The Midnight Carnival (4 page)

Some nervous chuckling rippled through the audience as people began to notice, but the girl seemed unaffected. She tipped backwards and climbed the rope feet first, like Spiderman, then wrapped one leg and spun around with alarming speed. Grace and the others joined in the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as the bearded ballerina curled herself into impossible positions, arching her back to press the soles of her feet against the back of her head, stretching into the splits with only one leg entwined by the rope.

Grace hadn’t seen the tightrope positioned two-thirds of the way to the ceiling until Justine somersaulted onto it. The girl then performed a beautiful tightrope ballet – pirouettes and turns, elegant arches with one foot raised in the air – all the while balanced on the thin cord suspended many metres above the tent floor. It was stunning and terrifying at the same time, and it wasn’t until the girl snatched the rope and slid to the ground for a bow, that Grace realised she had been holding her breath.

‘That was amazing,’ Rachel breathed.

‘Yeah, holy cow,’ said Jenny. ‘She could have fallen and broken her neck. That was awesome.’

‘Why does she have a beard?’ asked Adie.

‘Don’t know,’ replied Grace. ‘Maybe it’s genetic.’

‘Maybe it’s fake,’ said Jenny.

‘It looks pretty real to me.’

A number of acts followed, including a strongwoman with rippling muscles, who threw an anvil like it was made of cardboard; a mystical sorcerer whose light display was like fireworks inside the tent; and two brothers, conjoined twins, who sang such a haunting melody that Grace swore her heart was breaking. But as the end of the show drew near, the lighting dimmed and the ringmaster re-appeared.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said solemnly, ‘they make you laugh, but may also make you cry… the Melancholy Clowns!’

Grace disliked them instantly. They were unlike any troupe of clowns she’d ever seen, creeping into the ring like furtive creatures, and tumbling silently towards the audience. Their tattered silk suits, even when brand-new, would not have been jolly. They were mostly grim shades of grey, purple and brown, with some muted red and yellow stripes. Their make-up was so heavy that their eyes disappeared into their faces, and their large fake grins stood out horribly.

The Melancholy Clowns cartwheeled and somersaulted, crashing into each other in the way clowns usually do, but there was nothing fun about this performance. They didn’t laugh uproariously and point at each other, and when they fell it was like slow motion; they drifted mournfully to the ground. They rolled and jumped, but their slippered feet were completely quiet. There was no music either, and Grace
couldn’t fathom how there wasn’t a single sound from the six performers. There was an air of discomfort, and the audience seemed reluctant to break the silence.

In the final sequence, three clowns tiptoed around the front row, each holding a finger to their lips, as two of their companions wheeled a huge canon from behind the back curtain. Grace shuddered as one silent performer crept past her. Up close his white make-up was dry and cracked, his eyes too deep, and his grin unfriendly. The canon was aimed at the final unsuspecting clown who stood distracted, breathing in the scent of a wilting lily in his hand. The fuse was lit and the fizzing, hissing sound was all that could be heard, until–

BANG!

The awful crack of the canon made the spectators shriek with fright. As the smoke cleared, a clown lay lifeless on the ground, his crushed lily beside him. The painted face nearest to Grace turned slowly and smiled.

3

Rotten Feet

‘Creepy, creepy, creepy,’ Una huffed. ‘I did not care for those creepy clowns.’

‘Me neither,’ said Grace, ‘but the rest of it was amazing.’

‘Seriously amazing,’ said Rachel. ‘Did you get a weird feeling when those twins were singing? The song was… I don’t know, but I felt the saddest I’ve ever felt. Smudged my freaking eyeliner.’

‘Yeah, I did get that. The sadness, not the eyeliner.’

Rachel nudged her as the girls ambled through the maze of tents and trailers. They weren’t really heading for the exit, more wandering in a circle, but no-one pointed it out. There was something so wonderfully strange and eerie about the place, they didn’t want to leave. At least, five of them didn’t. Adie’s feet dragged in the muddying grass.

‘I’m going to head home.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Grace.

‘Yeah, I’ve to – I told my mum I wouldn’t be late.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ Delilah allowed B-brr to perch on her shoulder now there was nobody about. ‘I need to feed him anyway.’

‘He ate dirty great big mouthfuls of my candy floss,’ Jenny snarled.

‘Proper food. When he just eats sugar he gets terrible wind.’

‘That is delightful. Thank you for sharing.’

B-brr let out a little squeal and stuck out his tongue – Grace could never be sure how much of their conversation he understood – then willingly stepped onto Adie’s outstretched hand. She smiled.

‘See you all later.’

‘Okey-doke,’ said Grace. ‘See you tomorrow. And thanks for the tickets.’

‘Yeah, cheers,’ Jenny called after them as Adie and Delilah jogged away. ‘And hey, you guys, three days of freedom left. Make the most of ’em!’

Grace watched her two friends disappear into the nighttime.

‘Do you think it’ll be different?’

‘What?’ said Jenny.

‘Third year. Do you think we’ll be different?’

‘You won’t. Exam year; exams are your thing. You’ll be more
you
than ever! It’ll be exhausting for the rest of us.’

‘Funny.’

‘Oi! Get over here.’ Una was ahead of them, peering through a gap in one of the tents, a plain one, not draped in lights.

‘Una, don’t. I think people live in some of these.’

Una just frowned and waved at them to hurry. A kerosene lamp dimly lit the crack in the tarpaulin – the tent was indeed somebody’s home, but Grace found herself peering in with the rest of them.

The bearded ballerina, Justine, sat on a long upholstered stool, with one leg outstretched. She held a slim length of wood in one hand, and her pointed toe was pressed onto the curved end by a strip of material. When she stretched out the leg, the wooden implement forced her foot to arch unnaturally high, so much so that the top of her foot rounded like a ball. It looked very painful.

‘You can come in, you know,’ the girl’s voice startled them all, ‘if you wanna take a closer look.’

She dropped the leg to look up at them and smile. Grace had been so distracted by the foot, she’d forgotten about the girl’s soft, curly beard. Up close the curls were so neat and shiny, it felt strange to think it, but it kind of suited her.

‘I’m really sorry, we didn’t mean to –’ Grace had never been caught spying into someone’s home before, and didn’t
think there was any way to apologise. ‘We’re so sorry for bothering you.’

‘I don’t mind.’ The girl’s accent was like that of the ringmaster, American with a southern stretch in the vowels. ‘You’re welcome to come in. Come on, get out of the chill air.’

It wasn’t chilly, but the girls trooped happily inside. They perched where they could, between the small dressing table and chair, a couple of stools, and the single cot bed.

‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ Jenny asked.

‘Loads, but you gotta do it. These feet won’t destroy themselves.’

‘Does it really wreck your feet?’ asked Una. ‘How come you do it then?’

‘For that ballet arch.’ Justine demonstrated by elegantly pointing one toe. ‘It looks real nice when you get that foot good and bendy. All ballerinas have to do it. Otherwise you’d be good for nothin’.’

‘I’ve heard ballet people can get arthritis from all the exercises,’ said Grace.

‘Yup. And that’s not the worst of it. Take a look at this.’

Justine whipped off her light cotton socks and the girls gasped in horror. Her toes were calloused and bright red at the joints, and there were flaking scabs everywhere. Two of her toenails were turning black.

‘Holy fudgeballs, that’s rotten!’ Una caught a look from
Grace. ‘Oh sorry, I mean it looks really sore.’

‘Painful?’ Justine said. ‘It sure is. That’s mostly from
en pointe
stuff – you know, when you walk around on top of your toes – and it hurts like hell. Gonna lose this one soon.’ She picked at one blackened nail. ‘It’s almost better when they fall off.’

‘Ewww, gross… oh, sorry again.’

Justine laughed – a lovely, ringing sound – and shook her head.

‘That’s okay. I like shocking people with ’em. Looking all graceful when they’re in shoes and then whipping them out. It always gets a reaction.’

‘That rope stuff was amazing, by the way,’ Jenny said.

‘Where’d you learn that?’

‘From my mama, before she passed away.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Grace.

‘It was a long time ago now. Got no family left but the carnival, and I’m alright with that. The bonds you make here run deeper than blood.’

The conversation felt suddenly serious and Grace wasn’t sure how to respond. The others didn’t seem to know either so, after a long pause, she said,

‘Well, we should let you get back to your… stretching thing. Thanks for the show, it was really great.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jenny. ‘It was awesome.’

‘Then please come back again.’ Justine pushed her foot back into the band of material on the wooden stretcher.
‘And you’re welcome to my tent anytime, you hear? I enjoy the company.’

The girls took their leave with smiles and thanks, stepping out into the night air.

‘Think she meant it?’ asked Una.

‘About going back?’ Grace replied. ‘She seemed to.’

‘Cool. I am going to live here until these people leave. I’m gonna live in the carnival.’

‘But sleep at home, I hope. You might look a bit weird curling up on the grass.’

‘Sleep at home, then back to the carnival. The last three days before school are going to rock.’

Grace waved to the others when she turned off towards her street. She grinned at the little nugget of excitement growing in her tummy. It had taken over the gloomy anticipation of going back to school, and she was really glad she and her friends would have something to distract them this week. It wasn’t that she disliked school – she didn’t – but Jenny had hit the nail on the head when she mentioned it was their exam year. Grace was a good student at school, as well as in witchcraft, and in the grand scheme of things the third year exams weren’t a big deal, but they made the months ahead seem very serious; not like the previous two years of mischief and magic that the girls had shared so far. She sighed deeply and pushed the thoughts away, reminding herself of the red-and-white striped tent and three days of
proper fun.

She didn’t notice the hunched figure of a teenage boy walking to her right until they almost crossed paths. She was a little startled and stepped back to let him go ahead of her. But when he lifted his head she nearly shrieked in fright. She could clearly see in the moonlight that the skin on his face was dark green with fine cracks all over it. His teeth looked yellow and his mouth too pink against the green. She was reminded of the lizard her cousin kept in a tank in his front room.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.’

He hunched his backpack higher on his shoulders. His accent was like that of Justine and the ringmaster, but softer, and his voice was low and warm. It was friendly too, but Grace’s heart was pounding with shock.

‘Are you from the carnival?’ she stammered.

It was a bit abrupt, but her fright was still wearing off.

‘Heading out from there, yeah. Is this the way out of town?’

‘There’s just a little village in that direction. Where are you going?’

‘Anywhere.’

That wasn’t much help. After thinking, Grace told him how to get to the bus station.

‘Don’t need no bus. I’ll walk it.’

‘Well… that road to the left leads out of town. It eventually takes you to one of the motorways, towards Dublin. But it’s
really far. You couldn’t walk it.’

‘I’ll try it out and see how I go.’

‘You really should take the bus. Or the train. It’d take days walking.’

‘Nah, I’m good. I don’t mind the walking. Thanks for the help. Much appreciated.’

He turned and walked away, and Grace felt a pang of guilt. Despite his unusual skin, she could tell he was no older than she was; he shouldn’t be walking to Dublin on his own at all, let alone at night. She looked anxiously towards the carnival. Should she tell someone? Maybe she’d get him in trouble if she did. Maybe she
should
get him in trouble. But the confidence with which he’d moved made her think it was none of her business and she would be prying to get involved.

In the end, she turned back towards her house and said nothing to anyone, unconsciously gritting her teeth against the notion that she had done something wrong.

As the bulbs of the ferris wheel flickered and went out, a tall man with a wide-brimmed hat and dark coat entered the ballerina’s tent and took a seat on the cot bed. The ballerina stopped rolling her hair into curls and glared at the man in her dressing table mirror.

‘What do you want, doctor?’

‘You’re making friends,’ he said.

‘What’s it to you?’

The man lit a skinny cigar and smoked it slowly.

‘I don’t like it.’

‘It ain’t none of your business.’

‘Oh, but it is, Justine. We both know that.’

‘I like ’em, that’s all. I’m allowed to have friends.’

The man made a hissing sound, a strange kind of laugh. He stood, loomed over Justine and stubbed his cigar out on her dressing table, scraping scorched black across the white paint.

‘We’ll see about that.’

Adie had suggested a movie. She had suggested practising spells in the woods. She had even suggested browsing the shops and trying on every single make-up and perfume tester in town, thinking that Rachel at least would go for that one. But no such luck. In the carnival, the others had found something to amuse them for days, and they weren’t going to miss a minute of it. Except Jenny. It was 10.30 a.m. but she wouldn’t get up before noon unless her bed was on fire.

After getting chapter and verse of the visit to the bearded ballerina’s tent, Adie and Delilah broke off from the others. Delilah liked to wander in amongst the tightly packed trailers away from the carnival stalls, where B-brr could safely
peek out from beneath her collar.

‘I can tell he likes it,’ the small girl said, ‘he keeps wriggling his toes. He usually only does that when he smells apple pie in the oven.’

‘Mrs Quinlan bakes?’

‘No, she buys those frozen ones. I tried making muffins once from scratch, but Mephistopheles doesn’t like ingredients.’