by Laura Quimby
Boxer anchored the rope so it didn’t sway too far from side to side. Luckily the theater was in the woods, and they were able to use a branch of the oak tree to throw the rope over and hoist Jack up. (It also helped having a really strong friend.) Raising Jack’s weight was not hard for Boxer at all, so they didn’t need help from Jabber, who sat in the audience and instigated the excitement and mutterings of the crowd. Each member of the audience stared up to get a glimpse of Jack. Even Mussini was standing on his feet.
Jack was nearly free. With his arms already free, all he had to do was slide them under the jacket and unbuckle the strap between his legs and then pull it over his head, and then the jacket would crash to the floor to the gasps of the crowd.
And then something strange happened.
A beetle flew into Jack’s face. Then one fell into his hair, and then another, jerking Jack’s attention up the rope. A barrage of insects raced to the edge of the branch and down the rope. Swarms of ants and spiders crawled toward Jack: a confetti of bugs plummeted to the stage below. Jack wiggled and jerked his legs. He swatted at the bugs and swung back and forth on the rope. Where were they coming from? Before he could steady himself, a burning smell filled the stage and bits of ghostly ash fell from above. Jack swallowed. This was not part of the plan.
Screams filled the theater, followed by a crack and a pop, and then suddenly the tree that held the rope was engulfed in flames. Fire and smoke filled the night air. The audience rose to its feet. Jack had only seconds to unfasten the buckle. First he did the one between his legs, and then he pulled and yanked until he reached under the jacket and shimmed it over his head. Finally, Jack wrenched the jacket from his body and threw it to the ground. But his ankles were still tied to the rope hanging from the tree. He pulled himself up and madly tugged at the knot that Boxer had tied to his feet.
“Lower the rope! Lower the rope!” the crowd chanted as smoke filled the theater. But the rope was already burning. Boxer ran out onto the stage just as the twine closest to the branch ignited and burned to charred shreds. Jack fell headfirst toward the stage. He closed his eyes before Boxer’s massive arms caught him. It was a perfect catch—they couldn’t have planned it better. The audience erupted in applause.
Mussini rose from his seat and snapped his fingers. The fire disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Boxer set Jack down on his feet. Both of them were shaking and covered in sweat.
Trying to keep the show moving, Violet ran up to them and put her arms around Jack. “Take your bow,” she whispered into his ear.
Jack stumbled out to the edge of the stage. The audience jumped to their feet. Cheers and applause filled the theater. Masks flew through the air. Jack was a star. But no matter how perfectly he planned a trick, Jack would never be able to control one thing: the Mussini factor. The tree igniting into flames was pure sabotage, and it was just Mussini’s style.
Jack exited the stage after his third bow and collapsed onto a pile of burlap sacks. Violet hurried backstage and brought him a glass of water, just in time for Runt to grab the glass out of her hands and splash the water in Jack’s face.
“He’s fine. He’s fine, people. Jack’s a professional,” Runt said, as the water ran down Jack’s face and shirt.
Boxer and T-Ray crowded backstage with the others. “That was amazing!” T-Ray yelled.
“That wasn’t in the plan. You had me worried for a second.” Boxer helped Jack to his feet.
He steadied himself against Boxer’s arm as the stage seemed to sway beneath him. “I’m just glad you caught me.”
As if attracted to the noise and energy of the night, the Amazing Mussini pushed through the curtains, clapping his massive hands.
“Bravo! Bravo! I couldn’t have planned this night better if I tried.”
Everyone went silent and turned to watch what would transpire between Jack and Mussini. Jack’s shoulders slumped, and with a calm voice he said, “But you did plan this. All of it. You could have killed me.” But Jack knew that was the plan—to kill him.
“That was the point. I had to see for myself what you’re made of. The handcuff tricks could have been luck. And make no mistake—you are lucky. I needed to know if you have the drive, the guts to live when all around you is dead.”
Jack’s eyes burned with anger. “Sorry I screwed up your plans by living.”
“I’m still proud of you—alive or dead. Tonight you are a star. They loved you. How does it feel to be really loved?” Mussini gestured to the stage, where they could still hear cheers for the Kid. “That was my gift to you tonight. So hate me if you have to.” He smiled. “You’ll come around.”
Mussini was always a step ahead of him. Pushing him, shoving him harder and harder. Nothing was ever good enough. Jack stormed out of the theater. He didn’t want to look at Mussini for one more second. Proud of him. Was he nuts? Was he proud that Jack didn’t get his brains bashed in, falling from the burning rope? The fact that the crowd loved the act was little consolation.
With nowhere else to go, Jack wandered back to the campfire. He needed to blow off some steam. No one was around to bother him, so he kicked at the smoldering log in the campfire, and a volcano of sparks erupted into the air. The sparks lit up the dark figure standing near the back of the wagon. At first Jack thought it was Jabber, but Jabber was still at the show. Jack took a few steps toward him. The figure moved.
“The show’s over. You can’t be around here,” Jack said, walking faster over to the figure, his anger at Mussini bolstering his confidence. The person turned and fled, heading toward the town. Instantly Jack reacted and raced after the figure and out into the dark streets. He could use a little cat-and-mouse game. The stranger was quick, his body zipping around corners, but Jack matched him stride for stride, keeping him in his sight. After being chased plenty of times in his life, for once, it felt good to be the one doing the chasing.
Jack darted through the streets of the town, sticking to the intruder’s trail. He shoved his way past the dead pedestrians who lingered in the streets after the show. There were no stars out, no moon to lighten the midnight sky—only pale gaslights illuminating the dark stone-slick streets. The cold night air clung to his throat, but he kept his eyes locked on the quick figure.
Was the person one of Mussini’s spies sent to figure out Jack’s tricks? But if he worked for Mussini, why sneak around the campsite, why not walk around in the open? A flicker of hope flared up in him—could it possibly be someone who could help him get out of the forest? The farther they ran, the narrower the streets became. Jack shifted around a corner, trapping the person down a dead-end alley. The figure skidded to a halt and froze with his back to him.
“Turn around! Who are you?” Jack shouted.
The collar from the person’s coat shielded his face. Jack’s pulse raced. Could it possibly be a hero, coming to help him, rescuing him from the Land of the Dead? He wished with his whole heart that it was. He wanted his very own Houdini. His dry lips whispered please, but no one heard him, not even the man at the end of the alley. Jack stepped toward him. A gaslight flickered. He tried to think of anyone who cared enough to help him. He called out, “Professor?” The sound of his voice was smaller than he intended. Something on the figure caught the light—a glimmer, a golden spark. Jack spotted a gold ring on the person’s finger. His stomach dropped, his heart sinking like a rock to the bottom of the black river. The guy he saw was no Houdini, and not the professor, either.
“You!” Jack spun around and stormed back out the alley. The figure chased him and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back into the shadows. The coat slid from his shoulders, revealing a confident smirk that Jack could’ve recognized from looking in the mirror. It was the thief, Skimmer.
“Who’s the professor?”
“No one.” Jack shoved his fists into his pockets, disappointed.
“Told you I’d be seeing you again.”
“Is business so bad that you have to come and spy on me?”
; “I have a proposition for you.”
“Why did you run away from the camp?”
“I want to keep a low profile. I don’t want Mussini catching wind of our deal.”
“No thanks. I’m not making any deals.” Jack turned away, but Skimmer’s wiry fingers clenched his arm. Jack pulled out of his grasp and spun around.
“Don’t walk away. Give me a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“Hear me out,” Skimmer said, clearing his throat. “As I see it, we make a perfect team for thieving. You’re my alibi. I’d do all the work, all you would have to do is sit out in the open in a respectable establishment for everyone to see, while I’m relieving the dead of some materialistic burden.” Skimmer shined his ring on his sleeve.
“Looked like you were doing fine on your own.”
“The Death Wranglers came looking for the thief, and I had to give up a lot of merchandise to avoid punishment.”
“They do that? I thought they just kept everyone from crossing the wall,” Jack said.
“They keep the dead in, the living out, and they make sure things stay reasonably fair in the towns—if you have enough to bribe them.” Skimmer rocked back on his heels. “But with you and me working together, they would never catch me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the theater tonight? Stealing from the crowd after the show?”
“I’m an opportunist. It’s the first commandment of thievery—never let a good crowd go to waste. It was easy. The show must have been a good one, because everyone was all glassy-eyed and smiling. And the masks make sneaking around almost too easy. It was a great night.”
“Look, I’m not going to work your scam with you, because I’m getting out of here.”
“Well, I hate to state the obvious, but Mussini tried to cook your goose tonight. The way those trees went up in flames was not natural. The Amazing Mussini is one of the most powerful guys in the forest. He has centuries of bad deeds under his belt.”
“Mussini likes to keep us on our toes for the good of the show.” Jack glanced away from Skimmer. He scratched his neck. He could still feel the tiny, frantic legs of the insects crawling all over him. “I knew the tree was going to catch on fire. I thought it made the trick exciting,” Jack said, blustering. “It was all part of the act.”
Jack averted his eyes. Skimmer was right, and he knew it. Mussini’s trick had almost cost him dearly.
Skimmer snorted. “You can’t kid a kidder. I know Mussini personally, and I know what he is capable of. You’re the star of his show, but fame is fleeting. The dead have a very short attention span. Soon the Amazing Mussini will need another trick to satisfy the crowds, and who knows what he’ll do to you.”
Skimmer had a point. The dead bored easily, always needing more and more excitement and danger to feel alive. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before Mussini pushed him too far.
“Come on,” Skimmer said, motioning toward a tavern. “We can’t talk out in the street. Someone could be listening.”
Jack followed Skimmer inside a gloomy tavern and sat at a low-lit booth in the corner. A waitress followed them over, and they ordered a round of root beer. Then Skimmer leaned over the table and addressed him in a hushed conspiratorial tone. “Who’s the head kid at Mussini’s show? The one in the hat?”
“Jabber. Why?”
“Because he followed you here. I spotted him a couple blocks back.”
Jack jerked around in his seat.
“Too late now. He’s coming over. You’ve got a lot to learn.” Skimmer smirked.
Jabber moved so quickly and silently over to their table that Jack hadn’t even noticed him. “Everything all right, Jack? We missed you back at camp.”
“Everything’s fine,” Jack said, even though he didn’t mean it.
Why did Jabber have to follow him? He ruined everything. Sure, Jabber had never outright lied to him. But Jack still didn’t trust him—he was too honest, and the things he said were too hard to hear.
“Who’s your new friend?” Jabber asked, narrowing his eyes at Skimmer, who with a swipe of his hand cleared the peanuts off of the table. Jabber had clapped his hand on Jack’s shoulder and was trying to guide him out of the chair, but Jack wasn’t budging.
Skimmer cracked a peanut shell between his teeth. “Shove off. Can’t you see we’re talking business here?”
Jabber crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Skimmer from under his hat. “Jack works for Mussini, and any business he does goes through him,” he said.
Jack did a double take at Jabber’s comments. “I might work for Mussini, but he doesn’t own me. I’ll talk to whoever I want to.” He could be honest, too, and Jabber needed to leave them alone.
“No need to get hostile. You two don’t mind if I join you?” Jabber pulled up a chair and sat down. “What kind of business are we talking? Maybe I’d like to get in on the action.”
“Right.” Jack smirked. “The only action you want in on is how to get rid of me permanently.” Jack couldn’t forget Mussini and Jabber plotting to kill him.
“Ah, that.” Jabber looked concerned. “So you know.”
“I know Mussini wants to kill me. I’m sure you’re thrilled.”
“You might not believe me, but I don’t want you dead. If you’re dead, then you are a part of the show forever. And this is my show, or it will be, and I don’t need you.”
Jack huffed.
“I came to warn you,” Jabber said.
“I could have used a warning about the bugs or the fire.”
“I knew it wasn’t planned!” Skimmer exclaimed.
“What else is there to warn me about besides death?” Jack asked.
“Mussini has a trick planned for you. He’s having it brought in tonight. The very best trick he could find.” Jabber crushed a peanut shell between his thumb and forefinger.
Jack knew that the trick would be the most dangerous one Mussini could get his hands on, maybe even one of Houdini’s tricks. And then he instantly knew what it was. “No, not that. That’s impossible!”
“Mussini deals in impossible. He wants you to do the famed Chinese Water Torture Cell, and he expects you to be an utter failure.”
“I won’t do it. I can’t. I’ll just have to leave before the trick, and I’m guessing since you’re telling me all this that you have an idea of how I can escape.”
“You could escape to a life of crime.” Skimmer smiled, leaning across the table. “Why work with Mussini, when you can join my gang and live a life of criminal leisure? Forget about Mussini and his torture.”
Jabber flicked a peanut at Skimmer. “No chance of that if he stays in the forest. Mussini will never forget about Jack. He’ll track him down. So he can’t stay. He must escape.”
Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. When he considered his options, they were dismal at best. What was clear was that he needed Jabber’s help. He didn’t have the energy to hold a grudge anymore, and deep down he was relieved to have some help, even if it was for Jabber’s ulterior motives.
Skimmer cracked a peanut shell between his front teeth. “How do you expect to get Jack out of the forest and, more importantly, past the Death Wranglers? You can’t just whisk him away,” Skimmer said.
“Do you know what Mussini traded for safe passage?” Jack asked, but even as he said it, his hopes sank. The only thing he had to trade to the Death Wranglers was Mussini’s book, and he wasn’t getting that back anytime soon. “I was going to give them Mussini’s magic book before Runt betrayed us and Mussini took his book back.” Jack stared down into his glass.
“Mussini would never trade them the whole book. Are you mad? That book is priceless. You want to trade as little as possible. Mussini performed one trick, giving the Death Wranglers a beautiful gift.”
“I won’t ever be able to match Mussini in magic. What are we going to do?”
“There is another way to get through the North Wall with
out dealing with the Death Wranglers.” Jabber paused for dramatic effect.
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
Jabber leaned across the table and spoke directly to Jack. “We’re talking about the one night that the living and the dead mingle. The one night that the dead are free to leave the forest and roam the land of the living. When the barrier between our two worlds is as thin as a ghost.” He drew out the word ghost, and a tingle ran up Jack’s spine.
“So when is that?” Jack hoped Jabber was being melodramatic. Even though he was living in the Land of the Dead, he tried not to remind himself everyone around him was dead.
“Halloween.” Jabber smiled. “It is the one night that you would be free of your obligations to Mussini. The one night the dead can cross the wall and the living can escape!”
“At the end of the tour?” Jack asked. “I thought Runt was kidding about that. Are you sure it’s not just part of Mussini’s plan for a good show?”
“No, it’s real,” Skimmer said. “It’s a really stupid plan, though.”
“Why doesn’t anyone in camp talk about this?” Jack asked.
“Because it only really benefits the living,” Jabber said.
“So, if the gate is open on Halloween, why don’t you guys escape and leave the forest?”
Jabber and Skimmer smirked like Jack was the most clueless kid alive. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re dead. On the other side we turn to ghosts.” Skimmer shuddered. “There isn’t much I’m scared of, I don’t even mind water that much, but being a ghost is awful. Plus, going back just brings up memories of a life that’s over. It’s sad, really. But though some try, most don’t bother with that side anymore. I don’t know how Mussini and Jabber can stand crossing the wall.”
“As a magician, Mussini knows how to stabilize our forms.” Jabber rocked back in his chair. “It’s a temporary state, similar to the animal magic he does.”