by Trudi Jaye
Perhaps it was time to admit defeat.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“The deputy said it was… Altrixotide?” Alfie frowned.
Jack nodded. “That’s what the lab samples showed. Minute traces of Altrixotide.” He’d run into the deputy after visiting his father.
“That’s one of Martha’s medications. We have it on site.”
Jack’s gaze sharpened on the Beastmaster. “Where? Can we check to see if any is missing?”
Alfie shrugged and turned, heading for the small caravan that held the animal supplies. Jack hesitated, then followed.
The older man pulled out a key from the chain around his neck and unlocked the door. “Locked all the time. I’m the only one with a key. Rilla gets the supplies from the local vets and brings them straight to me. There’s no chance for anyone to steal it.”
“Except Rilla,” said Jack softly.
Alfie glanced at him sharply, a frown on his face. “You might convince people you’re better’n Rilla for Ringmaster, but you ain’t gonna convince anyone she’s poisoning ‘em. You just ain’t.”
Jack nodded, wondering if Rilla really could have done it. He thought of her fierce eyes and the way she carried her thoughts plain on her face. She was more likely to tell them straight than try something devious.
But she was the obvious choice, after Alfie. “Who else, then, if it’s not you or Rilla?”
“Well, it’s the kind o’ drug they watch. It’s on record,” said Alfie, his expression relaying what he thought about that kind of nonsense. “It’s not easy to get, and we have to be registered to show we work with large animals. You can’t just walk in off the street and get some.”
“So not just anyone. Which makes it worse for Rilla, not better.”
Alfie gave him another look. “I’m not goin’ to say it twice, son.”
Jack put his hands in the air. “I’m just saying it makes her look like a suspect.”
“Or maybe she’s being set up.”
Jack nodded. “But who would want to do that?”
“Who’s got a better motive than you?”
Jack blinked, startled, and then nodded. “You’re right. But it’s not me, so who else?”
Alfie scratched one hand through his black, scraggly hair. “Rilla ever tell you any more about our problems?”
“I don’t need to be told about the problems, Alfie. I can see them for myself.” Jack glanced around the animals’ enclosure. Even here, there were signs of wear and tear.
Alfie sighed. “Not really, you can’t. You see the torn canvas and the repaired rides and think that’s our trouble. But not so long ago, we was doin’ pretty good.”
Jack frowned, not understanding. “What happened?”
“We got someone don’t want us to succeed. A sneaky S.O.B. who thinks it’s funny to play games with our lives.”
“Someone’s vandalizing the Carnival?”
“More’n that. It’s sabotage. They’re hurting people. Martha’s illness, this food poisoning, they’re just the latest. It goes back a ways, a long list of incidents starting out with ripped tents and missing costumes a couple of years ago, and moving on to blocked sewage lines, cut ropes and disabled rides in more recent times. It all adds up to a traitor in the Carnival.”
Jack nodded. It made sense; it explained the tension in the Nine, over and above the race for Ringmaster. It also explained why Rilla had accused them of sabotage; it hadn’t been some wild accusation. “Who knows about this?”
“Not many, at least not official-like. The Nine, mostly. Me, Christoph, Viktor, Tami, Garth. Abacus was investigating it when he was killed.”
Something in Alfie’s voice made Jack look up sharply. “You think his death was connected?”
A twitch at the corner of his eye was the only indication of what was going on inside Alfie’s head, but it was enough to confirm the Beastmaster thought the traitor had killed Abacus.
“Does Rilla know?”
He nodded, slight but discernible.
Jack let out a whoosh of breath. Bad enough her father had died. To know the saboteur killed him must be driving her mad. “What’s being done to find out who’s responsible?”
“Rilla’s been doin’ her own searches, followin’ up his leads. But her dad’s death has been hard on her. She don’t know who to trust anymore.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbly cheek, a rasping sound accentuating the movement. “Even me.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Jack wondered at the trust Alfie was placing in him. It was unnerving.
“Rilla still has you on the list of saboteurs,” said Alfie, smirking when he saw Jack’s expression. “But me, I don’ think you got it in you. I think you can help her.”
“How?” But Jack knew the answer. If Rilla really was following up the same leads Abacus was chasing before he died, she could be in serious danger.
“I don’t know, precisely. I just figure Rilla needs as many folk as possible ‘round her that’s on her side at the moment,” said Alfie, casting a sideways glance at Jack. “No matter who wins out as Ringmaster.”
“What makes you think I’m on her side?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watchin’.” Alfie smirked.
Jack frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He felt an uncomfortable heat stain his ears. “I don’t look at her any differently.”
Alfie laughed. It was the first time Jack could remember seeing him do something so lighthearted. “I been doin’ this a long time, Jack. And I can tell you one of the most regular Gifts we do is a Love Gift. So you ain’t goin’ to tell me nothin’ new.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Let’s concentrate on what we can agree on. Exactly what can I do to help Rilla?”
“Keep an eye on her. Find out what she’s been doing. Don’ let her do anythin’ stupid.”
Jack let out a slow breath.
There was a whole lot more going on at the Carnival than either he or his father had realized.
***
“A decision must be made. Tonight. It’s the only way we can survive.” Viktor stood at the head of the wooden table tucked down the far end of the food tent. He leaned onto the wooden surface, his rough mechanic’s hands splayed wide, and glared at each and every person at the table in turn.
“It’s not that bad,” said Rilla. “We’ll be closed for one night. Which is a good thing because a third of our people are clinging to their toilets as we speak. We’d have been struggling to make it through the evening’s shows.” She glanced around at the other members of the Nine. Viktor had called a formal meeting, and most were in attendance.
“This has never happened before. The Carnival, it’s not happy with us.” Tami looked up from her corner, streaks of mascara down her face making her look like some strange masquerade character. “I don’t know how it happened. It wasn’t my people.”
“It’s not the Carnival, and it wasn’t your people, Tami. There is a person doing this, and they’re managing to weaken our Carnival with each new act against us. It can’t protect itself any longer.” Rilla paced up and down the room. She stopped and thumped her fist onto the table that stood in the center of the darkened tent. “If the Carnival can’t protect itself, we have to protect the Carnival.”
“Or maybe we need to look at this another way,” replied Viktor. He was sitting at the edge of the table, his forearms resting on the wooden surface, his arms crossed. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on each of the members of the Nine who were present, ending with Rilla. “If we had a solid acting Ringmaster, one who was leading us along the right path in the Gift, instead of just agitating the Mark, maybe none of this would have happened.”
Rilla let out a breath, the pain hitting at her very core. It wasn’t as if she disagreed. But to hear Viktor say it out loud—it hurt.
“Rilla, is it true? Did the Mark hold you at gunpoint?” Christoph’s voice held a note of censure. His usually c
alm face bore stubble and black marks under his eyes from lack of sleep.
She opened her mouth to say something then closed it, unable to defend herself. She nodded.
“Rilla didn’t cause any of this,” said Jack, jumping into the silence. “There’s someone else creating these problems, and it should be our job to find out who it is, rather than attacking one of our own.”
Rilla glanced at him, frowning. What on Earth is he doing?
“Hear, hear,” said Alfie from his position beside Tami. He had one arm around her shoulders and was trying unsuccessfully to console her crying.
“It doesn’t change the fact that under Rilla’s recent care, we’ve had a sick elephant, a nasty article in the local paper, a crazed Mark waving a gun, food poisoning, and now the Carnival closed for the night, all while we have low attendance and the bank hammering on our door.” Viktor stood up and began pacing agitatedly across the room. “Am I the only one who understands we’re on the edge of disaster? We need to do something drastic to get ourselves out of this, and sitting around wishing it were different isn’t going to help.” Viktor was speaking low, but his words were fast and passionate.
“Rilla, I love you; we all do. You’re a daughter of the Carnival. But right now, the Carnival needs someone else in charge, a new acting Ringmaster. That’s what’s going to save us. I call for a full vote of the Nine.”
There was a hush in the room. Rilla stopped tapping her foot and swung around in surprise. “A full vote? You want to get Frankie in?”
“Wait. Who’s Frankie?” Jack looked confused.
“Chancemaster. In charge of the games.” Viktor spoke sharply, obviously angry at Jack’s question. It showed the trouble they were in when their supposed best option lacked so much knowledge.
“Why haven’t I heard of Frankie before?” Jack didn’t back down in the face of disapproval, and despite herself, Rilla was pleased for him. If you didn’t stand up for yourself around here, they’d eat you alive.
“There are a fair few people you haven’t met yet, Jack. Including Frankie,” she said.
“Locks himself in his caravan. He has agoraphobia, so we leave him there. Joey runs for him,” said Viktor with another dark glance at Jack.
“Plus, it just brings the mood down to have him around,” Alfie couldn’t help adding, even if he was mostly joking.
Rilla thought of Frankie, sitting in his caravan, throwing cards at the top hat his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday, the blue light from his computer screens giving the room an eerie glow.
His photo was up at all the Las Vegas clubs. They had him pegged as a card counter because he won so often, but playing cards was just part of his natural talent, passed down through his family.
The other part of his talent was less than thrilling to Frankie. His family acted as barometers of the Carnival’s strength, forced to stay close to the heart of the group at all times. When his father died two years ago, Frankie, as the next in line, had been yanked home against his will, unable to stop his connection to the Carnival from kicking in. It had been painful to watch Frankie acting out against the restraints of his new position when he first came back.
“How do we get him here?” asked Christoph, his deep voice reverberating around the room.
“We don’t. We go to him.” Viktor had it all planned out. He stood, ready to push the group into making a decision. “I told Davos to meet us there.” Viktor checked his watch. “We better hurry. Davos will be annoyed if we’re late. Him and his schedules.” Viktor glanced at Jack and let out an agitated breath of air. “Davos is our Buildmaster, in charge of setting up and breaking down the Carnival. He’s another who doesn’t appear at these meetings often.”
Rilla put her hand to her head. Was she really going to let this happen? In the hall of mirrors, she’d decided she needed to let it go, to let Jack take over. All she had to do was let this vote to make Jack the acting Ringmaster happen, and she would have her wish. Once it had been switched to Jack, it would be unlikely she could win the Ringmaster title back when the official ceremony took place.
But could she really just give up?
“We don’t all agree. To the idea of voting, that is,” said Jack, stepping forward. His dark gaze rested on Rilla, then flicked back to Viktor. “I thought Rilla had a right to be part of the challenge for Ringmaster? That the Nine couldn’t vote her out? How has that changed in the last day?” Jack watched Viktor with his hawk eyes. “How will any of this change by putting me in charge?”
Rilla didn’t understand what had gotten into Jack. He stood tall and slightly rumpled in front of the others, defending her right to fight for the Ringmaster role when he should be backing Viktor all the way. If Blago had been here, she knew what the old showhand would have been saying.
“Things are piling up, Jack,” she said with a twisted smile in his direction. “Viktor’s right. The Nine should vote.”
Viktor stepped out from behind the table and put one hand on Jack’s arm. “In normal times, this would be fine; a contest between the players,” he said, his tone reasonable. “But when we’re battling something that’s crippling us and causing pain that could be fatal to the Carnival, we need strength and unity, not competition and division.”
“Bullshit.” Jack stepped away from Viktor’s hand. “There’s never a good time for anything. Have none of you heard of due process? What’s wrong with letting things run their course, finding out if it’s all just a bump in the road or if we’ve really got to worry?” He paced around the room.
Viktor let out a breath. “That’s all very nice, Jack. But it’s about more than what you think is right. It’s about the lives of every single family that relies on the Carnival for their living. We can’t afford to wait it out and maybe get it wrong.” Viktor cast blazing eyes around the room, daring anyone else to question his dedication to the Carnival.
The tent flaps swung aside, and a cheerful face appeared at the entrance. Young and pretty, the man’s face was the epitome of easy charm.
“Frankie!” Rilla stepped backward, the color draining from her face. “What’s happened?” Something was very wrong.
“No one told me I was a prisoner.” He nodded his head in her direction. “Nice to see you, as well.”
“You know what I mean,” said Rilla, her voice low.
Frankie shrugged. “Thought I’d come to see what the hell you all have been doing to stuff the Carnival up so badly that I can now leave my caravan.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rilla walked over and gave Frankie a hug. “It’s good to see you out.” Except it wasn’t, not really. The Carnival’s magic had to be almost non-existent for this to have happened. She’d known it was bad, but not this bad.
“I wish I could say the same. Where are all the people? What the hell have you all been doing?” Frankie looked around the room. “Is this the greenhorn Joey’s been raving about?” he said, nodding in Jack’s direction.
Viktor stepped forward. “I’m glad you’re here. We were about to come to you. We want a full vote of the Nine. We need to vote Rilla out as acting Ringmaster and put Jack in charge.”
Frankie raised his eyebrows at Viktor. “Why on Earth would we do that?”
“The Carnival, it’s weakening. You being out is proof enough of that. We need to do something, and fast, to get things back on track.” Viktor put one hand on Frankie’s shoulder, speaking with the authority of someone who believes in what he’s saying.
Was he right? Rilla let out an exasperated breath. Nothing made sense to her at the moment. She didn’t know who was best for the Carnival—her or Jack.
“Why would we suddenly stop one of our oldest traditions just because we’re scared? The best way to regain control in the Carnival is to work together to finish the dragon Gift and make sure it’s the best damn wish we’ve ever granted. Not worry about who’s going to sweet-talk the crowds in the ring.” Frankie looked around the room, his eyes sparkling.
Rilla let out a breath. He might be a third the age of some in the room, but he spoke with the confidence of a risk-taker. He knew the odds and was willing to chance it.
And if he was willing, so was she.
***
“It wasn’t food poisoning. You told me yourself. The food had poison in it, but not because of the way it was cooked by our people. We need to open again tonight, Matt.” Rilla leaned her hands on the deputy’s desk, trying not to show her desperation. Frankie appearing last night had upped the ante. They needed to fix this, and fast.
Deputy Fordham leaned back in his chair, a pained expression marring his face. “I don’t know, Rilla. I’ll have to check with the sheriff. People will think we’re being too easy on you.”
“You just agreed it was someone making mischief and not our cooking. That means we need to watch out for people breaking the law, not for health and safety issues.” Rilla paced back and forth in the deputy’s office. It was a hot day; the ceiling fan beat warm air around the room.
He sighed. “I have a job to do, Rilla.”
“So do we! And we do it damn well. But our lives depend on us opening up again. We’re on the edge as it is, and this is going to tip us over. Let us open again tonight. Please.” Rilla faced Deputy Fordham and used the diminished force of her persuasive abilities on him. She needed him to agree with her request.
Deputy Fordham sat in front of her, clearly torn. He wavered under her gaze, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “Fine. You can open again tonight. I’ll get it signed off by the sheriff and the doc and bring out the paperwork later this afternoon. But you have to promise me nothing like this will happen again.”
“We will keep watch over every single bit of food that comes out of our Carnival,” promised Rilla, a relieved grin splitting her face.
“See that you do. And, Rilla…” Deputy Fordham paused, pushing back his chair and coming around to stand beside her. “About Kara. She didn’t mean anything. She just gets…” He stumbled to a stop, obviously uneasy about how to continue to defend someone who’d held Rilla at gunpoint.
