4
The Carnival Town Compromise

 

Curleyworld was barely visible from the main road running past it. The grass grew waist high between the parking lot and the main entrance. Jungly trees reached through the tall chain link fences surrounding the park, barbed wire curling around at the top. From the right angle one could see a roller coaster’s crest or the cables that once carried sky ride cars from one side to the other.

A long train track ran along the outside of the gate. The train station was boarded shut. Grotesque symbols made from circles mixed with stars and impolite words written in spray paint decorated the weathered wood.

The station sat under a large wooden coaster called the Calliope Crusher, the tallest ”woodie” in the state. A banner hung over the station; the faded yellow lettering read CURLEYWORLD — THE PLACE WHERE DREAMS CAME TRUE — THANK YOU FOR 40 HAPPY YEARS. — ZEPH CURLEY, FOUNDER. A picture of an elderly, bearded man was painted on one side.

A loud smack. The whole structure shook, sending a half a dozen loose turnstiles propped up against the wall falling back, chipping the bricks as they landed.

Another smack and the middle board fell forward. Hot John, Osbert, and Blaze stepped through the opening.

“What did you say this area was called again?” Osbert asked.

Blaze flipped back a few pages in a red notebook then showed the page to Osbert.

“Carnival Town, hmm?” Osbert said. “No, this will never do. Not nearly enough atmosphere. No matter. We’ll find the right spot. For now, though, we should secure our basic comforts. Food, shelter, and showers to start.”

“You think they got anything left in there?” Hot John asked, pointing to a one-man hut covered with a striped orange and white curtain. The curtain hung loose in several places, exposing the faded particle board underneath.

“Of course not, you dolt,” Osbert said. “Even if they did it’s been sitting fallow for an indeterminate amount of time. Anything left in there would be decayed beyond the limits of healthy consumption.”

The door around the hut’s side burst open. A bent old man in overalls waved an old mop wildly above his head as he ran at them.

“You boys best get outta here a’for I call the police,” he said, swinging the mop at Osbert’s head. Hot John grabbed the stringy mop head and yanked, causing the old man to stumble to him. He scooped him up by his straps, holding him a few feet above the ground.

“Let me down, ya big baboon,” the old man shrieked.

Blaze tapped Osbert on the shoulder then pointed to the portrait on the banner. Osbert’s face went from frightened to friendly in an instant. “On the contrary, Jonathan. Put our esteemed host down this instant.”

“Host? I thought we was gonna run this joint now,” Hot John said, dropping the old man, who landed with a thump on the sidewalk.

“Gentle, gentle. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Anything that happens from here on out needs to go through this man,” Osbert said.

“Aw, he don’t look like nothing special,” Hot John said.

“Name’s Zeph,” the man said. “I own this here park. I don’t know why you boys are poking around but I’d suggest you get outta here now or else I’m gonna let out a bit of hell on your boy here I’ll tell you what.”

“Heh. Watcha gonna do… mop me to death?” Hot John said.

Osbert nudged Hot John aside then put out his hand and flashed a polite smile. “Osbert Collingwood, M.B.A. and former cohort of Andrus, leader of the Guild of Thieves. May he come round again.”

“Andrews? Never heard of ‘im. I can’t make out what you’re saying, boy. You got an affectation or some such?” Zeph said.

Osbert chuckled, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as to not offend. “Oh, Zeph, what a rich sense of humor. Positively vacuous. We’ll have a fine time working together.”

“You ain’t gonna find no work round here. Place been shut down nigh upon two years. Hard to keep a place like this going without more help than you boys can offer.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Osbert said, “but how much help can we offer? We’re only three men. Fact. But we have friends who’ll work for little more than room and board. You’re a man of business, Zeph. Can’t we come to an arrangement? It must hurt to see your life’s work sitting fallow.”

Zeph scratched his beard. “We do got some bunks down the way. Ain’t the most comfy that you’ll ever sleep on but it’ll do. How many guys you reckon you can get?”

Osbert stared into the sky, muttering equations and probabilities under his breath. “I’d say at least forty or so to start, with more to come in time.”

“Well, if you got forty men, I think that’ll do just fine. Why ain’t you introduced me to your crew yet? Didn’t your mama teach you no manners?”

“I’ll ask you not speak ill of my mother, Zeph. Any deficiencies in my character are mine to bear and not that dear lady’s fault. As for my crew: You’ve met Jonathan. Don’t be frightened by that mallet on his arm. It’s a special prosthetic I designed to cover his stump while providing a tactical advantage in the field. Next is—”

“I know the twerp,” Zeph said. “They caught ‘im stealing from the customers. Ain’t that right, partner?”

Blaze nodded.

“Sir, I ain’t too sure about none of this, but you do make an attractive offer,” Zeph said. “If’n my former employee says sorry for what he done, I reckon you fellas can stay awhile. Least long enough to help fix things up round here.”

Osbert patted Zeph on the back. The slap ran down through his brittle old bones. “Well, you heard him. Apologize, Blaze.”

Blaze scribbled a quick note, tore out the page then handed it to Zeph.

“Why you gotta write it down, boy?” Zeph said. “Tell me man-to-man like.”

“Unfortunately, our western-themed friend lost the ability to speak when they cut out his tongue. It was a harsh lesson, but we’re past all that now. Aren’t we, Blaze?”

Blaze held his hat to his heart, closed his eyes, and nodded soberly.

“Well, he’s still got arms, ain’t he?” Zeph said, leading the men into down a dirt path. “Heck, if he can yell good enough he can have a go back to the Wild West show in Old California. As for the rest of you, do what you want. So long as you don’t harm the rides none we’ll get along fine.”

“Excellent,” Osbert said, snatching Blaze’s notebook as they followed Zeph. “Jonathan, we’ll send you into the city to bring back any Guild members you can find. Here, you’ll need this.”

Osbert pulled a black box from his satchel. The front was a plate made from unpolished metal. It had a red human outline painted on its surface with multicolored concentric circles extending from the chest. A meter ran along the top. It flashed red when he pressed the ON switch. Two lights along the bottom read LEFT and RIGHT.

“You have to hold it upright,” Osbert said, demonstrating for his duller friend. “If you’re near somebody with a perfect humor balance like Andrus or Dogboy, this light above will turn green. The directional indicators will tell you which way to go. Easy enough?”

Hot John looked at the box like a rodent might look at a running car engine: fascinated by the complexity but far too terrified to approach it.

“Maybe you’d better go with him,” Osbert said, handing the device to Blaze.

They came to a cabin tucked away behind a circular building. THE PSYCHLOTRON was spelled out in neon letters along the platform on the top floor.

“Here ya’ go, boys,” Zeph said, pulling a big key ring from his pocket. He jangled through them until he found the one he was looking for then undid the padlock on the torn screen door. “She’s a might dirty. Don’t worry none about the coons. The big fella should scare ‘em off right quick.”

“I wonder, sir, if you might have any vehicles my associates can use to round up our men,” Osbert said.

Zeph scratched his beard for a moment. “Sold most of ‘em to pay off old accounts, but we still got a motorized carriage or two over in the shop you could get running with a little spit and spackle.”

“Excellent,” Osbert said. “I’m sure Blaze can lead the way. Thank you again for your hospitality, Mr. Curley.”

“It ain’t charity, mind. You fellas best live up to your part of the bargain. You think I’m ugly now? You ain’t seen nothing like when I get a temper.”

Osbert nodded, shook the old man’s hand, then hustled his men into the cabin. He watched Zeph at the window, waiting for him to disappear up the path. “How well did you know this man, Blaze?” he asked.

Blaze shrugged his shoulders then took off his hat and starting beating the dust off the mattress on one of the beds lining the room.

“He strikes me as… dubious. I’m not sure why, but I think we’d do well to keep him at a distance. At least for now.”

“He scared me pretty good, Osbert,” Hot John said.

“Then I’m positive we shouldn’t trust him,” Osbert said. “Did you know birds can sense earthquakes hours before our most advanced scientific instruments? Some men think creatures who use a smaller percentage of their brain’s capacity might have extrasensory alarm systems higher beings don’t possess.”

“I got a question,” Hot John said. “Do ya’ think it’s the birds making the earthquakes or that Curley guy?”

“I’m glad you heard so many individual words, but as usual you’ve completely missed the underlying message,” Osbert said, wiping his glasses off on his sweater vest. “Go clean yourself, Jonathan. You shouldn’t go into the city looking like some homeless vagrant, especially if that’s what you are.”

 

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