The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel

by Laura Quimby

  To avoid that humiliation, Jack took precautions to ensure the show went smoothly. Boxer inspected any cuffs brought up by the audience and made sure that they worked. He was also the “heavy” in case any wise guys tried to bring up damaged cuffs. Boxer, Violet, and Jack developed a secret way of communicating while onstage, sort of like the way a third-base coach gave signals in baseball, just not so obvious. They had to be subtle: A raised eyebrow meant suspicious, and a half smile meant a good choice. A wrinkled nose meant something stunk about someone.

  As his assistant, Violet was onstage the entire time, so it was important for her to get used to handling the handcuffs and remembering which keys went to which cuffs. Violet’s memory was practically photographic. Soon she knew each key and each lock by heart. The box was dark, so they needed to know which key went in which lock by touch alone. They practiced reaching into a bag, holding the keys in their hands, and guessing which lock they opened. Violet also made her own costume with glittery gossamer wings sprouting from her back and a small black mask that rested just across her eyes. She looked like a cross between a fairy and a bandit.

  Jack had waited a few days to give Violet her combs, not wanting them to seem like a bribe for helping him. He handed her the brown paper package with the nice bow on top.

  “What’s this?” she asked, and her face narrowed in mock suspicion.

  “Just a present.”

  Her face brightened. “I love presents.” She ripped the paper off like she hadn’t received a present in a hundred years. “Oh, they’re so perfect. Stars! There aren’t any stars here, just clouds. I love them.”

  Violet’s face lit up the same way the gang of dead kids’ faces lit up when Skimmer showered them with gaudy rings. Then he remembered Jabber handing over the papier-mâché mask to the Death Wrangler. In the world of the dead, beauty was more important than wealth or influence. Jack realized that whatever he traded to the Death Wranglers didn’t have to cost much, but it had to be beautiful—something special.

  Jack leaned against the tree and stared out into the street, watching the dead walk by. Through the crowd he thought he saw Mussini, with his scruffy beard, wild hair, and long black coat, milling through the crowds of people. Yep, Mister Amazing all right, out for a Sunday stroll.

  “Hey, where’s Mussini going?”

  “To town. He likes to drum up excitement about the show himself.” Violet twisted up her hair and shoved the combs in over and over until she got them just right. “Promotion is a big deal in show business.”

  “So he’ll probably be gone a while?” Jack asked.

  “He’s usually gone for at least a couple of hours.”

  Just the lucky break Jack needed if he was going to break into Mussini’s tent and borrow his book of magic tricks. The book was the only thing he could think of worth enough to trade the Death Wranglers for passage out of the underworld. With the magical tricks inside, the Death Wranglers could create as many beautiful illusions as they wanted. T-Ray told him that Mussini kept the secrets to his tricks inside his tent in a locked box. All Jack had to do was to sneak inside the tent and find the box. Easy.

  “Hey, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m going to practice with some of the handcuffs that I left in my tent.”

  “You practice too much. Have some fun.”

  “Right. A regular old party with the dead.” Jack waved to Violet as he headed back toward the tents.

  After making sure the coast was clear, Jack ducked inside Mussini’s tent. He was surprised to find the interior completely different than the last time he’d been inside. All the exotic fabric was gone, leaving the tent barren and empty. Every step Jack took reverberated on the floorboards. Mussini’s golden hawk masks lined row after row of shelves, and a battered collection of knives and pipes sat on his dressing table next to his bed. Jack paused, soaking in the thrill of being in Mussini’s tent, spying on the master magician. His fingers hovered over the knives, but he pulled his attention away and focused on his task. A desk and a worn-out leather armchair were the only other furniture in the tent.

  Jack found the trunk under Mussini’s bed (definitely not the most original hiding place). He dragged it out and ran his finger over the lock. He shrugged and tried to lift the lid. Jack almost laughed when it opened immediately without a key. Either Mussini was incredibly confident or ridiculously crazy not to lock up his valuables, and from what Jack could tell, Mussini was anything but crazy. He probably didn’t think any of the kids were smart enough to perform his magic tricks or nuts enough to steal from him.

  Jack heaved open the lid and there it was—Mussini’s magic book. Lifting the book out of the box and setting it on his lap, Jack opened the cover and flipped through the wondrous pages filled with magic tricks and their secrets. It included all the shows and all the magic Mussini had performed from the time when he was not much older than Jack to the present. He had been a magician his entire life; the book was his legacy. Jack’s attention raced across the pages, his gaze dancing over the spectacular tricks—treasures of Mussini’s amazing imagination. He admired the meticulous detail of the tricks, like an architect constructing a house made of magic. This book showed commitment and the kind of dedication only a few possessed. It reminded him of Houdini.

  Absorbed in the tricks, Jack’s head jerked when he heard a rustling noise outside of the tent. Someone was coming. He slammed the trunk closed and threw himself under the bed, pulling the trunk in behind him. Crammed under, he clutched the book to his chest and held himself perfectly still. Thick-soled boots tromped across the floor.

  “What’s wrong with you lately? Where’s your head?” The tone of Mussini’s voice was somewhere between concerned and annoyed.

  “I’ve had things on my mind,” Jabber said, defensive.

  Jack slowed his panicked breathing. One of the tent supports pinched against his side. He winced and tried not to lean against the wood for fear of bringing the whole tent down on top of them. Jack turned his head enough to glimpse Mussini’s black boots positioned in front of the dresser.

  “Out with it then. No use keeping it bottled up.”

  “You promised that I would inherit the show.” Jabber’s voice was harsh. “I’ve been here the longest and I know the ways of the underworld better than anyone.”

  “If I recall correctly, I said that if and when I decide to move on and leave the forest, the best performer would inherit the show.”

  “I’m the best performer. I always have been. Jack doesn’t come close to matching me with showmanship. He’s an amateur.” Jabber sat down on the bed, which pressed the thin mattress against Jack’s face. He gasped. Beads of sweat broke out across his neck. The pressure and heat were suffocating.

  “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice?” Mussini asked, amused.

  “Jealous of that kid? Not in a million years. What you hear is my faith in your word dwindling.”

  “Jack’s got spunk. He’s fresh, and the dead like that.”

  “The dead won’t have anything to like if he escapes. He’s tried once and he’ll try again. You can’t trust him.”

  “I have a plan to make his escape meaningless.”

  “What are you going to do? Kill him?” Jabber snorted.

  Mussini scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic. Death is natural. We know that better than anyone. It’s going to happen sooner or later. But in Jack’s case, it might just happen sooner.”

  “But it’s not his time to die. You can’t do that. Not even for the act.” Jabber rose from the bed, relieving the weight from Jack’s body, but the weight on his mind stayed firm.

  Mussini planned to kill him to keep him in the forest forever.

  “You’re not going soft on me, are you? A second ago you were ready to get rid of him yourself. I just want a little insurance on my investment. I hate to do it. The dead love to watch the living perform, but he has enough star power to keep their attention, so being dead might not matter.”

  �
�But if he’s dead and such a star, then you’ll probably make him a permanent member of the show.”

  “Right.” Mussini laughed. “It’s still my call and my show.”

  “That doesn’t change things with our arrangement. I want your word that I will inherit the show, not Jack.”

  “You know I can’t give you that. So you have a little competition. Let the best man win. Plus, it will still be a long time before I leave. You two will have plenty of time to fight it out. Now come on. Time to drum up some excitement.” Mussini’s boots scraped across the floor, the flap fluttered back, and they were gone.

  The tent was quiet. Jack let out the breath he was holding. A wave of claustrophobia overwhelmed him. He pushed the trunk from under the bed, crawled out, and shoved everything back in place before rushing out into the cool air. With Mussini’s magic book concealed under his shirt, Jack stumbled back to his own tent and dove into his hammock before anyone could see the hard outline the book made through the cloth. He slipped the book out and hid it under his blanket.

  “What’s up with you?” Runt asked. “You’re sweating like a pig.”

  “I’m fine.” Jack edged off his hammock and sat on the floor.

  “What’d you do now?” Boxer asked.

  “Yeah, you’ve got ‘guilty’ written all over your face,” T-Ray said.

  The victory of taking Mussini’s magic book was marred with the news that Mussini planned on killing Jack, but he didn’t want to dwell on that. “I just got our ticket out of this place.”

  “Brother, not this again. Escape, escape, escape. Is that all you think about?” Runt asked, perched on the edge of his hammock.

  “Yes! We need to get a plan. I wasn’t ready the first time, but this time, I’m not going to screw up,” Jack said, his voice frantic.

  “What did you get?” T-Ray asked. He shivered despite a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

  “I got us something to trade to the Death Wranglers to secure our safe passage through the gate and out of the forest.”

  “No way!” Runt yelled. “What is it?”

  “I’m not saying just yet. I need to know if the three of you are prepared to leave with me and make a plan to get out together.”

  The three of them exchanged glances. T-Ray answered, “We’ll go. But we need an airtight escape plan. We don’t want any Death Wranglers sneaking up on us like last time. Sorry, Jack. It’s not that we don’t trust you. We just need to be sure this is going to work.”

  “Knock, knock,” Violet called from outside of the tent, and the boys stared at each other not making a sound. “I have a basket filled with sandwiches that I will use as bribery to enter the tent,” Violet said, peering in through a crack in the canvas.

  Runt flung himself off of his hammock and flipped up the tent flap. Violet walked in with a basket filled with snacks. “Oh, Violet, you’re a dream. Bribe accepted.” Runt ravenously burrowed into the basket and pulled out a sandwich.

  Violet passed out the food. “What are you boys up to? You didn’t come to dinner.”

  “Nothing,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, nothing.” T-Ray took a sandwich out of Violet’s hand and her eyes widened. He jerked his hand away.

  “Oh, no. T-Ray, why didn’t you say something?” Violet asked.

  “Say something about what?” Runt asked.

  “Nothing.” T-Ray picked at the bread of his sandwich. “It doesn’t matter. It’s going to be too late soon anyway.”

  “Too late for what?” Jack asked.

  “Nothing, man. Just leave it.”

  “What are you two talking about? It’s not too late.”

  “Tell them,” Violet said.

  “About two weeks ago, I started getting cold all the time. I just couldn’t warm up. I didn’t think anything of it at first. But my skin was always clammy and then one day it stopped bothering me so much. That’s when I knew it was happening.”

  “Don’t say it.” Boxer paced the floor.

  “He has to face it,” Violet said. “And if he won’t say it, I will.”

  “Violet’s right, Boxer. You tell them, please,” T-Ray said, tossing his uneaten sandwich to the ground.

  “T-Ray’s dying.”

  Jack’s stomach sank. This couldn’t be happening. Not right in front of his face. He didn’t even see it coming. No wonder T-Ray had been so moody—he was desperate.

  Jack hardened his resolve. “That just means we need to get this plan under way even faster. Violet, how much time does T-Ray have?”

  Violet inspected T-Ray’s hands, fingernails, and eyes. “Probably a couple of weeks, at most.”

  “OK, then. You guys heard her. That gives us two weeks at most to get out of here. Now we just need a plan to slip out of camp, unnoticed, and get to the gate. I’ve got the map and directions covered.” Jack motioned to his wrist.

  “Will you help us, Violet?” Boxer asked. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  “Absolutely,” Violet said.

  “It’ll work,” Jack said.

  “I don’t mean to complain, but so far the plan is that we need a plan,” T-Ray said. “We haven’t gotten very far.”

  “I’m great with strategy and signals,” Violet said.

  “I think we should go at night, after the show lets out. And we need to wear masks so that we blend in with the crowd,” Jack said.

  “We’ll need food for the journey,” Runt said, devouring a hunk of chocolate cake that he pulled from Violet’s basket.

  “We’ll need some light camping supplies in case we get stuck out in the forest overnight. I can take care of that,” Boxer said, rubbing his hands together.

  “But what about Mussini? He watches the entire show from beginning to end. He doesn’t miss a thing. How will we escape without him noticing?” T-Ray asked.

  “You’ll need a distraction,” Violet said. “I can be very distracting when I want to be. Jabber could help.”

  “I don’t know about Jabber. He might tell.” Runt leaned against Violet like a satisfied pup. His belly protruded and there was a ring of chocolate around his mouth that Violet wiped from his face.

  Jack kneeled down on the ground and wiped an area in the dirt clean with his hand. Then he picked up a stick and drew a diagram of the stage, the audience, and the backstage area. “Mussini is the closing act, so he’ll be onstage.” Jack pointed to the stage and drew an M. “Jabber is out front, manning the door and making sure nothing goes wrong with the audience and the animals.” Jack marked JB where Jabber was always stationed during the final act.

  “That’s it, then. We need to make some trouble to distract Jabber and Mussini,” Violet said. “Then the rest of you can sneak backstage and make your getaway.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want you to get punished by Mussini for helping us. He’ll fire you for sure,” Jack said. “We have to come up with a distraction that Mussini won’t trace back to you.”

  “That’s up to me, isn’t it?” Violet put her hand on Jack’s arm. “Let me help my family.”

  T-Ray spoke up. “I could make a distraction. We always have a set number of animals for the finale. What if I made more of them? Then Mussini would have to try and control them all. He would be up to his armpits in animals.”

  “Like a flock of pooping pigeons!” Runt laughed.

  “Or a bunch of squealing weasels,” Violet added.

  Laughter with a flicker of hope echoed through the tent. The plan just might work after all. Boxer clapped T-Ray on the back. “That’s a great idea. We’ll nail Mussini with his own trick.”

  “Where are we going when we leave the camp?” T-Ray asked Jack.

  “We need to go to the wall. Then I’ll deal with the Death Wranglers.”

  “All I want to know is: When are we going?” Runt asked.

  “I’ll have to sneak the animals into the basket when he’s not looking, so it has to be a day that Mussini doesn’t inspect the trick first,” T-Ray said. />
  “How will we know if the escape plan is a go if we’re all spread out?” Boxer asked. “T-Ray won’t know until the show starts.”

  “A signal!” Violet said, her eyes growing wide. “But what?”

  “A hand signal,” T-Ray said, making a winged shadow bird appear on the tent flap as Boxer shined the lamp on his hands.

  “No, that’s too obvious.” Jack leaned back against one of the trunks and tried to think of a distraction that could be seen from the entire theater but not be obvious and raise suspicion.

  “What about a necklace,” Violet said, touching her throat. “I could wear a necklace or put my hair up.”

  “We need something big and visible. A necklace is too small.”

  “I know! It’s brilliant.” Jack said, sitting up as the idea hit him. “A letter. You can wear a letter pinned onto the front of your costume. Like in the story.”

  “What story?” Runt said.

  “The Scarlet Letter. Where that girl Hester has to wear a letter attached to her, you know, her front.” There was no way Jack was going to say bosom in front of a girl.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “How should I know? I didn’t actually read the book. I just heard about it.”

  “I like to wait till books come out as movies,” Boxer said.

  “Sounds perfect. I can sew it on. What letter?” Violet asked.

  “V,” Jack said. “For Violet and for Victory.”

  “It’s settled. We wait for the Violet Letter, and then we escape!” T-Ray said.

  They finalized the plans and divided up the jobs. T-Ray was in charge of the animal distraction. Boxer would handle the supplies, and Violet was the signal. Jack was in charge of logistics once they left camp, and Runt was in charge of keeping his mouth shut. An uneasy silence fell over the tent, and they all looked at one another, unable to believe that they were really going.

  “It will all be worth it,” Jack said. “No need to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous,” T-Ray said. “The worst that happens is that Mussini catches us, and then we’re dead meat. But I’m dead either way.” He paused. “I just want to make it back to see my mom again.”