But the circus needs performers—the show, as they say, must go on. And death in some of the world's secret shadowy parts is little more than an inconvenience.
Below the Funhouse, beside a sacrificial stone slab long unused, a tunnel twists into the showground's true depths, covered with a lid of wooden boards. It is not so very far down, in truth, despite being far from sight and mind. Its rock walls shine red and orange. Where that tunnel ends and meets the stone cavern floor, a pair of baggy clown pants sit in a crumpled neglected pile. Forlornly, half-heartedly, the pockets now and then bulge with magically conjured bits and pieces summoned in the vain hope of escape: a small parachute puffs out to catch a gust of hot wind; a climbing pick clangs uselessly to the floor, a white flag of surrender weakly flutters. In time, all of these things dissolve back into air.
The owner of these magic pants had been ripped away from them very soon after he was carried to this hidden place by the former circus proprietor: Kurt Pilo. Of that, Gonko has no memory. He only remembers a locked trailer, shaking to tip them out and George's shrill barking voice.
Both Kurt and Gonko have wandered the tunnels since, through labyrinths and catacombs of stone which now and then give like sponge and bend inward underfoot, as would the skin of something living. For nothing here is as solid or physical as it appears. Hanging clumps of rock burst into the motion of a million crawling insects eager to bite, only to seem stone again soon after. Kurt and Gonko avoid when they can the grasping hands and meat-reeking hot breaths of their tormentors, whose forms change but whose tastes do not.
Gonko hides now as he usually hides, naked in a dark small corner beneath a folded lip of stone, out of sight of giggling growling fiends who often prowl by, looking for sport. Kurt has found no good hiding spot yet. Each day Kurt's screams carry back to him, as do the whispers which seem to come from the stone itself. They speak of many things, the breathing stones, of many circus secrets. Gonko has learned much. Now and then he visits Jamie's dreams. Jamie's dreams and other people's dreams, where with pleasure he kicks around the furniture of their subconscious and makes as much mess as he can. Mostly he dreams himself, of escape. He has tried to climb out many times but it is not allowed and each time they catch him and make him hurt so very badly.
George Pilo is an angry man, has always been, and that is no secret. But a word has not yet been invented to describe the extent of poisonous murderous hatred that seethes through Gonko's veins like lava when he remembers George trapping him and the other clowns in the doomed caravan, that night. Gonko has dim and jumbled images of it all—falling from the caravan is the last thing he knows, so George is (as far as Gonko can tell) the one to thank for his being here, trapped below. He sucks his teeth and soothes his burns and hurts with a promise to himself: there shall be revenge.
"Gonko. Oh, Gonko?" a familiar voice, deep and cheerful, calls from somewhere in the depths. The stones whisper the same words back, mindlessly mocking. Snapping mouths form in their not-physical clay.
Gonko bunches up in his hiding place. Scuttle thump scrape come limp footsteps through the tunnel just to his right. "Gonko! Gonko, come, we must speak. Of many interesting things."
Kurt. Same old jovial cheer no matter what has happened to him just an hour before. Just like it had sounded in his trailer, the desk piled high with bibles and crucifixes. Gonko peeks out and sees him, a thin hunched blackened thing of bones, plates, and claws, taller than a man but all bent and hunched over. A human face is stuck on the head at an angle, Kurt's old face with its fat lips over teeth too big, round red cheeks, serenely smiling eyes. Gonko ignores his calls up until Kurt says, ". . . must speak, Gonko. I have exciting news for you. You have tasks, up above."
Wary, Gonko sits up. He whispers out into the corridor, knowing the stone will bend and play with the sound so it seems to come from all around Kurt. "I'm listening, boss."
"Oh, ho ho," Kurt laughs sadly. His scuttle thump scrape edges back along, back toward Gonko until the huge bent-over insect-like mess of bone and face stands just outside Gonko's hiding spot. Nonetheless Kurt does not look in at him, pretending—so it seems to Gonko—to be gazing around in search of him. "You must not call me ‘boss,' Gonko. For now, I'm just an employee. Like you. Although you are clown boss, aren't you Gonko?"
"Guess I would be, if I had any clowns."
"Hmm. Yes. Well that's one thing we ought to talk about. I've had a word with . . . upper management."
"I heard the screaming, boss. Kurt."
"Oh ho. They like a vigorous chat. And they like to emphasize their points, with many unique methods of . . ." Kurt's face contorts, retches; the black glistening rib-like cages of bone all up his spine rattle and shake for a minute or two. "But one must now and then deal harshly with underlings who do not perform. Or who . . . how to put it . . . destroy the enterprise altogether."
Wasn't me who wrecked it, Gonko thinks, suppressing a burst of rage, but I'm down here with you, Kurt, you big dumb shit puke. Aloud: "Wasn't your fault, Kurt. Or mine. We got sabotaged."
"Hm, well the buck must stop somewhere. With you and me, it seems! Our superiors have many valid reasons for their . . . disappointment. Before all the unpleasantness, why, did you know that they were getting ready to expand? Oh my, yes, many surface operations they had in mind, and the time, the conditions, were nearly ripe! But now . . ." Kurt sighs sadly. "There's much to do up there, Gonko, to make things ripe again."
The first faint stirrings of hope mingle with Gonko's rage and fear. "Is that so?"
"Mm, indeed. More interesting to me, Gonko, was that our superiors have superiors of their own! My goodness, the chain of command just stretches up out of sight, doesn't it?" Kurt's head twists around, eyes darting. "Or down. Have you been to the farthest depths of these passages and chambers, hm? Just hiding here near the entrance, are we, with no spirit of adventure? Then, why, you'd not have seen the great back slab of metal, thick and high. I saw it, Gonko. It has hinges and a handle, and goodness me, it reminds me of a door. For so it precisely is. Only . . ." Kurt drops to a whisper, "they can't come through yet. Oh no, not yet. It takes a very long time before a world is ready, for them. Rather like, I dare say, waiting for one's bath water to reach an ideal temperature. Those down here? They want very much to go . . . up. This circus, Gonko, is but a foothold in the world for them, just a vestibule. They've been here a rather long time. So a little longer to wait, why, it's displeasing to them, but not . . ." Kurt's eyes gleamed. "Not the end of the world."
"I'm with you, boss," says Gonko. "Say. You hear anything about maybe getting me the fuck out of here?"
Kurt's smile pushes up blush-red cheeks. "As it happens, yes! I have indeed. You're to go up at once and do a few things. To help the show back to its feet. They are nervous, our superiors. The world above has heard of us. Knows a little too much rumour and gossip. There is a list of names waiting above. You are to tie loose ends, at your discretion. And you are to gather your clowns again for the eventual purpose of capering, delighting persons, and amusement causing. All persons deserve entertainment, don't you think, Gonko?"
"You know, boss, I happen to agree with that."
"Hm."
"Only thing is, the crew's dead. You might recall biting out their organs."