“Stop it, Ron! You’ll kill him!” she shouted.
I recognized the guy. It was the boyfriend who had threatened Baz with the sword. The woman was his girlfriend. Daring Donna. Her hair was still wet from her death-defying leap into the flaming pool.
The angry guy, Ron, pulled away from the woman and leaned down to Baz, pointing a threatening finger at him. “I’ll kill you, all right,” he snarled. “You won’t always have somebody around to protect you.”
The guy straightened up and grabbed the woman’s arm, ready to storm off. But the woman yanked her arm back. By then a crowd had gathered, and Ron didn’t look like he wanted to make a scene, so he left Daring Donna standing there and hurried off.
Donna went right to Baz, who was trying to sit up but was having trouble. He was hurting.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Now you know why I don’t want to be with him anymore. His temper is horrible.”
“My dear Donna,” Baz said, clenching his teeth to fight off the pain. “He is a coward. He never would have gotten the best of me if I had seen him coming.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “You’ll never see him coming.”
“Not true,” Baz said with a small smile. “I see all sorts of things. Don’t fear for me, my dear. Worry about yourself. Stay away from him. If you need my protection, you have it.”
“Thank you, Baz, thank you,” she said.
Daring Donna backed away and melted into the crowd that had circled Baz. Everyone stood there, staring in wonder.
Baz stood up straight, grimaced in pain from the effort, gave a theatrical bow, and announced, “And that, my friends, is the end of the matinee. Be sure to attend my show tonight for a far more interesting and enlightening performance.”
He strode off with his head held high as people laughed and clapped.
Gotta admit, the guy had style.
I followed him as he made his way back toward his show tent. He wasn’t walking as quickly as before and was hunched over a little. I think the beating Ron had given him had done some real damage. It explained why Baz was in so much pain during the performance he would give later that night. He probably had a couple of busted ribs.
Ron had suddenly become my number one suspect. He’d threatened to kill Baz, and Baz would be killed that night. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to connect the dots. But I had to know for sure, which meant I probably had to catch Ron in the act of setting the fire.
Waiting for Baz outside his show tent was Hensley, the park manager.
“You’re a fool, Baz,” Hensley said.
Baz strode right past him to the tent. “I’ve been called worse,” he said as he disappeared inside.
Hensley followed him, and I quickly snuck in after them. I crouched down near the door, where they couldn’t see me but I could still hear what was going on.
Baz went straight up onto the stage and began polishing the various swords he used in his act. He wasn’t moving as smoothly as before. He was definitely hurting from the beatdown he’d just gotten.
Hensley stayed on the floor in front of the stage, his hands on his hips, looking up at Baz.
“You’re better than this,” Hensley said. “You’re doing a two-bit carny act for rubes when you could be rolling in it. You can see the future for Pete’s sake! You can predict things that’ll happen! Think of how much that could be worth! Tell me who’s going to win the World Series—I’ll bankroll the bets. We’ll clean up. Look into that ball of yours and see who’s gonna be the next heavyweight champ and we’ll be rich. You tell me things that’re gonna happen, and I’ll find a way to turn it into cash. What’s stopping you?”
Baz stayed focused on the sword he was polishing. “My gift is a responsibility, not an asset,” he said. “I have ethics.”
“Ethics schmethics!” Hensley exclaimed. “Where do you think your paycheck comes from? It’s from the saps who pony up good coin to come to this park and watch you show off that so-called gift. I don’t see you turning down that money. Ethics go out the window when it comes to cold hard cash.”
“Indeed,” Baz said. “Anyone who would skim a percentage from Playland’s daily receipts has no ethics whatsoever.”
Hensley stood up straight as if Baz’s words had hit him like a bolt of lightning. “What’re you sayin’?” Hensley asked.
“There is much about the future that I see,” Baz said. “It’s quite the disturbing burden to learn someone close to you has done something horrid. It raises the question, what should I do with that knowledge? I’m sure the police would love to hear my tale.”
“Are you threatening me?” Hensley said, his anger growing.
He made a move to step up onto the stage, but Baz quickly pointed his sword at the man. Hensley stopped short.
“I’m telling you that I know what you’ve been doing,” Baz said. “You’re a thief, Hensley. You’re stealing from every last person who works at this park when you skim the gate receipts. And you wouldn’t even contribute a dime to help Simmons’s widow.”
“It was an accident! Accidents happen! Wasn’t my fault.”
Baz straightened up as if Hensley’s words had a horrible odor. “You will resign from Playland,” Baz said coldly. “Now. Today. Do that and no one will ever learn of your odious little thefts. You have my word. Take your money and go. But if you stay, I don’t need to look into your future to know it will involve a jail cell.”
Hensley balled his hands into fists. If Baz hadn’t been pointing a sword at him, I think he would have jumped up onto the stage and start swinging. There was a tense moment where the two stared each other down.
“Turn me in and you’ll regret it, pal,” Hensley said. “You can count on that.”
“What I count on is never seeing you again,” Baz said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for my performance.”
Hensley headed for the exit. “Watch your back, pal,” he warned as he spun on his heel and hurried out of the tent.
I had to duck behind a large stand-up sign for The Oracle Baz so he wouldn’t see me.
Baz went back to polishing his sword as if nothing had happened. The guy was icy cool, considering that his life had just been threatened by two different people. I now had two prime suspects who could have set the fire. Or who were about to set the fire. Somehow I had to figure out which one would do it, or if it was somebody else entirely. The only thing I felt certain of was that Derby hadn’t done it. There was only one way to know for sure: I had to see it happen for myself. So I snuck out of the tent and headed for the Magic Castle.
Night had fallen. The lights of the park had sprung to life. I passed several people who were walking in the other direction, headed toward Baz’s tent to get in line for the next show. After having been through it all once already, I figured I had about twenty minutes before Baz would see something disturbing in his crystal ball and suddenly end the performance and go back to the Magic Castle.
Sometime between now and then, the fire would be set.
I had to be there when it happened.
The sawhorse with the Ride Closed sign stood sentry in front of the Magic Castle, just as it did the last time we had visited the story. I guess I could say history was repeating itself, but it was more like I was living in the memory of what had happened years before. Books from the Library were gateways into other dimensions where these unfinished stories floated around, unbound by time, repeating themselves until the disruptions were ended. What had actually happened, happened only once. It couldn’t be changed. Not in real life, anyway. The best we could do was snoop around inside these stories like archaeologists trying to uncover hidden truths that were lost in time.
But I wasn’t a spirit. I could get hurt. If anything happened to me, it would be very real. The last thing I wanted was to become a spirit myself and have my story to
ld in a book shelved in the Library. That would suck.
I walked over the footbridge, straight for the ride. In a few minutes this entire structure would go up in flames. I’m no expert, but something like that doesn’t happen quickly. The fire from Derby’s candle couldn’t have spread that fast. So unless there was a huge explosion that nobody knew about, the fire would have been burning for a while before people realized what was going on. For all I knew, it was already burning. That thought got me a little panicky, so I picked up the pace.
I walked past the main entrance and rounded the building, looking for another way in. I pushed aside bushes that grew around the base of the structure, looking for a service entrance that might be hidden from public view. I was moving away from the lights of the park to an area where nobody went unless they worked there. I wished I had thought to do this before the sun went down; it was getting hard to see.
I came around to the back side of the building and spotted a small light hanging from the wall, halfway along the length of the ride. Yes! There was only one reason to have a light back there. I jogged across the grass with my eyes focused on it. When I passed through a line of bushes that came out perpendicular to the building, I saw what I was looking for:
The light marked a doorway with the words Staff Only stenciled on it. I held my breath and grabbed the knob to find…it was unlocked. I was in! Just inside the door was a flight of stairs leading down to what was probably the basement. Not that I’m a pyromaniac or anything, but if I were going to light a building on fire, I’d probably start it in the basement, so that’s where I needed to be. I hesitated a second and took a whiff, afraid I might smell smoke. I got nothing. My eyes weren’t burning either. I felt pretty confident that the fire hadn’t started yet. I wasn’t too late.
As I grabbed the handrail and started down, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. What was I doing? In a few minutes this entire building would be swallowed in flames, and I was headed for the basement. This was crazy! I told myself I’d take a quick look to see if there was anything suspicious and then get the heck out of there.
Though my legs were shaky, I continued moving down. The whole way I kept telling myself that I’d be out of there in a few minutes.
The only light came from one bare bulb that dangled from above the stairs. Its glow was bright enough that I could keep moving without falling and breaking my neck, but not enough to see much else. It created more shadow than light. When I hit the bottom, there was only one way to go. A narrow corridor stretched into darkness directly in front of me. I had come this far—I had to keep going.
Slowly, cautiously, I moved ahead. Creeping around in the dark didn’t feel much different from walking through the twisting corridors of the attraction itself. I was once again moving along a narrow, dark corridor. Only this time Frankenstein and Dracula wouldn’t be popping out at me. At least I hoped not. I made it to an open doorway and leaned inside. In the dim light I made out what looked like an electrical panel. This was where the power came into the building. If an electrical problem started the fire, this was probably where it would begin. But nothing looked out of the ordinary. (Not that I knew what was normal for an electrical room in 1937. Or in my time, for that matter.) I left the room and moved on.
I was beginning to think this was a waste of time and I had totally misguessed how and where the fire would start. Time was ticking and I hadn’t learned a thing. I was pushing my luck, so I turned to retrace my steps and get out of there, when I sensed something.
I didn’t see it or hear it.
I smelled it.
Gas, I said to myself.
My nose was hit with the distinct smell of some kind of gasoline. Or maybe it was kerosene. Or paint thinner. Or turpentine. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I’d helped my father paint enough times to recognize the sharp smell that came from the liquid we used to clean brushes. Smelling too much of that stuff killed brain cells.
And, oh yeah…it was totally flammable.
Was gas spilled somewhere? Had some bumbling painter left cans open? Or knocked them over? That was the exact kind of thing that would lead to a fire. If there was enough flammable liquid around, it could burn big enough to start a fire that would spread quickly. All it needed was something to ignite it.
My brain screamed, Run! However the fire was going to start, it would happen soon. If I was anywhere near the fuel, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
But I couldn’t leave. Not when I was so close to learning the truth and ending this story.
I forced myself to keep walking ahead to follow the scent. With each passing second I felt as though I was that much closer to solving the mystery, while also moving closer to my doom. A few yards farther on I came to a closed door. Light leaked out from beneath it. Had the fire already started in there? Or was it just a light on the other side? I told myself that finding the answer to that question would be my last act before getting the hell out of there.
As I crept closer to the door, the strong smell grew more intense. Even with the door closed I could smell it. I had the brilliant idea to put my hand against the door to feel if it was hot. If a fire was raging on the other side, I’d feel it. But the door was cool. I touched the metal doorknob. That would definitely be hot if the room was on fire. It wasn’t. It gave me the confidence that I still had time to get out…but not until I found out what was on the other side.
Clang!
Something had fallen down on the other side of the door. It sounded like a metal can had hit the cement floor and bounced a few times. Was somebody in there?
I had to know so I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.
The large room beyond was dimly lit by a couple of overhead bulbs that let me see deep inside. The room was vast, but with a low ceiling. And I was right: the smell was some kind of paint thinner. The strong smell hit me hard as soon as I stepped through the door. This was where all the paint for the park was stored. There were hundreds of cans and larger metal tubs stacked everywhere. Most had been used and had paint drippings all over them.
The smell of turpentine, or whatever, was so strong it burned my nose. How could that be? I didn’t think that one can of stuff left open would create such an intense smell. I took a few steps into the room and scanned the space. I didn’t see any sign of a fallen tub or can. But it sure smelled horrible. My eyes were watering. I walked in farther. If this is where the fire was going to start—and it sure looked like it was—there had to be something to ignite it. Fires didn’t just start. What was that called? Spontaneous combustion? We’d talked about that in science class. Unless there was high pressure or heat or some other factor, the only thing that would ignite a fire was a flame. Or a spark. But there was nothing around that looked like it could do that.
At least that’s what I thought.
I was so incredibly wrong.
I saw a flare of light that came from beyond a wall of stacked paint cans. If I’d been smart, I would have turned and run out of there, but I guess I wasn’t that smart. I was drawn to see what it was. I moved quickly to the wall of cans, stepped up on a stool, and peered over the top.
The paint cans were stacked to form a barrier that separated one section of the room from the next. On the other side I saw a person dressed from head to toe in black. Even his head was covered with a hood. The room was so dark and the shadows so deep that I couldn’t see who it was. But whoever it was, he was up to no good.
The floor was wet, and not with water. That answered the question of why the gas smell was so strong. The entire floor was covered with the flammable liquid, and it was obvious how it had gotten that way. In one hand the person in black held a metal can that he was using to shake more liquid over a stack of paint cans. In his other hand he held a stick that had one end wrapped with cloth to make a torch…and it was burning.
Everything I had guessed wa
s true. Derby’s candle hadn’t burned down the building. It was arson. And given what happened to Baz, it was murder. But proving all my theories correct didn’t feel much like victory just then. I was about to witness the torching of the Magic Castle, and I was standing square in the middle of it.
“Don’t!” I screamed out.
The person in the hood shot a surprised look my way…and tossed the torch. The stick spun across the room, landed in a puddle of flammable liquid, and ignited it. Flames spread quickly across the floor and crept up the many cans of paint that were stacked everywhere.
I still didn’t know who the pyro was, and I no longer cared. I had to get out of there. I was about to jump off the stool when the hooded figure suddenly ran toward me and flung himself at the wall of paint cans. The wall toppled on me, knocking me off my feet and sending me crashing to the floor as heavy gallon cans of paint thudded down, bouncing around me and pounding every inch of my body. I wrapped my arms around my head for fear a heavy can would hit it and knock me out cold. I took a couple of hits on my arms, but I was too amped up to feel any pain.
Once the avalanche ended, I looked around to get my bearings. I had to get out of there, but which way? Flames were now crawling up the walls. The heat was making me dizzy. It wouldn’t be long before the entire room was a furnace. I spotted the door I had come in through and scrambled to my feet. But before I could take a step, an eruption of fire created a wall of flames between me and the escape route. The fire must have hit a barrel of kerosene—because it went off like a bomb. The wave of heat nearly knocked me onto my butt. It pushed me back but didn’t burn me. At least not yet. I was trapped by a wall of fire that stood between me and safety.
Oracle of Doom Page 13
