow me. You’re not going
to tell anyone else to follow me. You won’t look for me, ever. Are
we clear?”

Kilroy smiled. Bode came closer. Cocked the
pistol and stuck the barrel in Kilroy’s gut.

“
I said are we clear,
motherfucker?”

Smoke drifted around Kilroy, leaving dark
flecks on his face. He glanced down at the gun, then up again.
Raised a brow. “Really?”

Bode jabbed him again. “The leash!”

“
As you wish,” Kilroy said,
as a spume of flame erupted behind him like a fountain. Kilroy
dropped the leash in the dirt.

Bode bent and grabbed the leash, an arm over
his mouth. LJ was crouched, coughing around the mouthpiece. His
cheeks looked chipmunk-stuffed, and saliva ran down his chin in
viscous slicks. “Get up, LJ!” Bode shouted. “We’re leaving.” He
took LJ’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

LJ choked and let out a horrible groan.
Blood splattered his chest as he coughed.

Kilroy laughed. “I think he had to be about
half dumb long before the Haze.”

Bode almost shot him.

Instead he said, “Don’t move.” He half
carried LJ to the platform then let him sink to the ground again.
Raced up the platform steps, keeping the gun trained on Kilroy as
best he could. He worked his way one-handed through the keys on the
ring, aware that he was fucked if Kilroy was armed. But Kilroy
simply watched him.