IT was moonless and starless in the artificial carnival sky, helpful conditions for the freedom rebels sneaking out to their emergency meeting, and in the circumstances one of few blessings they were able to count. Their mood was mournful as they could see their brief and long overdue resistance coming to a close, relegated as they were again to utmost secrecy, never able to know when prying eyes were watching. None of them had expected Jamie to appear tonight, and when he found them, sitting in a mood of grim silence, their glaring looks made him wonder if he’d have been safer taking his chances with Goshy. One push, one push …
Randolph stood up. ‘And just
what
are you doing here?’ he said. ‘Come to gloat now that we’re all dead?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Jamie, moving as far as he could from the edge of the chasm.
‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault,’ said Fishboy, laying a restraining hand on Randolph’s shoulder. ‘Have a seat, Jamie.’
Randolph backed off, spitting and cursing under his breath. ‘Not anyone’s fault, but Randolph is quite right,’ said Fishboy. ‘We are as good as finished now. The Pilos have their eyes and ears back. There’s nothing we can do.’
‘We could take it again, couldn’t we?’ said Jamie. ‘We took it once already.’
‘Any volunteers?’ Fishboy said quietly. ‘Winston, show him.’
Without speaking Winston lifted his shirt, and Jamie had to hold back a scream. A burst of glowing red light poured out like blood, and it looked as though the middle of his chest had been dug out and replaced with hot coals. The skin around it was smoking and blackened. There was a smell of cooking meat.
‘Hurts,’ Winston said in a quiet voice. ‘You know, the pain was pretty bad. The matter manipulator said I could come back in a week, get it put back to normal. Used the powder, asked for the pain to stop. Didn’t make it stop completely. Less, though, just feels hot now. It’s the smell that gets me. The smell’s a bit much.’
Jamie felt a sting in the back of his throat; this could so easily have been him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, putting a hand on Winston’s shoulder.
‘Not your fault,’ said Winston. ‘I think … fortune-teller had a vision, that’s all. It’s okay, though, she doesn’t know about the rest of us.’
‘What’s next for us?’ said one of the dwarfs. ‘Show day tomorrow. We can still stop it.’
‘No,’ said Winston in a distant voice. ‘I think maybe we should forget about all that. If you decide to stay in the show, make the best of it, get by. There’s worse things than being here. If you want out, you know what to do. Not worth fighting them. World’s survived them so far, thousands of years … Not worth fighting them.’
Fishboy’s strange face was set like stone. ‘No one would blame you, Winston, if you chose to bow out. But I won’t. Doing nothing would hurt worse than fighting them.’
‘Don’t be so sure of that,’ said Winston. ‘They went pretty easy on me. Could’ve been worse. Should see the sorry bastards he keeps up there in his studio …’ Winston trailed off and stood to leave. ‘See you all later. Need some sleep. Need another dose of powder. It’s starting to warm up a bit more.’
They watched him leave in a slow, shuffling stupor. The lion tamer ran after him to help him cross the narrow path safely. When he was out of sight, Fishboy spoke: ‘Can anyone here surrender the fight after you’ve seen what they did to our friend?’
‘No,’ said isolated voices in the audience — without much conviction, Jamie thought.
‘You see what they do to rebels,’ said Fishboy. ‘We’ve got to keep pushing. The Pilos have their eyes and ears back but they can’t watch everywhere at once. I am willing to risk myself to strike them. Are any here unwilling to do the same?’
‘No,’ said Jamie. Randolph looked at him with surprise and contempt. Jamie met his gaze. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ he said.
‘Prove yourself,’ said the acrobat.
‘How?’
‘Come now, Randolph …’ said Fishboy.
‘What?’ said Jamie, and now his temper was kicking in. He stood up, fists clenched. The dwarfs watched him with interest, as though anticipating a fight. ‘How can I prove myself?’ he said.
‘What we have to do,’ said Fishboy, talking over the top of him in tones of laboured patience, ‘is shock Kurt Pilo to his core. He’s never had anything but fawning obedience. We need to make him feel the rug is being pulled, even if it’s just an illusion.’
‘How?’ said Jamie, still eye to eye with the acrobat. ‘I’ll do whatever you want. The riskiest part of the job. Whatever it is. Name it.’
Fishboy peered at him, gills puffing in and out. ‘Are you quite sure?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, Jamie. You can have the job I was going to assign to Randolph: the break-in.’
‘A break-in? Okay, fine. Where?’
‘Kurt’s trailer,’ said Randolph, and he smiled.
Here’s where you back out
, the smile said. ‘Break into the trailer, trash it. The job’s all yours.’
Before Jamie could respond, heads turned towards the narrow path; Winston was running towards them. His steps were unsteady and he looked in imminent danger of dropping over the edge; dust and pebbles kicked up by his shoes scattered over the side of the cliff, lost forever. When he made it around the narrow bend many of them sighed with relief. He leaned one arm on the fence and struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were wide.
‘What is it?’ Fishboy said, jogging over to him. The others followed.
‘Something happened,’ said Winston. He gulped in some air before continuing, panting between words: ‘There’s been an attack. On the funhouse … explosion. Everyone get back there now, everyone … got to account for themselves. Hurry.’
‘But this wasn’t any of us?’ said one of the dwarfs, cocking his bushy eyebrow around at the others. ‘Was it?’
‘Anyone involved?’ said Fishboy. No one raised their hand. Fishboy turned back to Winston. ‘Tell us everything you know, and make it quick.’
‘Don’t know much,’ said Winston. ‘Just heard from a carnie, half the funhouse, blown apart. Pilos are over there. Kurt’s gone strange. He’s … changing.’
Fishboy went rigid. ‘Changing? What do you mean, changing?’
‘Changing shape, his face. Talking funny … I think this has gotten to him. Think he’s cracking up. Come on,
get back in there
. Everyone.’
The group began filing back around the path. Fishboy held up a hand and said, ‘Wait!’ He paused and looked to be thinking hard, quickly. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘listen. Everyone step up the attacks! For the rest of the night, forget any dangers and go, full steam ahead. Some of us will be caught, punished and killed — or worse — but never mind that. This could be the last sacrifice we ever have to make. This could be the last night of the circus! Jamie, go through with your mission — now, while Kurt’s away from his trailer.’
‘What exactly do you want me to do there?’ said Jamie, for the first time actually considering what he’d volunteered for.
‘Come, use your head,’ Fishboy said with annoyance. ‘You know what will get to Kurt. Defiance. So
defy
him, Jamie, for heaven’s sake. Attack his personal space and make it nasty. Go! If you’re not up to it, speak now and I’ll send someone else.’
Jamie groaned. As he ran back towards the pathway he heard Fishboy telling Winston to ‘execute the Goshy plan, straight away’. Jamie wondered what the hell that meant, and felt vaguely comforted not to have drawn that assignment. He took one last look back and saw Fishboy slapping backs and barking instructions.
Well, if JJ really wanted to see Kurt lose his grip, he might get the chance — if Jamie lived long enough to put on his
face paint one more time. He climbed through the gap in the fence, took a deep breath then sprinted off towards Kurt’s trailer.
The explosion was an hour old. A considerable crowd had gathered to watch. The side of the funhouse had been peeled back like a scab, and sickly red light poured out into the night air like blood leaking into water. On the upper floor was the matter manipulator, now getting some unwelcome fresh air, in the spotlight for the first time in his shadowy life. The pasty-faced little man stared out at the crowd staring in, his studio around him looking like a hotel room in hell. The back wall was made of flesh, a flat pulsating web of skin and veins. Horrible creations made of human and animal parts lay dying and bleeding, strewn across the room by the explosion, some embedded in the wall. This was where the freaks were made, where rule- breakers were punished, where every so often one or two tricks were donated as playthings for the flesh sculptor. The man himself appeared caught in the headlights, unable to move. Eventually he crawled out of sight behind one of his pulsating statues, leaving the crowd to worry about something that disturbed them more: Kurt Pilo.
Kurt and George had both appeared on the scene almost immediately after the blast, but on seeing his brother’s mood George had fled quickly. Kurt’s lips were twisted upwards, the anatomy of a smile. His big yellow teeth showed through his parted lips and strange laughter rumbled from the back of his throat, as though his teeth were cage bars trapping in some gleeful lunatic. Hardened carnies who had until now
believed they’d seen it all shied away from the proprietor as he prowled through the wreckage, laughing that laugh.
‘Oh, ho ho ho ho, ho ho
hooooo
,’Kurt chortled. It appeared he was trying to take this incident as a practical joke at his expense, and was fighting tooth and nail to hang on to a semblance of his normal good cheer. The strain was immense, and showing. As Winston had reported, Kurt’s face had indeed undergone a change; his eyes glowed savagely white, the tanned skin on his cheeks was spread thin like it might snap, and it appeared his jaw had lengthened. His teeth were pressing hard against the stretched skin on his cheeks. His hands were clenched and shaking. ‘Oh, ho ho
hoooo
,’ he said. ‘Well now, well now, isn’t this something, ho ho ho, someone’s having a laugh, there’s, ohhhh ho
hoooo
, there’s, ho ho, traitors, and I’m …’ He trailed off with a sound like a crocodile growling from deep primitive depths before the laugh faded back in. He prowled through the mess, plaster and glass crunching under his feet. The crowd began to back away.
Gonko was among them, watching his boss through narrowed eyes. He had seen Kurt stirred up before, a very long time ago. It was not a pretty sight.
He’s stirring up now
, Gonko thought.
Actually getting madder by the second. This could get ugly. Might be a fine time to get scarce …
Gonko got scarce without further ado.
Kurt’s shirt had begun to swell around the shoulders. He let loose a particularly loud burst of laughter and the mystery lump of flesh ripped the back of his shirt, sprouting into a mighty hump. The crowd dispersed completely.
Back in the clown tent, Gonko saw Winston backing away from the front door. Gonko nodded to him, glad to see he was there and out of trouble’s way, then he paused — Winston had one hand behind his back, hiding something. ‘What’s that in your hand, feller?’ said Gonko.
‘Nothing, Gonks,’said Winston. ‘See?’ He brought his hand around to the front — it was empty. ‘Why the questions?’
‘Something heavy’s going down,’ said Gonko. ‘I’m rounding everyone up. Now ain’t the time for games.’
‘I’ll go fetch JJ, if you like,’ said Winston.
Gonko nodded. ‘You do that.’ Gonko gave him a measuring look that said:
I know you’re up to something, old guy, but is it something I need to know about, or something I don’t want to know about?
Winston supposed it was the former. Tucked into the back of his pants was a bunch of feathery yellow-green leaves. What Gonko hadn’t noticed — thank the stars — was the thin trail stretching from Winston back to Goshy’s room. The trail was destined to end at the fortune-teller’s hut. Winston took a deep breath and headed that way, ignoring the pain in his chest as the glowing patch there began to heat up.
Meanwhile, over at Kurt’s trailer, Jamie was trying to keep himself under control. Adrenaline was making his hands shake. It seemed Kurt would never suspect anyone of possessing the gall to break into his trailer, for the door was not only unlocked but slightly ajar. Jamie took a deep breath, reflected that keeping one’s damn mouth shut occasionally could prove a survival advantage, then up the steps and in he went. It smelled like a zoo in the cramped dark trailer, lit
only by a small gas lantern on the desk, moths and mosquitoes hovering around it. Jesus looked down at him from half a dozen plastic crucifixes. ‘Nice touch, Mr Pilo,’ Jamie whispered. ‘Thanks for that.’
Here went nothing. He started by ripping up the Bibles piled on the desk. Each page of each book had been coloured in completely with highlighter pen. Jamie dropped the ripped pages and covers on the floor. Was this an adequate mess? He didn’t think so. What would JJ do? He would know how to make a scene here. Maybe he’d do something along these lines …
Jamie grimaced and dropped his pants. Propping himself on the desk, he unleashed everything he had, bowels and bladder, not easy in the circumstances. He wiped himself with Bible pages and stuck them to the wall. He took a crucifix from the wall and used it to spread the mess over the desk. The piss ran off in rivulets, dribbling to the floor. What the hell else could he do here? The filing cabinet against the back wall, behind the desk … He tugged at it and, with a noise that made him wince, it toppled over. The top two drawers came loose, spilling their contents — not paperwork, as Jamie had expected, but thousands of small white lumps that fell and scattered like hail over the floor. Teeth. Thousands and thousands of teeth.
He’d been here no more than a couple of minutes, but figured he’d done enough. As he turned to leave there was a bumping sound from the desk and a low moan. The moment of panic was like an electric shock; he stared at the door, so delirious with terror that he actually saw Kurt standing there, smiling serenely, bestial eyes promising death. He blinked and it was gone. He examined the desk and saw a small lever like a handbrake by the bottom drawer. He
tugged at it, not knowing what to expect, and a spring released. There was the sound of wood sliding, and a heavy drawer slid outwards towards the trailer door. There inside a hollowed-out compartment was the priest, Kurt’s birthday present, lying shivering with the eyes of a frightened animal.