The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel

by Laura Quimby

The kid paused, seemingly thinking it over. Finally, he released his grasp and took a step back, giving Jack some room. “Skimmer’s a skimmer. He cruises a crowd and skims stuff right out of their pockets and person. He was working our street, so he owes us a cut of the take.”

  “Skimmer’s a thief?” Jack asked.

  The baseball jersey kid poked Jack with his baseball bat. “You got it, Liver! Ha, get it? He’s alive, so I called him Liver!”

  “Liver! That’s your new name. And since it’s such a good name, we won’t kill you right away, ‘cause then it wouldn’t be funny anymore,” the pale kid said.

  A whistle shot down the alley, pulling everyone’s attention away. “It’s Skimmer!”

  “Skimmer’s back!”

  For a few seconds the kids completely ignored him as a shadowy figure wearing a dark jacket approached. Jack wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. The closer Skimmer got, the more Jack felt stuck. He was looking at his own face, only paler, with dark blue shadows under his eyes and down his neck. Skimmer’s expression shifted quickly—eyes darting, mind racing. He walked right up to Jack and held out his hand to shake, and Jack saw that each finger had a fat, gold ring on it. He gripped Jack’s hand too hard and Jack bit his lip. The other boys cheered as Skimmer held his hands up and wiggled his jeweled fingers.

  “Is this what you boys were looking for?”

  Skimmer pulled the rings off of his fingers one by one and passed out the stolen gifts. Bracelets and long gold chains spilled from up his sleeves. He showered the boys with gaudy golden loot.

  Jack couldn’t stop staring. Looking at Skimmer wasn’t quite like staring into a mirror, but like looking at another version of himself—a copy. The closer he looked at Skimmer, the more he noticed all the little things that made them different. He was a little taller and not as thin as Skimmer. His hands weren’t as rough. But the worst part was the look in Skimmer’s eyes. It was dark and bitter. Prowling the streets of the underworld, stealing trinkets off the dead, was a life that left Skimmer looking drained, like a husk of a kid. And when Jack looked around, he realized all the kids looked that way.

  “You looking to join the gang?” Skimmer asked.

  “No. I was just minding my own business when these guys grabbed me.”

  “Maybe it’s fate then. Or good luck. Are you a lucky kid?”

  Jack thought about it for a nanosecond. “No, but I do OK.”

  “We could use someone like you. We could be a team, seeing as you could be my long-lost brother. We could plunder these streets good. Join us.”

  “Can’t. I work for Mussini. But I’ll keep you in mind.”

  “So, what if we want you to stay? What then?” The pale kid’s pockets overflowed with gold chains.

  “Let him go.” Skimmer held up his hand. “He’ll come around.”

  “Thanks, but I doubt it.”

  “You haven’t been here that long. You’ll see.”

  Jack didn’t stick around to argue. He took off down the alley, rounded the corner, and ducked into the tavern that Violet had gone into earlier.

  He dove under the windowsill so he could hide and still get a good look at the street as the boys ran by. He was in the clear for now.

  Firelight wavered behind an iron grate, and flickering candles lined the bar, giving the shadowy room a sense of uneasy activity. The dead took on a new aspect to him now. Patrons roared with laughter, sloshing their drinks on the tables. The bottoms of Jack’s shoes stuck to the floorboards as he crept across the room.

  Violet was talking to the bartender, whose arms were so hairy it looked like he was wearing long sleeves. He blew his nose into a rag, handed Violet a piece of paper, and went back to serving drinks. Hand-washing was a formality—the Forest of the Dead didn’t really need a health code. Jack slid down into the seat next to Violet at a rickety table. She barely looked up at him.

  “You’re a fast runner,” he said. “Especially for someone wearing a long skirt.”

  Violet tried to smile, but it wasn’t a convincing one. They ordered a meaty stew and crusty bread. Jack shoveled the food into his mouth. Violet pushed her spoon through the stew, not taking more than a few bites.

  “It won’t be so bad working here.” She glanced up at Jack. A group of rowdy dead guys in the corner tossed chewed-on corncobs and chicken bones onto the floor while they guzzled down mug after mug of murky ale. “Though some of the patrons have deplorable table manners.”

  “Talk about a dead-end job.” Jack couldn’t imagine Violet working in a dump like this. Since his recent run-in with the dead gang, he realized how dangerous the dead were, and being alone made her a vulnerable target.

  “It was sweet of you to come. But you shouldn’t be here. Mussini will fire you, and then you’ll be no better off than me.”

  “I’m not going to just leave you here. It’s not safe.” Jack glanced out the window.

  “That’s very noble, but I don’t need rescuing. But you could help me fill out this application.” Violet brushed some bread crumbs off of the highly stained paper. “Obviously I’m not the first to apply for the job,” Violet said, attempting to find a place on the page where a name hadn’t been written in and scratched out.

  “At least they recycle.” Jack could only imagine what had happened to the previous applicants.

  “Let’s see. Name—Violet. Skills—hmm. Well, I can sing terribly boring songs and dance a little and oh, yes, recite dreadfully long monologues by heart.”

  “I wouldn’t put that down.” Jack glanced around the room. “I don’t think you want to entertain in a place like this.”

  “Oh, right. Too many ruffians. Well, I can serve drinks and cook a little.”

  “Why are you still here?” Jack asked. “You’re dead, you could just move on and leave the forest forever, right?”

  “I’m not ready,” she snapped. “I did a bad thing, a very bad thing that I can’t move past.”

  “How bad could it have been? You’re a nice girl.”

  “I’m from an earlier time. There were expectations of girls. My parents arranged a marriage for me, in exchange for our family’s financial security.”

  “They sold you to a guy for money?” Jack simplified.

  “It was for the deed to our land, for the property and horses, so my parents and family would be taken care of. I was the prettiest girl for miles and miles. I had suitors lined up, and all I had to do was stay. But I was too selfish. I wanted true love and adventure. So I ran away with a vaudeville charlatan who promised me a life filled with fame and fortune. And then he sold me to Mussini. My fate was to be a treasure sold to the highest bidder, and I abandoned my family. I can’t forgive myself, my selfish ways. At least here I can try to take care of my new family, the boys. Though now I’ve lost them, too.”

  Jack’s heart ached for Violet. It wasn’t her fault, then or now. He had to think of a way to help her stay with the gang. And then something occurred to Jack. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? It was perfect. He smiled at her. She raised an eyebrow into a highly annoyed arc.

  “Why are you so happy all of a sudden, while I’m in misery?”

  Jack leaned over the table. “Because I just thought of a perfect plan to save you from this awful place.”

  “Oh, really? Are you going to give me a job, Jack the Kid?”

  “That depends. How good is your memory?”

  “It’s sharp as a tack. Why?”

  “What about your ability to keep secrets?”

  “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 s
ay 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 yo
u 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.”