in which needs must when the devil drives
Behind the carnival, the freaks gathered. Cabal had returned to the train for a chance to apply a hasty dressing to his wound and a quick change of clothes. He lifted the lid of the blanket box with the toe of his shoe, but Horst wasn’t at home. Typical, never around when he was needed. He dropped the lid with a bang and returned his attention to getting his thin black cravat just so. By the time he’d finished, they were waiting for him outside.
Cabal stood on the topmost step and addressed the search parties. “Good evening. We have two serious problems. Firstly, the carnival will cease to exist in a little over an hour’s time, and we are
“Yo?” The thin man waved from the back of the group.
“Has Barrow managed to get out of the grounds?”
“No way, sah. We had a couple of peeks of him, but, soon as he sees us comin’, he’s out of there like a bat out of Hell.” He frowned. “Never did understand that expression. They don’t have bats in Hell.”
“Mr. Bones,” said Cabal, “a little focus, please?”
Bones focussed. “I got Joey on the main gate. Barrow ain’t going anywhere.”
“Good. Have you organised search teams?”
“Sure have, two of ’em. Dolby, Holby, and Colby from the Ferris wheel, because they know what he looks like — ”
“Hold on. Who’s running the wheel in that case?”
“Oh, a couple of Maleficarus’ old crew are handlin’ that.”
Cabal paused. He didn’t like leaving any of the former inmates of Brichester Asylum to their own convoluted devices unless absolutely necessary.
At the Ferris wheel, the two men watched it spin endlessly.
“You see?” said one. “It never ends. Wheels within wheels. Infinite angles.”
“Yes! Yes! Ouroboros incarnate! Swallowing his own tail!”
“Swallowtail?” said the first. “Where? Where?”
“Excuse me,” called a woman from the wheel. “Could you possibly let us off now? We’ve been going around for about half an hour and it’s getting a bit boring.”
The lunatics ignored her. “The circle is complete!”
“Card ten, the wheel of fortune!”
“Ten! Very, very significant!”
“Yes! No! Isn’t that twenty-three?”
Cabal shrugged inwardly. They’d be all right. “And the other team?”
“Some of the Things from the Ghost Train — we got Dennis and Denzil fillin’ in while they gone,” Bones added quickly, anticipating Cabal’s question.
“What we have here,” said the skeleton driver of the hastily retitled Parapsychological Perplex Experience, “is some sort of demarcation problem. Now, I wouldn’t dream of turning up on the footplate of
He pointed into the shadowed entrance of the ride. Dennis and Denzil, firmly wedged into the tiny train at the head of the ride, followed the gesture, their necks creaking like new shoes. They turned back to the Ghost Train’s driver and shook their heads,
“All right,” said the driver, “you don’t want to do this in a civilised way, we’ll do it yours.” Denzil and Dennis looked at each other and nodded triumphantly.
“Konga?” called the driver at the top of the structure. The enormous gorilla automaton who sat on top of the ride and threatened passers-by with a papier-mache boulder — at least, the passers-by
Those are th’ two parties, but we also got all these kine people an’ stuff who can jus’ stroll round the place, nonchalant like.”
Cabal looked at them and sighed. Most of them couldn’t stroll if they had a handbook on the subject, never mind doing it nonchalantly. He also noticed that his gaze kept sliding over one part of the group. With a deliberate effort he concentrated on the spot and finally noticed a small man who was so nondescript that even “nondescript” was slightly too exciting an adjective to describe him. “Who are you?” he asked. Everybody around the man tapped their chests in surprise, and it took a few moments of “No, not you, beside you, on the other side, no,
“Oh,” said the man in a soft, unaccented voice, “you mean me.”
“Yes,” said Cabal, working hard to keep his line of sight locked to the man. “Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you before.”
“My name is Alfred Simpkins, sir. You were kind enough to take me in when my colleagues and I absconded from Laidstone Prison.”
“You’re one of the
“Yes, sir.”
“One of the serial killers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So …” Cabal looked at the pale little man with his hair combed across his bald patch, his little moustache, his little glasses, his cardigan and cheap suit with the patched elbows. “What’s your interest in this?”
“You’re looking for Detective Inspector Francis Barrow, retired, are you not? I saw him in the Hall of Murderers earlier this evening, snooping, skulking.” Some colour almost came into his cheeks. A couple of his neighbours finally spotted him and yelped with surprise.
Interesting, thought Cabal, he’s only easily visible when he shows emotion. Otherwise he’s too bland to notice. “He caught you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. With your permission, I’d like to kill him.” He said it in the same way others might say, “I’d like an extra pint and a carton of yoghurt.”
“If you find him, you report it to one of the others. I want him alive.” Cabal’s thoughts were still on the last unsigned contract. “No personal vendettas — I’ve got a business to run.”
“Very good, sir,” said Alfred Simpkins in a tone devoid of anything.
Cabal cast his eye over the rest of the group before nodding with some little satisfaction. “Very good. You know who you’re looking for. Find him. Dismissed.” As they left, he sought out Bones. “Mr. Bones, have you seen my brother recently? In the last hour or so?”
“Afraid not, boss. I see him round, you want me to tell him you asked?”
“Yes, if you would. Thank you.”
Barrow hid behind the Waltzer and considered his next move. He’d already made one terrible tactical error by not getting the heck out of the carnival while he had a chance. He’d managed to convince himself that help could be found here, however, and that had been a big mistake. He hadn’t seen a single person whom he felt he could trust to behave sensibly, or who wouldn’t simply be put in too much risk. When he belatedly realised this, he’d headed for the exit, only to find an enormous character whose head seemed to be constructed from animated stone standing
