The Darker Carnival (The Markhat Files)

by Frank Tuttle

  The captive halfdead never blinked. The only movement from Jerle was the slow clenching of his fists. I didn’t like that, and I shot him a look, but he shot it right back and then some.

  Gertriss let go of the halfdead, took a step back from Jerle. Both sailed out of the room.

  “Is Evis dead?” asked Gertriss.

  “He’s no deader than he’s ever been,” I said. “Is he sick? Hell yes. Will he get well? I think so. Is there anything you can do to help him? Yes. You can stay clear, for now.”

  “I won’t do it,” she said. “Dammit, boss, if you saw Darla get sicker and sicker and then somebody hauled her away and said you couldn’t see her anymore, what would you do?”

  “Same thing you’re doing. Although I wouldn’t be quite as likely to go grabbing halfdead soldiers. That could have ended badly.”

  She advanced on me. There is no fury like that of a Hog woman deterred.

  “Things are about to get bad all around if somebody doesn’t start talking plain, right now.”

  “Evis has a rare vampire fever,” I said. “They haven’t seen it in a hundred years. Causes everything you’ve watched him go through. It’s fatal about half the time. But here’s the bad part, Gertriss. Right before its victims shake it off, or die, they lose control of their appetites.”

  “Appetites?”

  “Blood-lust. Plain old lust. Look, maybe this is news to you, but Evis holds certain affections for you—”

  She blushed furiously. I’d been counting on that, and part of me hated myself for finding just the right lie.

  “Let’s say you go into the same room with Evis right now. Bad things are going to happen. They might be able to hold him back, and they might not. Either way, you might be injured, or worse, and the stress might kill him on the spot.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “They haven’t seen this fever since Rannit had a King,” I said. “The white-coats just put it all together. While he was still lucid, Evis gave instructions that you were to be kept away. I think he meant to say more, but he passed out. But keep you away and safe was what he told his people, and by damn that’s what they mean to do.”

  She stood, glaring and clenching her jaw.

  When the tears burst, Darla was there to gather her up in a hug.

  “He’s going to live,” I said. “I believe that, Gertriss. You should too.”

  She had no reply.

  Darla looked at me over Gertriss shoulder. I could read the question on her face—is any of that true?

  I shook my head no.

  And that was the only thing I said in that room that was even close to being the truth.

  Gertriss had a room, deep in Avalante, that just happened to be decorated with all her favorite colors and stocked with all her favorite things. Darla and I sat on her couch while she retreated to her bathroom to wash away her tears.

  Water splashed, pouring out of fancy brass spigots. As soon as Gertriss closed the door, Darla leaned close, whispering.

  “Can you tell me what’s really going on with Evis?” she asked.

  “Later. He is going to live. That much was true. The rest, well, I gave my word.”

  She nodded and took my hand. “He’s trying to cure himself, isn’t he? So they can be together without…”

  She trailed off when the water stopped pouring.

  We sat in silence, until a knock sounded at Gertriss’s door. “Are you plannin’ on sleeping all day, girl?” shouted Mama. “I swear I ain’t never seen a Hog spend so much time abed.”

  I got up and opened the door, lest Mama break it down. She shuffled inside, her burlap bag so full of arcane mysteries it dragged on the carpet.

  “Well, well, ain’t you a sight,” said Mama, chuckling. “Them vampire duds don’t suit you, boy. You look like a sour old preacher-man.”

  I shut the door. “I was just telling Darla I felt the call of the priesthood,” I said, adjusting my collar. “Shall I start by conferring the Blessing of the Aged upon you, Mama?”

  “Only if you wants your ass kicked,” she said. “And I ain’t aged. I’m at the top of my middle years.” She upended her bag and poured the contents out onto the floor. “Look what I brung.”

  I’d seen snakes crawl out of Mama’s sack before, so I took a couple of quick steps backward. I noticed Darla swing her feet up onto the couch.

  Mama laughed and muttered something uncomplimentary about city folks. Seeing that nothing slithered or crawled amid the heap of objects, I went down to one knee and poked amid the debris with my knife.

  I saw the usual mix of dried birds, stoppered clay bottles etched with Mama’s illegible scribbles, little bundles of this herb or that flower, none of which I could name.

  But there were a few things I did recognize.

  I picked up a coil of slim rope. It was worked through with strands of Buttercup’s own hair, and until she’d been trapped in that mirror the rope was the only thing we’d known that could hold the tiny banshee.

  “Good thinking,” I said.

  “I does a lot of that,” said Mama. She hefted a none-too-clean glass jar sealed with a rusty tin lid. Inside was a clear fluid. “This here is moon-cured stump water,” said Mama. “All the way from Pot Lockney. I uses it to scry sometimes, ’cause it makes a mirror-glass see hidden things.”

  “Scry?”

  Mama looked at me like I was daft.

  “It’s one form of divination, hon,” said Darla. “It usually involves gazing into a glass, or a reflective pool of water.”

  “Moon-cured storm water in the stump of a lightning-kilt tree is the best,” said Mama, shaking her jar. “That’s what this is.”

  “So I’m supposed to find you a lightning-struck oak?”

  “No, boy, you’re supposed to take it with you. Pour it on that fancy mirror. I don’t rightly know what it’ll do, but this here water has been showing me secrets for years. It ain’t to be took lightly. Take it.”

  I took it, held the jar up to the light.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I was just thinking about making some fresh coffee.”

  “Pah,” said Mama. “You needs all the help you can get, and you knows it. Now. When are we leaving? I got a few points to discuss with them carnival folk.” Her face, never overly pleasant, darkened. “They ain’t going to get off so lucky this time.”

  “We make our move tomorrow night,” I said. “You know that. Tonight is too soon.”

  She snorted. “Like you ain’t got some half-assed notion of sneaking around tonight, even if it’s just to peep through the pines,” she said. “I tells you I’m going, and there ain’t no stopping me.”

  “Never is,” I said, rising. “We’re going as far as the ferry, just to make sure they’re still in business. A couple of Evis’s people will be going all the way to the carnival, but only to watch. We’re not going to move until all the pieces are in place, Mama. That’s final.”

  Mama had no comment. She started gathering up her treasures just as Gertriss emerged from her bath.

  “Well lookie here, the Queen is up and about,” said Mama. “How’s that sick beau of yours? I brung some blackroot for tea, if’n you can get them fool white-coats to listen to reason.”

  “He’s better, Mama,” I said. Gertriss plopped down beside Darla with a weary smile. “Not well enough to join us, but certainly on the mend.”

  “Like hell he is,” muttered Mama. “But I reckon he’s tough enough. We got time for one of them fancy beers, before we go watching carnival barges?”

  “Always time for fancy beer,” I said. “But just one. We need to get moving soon.”

  I sent for a bucket of beer and kept the conversation from veering toward Evis and his condition. Gertriss mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to me when Mama wasn’t looking.

  Beers came and
sacrificed their lives in the line of duty. Mama reported hers wasn’t bad, wasn’t all that good, mind you, but she reckoned it was passable.

  Then we gathered our various accoutrements, made sure they were loaded just in case, and we set forth for the River Gate.

  A crowd was already gathering when we arrived.

  There were women and kids and babies in strollers. I thought about the things I’d hacked at with my borrowed sword and shivered.

  We took up a spot in the shade. Darla and Gertriss sat on a log. Mama stomped and muttered. Slim lurked in the trees, just another shadow cast by wind-blown boughs. He’d not wanted to leave Alfreda in the care of Avalante’s doctors, but in the end he’d relented.

  The crowd swelled. More and more people passed out of the old gate every moment.

  It took me about a quarter of an hour to realize a goodly number of the newcomers weren’t ordinary Rannites.

  I cussed under my breath. Darla raised her right eyebrow. “What?” she whispered.

  “Watchmen,” I said. “All over the place.”

  “Watchmen? What would they be doing here?”

  “Making a mess of things,” I said. I watched as an all-too familiar shape elbowed his way through the crowd.

  “Isn’t that Captain Holder?” asked Darla.

  “The one and only. Probably thinks he’s in disguise. Still wearing Watch-issue brogans. Might as well be accompanied by a brass band.”

  “I didn’t think the Watch had any interest beyond the old walls.”

  “They don’t. Or didn’t. Hell, let’s ask him.”

  Darla rose. “Won’t that infuriate him?”

  “It will if I ask it right,” I said, taking her hand. “Come on, let’s go pay our respects.”

  We slipped away without Mama. Holder saw us coming and turned, but he must have caught a glimpse of my warm, open smile because he turned back to face us and fixed me in a furious glower.

  “Well, well, Mr. Smith,” I said, as we approached. “Fancy meeting you here. I believe you know my wife, Flowerpot Groanworthy? Say hello, dear.”

  I didn’t grimace when she kicked me in my shin.

  “Hello, dear,” she muttered.

  Holder’s face turned a beefy shade of murder.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said, nearly biting through his unlit cigar.

  “Let’s walk,” I said. “Flowerpot?” I offered Darla my arm.

  She took it. We sashayed away, aiming for the edge of the crowd, and after a moment I heard Captain Holder’s iron-toed Watch shoes come stamp-stamp-stamping after.

  “This is a Watch investigation,” he said as soon as we were out of earshot of the nearest idlers. “I don’t need you loosing a batch of damned monsters in the middle of it.”

  I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “I’m not getting on the ferry,” I said. “Not crossing the water. Not visiting the carnival. My plans for the evening don’t involve monsters, in batches or otherwise.”

  He spat. I gathered Darla’s presence was causing him to subdue his responses considerably.

  “So I guess you don’t know anything about gunfire and worse in the woods last night,” he said.

  “Not true. I know everything about it, because I was there. The carnival is taking people. I’ve seen them murder one man outright and now they’ve got somebody of mine. I’m going back, all right, but not tonight. If you go, you and your people had better be damned careful. Magic is involved. Lots of magic.”

  “Taking people? Taking who, and how?”

  “I don’t know any names.” I told Holder about the darker carnival, about the flying witches and the black tent filled with terrors. He chewed his unlit cigar the whole time, rolling it from one cheek to the other.

  “But all that happened outside the walls,” I said when the story was told. “I didn’t think the Watch was interested.”

  He grunted. “I’ve been told, just today, that the Watch takes a keen interest in anything or anyone that might present a danger to Rannit,” he said. “I’ve been told we’re eager to expand our authority, take it wherever we need to go.”

  I glanced in the direction of the High House.

  Holder nodded yes. I whistled.

  “You ought to pat yourself on the back, Markhat,” he said. “You’re to thank for all this. First that business with the bunch from Prince. Then the death god. Every time trouble finds Rannit, I find you right in the middle of it. Now here you are again. You ever think about buying a house in Bel Loit?”

  “I like the climate here,” I said. “And the thriving arts community.”

  “So you’re gonna stay out of my way tonight,” he said.

  “I am.”

  He found a match and lit his cigar. It stank. Mosquitoes fled.

  “When do you plan to pay the carny a visit?”

  “Tomorrow evening. Before you ask, there’s going to be trouble then. Lots of trouble.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Well. If I see anything interesting tonight, I’ll send word. If I see you there tonight, I’ll box your ears in. No offense, Mrs. Markhat.”

  “None taken, Captain. I am moved to box his ears at least twice a week.”

  He let a smile slip out.

  “Be careful,” I said. “I don’t have a handle on what’s behind all this. But it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous than it looks.”

  “So am I,” said Holder. “Ma’am.”

  He doffed his hat to Darla, and shuffled off, wisps of malodorous cigar smoke curling in his wake.

  “You have the most fascinating friends,” said Darla, as we headed back for our log.

  “Funny. I don’t think of Holder as a friend. He never sends Yule cards, you know.”

  “He hasn’t locked you up in ages. We should have him over for dinner.” Her face fell. “As soon as we’re settled in, of course.”

  I hugged her, and she took her seat by Gertriss and we watched the Watchmen watch the eager mob until the carnival ferry left the opposite bank and wallowed our way.

  We hung around and saw the first load of merry-makers depart.

  The sun was down. I never saw Victor and Sara depart, but I knew they were across the water by now, moving through the trees like patches of shade.

  Mama muttered something about visiting an old uncle and stomped off. When we saw a tiny boat leave the bank a few minutes later, we all recognized Mama’s squat silhouette.

  Gertriss stood. Darla put her face in her hands and employed unladylike language.

  I surprised them both by shrugging.

  “I told Victor and Sara to keep an eye out for her,” I said. “Let her go. She might even learn something. If she’s not back by dawn, I’ll go find her myself.”

  None of the circus clowns gave us a second look. I recognized four of them, though, by their distinctive face-paint. Clowns don’t swap their faces. I was sure I saw at least three of the ferry clowns among the dead just a few hours before.

  I didn’t comment aloud on the risen clowns. I didn’t need to. Darla let a gasp slip at sight of the first, and Gertriss reached for a pistol, stopping her hand well before it but giving herself away all the same.

  We watched until eleven, and then we headed back for Avalante.

  No one else knew it, but I still had places to go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  To sleep, a poet once wrote, is to visit the House of Death.

  At last, I slept. Slept, perchance to dream.

  Soon I walked Rannit, half-conscious, only dimly aware of my surroundings. Rats and strays fled from my path as though they sensed my presence, while people remained deaf and blind to my passage.

  I remember crossing the old city wall, stepping through it as though it were cobwebs and shadow. There was a brief instant of piercing cold, and
that brought me, still dreaming, to my senses.

  The night was still. I stood by the muddy place on the riverbank that the carnival ferry created as it took on passengers or sent them home. The ferry was gone, and so were the crowds, who left nothing but footprints and a few scattered paper food wrappers behind.

  I wondered about the hour. The air smelled of a midnight long passed. The night sky was weary, soon to grow pale.

  I increased my stature and crossed the river in a single easy stride. The carnival lay ahead. Lights still shone from it, and I heard sounds. I diminished but kept my head above the trees.

  By the time I arrived, the darker carnival was done. Half a dozen creatures remained in the open, all crouching on their haunches while they devoured their meals.

  I diminished, walked among them, checked the shoes of the dead. None belonged to Mama. None were Watch-issue street shoes.

  The twin to the wolf-man I’d watched Slim decapitate the night before rose and belched before loping away. I followed.

  The wolf-man vanished in mid-stride.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I said. Not a single monstrous ear twitched, not a face turned my way. “I know you’re there. I know the rules.”

  And there it was. The black tent, just as I’d seen it before.

  I hesitated at the flap. It seemed suddenly apparent that I should not enter by the tent’s version of a door, because by doing so I was granting it power of a sort to assert its own reality within.

  Why such a thing should be suddenly plain to me was troubling. But I pushed that thought aside.

  I let go of the tent flap, let it drop.

  Then I walked through the burlap five feet from the flap, ignored the brief chill, and found myself inside the black tent once again.

  Before, it had been silent. Now it was filled with a hundred noises. Some were cries, long and plaintive and hungry. Some were howls, bestial and unreasoning. Some were words, shouted through mouths with too many teeth.

  But there was one voice I knew.