by Ron Bates
In the end, he blissfully floated right through the crowd, and it was only by sheer luck that Ms. Chalice spotted Mugman as he was entering the gate.
“We’ve got to stop him!” she cried.
She grabbed Cuphead by the hand and they pushed and prodded their way through the crowd. But by the time they got to the gate, Mugman had disappeared. They were just about to go inside when a large flower with bulgy eyes and a bad disposition stopped them.
“Hey, you two,” Cagney Carnation said. “What’s the big idea?”
“My brother just went through this gate,” Cuphead told him, “and we’ve got to go after him.”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere without a ticket, see? Those is the rules,” Cagney said, and he flicked his toothpick into Cuphead’s head.
Cuphead didn’t like being used as a waste bin. He also didn’t like being kept outside while his brother was floating off to who knows where. But buying a ticket? That would be spending money they needed for Elder Kettle’s gift. He looked at Ms. Chalice.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” she said.
Cuphead didn’t, either. He thought for a moment, then looked at Cagney.
“Two tickets, please,” he said.
They paid the carnation and rushed through the gate.
“Mugman!” Cuphead yelled. “MUGGGGGGG-man!”
He was nowhere to be found. They looked up and down and side to side, but it was hopeless. Mugman had simply vanished. He could be anywhere, and anywhere covered an awful lot of territory. Cuphead whirled around, marveling at the massive carnival grounds—and that’s when he realized something. He was hungry—really hungry—and it’s no wonder. Wherever he turned, there were aisles and aisles of vendors selling exotic delicacies from around the world, and all of them came on a stick. If that wasn’t distracting enough, there were tents and rides and games as far as the eye could see. But mostly, there were people. Lots and lots of people. This wouldn’t be easy.
“Any luck?” Ms. Chalice asked.
Cuphead shook his head.
“Well, keep trying. I’ll go look over here,” she said.
A second later, she was swallowed up by the crowd, and Cuphead wondered how they were ever going to find one little mug in a place like this. They couldn’t do it alone, that was for sure. Maybe someone who worked here could help them. He wandered around looking for a carnival professional who specialized in finding lost children, but he didn’t see one. Finally, he spotted a tall figure in a fancy costume who was juggling six yellow balls in the air. His back was turned, so Cuphead couldn’t see his face, but he was tired of looking, and had decided one employee would be as good as another.
“Hey, mister,” Cuphead said, tugging on the man’s sleeve. “Have you seen my—”
The man turned around. Suddenly, Cuphead felt the blood freeze in his veins. Within seconds, his whole body had stiffened into a cup-sicle. The stranger’s face was painted like a clown, but with an eerie, evil grin. Cuphead had always found clowns a little scary, and after Elder Kettle’s story that morning, the last thing he wanted was to be face-to-face with one. Especially not when the face looked like this.
“I’m Beppi the Clown,” the painted man said. “Don’t be afraid. Everybody loves a clown.”
Then his twisted face broke into an even more twisted smile.
“What can I do for you, sonny?” he said, but Cuphead was too frozen to speak.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, pulling a cat from his pocket. The cat then opened a small suitcase like a door-to-door salesman, displaying a wide selection of tongues.
But still, Cuphead said nothing. The clown scratched his head.
“Balloon animal? Juggling show? Jokes? Pratfalls? Pie in the face?”
As he listed his various clown skills, Beppi bounced about the pathway flinging objects from his pockets and doing cartwheels and handsprings and somersaults. It was amusing in a maniacal sort of way. But what wasn’t amusing, not in any way, was the laugh that burst out of him. Cuphead thought it the most menacing thing he’d ever heard.
Beppi stared at him and cocked his head to one side.
“So what’s it going to be, sonny? Oh wait, I know!” he quipped, and then came the words Cuphead feared most of all. “Guess your weight?”
The question seemed to pour out in slow motion, and the world around them grew dark and distant. But Cuphead was too stunned to move. Beppi’s rubbery arms reached down for him, those abominable fingers readying for the clutch—
And that’s when Ms. Chalice stepped in the way.
“How ’bout guessin’ my weight?” she said cheerfully.
At first, Beppi looked irritated. But then the twisted smile returned.
“Be glad to, little lady,” he oozed.
With all the care of a berserk baggage handler, he grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her into the air. Then he started to shake, and shake, and—
KLANGGGGG!
An anvil fell on Beppi’s head. Instantly, a lump the size of a cucumber sprouted from his skull, and little stars whirled round it like a maypole.
“Oops. It looks like I put on a little weight,” Ms. Chalice said.
Then, as if it were just another day at the carnival, she grabbed Cuphead by the hand and dragged him down the path.
“Well, where to from here?” she asked.
“Beats me,” Cuphead said, and he looked around for any sign of Mugman.
There was nothing. But just then, four balloons drifted down from the sky and hovered in front of them. One by one, they popped, leaving in their place four friendly-looking fellows with long, thin, striped bodies.
“Helloooooooo!”
“Helloooooooo!”
“Helloooooooo!”
“Hellooooooooo!” they harmonized.
“Who are you?” Cuphead asked.
They introduced themselves. Their names were Mel, Melvin, Melroy, and Melbert.
“They’re the Four Mel Arrangement. I’ve heard of them,” Ms. Chalice said.
The Mels were a barbershop quartet and, like all barbershop quartets, they preferred to communicate in song. So, after clearing their throats and tooting their pitch pipe, they crooned a snappy little ditty that went something like this:
If you REAL-LY want to FIND your friend—
(Bom, bom, bom, bom)
So you all can be TO-GETH-ER again—
(Bom, bom, bom, bom)
Stop look-ing THIS way, when you should look THAT—
(Bom, bom, bom, bom)
’Cuz that won’t get you where your BROTHER is AT—
(Bom, bom, bom, BOM)
Now he’s been SPOT-TED with Cala MARIA—
(Bom, bom, bom, bom)
And when you FIND him he’ll be HAPPY to see ya—
(AHHHHHHHHHHH—)
But BE-fore you go and QUES-tion every LA-DY and GENT—
(BOM, BOM, BOM, BOM)
If we were you we’d take a peek inside that tennnnnnnnnnnnt!
And then, as all great artists do, the four Mels filled their heads with air and floated away like balloons. (It’s always better to leave your audience wanting more.) Unfortunately, their abrupt departure left no time to answer one simple question.
“Which tent?” Ms. Chalice asked.
In fact, there were tents everywhere. When Cuphead looked down the aisle, he saw rows and rows and rows of tents exactly like the one he saw going up that morning. And Mugman could be in any of them. Or none of them. It would’ve been nice if the Mels had been a little more specific.
Still, it was something. And since they had to start somewhere, they headed to the closest one. Outside it, a zebra with a cane and a straw hat was standing on an upside-down soapbox.
“Hurry, hurry, step right up,” said the zebra. “Come experience the most stupendous, stupefying, unforgettable exhibition ever brought to these shores. See the greatest actress of our age live and onstage performing dramatic deeds of diction that will dazzle an
d delight you. Your entrance to this exquisite entertainment extravaganza is right through that golden gateway. No need to push, folks, there’s always room in the back. Hurry, hurry, don’t be shy.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Cuphead said. “Did you see a mug and a mermaid go inside?”
The zebra leaned over.
“I see a lot of mugs and a lot of mermaids, kid,” he said. “Maybe they went in, maybe they didn’t. Say, why don’t you go inside and see for yourself?”
He tapped his cane on a sign that said 25 CENTS and stuck out his hand. Cuphead and Ms. Chalice shrugged, and each held out a quarter.
The next thing they knew, they were headed inside to see Sally Stageplay, the most famous actress they’d never heard of.
The first thing they noticed was that the tent was crowded. The second thing was that it was dark.
“We’ll never find him in this tomb. I can’t see my hand in front of my face,” said Ms. Chalice.
It was true. When she raised her hand, all she saw was the end of her long black sleeve. Cuphead looked at her, rolled his eyes, and squeezed the sleeve like a toothpaste tube. A white glove popped out.
“Oh, there it is.” She smiled.
Cuphead was annoyed. They didn’t have time for this nonsense. Still, Ms. Chalice had a point—it was darker than a groundhog’s basement in here. They wouldn’t spot Mugman if he were standing right next to them. They really wouldn’t.
“Are you Mugman?” Ms. Chalice asked the figure right next to her.
“No, I’m Carl.”
“But you’d tell me if you were Mugman?”
“Yes. But I’m not.”
“I see,” she said. “This has been a disappointing conversation, Carl.”
The search was getting them nowhere.
“There’s some light over there,” Cuphead told her, pointing to a raised platform that had lamps all around it. “Let’s go.”
Of course, getting there was easier said than done. The tent was packed with Sally Stageplay supporters, and for twenty-five cents, they expected their experience to be up close and Sally-ful. That didn’t worry Cuphead—he wasn’t about to let a bunch of footlight flunkies keep him at the back of the tent. He and Ms. Chalice lowered their shoulders and, with a mighty thrust, pushed and shoved and prodded their way to exactly where they started.
“Well, that was pointless,” said Ms. Chalice.
She was right, but it was hardly their fault. They were up against the great wall of drama, an impenetrable barrier made entirely of theater fans. The path to the stage was a jungle of elbows and knees and hip bones jammed so tightly together it was a wonder anyone could breathe. It was a frustrating situation, and practically anyone else would’ve raised a fuss, but Cuphead and Ms. Chalice decided to take the high road.
“Sorry. Comin’ through. ’Scuse me. Love your hat. ’Scuse me,” Ms. Chalice said as the two of them stepped from head to head to head. In no time at all, they had walked across the top of the crowd and strolled right onto the stage.
The light was considerably better here, but try as he might, Cuphead still couldn’t make out faces. He picked up one of the lamps at the edge of the stage and held it out above the crowd.
“Mugman!” he called. “MUG-man!”
“Hey, down in front!” an angry voice yelled, and that’s when Cuphead and Ms. Chalice felt several burly hands grab hold and yank them down into the darkness.
Well, this was a fine how-do-you-do. After all, they were paying customers. Cuphead had a good mind to go speak to the manager, but before he could even turn himself around, the whole place got deathly still.
When he looked up, Sally Stageplay was standing right in front of him.
“Romee-ohh, oh Romee-ohh, et ceter-AH, et ceter-AH, et ceter-AH,” she intoned.
The crowd gasped. Then cried. Then cheered! They couldn’t believe what they were witnessing. She trod the boards until they were splinters! She chewed the scenery like a magnificent gumball! The audience was spellbound as she enunciated and articulated and emoted and swooned. Finally, after her twenty-seventh encore (in the interest of time, Sally skipped performances and went straight to encores), she put her wrist against her forehead, groaned loudly, and—SPROING!—made her body stiff as an ironing board. It lingered in the air for a heartbreaking instant, then plopped onto the stage. And just when her fans thought they’d seen the greatest death scene that could ever be performed—
POP!
A rubber lily sprung up from her chest-crossed hands.
The room exploded in a roaring ovation. Sally immediately rose to her feet and took several long, humble bows as Cuphead and Ms. Chalice looked on in awe. It was an amazing performance—but not as amazing as the one happening right under their noses.
You see, as good as Sally was at ACTING, she was even better at distrACTING. While the audience cheered, her supporting cast (a group of adorably malicious cherubs) roamed through the crowd pilfering purses and waylaying wallets. In the meantime, Sally—while taking a verrrrrrrrry deep bow—reached down and lifted several bills from Ms. Chalice’s pocket.
Elder Kettle was right. The carnival was a place of liars and thieves.
As the curtain fell, the entire cast gathered onstage to soak in the applause (and stuff the loot into Sally’s parasol). But just then, the spotlight at the top of the tent—which ordinarily stuck to Sally like an ugly rumor—moved away from the star and onto the audience.
“MUG-man!” yelled Cuphead, shining the bright beam on the crowd. “MUUUUUUUUG-man!”
Sally’s eyes shot up. She was furious.
“What are you doing up there?” she seethed. “I demand you give me my spotlight!”
“But I was just—”
“I want my spotlight, and I want it now!” she bellowed.
Oh dear. Cuphead hadn’t meant to upset Sally; he’d just wanted to find Mugman. He needed to fix this.
“Whatever you say,” he said, and tossed the gargantuan light onto the stage.
This was not what Sally had in mind. The spotlight hit the boards like a meteor, catapulting her and her treacherous troupe into the air and out over the crowd. It was a very dramatic moment. But not as dramatic as the moment her parasol popped open, raining coins and jewelry and wallets on the audience below. Needless to say, this caused quite a commotion, but Cuphead and Ms. Chalice never saw a bit of it.
By the time the scene played out, they were already on their way out of the tent, back on the trail of the missing Mugman. Sally’s autograph would have to wait for another day.
There was only one thing to do—go on to the next tent. Luckily, it was just on the other side of the aisle. This one looked almost identical to the last one, except it had exotic flags out front and a large banner that said DJIMMI THE GREAT, WONDER OF THE EAST. MIRACLES. MAGIC. CURLY FRIES.
“We can’t go in,” Cuphead said. “It’s twenty-five cents admission, and we’ve spent too much already. That money’s for Elder Kettle’s birthday present.”
It was a quandary all right, and it had been weighing on him since the moment they’d arrived. Ms. Chalice gave him a sympathetic smile.
“I know, but we have to go in there, Cuphead. Mugman could be in real trouble,” she told him. “Also, they have curly fries.”
Cuphead nodded, but still wasn’t convinced. He didn’t feel right about spending other people’s money. On the other hand, the sign did say Djimmi the Great performed miracles—and boy oh boy, could they use a miracle.
Unfortunately, a fez-wearing camel stood between them and the entrance. Then a miracle did happen. A beret-wearing camel offered the fez-wearing camel a glass of water, which allowed Cuphead and Ms. Chalice to tiptoe past them without paying a dime. Or even two quarters.
On the inside, this tent was nothing at all like Sally Stageplay’s. It was a wonderland of rugs and pillows and lanterns and silks. In the very center of the stage was an oil lamp that looked a little like a teapot, and there were decorative baskets of va
rious shapes and sizes all around it. Finally, towering above everything else were two gigantic, golden swords that came together to form a gleaming archway. Cuphead was enthralled.
“Do you see him?” Ms. Chalice asked.
“No, he’s probably still backstage.”
“I meant Mugman,” she said.
Cuphead turned fire-engine red.
“Oh yeah. Mugman,” he said. “I was just about to look for him.”
The truth was, he’d forgotten. He hadn’t meant to; it’s just that this place was so… incredible! Even though he knew they had to find Mugman, he couldn’t help being excited. This was different from anything he’d ever seen on the Inkwell Isles. It was like a weird, wonderful dream that charged you twenty-five cents to have it.
Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed, and from out of the lamp there came a flash of fire and a puff of orange smoke. When the smoke cleared, Djimmi the Great was standing there on the stage! The audience, led by an ecstatic Cuphead, burst into wild applause.
What an entrance! If the rest of the show was half this spectacular, Cuphead was in for the thrill of his life. The only thing bothering him was an irritating tapping on his right shoulder. It was very persistent. He ignored it for as long as he could, hoping it would just go away. But it didn’t. And it wouldn’t. And he knew why. Finally, he turned and looked.
Good Cuphead was back—and shaking his head disapprovingly. Bad Cuphead was back, too, but he just winked and whistled and pointed to the stage.
The sight of the two of them gave Cuphead a sad, sickly feeling in his stomach. He leaned in close to Ms. Chalice.
“I know we’re here looking for Mugman,” he whispered. “But if we watch the show, isn’t that like stealing?”
“Only if we’re entertained,” Ms. Chalice whispered back. “We can watch as much as we want as long as we don’t enjoy it.”
As usual, Ms. Chalice was a fountain of wisdom. Still, it wasn’t going to be easy. Because what was happening up on that stage was as entertaining as anything Cuphead had ever seen.