In his room, he lay back and pondered the day’s events. He pondered Winston, and wondered how he could use the guy’s kindness for his own ends. If JJ was to climb the clown hierarchy, it was time to step on a rung.
And now …
And now, what? Take off the face paint? What the hell. JJ fumbled around for a rag. It was getting dark so he lit a candle, sending shadows scurrying over the enclosed little space. The sight of his surrounds filled him with a sudden fondness for his new job, his new life. ‘Yeah,’ he whispered. ‘This is just dandy.’
He wiped his face clean. The paint came off with ease thanks to a day’s worth of sweat and tears. He dropped the greasy rag and lay back, instantly asleep.
Sleep was filled with a nightmare; a line of chained people stood docile as cattle while Kurt Pilo walked past, sucking blood from the neck of each one. Jamie was puncturing their necks for him with a finger turned into a thin blade as Kurt made pleasant small talk between sucks.
Jamie woke and sat up, and the instant he moved his body clenched in nausea. He moaned, whimpered, pleaded for God to stop the pain. It felt like a swarm of insects was eating him from inside. He had never felt pain this bad.
Soon he wondered why he was trying not to scream; scream he did, and it trailed off pitifully. There was a commotion outside and mumbling voices. Soon Winston came in. ‘Ah, yep,’ the old clown said. ‘Forgot about this. After-effects of the face paint. Sorry, Jamie, I should have remembered.’
‘It’s okay,’ Jamie gasped, ‘just, how do I make it stop?’
‘Right. You got that little bag Gonko gave you? Your salary? You know, the powder?’
Jamie tried to remember through the latest spasm in his gut. He bunched into a foetal ball and felt the bag in his pocket pressing against his thigh. He dug it out and handed it to Winston, who had a small clay bowl in his hands.
‘I heard how you came to be here,’ said Winston, opening the bag. ‘About how you accidentally swallowed some o’ this stuff. I’m guessing the accident part, because what kind of lunatic would swallow some weird lookin’, weird smellin’, weird sounding powder he just picked up off the ground from out of a clown’s pocket?’
Winston shook a tiny amount of the powder into the clay bowl as he spoke. It tinkled like glass. ‘Anyway, having it in you was enough to bring you to the show’s attention. But you wouldn’t have noticed much when you swallowed it. Wasn’t prepared right, see? This stuff is good for what ails you, and I mean whatever ails you. You gotta cook it up, though. Watch …’
Winston flipped open a silver cigarette lighter and made a small flame tickle the bottom of the bowl. ‘Got to be a flame,’ he said. ‘Can’t boil it, steam it, put it in the sun. Got to be flame.’
In the bowl the thick round crystals gave off a thin bluish smoke as they popped and cracked. The smell was foul. For a moment Jamie thought he could hear a tiny sound, not unlike human wailing. Soon the powder had melted to a silvery liquid. ‘Now,’ said Winston, ‘make a wish.’
‘What?’ Jamie gasped.
‘I said make a wish. I’m not yankin’ yer chain, hurry up, make a wish, swallow this, and you’ll be fine. Hurry now.’
Jamie wiped sweat from his face and said, ‘I wish this — ohh, Jesus — pain would stop.’
‘That’ll do it. Swallow. Quickly.’
Jamie took the bowl and nearly spilled it over the blanket. He got it to his lips and slurped the liquid down. It left a strange, unpleasant taste in his mouth. Almost instantly the pain was snuffed out like a smothered candle. There were no lingering echoes of it, no gradual ebbing — it was gone, just like that. He patted himself all over in disbelief and stared at Winston, who said, ‘There we are, all better.’ He stood to leave.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Jamie, feeling his midriff in amazement. ‘That’s our salary? Painkiller?’
‘Not just painkiller,’ said Winston, heaving a sigh as he sat back down. ‘The powder gets you whatever you want, within reason. Wish dust is what some call it. It’s … expensive, I guess. The most expensive stuff going around. Worth more than anything else in the world.’
Jamie squeezed the small velvet bag in his hand. ‘What do you mean? I ask for something, it appears?’
‘Doesn’t quite work like that,’ said Winston. ‘Look, whatever you ask for has to be approved by … Damn it, how do I put it?’ He slapped his forehead then leaned close, dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Has to be approved by the highest authority in the show. Higher than Kurt Pilo, higher than anyone we’ve ever met. I can’t say no more, don’t want to and just plain can’t, all right? Leave it at that. There’s rules, and if you ask for somethin’ against the rules, then you wasted your wages. Those don’t come cheap.’
‘How do I know what to ask for, then, and what not to?’
‘Start low key. Small things, like we just did. Don’t wish harm on anyone else in the show. Chances are it won’t work, but apart from that, it’s not how we settle scores here. Use the powder sparingly, save it up. Never know when you’ll have to get yourself out of a jam. Or wake up in worse pain than you were in just now.’
Winston stood and his manner said he had pressing business elsewhere. He paused in the doorway. ‘Consider it,’ he said, without turning to face Jamie, ‘like having a teensy prayer answered with a certain “yes”. Just don’t get carried away. And don’t worry, those pains’ll be gone in maybe three days. That face paint is pretty heavy stuff, as you’d know.’
Winston left. ‘Face paint?’ Jamie said, and then it hit him. ‘Holy shit … Winston!’ he yelled. ‘What the hell happened yesterday?’ But Winston didn’t return.
What had happened? After Winston had applied his face paint, the day was mostly blurred pictures. He remembered vividly the mood — wickedness, gleeful wickedness, completely at the mercy of any impulse. I became someone else, he thought, and it chilled him so much he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. I did, too. I completely lost control.
Next came the memory of Kurt Pilo, the way his eyes had glittered with light below a brow like a storm cloud. Jamie closed his eyes and groaned; suddenly he felt sick.
I am in … so … much … fucking … trouble …
And it was worse than that. Gone now were any lingering doubts about what the fortune-teller had told him, about any of the impossible things he’d been asked to believe. It was all real. After yesterday, he could not doubt it if he tried. He was part of the circus.
Now might be a good time, he supposed, to use some more powder. Hands shaking, he tipped a little of it out onto the clay bowl, which Winston had left lying by the stretcher. He found a box of matches, melted the crystals into silvery liquid. ‘Please, let me get some more sleep,’ he whispered. He swallowed, set down the bowl, and barely had time to lie back before his prayer was answered.
Chapter 11
The Break-in
THE day passed him by, and whether or not it was the work of the dust no one tried to wake him until dark, when a hand impatiently tugged at his shoulder. Groggy and barely able to string two thoughts together, he peered up at the silhouette of a three-pronged hat with silver bells, which tinkled quietly by his bed. It was a clown, and for a blissful instant he was back in New Farm wondering what a clown was doing in his bedroom. The instant ticked by. ‘Hey, JJ,’ said Rufshod in an excited whisper. ‘Wakey wakey!’
Jamie sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Huh? I’m ’wake.’
‘Come with me. This is gonna be great. Put your face paint on. You’re probably too chicken shit without it.’
Harsh but true. Jamie remembered Winston’s warning about joining Rufshod for any adventures, but so close to sleep he didn’t have the wits to argue. He heard Rufshod rummaging around in the darkness. ‘Aha!’ he said, and sat on Jamie’s chest, pushing him back down. He quickly rubbed a palmful of greasy white paint over Jamie’s cheeks.
‘Hold on a second,’ said Jamie. ‘Get off me for chrissakes. I’ll put it on myself.’
&nb
sp; Rufshod sprang off him like a jack-in-the-box. He fetched a hand mirror and a lighter, lit it, and presented Jamie with his own reflection. His face was half painted, but that was enough. The feeling of giddiness hit him instantly, and all fear left him.
JJ grabbed Rufshod by the collar and pulled him close. ‘You come in here and wake me up again,’ he whispered slowly, ‘and I’ll fucking kill ya. You got me? I’ll fucking kill ya.’
Rufshod grinned and rubbed a finger along Jamie’s forehead. ‘Missed a spot,’ he said. JJ got up and lunged for him. Rufshod dodged him easily and kicked him in the belly. ‘Missed a spot!’
‘All right, that’s enough!’ JJ screamed.
‘Shhhhh …’ Rufshod grimaced. ‘Quiet! We’re breaking the rules. It’s show day tomorrow. No high jinks on show day eve. That’s the rule. Come on, you awake yet?’
‘Where we going?’ JJ said, regaining his composure and making careful note that he ‘owed’ Rufshod ‘one’. Rufshod leaned close and grinned. ‘You know the fortune-teller?’
JJ nodded.
‘We’re gonna fix her. We’re gonna get her good. And right before show day!’ Rufshod giggled. ‘She’s gonna be so pissed at us.’
JJ considered this and decided he liked the idea. The fortune-teller had come across a tad lofty for his liking, now that he thought about it.
Rufshod picked up something he’d set on the floor when waking Jamie. He held it carefully to his chest now, motioning for JJ to follow. They stole through the tent to the parlour, where Rufshod paused, making a hush gesture, pointing at the table where Doopy lay sleeping with an empty bottle sitting loosely on his chest. As they tiptoed past him Doopy mumbled in his sleep: ‘No … Don’t poke her, Goshy … s’not funny …’
JJ paused to listen. ‘Goshy been poking … all over town … twice more in the sore spot … ate her up in the sore spot, Goshy …’
Fucking space cadets, JJ thought, disgusted though not sure why. He ran to catch up with Rufshod, and the pair of them crept across the grassy lanes, threading a path through the carnie dwellings. The showgrounds were silent as a tomb, and JJ found that when his mind was set to it, he could move with complete stealth, not betrayed by a single popped joint or rustle of his pants.
The fortune-teller’s hut was soon in sight. Her caravan had no lights on. Rufshod kneeled down and removed the cloth from his bundle, held up a lighter and showed JJ what he had — a glass ball. JJ crouched beside him. ‘What’s that?’
‘Shh. Watch.’ Rufshod held a hand over it, the same way the fortune-teller did with her crystal ball. In the light of the tiny flame an image appeared on the glass: a scrotum, packing two nuts. ‘They’re mine,’ Rufshod explained. ‘This is all she’s gonna be able to see, all day.’ He started giggling but managed to hold it in. ‘We’re gonna take hers. Replace it with this.’
JJ looked up and down the path. No one was around, but the very first dawn light was creeping into the gloom. ‘Asleep in there,’ Rufshod whispered, pointing to the caravan. ‘Go watch her door. If she comes out, make a noise like an owl. Okay? Then run.’
JJ nodded. He crept to the caravan door and waited, crouching down by its front steps. He could hear Rufshod spluttering as he tried to contain his laughter. There was a minute of total silence, rudely broken by the sound of wood being ripped, obscenely loud in the still night. JJ listened intently for signs of life inside the caravan, his heart pounding. It seemed they’d gotten away with it … Then the sound of tearing wood was repeated.
What’s the dumb bastard doing? JJ thought, shaking with adrenaline and biting his knuckle so as not to laugh. He very faintly heard the beads rattling at the hut’s entrance. There was a moment in which everything seemed to hold its breath and wait — the night air, the buildings around them, the grass underfoot. Then came a giant noise as something crashed to the floor; glass broke, the earth thudded.
JJ heard a female voice murmuring, as though in sleep, inside the caravan.
Hurry up, you idiot! he thought giddily. Jesus, man, hurry up!
If there were no more loud noises, they’d be okay, he thought … And right on cue came the loudest yet, a noise like a cabinet of glass statues being toppled. From Shalice’s caravan came a voice no longer clouded by sleep. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked sharply.
There were footsteps in the caravan. JJ stood up and ran. He forgot to make the owl noise. As he rounded the fortune-teller’s hut he saw Rufshod sprinting through the doorway, sending beads clattering like rattlesnake tails. He held a bundle to his chest. Mission accomplished. The pair of them sprinted away, giggling madly. When they were at a safe distance they paused to watch the lights coming on in the hut. ‘Oh shit, run!’ Rufshod whispered. They raced back to their tent.
Doopy was still asleep at the card table. Still high on adrenaline, JJ grabbed the bottle from Doopy’s chest and smashed it on the wood next to his head. The sound of shattering glass exploded through the parlour, and they bolted for the safety of JJ’s room. Doopy gave a snort but didn’t stir.
Rufshod lit two candles and carefully placed the bundle on JJ’s pillow. The candlelight gleamed on the glass ball like two yellow eyes. Rufshod waved his hand over the ball. ‘What was all the noise?’ JJ asked him.
‘Didn’t know she boards the place up at night,’ said Rufshod, tapping the glass with his thumb. ‘Had to rip off the planks. Think I knocked over a couple of shelves. How do you turn this thing on?’ He held both palms over the ball, and suddenly it glowed with white light. ‘There we go. Ha! Look at her. She’s awake …’
Rufshod giggled madly. In the glass the fortune-teller was examining the wreckage of her hut, a gas lantern in hand. Wooden planks lay on the ground by the door. Visible through the doorway were broken ornaments and books scattered over the floor. The fortune-teller’s face was wooden. She plucked the cloth veil from the replica crystal ball and seemed to sense nothing amiss. She replaced the cloth. JJ and Rufshod exchanged a glance of pure glee.
JJ figured he and Ruf could become fine friends indeed.
‘Wait till she has her bath,’ Rufshod whispered. ‘We’ll see that bush of hers. Wow. Should’ve stolen this thing a long time ago.’
JJ knew he and Ruf could become fine friends indeed.
They watched her as the sun came up, the crystal ball bathing Jamie’s little room in its flickering light. Shalice had set about clearing the damage from her hut, her rage evident in the deliberate calm of her movements. ‘Been awhile since she’s had her comeuppance,’ Rufshod explained. ‘She’s not used to it. Looks like she forgot what it feels like. Been getting too big for her boots, last few years. Knows too much about everyone, what people get up to. Watches it all in this ball, you know. Thinks the Pilos need her more than anyone else, just ’cause of her outside jobs. We fixed her now! It’s show day, and she’s gonna be looking at my nuts all day!’
When it seemed Shalice wasn’t likely to look into the prank crystal ball any time soon, Rufshod got up to leave. ‘Can I borrow this?’ said JJ.
‘Yeah, why not, since you helped. But if she gets naked, you come and get me, okay?’
‘Can do, buddy.’ JJ watched the fortune-teller for a while longer as a burly gypsy came to help her tidy the hut. He put the ball under his blanket when he heard the other clowns up and about in the parlour.
Stepping out of his room, JJ had to stifle a scream; Goshy was standing right outside the door, marsupial eyes peering directly into his own. First the left blinked, then the right. There was something menacing and surreal about the moment that JJ didn’t care for at all and he cringed away.
Goshy turned to the right and stared at something down the hallway. JJ watched him for a second then carefully stepped around him.
What the hell was that about? he wondered, then he remembered smashing the bottle beside Doopy’s head. Was it some kind of warning? He wasn’t sure. And looking back over his shoulder at Goshy, still staring fixedly at a patch of bare wall, it occurred to him Goshy wasn’t su
re either.
Chapter 12
Show Day
ONCE the morning was a little older the clowns gathered for one last pre-show rehearsal. Gonko began with a pep talk to get everyone’s head in the right frame, but the heads he was working with were bent into odd shapes, and the frame was stretched, cracked and coming apart. He managed to get the clowns paying attention, itself no mean feat. They were all here bar the apprentice, whom Gonko didn’t expect to see any time soon. Setting him alight should have gotten the point across … You’re fired, fucker. He was presumably lurking somewhere in Sideshow Alley, but sacked performers didn’t tend to last long. Whatever the circus decided to do with him was not Gonko’s concern.
He checked his pocket watch; an hour till the tricks started coming in. Small crowd today. From New South Wales this time, some regional fair or other, one of those deals where people wander around smelling cow shit, having their wallets stolen, looking at preschool finger paintings. Highlight of their calendar, sad fucks. They’d be entertained today, and no fooling.
Gonko squinted at his troops. The new guy, JJ, was hiding at the back of the group trying to look inconspicuous. He seemed timid and frightened, overawed. No doubt he expected to get away with all kinds of trouble while he was new, and that was fine; Gonko was glad to see some personality emerging. As long as JJ was compatible with the group, no problem. The apprentice had been useless both as a performer and comrade in arms, the latter only marginally less important — factional spats in the circus were no joke.
Earlier Gonko had taken a casual morning stroll past Shalice’s hut, observing the carnage and her distress with satisfaction. Rufshod had done something, which was just dandy, but most importantly Gonko didn’t know what that something was. Shalice was a tricky one to lie to, with her psychic mumbo jumbo and such like. She’d spotted him as he walked past and ran over demanding answers. Luckily she’d been too worked up to point her questions shrewdly.
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