"Can you get another copy of this?" said Jamie. "Maybe it'll be useful to have."
"I'll ask. And I'll show you how to do the gates later, when we won't be seen. As for this powder, don't use it."
"Hadn't planned to, but why do you say so?"
"Bad feeling, that's all. Keep it for trading or bribing, but don't melt it and drink it like the others do."
"Jamie!" Gonko's voice called across the dark. "Cometh hither, my sweet. We go below."
"A big surprise!" Doopy called. "It's gonna be soooo great."
Jamie sighed heavily. "Here goes."
Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, stay cool."
***
10. BELOW
Through the gates went the clowns, into more strains of circus music—now up-tempo and desperate. The panic in the air was something one could feel, stifling as humidity—most of it stemming from George himself. But it was also evident in the other performers and carnies, all overworked and nervous. For it was happening again: there was very little dust, and what had fallen was polluted with black and grey ash, which would need to be picked out later, grain by grain.
Quickly, Gonko ushered the clowns to their own tent, where a bunch of hiding Sideshow Alley carnies huddled with lash marks all over them. "Aw, ain't this sweet," said Gonko. "Looks like some orphans escaped a Dickens book. Get out."
"You gonna hurt us worse than Mr. Pilo?" said one of them sullenly. In reply Gonko took from his pockets a small chainsaw that spat fire from its teeth. The carnies ran.
"So where's this surprise?" Jamie said guardedly, for Doopy was hopping from foot to foot, talking about it breathlessly. Gonko led them on a quick search of the partitioned bedrooms, until they found a human looking shape under a blanket. They waited in the doorway as gradually a redheaded clown peeked out from beneath it, the exact and identical image of Jamie. "What the actual fuck?" he said. He felt dizzy, stepped back, and had to be held up by Doopy and Rufshod.
"Well, hello there, JJ," said Gonko brightly. "I trust the MM gave you a gentle rebirth?"
JJ slowly got up, took a step towards Jamie—JJ's eyes were wide with wary surprise. Some little scratches on Jamie's neck and hands were not visible on JJ's, and JJ's face paint was layered on thicker; other than that, it was a perfect reflection. They stared at each other for what seemed a long time, til JJ threw himself at Jamie's feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it. I just wanted my own body. Can't you see that? I just wanted my own body."
Jamie had no idea what this doppelganger was talking about. Then something clicked into place: Deeby, Dean. Jamie, JJ. It did not quite make sense to him; Deeby and Dean existed within one body, after all. But he sensed that this copy of himself had a place somehow within the circus's logic. "Look, don't worry about it, it's okay," Jamie said, not knowing at all whether it was okay or not. "Let's be friends. We're both clowns, aren't we?"
"Oh, thank you . . . thank you." JJ kissed Jamie's boots, then got to his feet.
"JJ," said Gonko. "Isn't there someone else you might oughta be groveling to?"
"Not that I can think of," said JJ. Wrong answer. For a moment the headlock Gonko held him in seemed almost tender and gentle, then he turned it into a wrestler's takedown. JJ was face down in the dirt as Gonko's white-gloved fist threw a few warm up punches into his neck and ribs, then gestured for the other clowns to join in. Jamie winced and turned away but the shrieking, begging and the pop-pop-crack were impossible not to hear, made worse by the comic noises sprinkled throughout (car horns, bicycle bells, splats.) When it was finally done, Jamie knew a normal person would not have survived it. Even with the face paint's protection, a blood-covered mess was strewn unconscious across the floor.
•
Until that day, Gonko had assumed he'd seen the maximum range of George's temper. Everyone and everything in range of his goon's clumsy lash arm got a taste. Games were broken. Some tricks were even roused from their sleepwalk and stood about in terror until they were led away, calmed down, and soothed back under the circus spell. All the clowns watched George from a safe distance, certainly including Jamie, who felt the beginnings of an idea forming when he saw the trick awoken . . . just parts and pieces lying separate in his mind, with the certainty that there was a way, somehow, to connect them. As yet, it eluded him.
Meanwhile George lost the power to articulate his grievances. What came out of him resembled: "Aya, who did, flamma joo, ree, arrrk," and so on, spittle showering, face red, the overworked goon groaning beneath him as the lash arm wore out but kept on lashing. The lumberjacks had their own version of "looking busy," which meant beating the crap out of whoever was unlucky enough to be near them when George came by. Phony "thief" culprits were reported as old scores and vengeances were settled among the short folk and gypsies. Some of these accused the lumberjacks carried away to the Funhouse where they were strapped to tables and benches before a salivating Matter Manipulator, rubbing his hands together with relish.
"One more show might just do it," Gonko mused. "This is not your typical George eruption. They've put the hard word on him. If he was Kurt, most everyone would be dead by now."
"We got two Jamies now," said Doopy, still struggling with the concept. "Gosh, that's nearly double what we normally got."
"Oh, no we don't," said Gonko. "They're different clowns altogether, you got that? Don't say a word to JJ about our upstairs shenanigans. Not til the plan's done. Jamie is your typical overawed getting-used-to-things-trick-come-clown. He can be trusted. Don't trust JJ with nothing important yet, especially after we just pounded on him. He'll spill the beans. Dig?"
They dug. When George seemed safely out of the way, Jamie excused himself and ducked off to Sideshow Alley. He'd not yet gotten over the shock of seeing his twin, nor the beating for that matter, but absorbing mental shock was becoming easier with practice—he'd had plenty of that. The dust and a wish would answer many questions . . . but no, not yet. He found Steve, who had fresh lash marks across his back and on his forearms, as did the carnies he worked with. Their eyes smoldered with anger. George seemed to be going the right way about starting a revolt with his lash alone. "Hey, Steve . . ."
Hands gripped Jamie's shoulders, and a knife was suddenly held up to his face. "Spill it," a voice hissed in his ear. To his amazement Steve just watched, waiting like all the others for an answer. He seemed just as angry.
"Spill what?" said Jamie.
The hands shook him. "Who wrecks the shows? We no paid, we whip all day, no rest, no pay. Just clean, work, show, clean, work, show, show, show. People ready to kill here, you get that? They kill who behind it all, they not care who. And some say, it the clown, he know! They seen Gonko talk to Curls, seen Curls have bag of powder he no share, then Curls no here! Ticket collector now? Pah! Something funny, that's what spill. Now you spill, or I spill you."
"All right, all right, put the knife down. Let me go, and I'll tell you what I know, okay?"
Slowly the knife withdrew, and the hands released him. The angry carnies waited in a close ring around him. "I don't know anything," Jamie said. "Honest." He leaped high as they grabbed for him again—one of those big floating jumps. The carnies took off after him til a lumberjack happened by, keeping a careful eye out for anything suspicious. They went back to their game stalls, still grumbling to each other, while Jamie leaped and floated for the safety of the clown tent.
The other clowns weren't there—presumably they were watching more of George's theatrics as his meltdown worsened. Jamie headed for the room where his double had been beaten, to check he was in fact still living. "JJ?" he called.