They'd portioned out only three velvet bags with a meager pinch of dust in each (JJ pocketing a far greater amount for himself) when a strange voice warbled "Help, help." Strange because it was not too unlike the sound of a baby Goshy, but much deeper. JJ, Jamie, and the entire night—from the moon, stars, curtains of cloud, and silhouetted trees beyond the clearing—tensed and listened. Faint sounds of feet scuffing clumsy on the grass; a gargling noise. And "Help, help," again, deep and not quite human. The voice was filled with fear, seemed to say with its one word Something preys on me. . .
"Hurry," Jamie said. He crept through the dewy grass to the caravan. Dark drops and splashes spattered the cream-colored canvas at its rear. A small shape dropped out onto the grass when he parted the flap to look inside. The cry that came out of Jamie was as involuntary as his backward jump; really, he did not think by now that the sight of a severed hand should be this much of a shock, even when unexpected. There it was by his shoe, perfectly harmless, adorned with a cheap brass ring with crescent moon. Shoo, clown, he imagined he heard her say.
Gonko and JJ had done it already, was his first thought. But when? And there was no need to look in the caravan—he knew already what he'd see. He reached through the caravan entrance and fumbled around blindly, seeking the lantern the carnies hung on a hook. It took a very long time to find it. Longer to find the matches on their little shelf next to it. Finally the lantern was lit, and he was surprised to find his hands calm and unshaking.
"Help, help," came the call again. Drunken steps scuffed the ground, over at the tent where the dwarfs slept. Shadows reeled away from the lantern light. Jamie kept his footsteps silent. The dwarfs' tent front had been ripped away and left on the ground like shed or torn skin. "Help," came the fearful cry again from inside. Jamie leaned in, the lantern held high, its light thrown over the ruined mess of five bodies—their parts flung across the mattresses, the faces mostly chewed away. The gorge rose in his throat. The lantern nearly slipped from his hand when something in the mess moved, something covered in red on its front half. The back of it wore clown clothes identical to Goshy's, for this was one of his small replicas. Maybe it was the same one Jamie had rescued from the freak show tent just a couple of nights before . . . now it was the size of a large toddler. Its mouth opened again to say, "Help, help," in a voice mimicking helpless fright through jagged yellow teeth. Its eyes glowed white.
Jamie turned, ran. He heard it coming after him with steps unsteady but fast. Something tripped him—the thing had gotten under his feet. He rolled to a painful stop and lay still in one long, drawn-out second. The creature stood over him and breathed death over his face. Slime dripped from teeth that sprouted out in cruel shards. Jamie swung a fist up, landed on its jaw. It felt like concrete. Its teeth snapped at his wrist.
"Not to my best pal you don't," JJ yelled. There was a meaty crunch Jamie would not soon forget; JJ's shovel had swooped down and split the thing's head like a melon. From the wound spilled not blood or brain, but just a thick greenish sludge. It gave one final "Help, help," before it fell back into the grass.
Jamie panted up at his "best pal." Right then it was not a point to argue; JJ had probably just saved his life. And like nothing had happened at all, JJ said, "I got the dust all bagged, just like the boss asked. Let's head back. Proudest moment in clown history, Gonko called it. Guess I'm kind of indifferent, but you gotta suck up to the boss."
"Thanks," Jamie whispered, his heart refusing to slow down. He followed his dark reflection through the gates, back to the circus.
***
18. BELOW
Jamie wanted badly to get back to the loose fence post and check on Dean, but like JJ had said, it seemed important to watch the unfolding excitement by George's trailer. By now a sizeable crowd had come to witness and jostle for a better view—all but Mugabo and the Matter Manipulator seemed to be there. Gonko stood just outside the trailer door with a look of orgasmic serenity as he called the occasional word of encouragement in to George, or lashed out with a boot at someone in the press of bodies who got too close.
Again JJ beat a path through the crowd, winning few hearts and minds as he trampled and kicked. He tossed the sack to Gonko, who in turn spilled the velvet bags out into the grasping hands of the carnies. "Here's the hidden stash I told you about," he called. "Squabble amongst yourselves in an orderly fashion." Those lucky enough to catch their own bag or two darted off, followed by an enraged group who'd missed out. The crowd thinned.
A whiff of faint perfume, foreign and pleasant, trickled through the pushing bodies and reached Jamie moments before a hand closed on his wrist, pulled him close to a woman who'd come to stand behind him. Her lips were close to his ear. "It won't be long now," she said. The fortuneteller nodded to Gonko, who was having fun with JJ calling various "soothing" remarks in at George. They were trying to outdo each other for saccharine sweetness, and were slapping their knees with laughter.
"You will soon see what you are really fighting," said Shalice. "Even now, it climbs the tunnel below the Funhouse."
Jamie tensed. She knew; she knew everything. He looked at her, tried to read her face, but saw nothing other than weariness. "Not sure what you're talking about," he said. "And if I knew what you were talking about, maybe I wouldn't discuss it here near so many people."
She looked about, and he'd have sworn it was the first time she'd noticed the jostling crowd around them, still numbering in the dozens. She said, "Why don't we retire back a way? But not too far. You will profit from seeing what comes."
They sat on small wooden chairs behind a hot dog booth, but not before Jamie looked into every hidden nook nearby for someone who might overhear. They had a vantage point of those coming and going through a juncture of lanes to George's trailer—right now that just meant carny rats seeking dust and forming small hit squads to find it. Jamie said to Shalice after a minute or two of silence, "How do I know I can trust you?"
She laughed. "You don't. If you cannot trust me, it is already too late for you."
"You know what we're trying to do, don't you?"
"I know enough. It may ease your fears to know I am not quite who I was, when last we met. Circumstance took from me many of the pleasing lies and blind spots I had to cultivate, when I was a willing part of this . . . enterprise."
Jamie reviewed his memories of the fortuneteller and found them faint—he did not have much to do with her last time, other than JJ stealing her crystal ball, and of course her lies when he first arrived, to make it seem he was better off here. "You know what we want to do. Will we succeed?"
Her eyes never left the alley that led down to the Funhouse. "Suppose I knew you would succeed, but if I told you so, it might make you complacent or overly bold, and thus you would overlook important things, and fail. Or perhaps you succeed at incredible personal cost, so much that you'd fear to try what would otherwise work. Or suppose I knew you would fail, but that your attempt would unlock a door for others to try, at some future point. Do you see why I will not say all that I know?"
"Yes. Although frankly a little encouragement really wouldn't hurt."
"What happened with the last usurpation? The house's occupants were hurt, its furniture was ruined, and a frightful mess was made. The house still stands, and now the occupants are back. Nothing has changed. You will need to do more than last time."
Jamie said nothing. He followed her gaze as a group of terrified carny rats sprinted down the path, away from the Funhouse. "It's coming," one of them called to a friend over by George's trailer.
"Hush now," said Shalice. "If it looks this way, do not look into its eyes or it will know you."