The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel (19 page)

“Well, you can’t tell by looking at me, but I am filled with secrets, locked up tightly in my heart. Even the most scandalous secret is safe with me.” Violet twisted her hand as if locking her lips and throwing away the key. “Do you have a scandal to share?”

“You’re a natural onstage. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet drummed her fingers on the table.

“You could be my assistant. How could Mussini say no to that? Every magician needs a beautiful assistant.” Jack blushed. “I mean a
smart
and
talented
assistant. Not just pretty.” Jack felt himself sinking into a hole; he thought it better to shut his mouth before he got any deeper.

Jack chose his friends wisely—though, in truth, unless he counted Mildred, he didn’t have any friends. The professor had almost been a friend, but he betrayed Jack. And though he tried to go through life as an optimistic, glass-half-full kind of guy, deep down, he always braced for the worst. He expected Violet to say no, to roll her eyes and walk away. But that’s not what happened, not even close. She looked at him as her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t cry. They were tears of relief.

“Well, you do owe me for breaking my comb. I suppose this makes us even now,” she said, and like many before her, she crossed her name off of the application. As they left the tavern, the only thing on Jack’s mind was convincing Mussini to keep Violet.

Early the next morning, the whole gang gathered outside of Mussini’s tent. Violet wrung her handkerchief and
breathed in short gasps that made her sound like a wheezing cat.

“Calm down. You’re making me nervous,” Jack said.

It was decided that Jabber would go in first to let Mussini know that Jack wanted to talk to him about his act. T-Ray’s and Runt’s wide, glassy eyes stared at him, but Jack didn’t pay attention to their fear. What could Mussini do to him? Jabber threw the tent flap back and stood out of the way as Mussini walked out of his tent.

“What’s this about your act?” Mussini said to Jack, then he saw Violet. “What’s she doing here?”

Jack stood up straight and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “She’s with me. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Mussini clamped down on his pipe. “This ought to be good. I’m listening.”

“I’m expanding my act, and I need an assistant. Violet has agreed to fill the job. Every real magician needs an assistant.”

“What’s wrong with Jabber?” Mussini asked through his teeth.

“Everyone knows the audience likes girl assistants. Girls are trustworthy.”

Mussini glared at Jack, mulling over what the boy had said. He held up one of his beefy fingers. “One chance. That’s all I’ll give you. If your act doesn’t improve, I’ll get rid of both of you. That’s the deal.” Mussini stretched out
his hand and they shook on it, and Jack winced with pain from Mussini’s vise grip.

“I’ll take it.”

Mussini grumbled and put his fingers in his mouth, forcing out a high-pitched whistle.

“Pack it up! Move it, you lazy lizards. Tonight we roll. The tour moves on.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the air as the group hustled to pack up the tents and load the gear back into the wagon.

“That was brave,” T-Ray said. “He could have fired you, too, Jack.”

“I couldn’t let him throw her away like that.” Jack loosened the ropes and their tent fell to the ground.

“I don’t know what we would do if we lost our Violet.” Runt zipped around, folding up hammocks. “The act better be good so she stays.”

Within a few hours the scene was empty, the stage returned to a barren slab of wood, the gear packed up tight. Everyone boarded the wagon, Jabber snapped the reins, and the tour rolled on.

The next day, after they made camp, Jack paced outside of Jabber’s tent. He wanted to get violet a new hair comb after breaking hers during the pig hunt and was hoping Jabber would take him into a town with decent shops. Jack hated to ask for help, and having to ask Jabber only made it worse. Jack didn’t trust him. Jabber always seemed so smug, and Jack was sure Jabber didn’t like him. Jack stopped and cleared his throat. He heard movement from inside the tent, and Jabber threw back the flap and stared at him as if he were a mosquito.

“What?”

“Um, so you’ve been here a long time, and I haven’t, and that’s cool, so I was wondering—you know I broke violet’s comb, and I want to make it up to her, go to
town and get a new one. I thought since you know the territory, you could help me out.”

“Help
you
out? You’ve been here a week and you have already managed to break Violet’s most treasured possession and endanger Boxer’s life. And now you want me to help you out?”

Jack sighed. “Do it for Violet, then, not me.”

“Fine,” Jabber reluctantly agreed. “Let’s get going.” He flicked his sleeve back and whispered. His voice easily set the tattoo on his wrist in motion. He followed the dance of lines and directions projected on his skin and in the air. Jabber was comfortable using both magic and illusions on and off the stage. Jack wondered if there was other real magic Jabber knew.

They rode on horseback through the tangle of trees around the camp. Jack used to like forests, but the Forest of the Dead left him feeling numb, caught in the cool current and the endless rows of trees. He knew the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to escape. Deep rumblings of rushing water came from a distance and approached on the calm air—a river.

Jack and his aching backside were thankful when they finally dismounted and guided their horses along the obsidian water that seeped up into the ground around the shoreline, heavy as ink.

“This is the Black River. It’s the river the dead will take to their final resting place,” Jabber said.

The horses dipped their soft snouts into the water as the boys rested for a few minutes. Jack wrinkled up his nose and scooped his hand into the Black River. When he pulled his cupped hand up, the water in his palm was crystal clear, not black like he expected the tar-stained river to be. He let the water drain from between his fingers.

“It’s not the water that makes it dark, it’s what’s at the bottom, deep under the surface,” Jabber said, as if reading Jack’s mind.

Jack examined the tattoo on his wrist and tried to command it to life with his will, but nothing happened. He squinted at his wrist so hard a vein in his forehead pulsed.

Jabber snorted. “You’re trying too hard. Magic is subtle. You can’t force it.”

“Why would you help me figure it out?”

“Maybe I don’t want you to stay. Have you ever thought of that?” Jabber picked up a rock and skipped it across the black surface of the river. “That compass is powerful, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg as far as the kind of magic Mussini knows. It’s no big deal.”

Jack thought it was a big deal, but obviously Jabber had set his sights higher. Jack tried to relax. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. But still nothing happened. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Try visualizing what you want to happen. See the compass coming to life. Breathe life into the magical
device with your will. You are as much a part of it working as the compass is. Don’t get so stressed out when you fail.”

“OK. I’ll try again.” Jack pictured the compass in his mind’s eye and saw it working, directing him through the forest. He saw the arrows jump to life and spin around on his arm. His wrist tingled. The compass’s arrow wobbled, and the inky black river undulated lazily across his arm. He might not be as fast as Jabber, but he smiled in spite of himself. At least now the device seemed to work, and that was progress.

Jabber laughed. “Finally. I thought you would never figure it out.”

Jack didn’t want to argue. He slumped to the ground next to the river. The slow, dark pool lapped against the shoreline, leading away to an unknown end.

“What’s it like to be dead?” Jack asked, the image of Skimmer flashing in his head. It was like staring at the ghost of his future. Every second he stayed in the underworld, Jack felt himself slipping closer to the same desperate role—a lost kid, skimming the crowds for gold and glory.

“Some days it’s terrible. The scenery is always the same,” Jabber said. “Nothing ever changes on the outside. It’s in here.” He tapped his temple. “I can move on if I want to, but the truth is, I haven’t accepted my past, and my future scares me.”

“If Mussini doesn’t own you anymore, then why are you still here?”

“One day the show will be mine. So don’t get any ideas about trying to muscle in on my spot.” Jabber turned away. “Plus, I have a debt to pay, a very big debt.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to take your spot in the show.” This explained why Jabber disliked him. “So what do you owe a debt for? Did you do something bad, like steal something?”

“Have you ever had to wait for something?”

“I wait for homes all the time. I stay at a group home sometimes with a lot of other kids until I get sent to another home.”

“Well, being in the forest is a holding place, a place of reflection, where a person must face aspects of their life that they are unwilling to see. For some reason the dead here can’t move on yet. We have things to think about, or lessons still to learn, or a debt to pay. That’s why so many of the dead are untrustworthy or frightening. The kinder souls are able to move on more quickly. Plus, they have a paradise to look forward to, but some of us are on the fence—we’re not sure where the river will take us—and we prefer the forest.”

“But Violet is kind, and she stays. She feels guilty about her family. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“A person has to face what they have done or left undone in their previous life. Taking care of us helps her.”

“So, the dead get to live here in the forest as long as they want?”

“As long as we work and are part of the society, then we are allowed to stay and we don’t have to face the river. Plus, Mussini makes it worth staying. He’s the father I never had. And the show makes us all feel alive. It’s the most important thing I’ve got, and I
won’t
lose it.”

“I get it.”

“Just remember, no debt goes unpaid.”

“Mildred calls that facing the consequences.” Jack wondered what Jabber had done that was so bad. The more Jabber resisted telling him, the more he had a feeling it was something terrible.

“Your ninja angel is very wise. Come on. We don’t want to linger here too long.” Jabber flipped up his collar and pulled his horse along. “It’s not too much farther.”

Up ahead, at a bend in the river, Jack saw a hodgepodge of old wooden buildings propped on high pilings. All the houses were connected to one another, either by wall or bridge. Some just leaned their old, tired walls against the building standing next door, and like gracious neighbors, the buildings held each other up. Smoke trailed out of rickety chimneys. Laughter and music floated down the river. Jack stopped and listened to the happy sounds.

“What is it?” Jack asked, walking up alongside Jabber.

“The River People.”

“River People? I thought the dead didn’t like water.”

“Normally they don’t, but when the dead realize that their time in the forest is ending, they are instinctively drawn here to the river. When the final boat comes for them, they take it gladly.”

Jabber motioned to the water’s edge. Rows of boats crowded the shoreline, resting against the docks like men sleeping on their backs, one against the other in their wooden beds. Jack followed Jabber up onto an old wooden pier. A maze of docks wove in between the rickety buildings like a dilapidated Venice with inky, reed-choked canals. The buildings balanced above the watery depths, and it was impossible to tell which came first, the city or the river.

Jabber quickly snaked between the buildings along the dock, and Jack tried to keep up while marveling at his surroundings. Laundry dangled from lines that hung from window to window. A boy walked along a wooden board that stretched across a thin arm of the river. He balanced fearlessly as if he were completely unaware of the dark water beneath him. Jabber stopped and adjusted his hat.

“This way,” he said. Jack admired the way Jabber expertly navigated the tangle of docks. He couldn’t tell which way he was going. To Jack, all the docks looked alike. They stopped at a food stand that was serving up sizzling-hot battered fish right out of the oil. Jabber placed his order and then turned to Jack.

“You want to follow this dock here around the bend and take a right. Then keep going until it smells like bread. Take a left, then keep going until you almost think you are lost and you see a sausage shop. Take a right. If you see an exceptionally round man with a tiny dog on his shoulder, stop, turn around, and run the other way. Whatever you do, don’t engage him in conversation. Then follow the dock until you hear a horrible banging like a hammer to the forge. The shop will be right in front of you.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Jack rolled his eyes. If he couldn’t find the place, at least he might end up getting a sausage sandwich.

Jabber took a grease-stained paper from the vendor. Jack eyed the crispy fish longingly.