The Pilo Family Circus (20 page)

‘No,’ said Jamie. ‘I know about the fortune-teller, I think. Subliminal commands, or whatever you’d call it. She tried it on me the first day.’

‘Yes, you see what she does. Do you know the results of her commands? Around the world, disasters, murders, crimes and suffering. Shalice could start a war, if she was ordered to. I do not doubt she has.’

‘What about the rest of us?’ said Jamie. ‘You, me, the acrobats. What do we do? What are we
for
?’

‘We are thieves, Jamie. We steal something more precious than life. If only it were as simple as killing those who fall into our trap! Each part of the show is designed to part the tricks with the most precious thing they have: the human soul, Jamie. We steal them by the dozen. It began a long time ago. Kurt Pilo Senior established the circus as a farm for human souls, and that is what it remains. During his travels, Kurt Senior stole many forbidden things, artefacts and tomes kept hidden from the world, hidden for good reason. In a couple of decades, he tracked down the world’s deepest secrets, guided by an intuition too astute to be his own. No doubt he was being used, not that he knew it. He travelled across the world on his thieving treasure hunt, the world’s most vile pirate, yet a complete unknown in human history. He traversed paths of black magic never traversed before. With each new secret unveiled, his powers grew and he opened lines of communication with forces long banished from the world. They were banished to make way for humankind. They have the bodies of ultimate reptile predators and power that seems godlike to us. They would devour us if they had the chance. We are a delicacy to them, Jamie, an exquisite treat. They are addicted to us.

‘No one knows who expelled these beasts from the human world. It may have been God, if God exists … May have been shamans in tribes long lost to time, may have been Mother Nature herself. In this dark little realm the demon bastards lay, longing for the world they once ran rampant through. They starved and waited for a very long time, and for a very long time none knew their secrets. None knew they existed.

‘In their prison the rules of the outside world did not apply, because those rules were unable to hold them, laws
beyond the natural laws were required. And they banged on the walls of their cell until someone heard. That someone was Kurt Pilo Senior. He found in his studies a way to reach these beings in their prison. They bargained with him. They lured him towards them. He agreed to bring them what they craved, what they were unable to go forth and take for themselves. They helped him cheat mortality, he and all who work for him. The powder helps us do this. If Kurt Junior had not become impatient to run the circus himself, Pilo Senior would still be here.

‘Once human beings are lured here, they are as good as gone. Unfamiliar with the dimensions and boundaries that lock in these feasting predators, any human is easy enough prey; robbing souls is as simple as hypnotising someone and ordering them to shed their clothes. And this is where we come in. We each play a different part in persuading the tricks to part with what is most precious. We are paid with some of what we steal; the dust. It is the human soul shattered into pieces like some glass statue and discarded, for here, where the natural laws are not quite the same, the soul can be translated into something physical, tangible, almost as flesh. Some call it wish dust, prayer dust — but it is soul dust.

‘For a human to part with their soul, he or she must be persuaded, deceived. Just as a person has a breaking point where he will decide living is unbearable and will choose death, a person has a breaking point where they will part with the force
behind
their physical life. For some, greed is enough. Those lose themselves in Sideshow Alley. Step right up, win a prize. The greedy ones play for baubles and trinkets, while under the carnival’s spell they gamble and lose more than they know. Little diamond crystals fall to the ground like beads of sweat. The dwarfs collect them at night.

‘The acrobats appeal to vanity. Beautiful creatures, they dazzle all who watch their movements; the vain and insecure covet them. Silently whispering in their ears is the voice of the circus, the demon bastards, stripping them with promises.
This beauty could be yours
.
What would you do with such power, such grace?
Little diamond crystals fall to the floor. The dwarfs collect them at night.

‘So on for each of us. Mugabo’s show appeals to those who crave power, though Mugabo doesn’t know it. While he does his paltry tricks, whispering in the audience’s ears just beyond hearing is:
this power could be yours. What would you do with such power?
The woodchoppers, similarly, appeal to the frail and weak and downtrodden. The clowns appeal to the rebellious, the cruel, the naturally wicked — everyone has the capacity for wickedness. The clown show always includes an authority figure being usurped. Have you noticed?’

Jamie thought back to the show he’d seen, with Gonko strolling onstage in a British copper’s uniform.

‘Do you see a pattern here, Jamie?’ Fishboy continued in his strange high-pitched voice. ‘Every human weakness is catered to by some part of the show. Everyone has a pressure point, and like moths to flame they are drawn to whatever attraction will best be able to milk them. Despite that, some resist, clinging to their souls with rare tenacity. Which is where we freaks come in. Our hideous bodies pulverise that strength, horrifying the strong into letting go.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Jamie said, shaking his head.

‘We’ve been here a long time, Jamie,’ Fishboy replied. ‘Anyone with keen eyes and ears can see the process in action, if they watch and listen long enough. Listen to the tricks talk as they walk around; listen to what they say. Listen to Kurt when he’s in a boisterous mood, boasting about the
trailblazing pioneer his father was. All the answers are here … Just don’t look like you’re trying to find them. Like us, you may survive.’

‘One more thing,’ Jamie said. ‘The fortune-teller. If she doesn’t steal people’s — I don’t know … souls, what does she do?’

‘The people who walk in whole leave as living shells. But that is not enough for the Pilos. They want to inflict as much havoc and pain on the outside world as possible. To this end, Shalice sets off series of events like dominos toppling, which finish in disasters. Each trick she commands is the first domino to fall. It is revenge, we theorise, from those banished to this prison. Perhaps they want to cause so much pain their jailer will be forced to bargain with them. No one knows.

Winston cleared his throat. ‘Fishboy, I think we’ve maybe spent enough time on explanations. Jamie’s got the gist of it, right, Jamie? We should really get on with things.’

‘Right you are, Winston,’ said Fishboy. ‘People, welcome Jamie to our ranks. We’ve said enough about the show. Now, onto what we can do about it.’

‘Right, now as I’ve mentioned, the carnival cannot see us work,’ said Fishboy. He was speaking quickly; time had gotten away from them a little and the night was wearing on. ‘For the first time we can operate unseen, thanks to Jamie and the crystal ball. These are uncharted waters for us. This is our first, perhaps our last shot at putting a stop to it all. The strike on the acrobats’ stage tent was the first open act of rebellion, and has created uncertainty amongst those in charge. Yeti and I arranged the collapse ourselves in one week’s intense labour, sneaking out at night while everyone else slept. Jamie’s follow-up attack on our show was intended
to absolve us from suspicion. Next, we must provoke tensions that already exist. The clowns and acrobats must be brought to daggers drawn. We must turn Mugabo against Shalice. Must turn the Pilos against everyone, somehow. If they come down hard on everyone, who knows? Rebellion may just have a shot.

‘You all know who hates who, what old scores are still unsettled. I want you to think about how you can exacerbate that hatred, play on existing rivalries, create new ones. Be bold, but be careful.’

Hearing all this, Jamie felt excitement building within him slowly. The idea of the show being undone and reclaiming his old life fired something within him, a spark of hope where there had been only ashes. There was deadly fear there too; JJ would soon be privy to every word spoken, would know the name and face of each rebel.

‘There is enough instability in the circus to bring it down,’ Fishboy was saying. ‘The competition between attractions that management has been promoting will help us no end. Play on every rivalry! Agitate everyone! We must turn the show into a small war zone, get it fraying at the seams. Sabotage the attractions. Spare no one —
especially
each other. Anyone who remains unscathed will be the first suspect.’

‘Can I ask,’ said Jamie, ‘what all this would achieve, precisely?’

Fishboy looked him in the eye. ‘
Something
will happen, Jamie. The powers running this show are unstable at the best of times — a barrel of explosive chemicals that has never been struck hard, never shaken. Kurt has never had his bluff called, never had underlings rebel, never been challenged other than by his brother. There have been breaches of
edicts, yes, punished so severely none would dare rebel further, and God help us if they catch us at it. But put that out of your minds. We are targeting the whole show, but we are really targeting Kurt. If he grows angry enough, anything is possible — even total collapse.’

In short, the answer is you don’t know
, Jamie thought.

Winston interrupted again to remind Fishboy time was getting on. Fishboy finished the meeting, calling several individuals aside to talk privately about specific plans. Jamie waited with Winston by the fence. Randolph and some others were filing back around the narrow shelf of turf towards the entrance to the showgrounds. Against the backdrop of complete blackness they looked minuscule, like insects marching along some finger of earth. The sound of a distant roaring ocean seemed ready to swallow them all with one crashing black wave. Finally Fishboy approached Jamie and gave him an appraising look. His gills fluttered, something that seemed to happen when he was distressed. ‘Jamie,’ he said, ‘there’s something I don’t like saying but which needs to be said. And I am really talking to JJ here, and JJ, I know you’re listening. I want you to know that if you move against us, we will not hesitate to kill you. There is too much at stake here for games. You remember that well, JJ. I advise you to enjoy what time the circus has left. Enjoy your privileges while you can. Join the fun, if you like. Attack the gypsies. Sabotage the woodchoppers. Torment the acrobats. Whatever you do, though,
leave us alone
. If you manage that, we will leave you alone.’

The intensity left Fishboy’s gaze and voice. ‘Remember that, Jamie. He needs to hear it.’

Jamie swallowed and nodded. Winston clapped him on the back. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Been out here too long.’

‘Yes,’ said Fishboy. ‘I shouldn’t have waffled on so much. See you around, Winston. Jamie.’ Fishboy ran off ahead, and Jamie held his breath to see the freak show curator sprint so quickly along the narrow path. He and Winston followed at a brisk walk, with Winston’s hands on Jamie’s shoulders to guide him.

One push would do it
, Jamie couldn’t help thinking.
I’m a liability here. One push to the left. Long way down.

They came finally to the fence paling, pried it loose and were back in the showgrounds. Jamie had never felt so glad to be there, though he didn’t expect the feeling to last.

WINSTON led him back to the clown tent via a long detour so no one would see all the ‘freedom’ personnel moving in one large group across the showgrounds. Doopy was asleep on the card table again as they came in, his face pressed into a hand of solitaire. The place was quiet. Gonko and Rufshod weren’t home yet, something Winston had fretted over on their walk back. Jamie went to his room and lay down, suddenly elated he had gotten through the day unscathed; if he could make it through one day, he could make it through another.

A moment later he heard Gonko and Rufshod returning from their mission. He got up and took the crystal ball from its covering and focused it on the parlour, where he saw the pair creeping in with a body bag squirming in their arms. They disappeared with their burden to Gonko’s room. Another victim. Jamie sighed, his elation gone and a weary sadness in its place.

He lay back and waited for sleep. Someone knocked on his door. Thinking it was Winston, Jamie sat up and said, ‘Come in.’

It was Gonko. He stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, the dim light behind him sending a long shadow
over the threshold of the door. Jamie’s heart skipped a beat. ‘JJ, do me a favour,’ said Gonko.

‘Uh, sure, Gonko. What’s up?’

Gonko smiled, as though something had just confirmed a suspicion he’d held. ‘Make sure you wear your face paint tomorrow. What do you say?’

Jamie’s heart skipped another beat; his mouth was suddenly dry. ‘Sure thing, Gonko,’ he said. Gonko’s lip curved at the corners. He shut the door.

Jamie stared at the wall for a long while. Then he reached under his bed and picked up one of the small velvet bags. He would have to use some powder if he wanted sleep tonight. He tossed the bag up and down on his palm, trying to ward off the sense that it was all about to come undone, that by tomorrow he would betray everyone as soon as JJ made an appearance, stab Winston in the back out of sheer spite, no matter what the consequences.

The small glassy beads chimed faintly in his hand. Suddenly he had an idea.

His sleep was deep that night, so deep that he didn’t notice Rufshod sneaking into his room in the early morning. Nor did he hear him take the tub of face paint from his cupboard, crouch down beside him and begin smearing it over his cheeks, nose, forehead and chin. Rufshod lit a match, held a small hand mirror before the flame, and screamed in Jamie’s ear the words: ‘
I FUCKED YOUR MOTHER
.’

Jamie thrashed around and sat bolt upright, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and JJ snarled, ‘You son of a …’ He cocked back a fist, then paused, came to himself and
said, ‘Hey! You did good. That bastard’s been hogging the body. He had it all day yesterday.’ JJ was about to thank Rufshod profusely but noticed what Rufshod was using as a seat: the pillow case inside of which he’d wrapped the crystal ball. ‘Get out!’ JJ shrieked. ‘Leave me be! I don’t want you to see me like this!’

‘Don’t blame you,’ said Rufshod. JJ chased him out of the room then propped a heavy box against the door.

Jamie. What had the guy been up to yesterday? JJ couldn’t recall offhand. He lay back and tried to sift through yesterday’s memories. Let’s see, he’d woken, had his usual hissy fits —
Please don’t hurt me, baby Jesus
and all that. After that … After that …

It was all blank. JJ frowned. Why would that be?
Something
must have gone down; Jamie had used the body all day.

He got up and put on his shoes. This blankness of mind was making him uneasy … very uneasy. He could remember all the childhood crap, computer games, sketching buildings on rainy afternoons and such, getting beaten up waiting for the bus after school, but nothing about yesterday.

As he tied his laces he saw the small velvet bag on the floor. Picking it up he was startled to feel it was empty. He grabbed around under the bed for the other bags;
those
were empty. Every last grain, gone. ‘What the hell?’ he yelled. ‘MY STASH!’

He let out half a scream, half a sob. His hands shook with rage. ‘Too far this time,’ he whispered, delighted by the menace in his voice, wishing only there was an audience to see him. ‘Way too far now, Jamie.’ He crushed the bags in his palm and tossed them away. He had a feeling that the missing powder and the missing memories had something in common, perhaps a cause-and-effect relationship. How
could Jamie
do
such a thing? To JJ of all people … he tried to fight back the tears but it was no good; he bawled into his pillow.

Someone opened the door. JJ peered through the tears and saw Gonko, who smiled and said, ‘Good to have you back, JJ.’

‘
GO AWAY!’
JJ screamed. Gonko smiled wider and left.

After a while he stopped crying and tried to work out the hows and whys of it all. One name sprang instantly to mind: Winston. At once JJ got up and stormed over to Winston’s room. Outside the door, arms locked at his sides
à la
Goshy, fists bunched and shaking, he fought to keep his voice as polite as possible. ‘Oh, say, Winston old bean?’

‘Who’s that?’ said a sleepy voice.

‘Might I pop in for a chin wag?’

‘Jamie?’

‘More or less.’

Winston groaned. ‘JJ. What do you want?’

JJ had to quell an explosion of anger. ‘You know very well,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘No, I don’t. Just open the damn door would you?’

JJ flung it back and stood in the doorway, trying to look threatening. He judged he succeeded, even if the old clown was hiding his fear. ‘You!’ he cried.

Winston watched him carefully. ‘Get in here and shut the door if you got something …
personal
to discuss.’

JJ slammed the door behind him and stood watching Winston, licking his lips.

‘Well then,’ said Winston. ‘I see you have something on your mind.’

‘Actually, no, I don’t. That’s the problem,’ JJ replied. ‘What would you know about
that
, buddy?’

Winston frowned, his eyes never leaving JJ’s. ‘You ain’t making much sense. Want to slow down there and tell me plain what the problem is?’

JJ spluttered: ‘I can’t remember —’ Then he stopped as his mind did a few very quick sums. Winston didn’t know what he was talking about, which meant as far as Winston knew, JJ knew everything, whatever dirty secrets Jamie had wiped from the files. Maybe he could ad lib a little, glean some of the missing info …

‘Out with it,’ said Winston. ‘You come in here, wake me up, now what’s the story?’

‘You,’ said JJ, changing tack from menacing to hurt and sad. ‘How could you do that, yesterday?’

Winston blinked. ‘Go on.’

‘You know what I’m talking about. Yesterday. The stuff. What’s the deal?’

‘What specific part of yesterday got you upset?’

‘How could you involve me in all that stuff? How could you put Jamie at such a risk?’

‘You’re being mighty vague there, young feller,’ said Winston, sitting back. ‘And it’s a little early to be caring about games like this. How about you haul your arse back to your own room —’

‘No! Something happened yesterday. We both know it. What was it? Why can’t I remember any of it?’

‘Ah, I see.’ A faint smile touched Winston’s lips. ‘What happened, you woke up with a blank head?’

‘Yes! Was that your idea?’

‘Nope. I’d say Jamie had that idea before bedtime. Not sure why he did it, he had nothing to hide, really. Waste of powder, if you ask me.’

JJ scowled and took a step towards the old clown. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘It must have been big, whatever it was. Oh yes, I’ll find out. And I’ll tell. You hear me? I’ll squeal. Just to get square. Even if I go down with you, I’ll make sure you are
in the fucking stew
, Winston. You got me?’

Winston raised his eyebrows. ‘I get your drift, but I don’t know what beans you’d spill. Only one around here with beans to spill is … well, me. But I know how to keep my mouth shut. How about you?’

JJ stood caught between words for a moment, glaring at the baggy eyes and crow’s-feet and smile lines he so detested. Finally he turned to leave, searching desperately for a venomous parting shot, but he came up empty. He slammed the door behind him.

Winston watched the door rattle on its hinges, then sat back, deep in thought. Jamie had been right about one thing — JJ was changing. He was more aggressive and getting bolder. Winston understood what must have happened last night: Jamie would have looked in the eye all that could go wrong if JJ really wanted to play dirty. Must have used the powder to blank out the day’s events from his mind … Good thinking, although Winston was a little surprised the request had worked. It was risky as hell for one thing, and that it worked only meant ‘the demon bastards’, as Fishboy would call them, weren’t paying much attention to their charges these days. There were times past when the oppressive
presence
, intense but undefined, was very real and inescapable. Memories from those times had often kept Winston from
using his powder, just in case the higher powers ever had cause to wonder about him, just in case they looked at him a little closer.

And Winston had discovered something new: he was pretty damn scared of JJ. He would not show it; it would be curtains for him if JJ knew. But there it was — Winston was scared as hell.

Another nasty thought occurred: what happened when JJ got his hands on more powder and started making requests of his own?

That brought a sinking feeling to Winston’s gut and he cursed himself for giving in to his soft side, taking Jamie under his wing in the first place. Life at the show was hard enough without dangerous enemies under his own roof. His eyes fell on the door with its weak little chain lock, and he wondered if he’d have time to wake and arm himself should someone boot it down during the night.

JJ threw a tantrum in the parlour, kicking things and thrashing his fists in the air. He remembered Gonko’s tantrum, which had destroyed all the furniture out here, but try as he might JJ didn’t have the same in him. Eventually Gonko heard the fuss and came out. ‘What’s new, JJ?’ he said.

‘Oh, nothing,’ JJ replied, invoking Mr Don’t Hurt Me from force of habit.

‘Someone put a bee in your bonnet,’ said Gonko. ‘Got something that might cheer you up. Want to see what we got for Kurt’s birthday?’

JJ did want to see that. He followed Gonko to one of the storage rooms. Some boxes had been pulled out into the hall
to make way for the body bag, which lay on the floor. The lumpy bag gave a twitch. JJ poked it with his boot. A quiet moan came from inside. Gonko reached down and unzipped the bag with a noise like metal squealing in pain. Inside it was a barely conscious man in his fifties, balding, fattening around the chin and jowls. He was wearing a black robe with a white collar. ‘You got him a priest?’ JJ said, amazed.

‘Yep.’

‘He’ll love it!’

‘He’d better. Catching him was easy, but making him get dressed before we took him was hassle city.’

The priest’s eyes peeled open and he squinted from the sudden light. His voice was thick and confused. ‘What’s happened? Where are we?’

‘Night, night, Father,’ said Gonko as he zipped up the bag again. The priest moaned and struggled weakly before lying still.

‘Great present!’ said JJ.

Gonko winked and shut the storage room door. ‘Keep this hush hush, JJ. Don’t want the other crews to get wind of it.’

JJ went back to his room feeling a little better about things. A nice long stretch of spying on people would just about heal his wounds.

All seemed to be as normal around the showgrounds. JJ panned in on the acrobat tent and saw Randolph convincing the others to go on an outing. Then, to his surprise, Winston snuck into their tent a minute later. ‘Hello hello, what’s all this then?’ JJ murmured. Winston had a suitcase in hand. He peered around to make sure he was alone then went into one of the back rooms where the acrobats stored their props. The trampoline JJ had borrowed was leaning against a wall.
Winston took it down and pulled a knife from his back pocket. He gouged a long rip in the mat. Once done, he moved on to the tightrope, hanging from a hook on the wall in a giant thick coil. He took it down and dropped it to the floor, then pulled from his suitcase a jar of clear liquid. He soaked the tightrope then lit a match, dropped it, and flame soon twisted over the rope. There were some spare sets of tights hanging up on coat hangers, which Winston took down and laid on the fire.

In the suitcase were more bottles of liquid. Yellow liquid — urine. Winston opened one of these bottles and splashed it over the other equipment in there: dumbbells, exercise gear, medicine balls and skipping ropes. He opened a second bottle, drenching everything in sight, before taking the remaining three bottles back to the acrobats’ parlour. Next to get a soaking were the suede couches and beanbags. Once Winston emptied the bottles over these, he took one more thing from his suitcase: a red plastic clown nose. To JJ’s puzzlement, he placed the plastic clown nose on a urine- soaked cushion. Then he grabbed his suitcase and ran out of the tent with one nervous glance over his shoulder.

JJ suddenly felt very mixed emotions about all this. Maybe Winston wasn’t all bad. Yet there was something fishy about the whole deal, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Had Gonko given Winston secret orders for this attack?

JJ decided to find out. Covering the ball, he went in search of Gonko. He found him kneeling by the body bag, splashing the unconscious priest’s face with water from a bottle. Gonko glanced around at JJ, dropped the bottle inside the bag and zipped it up.

‘Say, Gonks,’ said JJ, ‘when are we gonna get square with them acrobats?’

‘They’ll get theirs, like I told you,’ said Gonko. ‘Don’t do anything yet. Wait till I give the word. I ain’t forgotten
them
, my sweet, you believe it. They’ll get it, and good. Now ain’t the time, what with all these mystery vandals running around.’

‘Sure thing,’ said JJ, frowning.

‘JJ, in three hours come back and give this guy more water. Don’t want him dead before tomorrow.’