"You think not?"
"I think not."
Thaddeus shook his head. "I give a rubdown to the rainbow man and try to keep Dapper Dan alive, and all of a sudden you seem to think you're dealing with some kind of a pushover. Maybe I've been taking it a little too easy on you."
"What purpose would be served by abusing us?" asked Mr. Ahasuerus.
"Maybe it would make me feel better," said Thaddeus.
Mr. Ahasuerus was about to reply when Big Alvin walked up to the table.
"Yeah?" said Thaddeus.
"Four-Eyes is out of iron pills," said the big guy.
"You're just noticing that now?" said Thaddeus. "It's a damned good thing he's not depending on you to keep track of that stuff."
"Then you've got some more?"
"I sent Monk out for them when I closed the show," said Thaddeus. Alvin went back to his post, and Thaddeus turned to me with an amused smile on his face. "When I heard the roads were closed I figured that Four-Eyes was in for a bad night. Then I remembered all of Monk's stories about how he used to go hunting in the Klondike, so I went over to his bus and offered him fifty bucks to walk into town and pick up the pills. He finally agreed to go when I got up to eighty dollars, and just when I was sure that I was sending the poor son of a bitch out to freeze, he locked the money in that little metal coinbox he keeps in the bear cage, walked to his closet, and pulled out a pair of snowshoes and a fur coat that must have been made of forty sealskins. He's so goddamn warm that when he gets back I think the first thing he's going to ask for is a cold beer."
"When is he due?" I asked.
"Another hour or two. It depends on the snow." His gaze fell on the Cyclops. "Look at him!" he said disgustedly. "Healthy as a horse."
"Should I check on Dapper Dan and Rainbow again?" I asked.
"No. Swede's with 'em. They'll be okay." He looked out at the blizzard. "I'll tell you what you can do, though. Take turns with Alvin making the rounds every hour or so to make sure there aren't any locals freezing to death out there. If you find any, take 'em over to the Hothouse until they can figure out how to get home—and if they've got any money, send the Rigger by to pay them a friendly little visit." He looked up and saw Scratch approaching us hesitantly. "Well, well, what have we here?"
"Mr. Flint," said the Horned Demon.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
"The Man of Many Colors is an especially close friend of mine. I wonder if you could tell me how his condition is progressing."
"Pretty much the same," said Thaddeus. "Maybe a little better. It's hard to tell."
Scratch shifted his weight uneasily. "I would like your permission to visit him."
"Out of the question," said Thaddeus. "None of you leaves the tent."
"I know that you are shorthanded because of us," persisted Scratch. "Since we will not be on display tonight, I would be happy to take the place of whoever is tending to him and to the Missing Link."
"I'm sure you would," said Thaddeus. "I'm sure you would be equally happy to hit the Midway running and never look back."
"How far could I get in this weather?" said Scratch with a smile. "Where would I go?"
"A rule is a rule," said Thaddeus. "Forget it."
"It would mean a lot to him," continued Scratch.
"You don't listen too good, do you?" said Thaddeus irritably.
"Neither do you," said Scratch, obviously nervous but obstinately holding his ground. "I told you that I will not try to escape. I simply want to bring comfort to my friend."
"Swede has been over there an awfully long time, Thaddeus," I said.
"You, too?" he said, turning to me.
"What harm could it do, Thaddeus?" I said. "Nobody's going to run away on a day like this."
"Shut up, both of you!" he yelled.
I jumped back, because that tone of voice usually preceded a blow, but he just sat motionless at the table, staring at his coffee cup, while Scratch walked unhappily back to his cot.
Finally, after almost half an hour had passed, Thaddeus got up, looked out the door at the snow, and walked back to me.
"All right, you fucking dwarf," he said with a sigh. "We'll do it your way. Hunt up a coat for Scratch and take him over to the trailer, and tell Swede to come over here to grab some dinner. And when you're done with that, tell the Dancer to bunk with Diggs or Monk tonight. I want his trailer."
"What for?"
"Because I'm getting goddamned sick and tired of sharing mine with a couple of aliens," he said.
I took the Horned Demon to our trailer, spent about five minutes convincing Swede that Thaddeus had really agreed to it, and then went off to find the Dancer. I finally found him sitting in the makeshift grandstand of the specialty tent, staring blindly into the past. I don't think he even knew it was snowing.
He agreed to move in with Monk for the night, and I went back to the dormitory tent to tell Thaddeus that the arrangements had been made.
While I was gone he had finished his entire flask of whiskey, and he was a little unsteady on his feet when he stood up. I helped him to the door, and then led the way to the Dancer's trailer.
It was freezing when we entered it—the Dancer had forgotten to turn the heat on—and I spent the next couple of minutes making it livable, while Thaddeus rooted through the kitchen cabinets until he came up with a bottle of Scotch, a present from some infatuated teenaged fan of the Dancer's.
The trailer looked more than neat and well-kept: it looked unused. The bed was wrinkled, but I doubted that the Dancer had crawled under the covers since he'd owned it. There were no crumbs in the kitchen or on the breakfast table, but again I felt that was due to his lifestyle—if that is the word for it—rather than any fetish for cleaning up after himself. There were photographs and tintypes of an the famous outlaws and lawmen of the Old West hanging on the walls, and I had a feeling that all of Billybuck's time in the trailer was spent sitting in his big leather chair staring at them, or dozing on top of his covers. Walking through the trailer produced an eerie feeling—but then, all carny people are strange. The Dancer was just a little stranger than most.
Thaddeus had finished almost half the bottle by the time I returned to him, and I cautioned him to slow down a little.
"Why?" he said. "The sooner I get good and drunk, the sooner I'll forget about those goddamned freaks."
"They're aliens, Thaddeus."
"Aliens, freaks, what the hell's the difference?" He stared moodily at a photograph of the O.K. Corral. "I'm losing control," he muttered at last.
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Haven't you got eyes? Don't you see what's going on?" He looked over at me with an odd expression on his face. I wrote it off to the liquor.
"You're not making any sense, Thaddeus."
"Goddammit, Tojo! Ahasuerus acts more like my father than my prisoner. And that blasted Horned Demon knows that no one can leave the tent, and even so he thought he could get away with it."
"He did get away with it," I pointed out.
"That's what I mean! Why should I give a flying fuck about whether the rainbow man is happy or not?" He pounded a fist down on the arm of his chair. "Look at me! I'm sitting here staring at pictures of Wyatt Earp and Jesse James. And why? Because my own trailer has been turned into a nursing home for sick aliens!"