by Trudi Jaye
Jack shook his head. If things were left to his father to organize, nothing would ever get done; it was a fact of life he’d learned long ago. Blago was an eternal optimist who didn’t like details. “The doctors said you should take it easy,” he said, giving it one last try.
“The doctors want me to give up and die,” Blago said, his face showing what he thought of that option. “I’m not like that, Jack, you should know that by now. And while we’re on that subject, we need to keep my little heart attack between us. We don’t want anyone thinking I’m not up for the job.”
Jack considered Blago for a moment, trying to decide what to do. All he knew was that his father looked alive and happy for the first time since his mother died. He huffed out a breath. “Okay, Dad, what should we do now?” He would play along for a while, help his father out, and see how things went.
“I’m going to talk to the thrills crew, and I want you to cozy up to Rilla. We need to know more about her, and I think she’s taken a shine to you.”
Jack pressed his lips into a hard line. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he managed.
Blago rolled his eyes. “Would it hurt you, lad, to get close to a woman? She’s a bit of a looker, despite the scowl.”
“We’re staying here to get you the Ringmaster job. That’s it.” Jack thought of those intense blue eyes. It was tempting, but he wouldn’t do it just because his father told him to.
Blago slanted a sly look at Jack, his white hair flying around his head. “I’m just saying. You could have a bit of fun while you’re here. Loosen up a bit.”
“Dad. Not this again.” Jack put a hand up to his face and rubbed at his eyes.
“You’re too uptight, son. You’ve got to let yourself go, take a few risks. You focus too much on your work; that book has been taking up all your time. I don’t know how I managed to father a man like you.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.” Jack’s voice hardened to flint.
“Oh, son, don’t get annoyed at me. I love you, I do.”
“But?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to relax a little bit. Flirt with the girl. What harm could there be?”
“Look, Dad, I’ll spend time with her, try to find out more about her. But you and I are going to have a talk very soon about these people and the stories they spin.”
His father gave him a strange look—a kind of pained grimace—before Blago shook his head and whipped out the door again with a wave of his cane.
With a sigh, Jack sat down at his laptop. May as well do some work while he was here.
CHAPTER FOUR
The crowds hugging the sides of the road cheered. The day was bright and clear, with blue sky giving a perfect backdrop to the colorful Carnival parade down the main street of Mountain Springs, Oregon.
Rilla smiled, waved with her left hand, and used her right arm to crack her black leather whip. There was a gasp from the crowd, then a smattering of applause as they watched her do a double, then a triple crack over their heads.
It felt good to be in her Ringmaster clothes, performing for an audience, using her skills to her advantage. Her heels clicked along the asphalt, and she gave an extra wiggle of her butt to show off in her skintight pants. Old Blago couldn’t do that, now could he?
Usually, she would be walking behind her father, dressed in her whip-cracking, black-sequined outfit, wowing the crowds with her skill. Her father would have been using his booming voice to his advantage, creating a frenzy of excitement.
She glanced to the left and her smile slipped momentarily. Blago had scrounged up a Ringmaster outfit—red jacket, top hat, and all. He was taking up space on the other side of the road, getting the crowd roaring and laughing at his antics. He was good; she had to give him that. Not as good as her dad, but close.
As good as she was?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a Jolly, and that was that. She wouldn’t let the Jolly Ringmaster line die with her father; she would do whatever it took. She’d learned enough from Jack this morning to know she stood a good chance.
A cheer from the crowd brought her back and she risked another peek at Blago. He knew what he was doing, making them smile, making them interact.
For a moment, she could see her father dressed in the most glittering Ringmaster suit ever seen, playing with his audience, making them fall in love with him, if only for the night. She crushed her lips together into a straight line and swallowed sharply on the lump that was trying to rise in her throat.
She wouldn’t let him down.
Rilla lifted her arm again, cracked her whip, and took off into a double somersault, emerging to a cheer from the crowd with her hands held high.
“Come one, come all, to the greatest show on Earth!” It was an old line, but a good one. People knew and understood it.
It had magic in it.
Behind her, the rest of the performers would be entrancing the crowds: Christoph flexing his strongman muscles, his wife Barbarina and daughter Missy bending and contorting their bodies into impossible shapes. The clowns would have everyone laughing, and the animals would be creating a stir with their tricks. Everyone knew how to make sure the crowds loved every minute.
It was her job to connect with the audience, to convince them that what they were seeing was just a taster for what they could expect at the Carnival. She had to make them think they would regret it for the rest of their lives if they missed out.
“Join us for the magic of the Jolly Carnival! For three weeks only, we will thrill you. We will amaze you. We will show you that the universe is more than you ever imagined!”
Her father had been able to use his voice to charm just about anyone. People remembered him wherever he went because of his voice. If Abba had been an ordinary man, living away from the Carnival, he might have been a used car salesman or perhaps a politician. But because he was part of the Carnival, Abacus Jolly had been miraculous to behold when he was in front of a crowd.
Rilla swallowed. It wasn’t the same without him. The parade felt empty, devoid of the usual charm and appeal. For a moment, she felt breathless, and the faces around her blurred as tears filled her eyes. She stumbled and for a second thought she might trip over.
Sort yourself out, girl. It takes more than something like this to stop a Jolly.
Her father’s voice boomed inside her head and pulled Rilla back to where she needed to be.
Focused.
She needed to concentrate on what she was doing. She smiled at the people she passed and flicked her whip in the air, the satisfying crack making her smile.
Waving her spare hand, she hurled a sparkling ball into the air and again cracked her whip. The crowd gasped as the papier-mâché sphere exploded and spun above their heads, cascading silver and gold confetti over the audience like a glittering fall of petals.
Behind her, an elephant trumpeted in warning, and Rilla jumped. She recognized the distress in Martha’s voice immediately.
Glancing back, Rilla looked for the elephant.
Beside her, Blago turned as well.
Martha, the oldest and calmest of the elephants, was dancing skittishly from side to side, swinging her trunk in agitation. Her trainer Alfie, who had been riding high on her shoulder, had slid down to her side and was attempting to calm her. The crowds around the elephant were pushing backward and someone screamed. Martha reared again, lifting her trunk high, and trumpeted in agitation.
“Stay here, girl. I’ll sort this out,” said Blago. He raced off down the line before Rilla could object. She allowed herself a momentary scowl in his direction before stepping forward into the parade again. They had to maintain appearances. Too many of them racing back to Martha would put the wrong kind of focus on the elephant.
The show must go on.
***
Jack watched from a distance as the parade returned, the main group clustered around the elephant as it plodded unsteadily through the gates. His father was in the thick of the action, ca
lling out to the crews, hefting and pulling with the youngest and strongest of the men as they strapped on a harness to help the huge animal on the walk to its enclosure.
Rilla stood to one side as they shifted the elephant into the harness. For the first time, she looked the part of a circus performer, in tight leggings, a sexy Ringmaster jacket and a silver top hat. She was ordering the rest of the crew, making sure no one paused too long around the obviously upset elephant.
While the performers had been off dancing around the streets, Jack had been studying the show grounds, trying to get a feel for the place. It had been buzzing with action. The Carnival opening was this evening with a gala circus show in the big top as well as the sideshows and thrill rides open to the public. Workers rushed around, signs went up, and hammers rang on steel as the finishing touches were put into assembling the rides. The smell of food permeated the air, drifting across his senses like an old friend.
He’d gone to fairgrounds with his mother and sister when he was younger, and it was the smells he remembered most. Cotton candy, sickly sweet but light as air; fried dough balls crusted with sugar; caramel apples, hard on the outside and crisp in the middle. On those rare occasions his mother had let him, he’d always passed on the French fries and pizza and gone straight for the sweet stuff.
He wandered back along the row of food vendors—still in the process of being assembled—watching the people as they scurried about setting up. Everyone was too busy to notice him. They seemed happy, joking with one another as they raced between the large trucks that carried their supplies and the smaller stands that now held the various food items.
He was looking up at a man dangling from a rope high on one of the thrill rides when someone bumped into him. He took a step sideways and held out his hands to steady a woman carrying a large bundle of cloths and a big box of sugar. She seemed vaguely familiar.
“Sorry,” he said. He steadied the box of sugar and then ended up taking it from her. She squinted at him through her fuzzy fringe, then gestured toward the cotton candy stall just in front of them and strode off.
“You’re Blago’s boy, aren’t you?” the woman said, glancing back.
“I am,” he said, following close behind.
She opened a side door to the cotton candy stand and ushered him through. Gesturing for him to dump the sugar on a shelf, she placed her pile of cloths on the countertop next to the spinning cotton candy machine.
“I’m Tami, the Foodmaster.”
“Jack,” he said. Being Foodmaster meant she was part of the ruling council, the Nine. That much he knew.
“You like the cotton?” She nudged some of the bright-pink spun sugar at him.
Jack took it in his hand and bit into the puffy mixture. It was even better than he remembered. “Hmmm. That’s good.” He meant it. There was something extra, some indefinable quality to this cotton candy that made it taste amazing.
“Secret recipe. Passed down through the family.” She rubbed her hand on her apron, leaving a trail of sticky sugar.
Jack raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at him curiously. “So, why’d Blago come back? We thought he was gone for good.”
Jack paused, looking at the woman properly for the first time. She kept mixing the cotton candy as he watched, her long, delicate hands quick and skillful as they worked the machine. “He heard about Abacus. Decided it was time to come back.”
“Huh. His time being up probably didn’t hurt.” She blew at a stray strand of long, curly red hair that had fallen out of her hair tie.
“His time?”
“Thirty years plus three.”
“Thirty-three years? I don’t understand.” Jack took another mouthful of cotton candy. He hated it when they started talking like this.
“For stopping the Gift. You’ve got to learn about this stuff, or your dad will never win Ringmaster. You’re acting green and it isn’t helping.”
Jack felt anger burn in his gut. “Tell me then, if I need to know. What happened to my father?”
“It’s the laws of the Carnival that we live by. We run the Gift, once the Mark’s found. We help them find what they’re looking for. In return, we keep our living here, such as it is.” She swept her arm to encompass the view of the Carnival through the stand.
“And?”
“Your dad, he broke an unbreakable law. Can’t stop the Gift once it’s started. He fell in love with the Mark and wouldn’t let us finish what we started.”
“My mother? She was the Mark?”
“Far as I know. He decided it was worth it at the time. Don’t know if he’d say the same now.” She lifted her brows at Jack.
He felt heat rise up his face. “Of course it was worth it,” he snapped.
She shrugged. “Just asking. He seems happy to be back. Where’s your mom these days?”
“She died last year. Cancer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“No problem.” Jack shook his head to clear it. “So, what are the other laws of the Carnival?”
“Most of the other rules, they’re not so strict. Or at least the repercussions aren’t so severe. It’s all a kind of balancing act. When everything is in harmony with everything else, we see the benefits. The more people come through the Carnival, the better it is. We do a Gift each time we stop for a show, and if we make it work, our magic is stronger for it. But when things are out, like they are at the moment, it all goes wrong.”
Jack felt his hackles rise at the mention of magic. He tried to ignore it. “If it’s so bad, why stay?”
She tilted her head to one side, considering. Her hands worked the candy machine like it was second nature. “We’re risk-takers, Carnival folk. That’s what separates us from the Ordinary folk. There are stories of the glory days, not so long ago, when your dad and Abba were younger. My dad was around then, too, and he tells about those times, when they could do no wrong. Everything’s broken now, has been for the last couple of years. Living’s not so good. Carnival’s not balanced, and it’ll be up to the next Ringmaster to fix it. That’s why it’s important to get the right one. Some say Rilla—fine girl that she is—isn’t the right one.” She ran her eyes up and down Jack’s frame. “There are some saying you and your dad could be the saving of this place.”
“Do you believe that?”
Tami paused, staring intently at Jack, her green eyes searching for something. She let out a rush of breath. “I don’t know. All I know is that we need a shake-up around here. It could come from you, or it could come from Rilla. It’s hard to know.”
Jack nodded. Fair enough. “And there are money problems?” He was actually starting to wonder if this place would be therapeutic for his father after all. It sounded more like a giant headache.
“Problems every which way you look around here.” She glanced over his shoulder, and as he watched, her face closed up.
Jack turned and saw Garth striding toward them. Dammit. “Garth, you’re not part of the parade?” he said, trying not to look too closely into Garth’s all-black eyes.
“Not this time. I wanted to catch up on some things. What’s Tami talking to you about?” He nodded to the woman, who nodded back, rubbing her hands nervously on her apron.
“She’s been telling me about the secret recipe.”
“Not giving it away, I hope, Tami? We still need some secrets.”
Tami shifted her eyes from Garth to Jack and back. “Not likely, Garth. It’s all we’ve got.”
“Not all you’ve got, I hope.” Garth looked hurt and she softened.
“Of course not, Garth. I’m just being ornery.”
Garth sighed but didn’t acknowledge her answer. “Did you hear the Mark’s been chosen?” he said.
“Dragon n’all.”
“Your dad ever hear about a dragon Mark?”
Tami shook her head. “Viktor might know.”
“Thanks. I was
just on my way to talk to him. Jack, would you care to join me?”
As easy as that, Garth moved him away from the one person who seemed willing to tell him the things he really needed to know. Jack followed Garth and squinted back at the cotton candy stall.
He would go back and visit Tami another day.
Viktor turned out to be an older man they found sitting next to the Ferris wheel. He waved at them from the ticket booth suspended in the air next to the top of the stairs at the ride entrance. He was smoking a long, thin cigar and dangled one tobacco-stained hand out the side of the booth.
He grinned at Garth and Jack as they walked up. “Howdy.”
“You met Jack yet?” Garth covered his eyes against the afternoon sun.
Viktor levered himself forward in his chair. “Blago’s boy? Jack, is it?”
Jack nodded. “Good to meet you.”
“Wish I could say the same. I ain’t decided if you and Blago’s bein’ here is the worst thing or the best thing that’s happened to us in a while.” The old man took a puff on the smoke in his hand, gesturing at Garth. “This one ought to know, but he’s sayin’ nothin’. No kind of Giftmaster that don’t give some idea of the future.”
“Viktor, you know it doesn’t work like that.” Garth glanced at Jack. “We’re here about the dragon.”
“Thought you might be. Never seen the Carnival in such a tizzy. Folk’s all over the show.”
“What can you tell me? What do you know?”
Viktor gestured with his hand toward the Carousel, which could be seen in the distance. “We got almost three hundred years of knowhow, and you still have ta’ come to an old codger like me for advice?”
“Viktor. Just tell me what you know. It’ll help us all.” Garth’s voice had hardened, and for the first time, Jack saw the dark edge of the Giftmaster. He liked him a little better for it.
Viktor’s face cracked into a wider grin. “Showing your teeth, Garth?”
Despite the expressionless black eyes, Jack could feel the irritation radiating off Garth; he looked like he was about to say something to Viktor he might regret.
