Still, Gonko probably ought to know about this . . .
Nervously he went into the clown tent and shook Gonko's shoulder.
Gonko listened to Curls without a word. His fists shook, veins throbbed, skin reddened. He tore through the campsite to work out who was missing. Only Jamie. The bastard had gone to the showgrounds. If Jamie's gums didn't remain stapled shut while he was down there, if he blurted out so much as a hint about the secret show in the wrong company, the shit was neck deep and rising.
Sheer curiosity on Gonko's part had helped keep Jamie alive till now. Where the hell was JJ? Why was JJ's corpse buried in the showgrounds? Why did Jamie not remember them and why did the face paint not change his personality to something else? Also now in Jamie's favor was his more than decent performance onstage tonight . . . but the guy didn't quite fit in with the crew like JJ had, what with his whole Please don't kill Deeby nonsense, and Gonko scented possible trouble there. If Jamie went below and made a mess for him, it was axe time. Keep his yap shut, and maybe a loyalty test was passed. Time to find out.
Gonko rushed through the gates and back into George's show.
***
8. BELOW
The tricks were right on time. The music played, and another smallish crowd walked in a daze across the showgrounds like floating bubbles on a river, going this way and that on little ripples of current. Only . . . very few children, almost no babies. Few in the show gave this even a first thought, let alone a second. Tricks were tricks, strange and contemptuous whatever size and shape. From the window of her hut, the fortuneteller observed the tricks with interest. She sat thoughtfully before her crystal ball, sucking her lip, flicking the view here and there with a long hand, looking firstly for a sign of the clowns (there was none) and then for George.
The proprietor was in a foul mood indeed. Never a fan of consecutive show days, was George, and normally the rest of the circus felt the same. Now though, poorly paid and half crazy with wish-dust withdrawals, the carnies and performers were more chipper than yesterday. They brought to their work a fevered, desperate energy. On the back of his goon, George lurched through the acts and games, screamed at slackers, and sent whip lashes in all directions, now and then tagging a stray trick. Mugabo was behaving himself, doing his paltry stunts with minimal scowls and sarcasm. Sideshow Alley was busy with tricks enjoying the games, shooting ducks, knocking bottles down, tossing balls too big to fit off the rim of baskets. The acrobats did their swooping soaring act again with the same grace. The lion tamer made his clever animals act like people. All seemed to be normal. Yet something was . . . off.
She panned back to George in Sideshow Alley. His arms flailed around, and he was screaming, reaching that level of agitation he sometimes got to, where all he could do was holler gibberish. Five baffled carnies stood with pockets out-turned, flinching back from the goon's raised lash. More thieves? Hardly surprising, given the state of things, but these ones looked honestly confused and certainly had no stolen dust in their pockets. More carnies were called over, Steve among them—the foolish boy who had minded her when age had fallen hard upon her, who had talked the whole time of returning here to his magical secret life. In spite of his help, she felt no overriding affection for the boy . . . yet she didn't like watching the lash whip down four times, once across his face, when clearly—by his facial expression alone—he'd not stolen anything.
That George. What had gotten into him? He'd been unusually venomous since this morning. She remembered him storming out of the Funhouse, where the Matter Manipulator had called him for a meeting with the new freak show curator. Something he'd heard in there had gotten his mood rotten indeed . . .
At last Shalice saw what was missing in this picture: dust! She quickly covered territory with waves of her hand across the glowing glass. Mugabo's show and the acrobat tent both had a meager pattering of sparkling grains, but not nearly as much as yesterday. Sideshow Alley's takings were pitiful, even this early into the day. The freak show was bare, totally bare. A very confused Dr. Gloom was craning his long body forward at the bare grass. The lion tamer, whose monkey was now serving the tigers tea, had the merest sprinkle. Even in those places making a minimal profit, the sparkling crushed-glass stuff was spattered with grey and black, like powdered coal.
Shalice sat back, pulling thoughtfully at her lip. Suddenly she knew: Gonko! The carnies who'd supposedly fled—Gonko had taken them upstairs, Gonko had his own enterprise! He was starving out the circus, all to get at George. Would George figure it out? Maybe not without her help.
Still no sign of the clowns as her hand flicked across the crystal ball. Not until nearly halfway through the night's show, when the new one came in, JJ or Jamie, whichever he was called. She remembered his first day, her own part in "conditioning" him to accept his new life. Right now he gazed around with the confusion, fear, and wonder of someone who had never seen the carnival before.
•
But he had seen it before, and Jamie knew it without remembering it. It was like walking through a recurring dream. The music poured down its cheerful notes; the air smelled sickly sweet, promising candy, popcorn, fun, rides, and prizes. The "tricks" all around the place moved in slow motion while Jamie threaded through them, barely seen by their glassy eyes. Many young women were among them, which made his Sir Lancelot instincts tingle in frustration: this wasn't right, these people had no idea they were even here. Dean's words and Dean's anger reverberated through him: "We take them out, Jamie." And now Jamie knew why he was really here: to find a way.
Instinct prickled his neck hairs, told him to get out of sight of the small furious man screaming and raging from his perch atop a lumbering giant, its whip lashing down spastically at anyone near. He hid behind a hot dog stand, and whispered "shh," to the startled vendor.
"Where's Gonko? Where's Gonko?" the little man screamed. "Which of you knows? Who's covering for him? Find him! Find the clowns! Any clowns!"
The screaming finally faded from earshot. The smiling hot dog vendor had his hand extended—apparently it was bribe time. "Later," Jamie said, knowing a bag of powder was what the gypsy wanted. "None on me. Later, okay? After we're paid." He ducked out from hiding and crouch-walked, staying as hidden as he could among the crowds. This decided his course—they thinned out to his right but made a fairly steady stream into Sideshow Alley.
Rides and games. A small roller coaster course, only a short walk in length but spiraling up high in the vague shape of a huge curled snake. This platform gizmo with seats which rose slow then dropped very fast. And not an electric cable in sight to power any of it.
Voices to his right, arguing and complaining. One of them was familiar, though now it seemed to come from several lifetimes ago. He came out from hiding among the herd of people, looked at the group of carnies—two dwarfs, a gypsy, and two other men. One of them looked his way and said, "Jamie! Where the hell have you been all this time?"
It took him a moment—the red lash mark across the man's face didn't help. He was shorter than Jamie, with a solid build and a round, somewhat child-like face. Many lifetimes ago, they had been roommates in a share house. "Steve?"
"Hell, yes it's me. Dude, you'd better get out of sight. George is looking for Gonko and any of his crew and he's not happy."
"I noticed. How long til the ticket collectors set up the exits?"
"Not long now. But George is pissed. He thinks someone's stealing all the powder. And maybe somebody is. But if you look closely you never see any of it actually dropping out of the tricks. So maybe he'll extend the show. Things aren't working right. There's been hardly any powder at all."