Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Come closer,” he said in a voice that was surprisingly deep and forceful.

  Telly walked up to the table, but he was too short to be seen, so he pulled back one of the empty chairs and climbed up on it.

  “Greetings, one and all,” he said with a bow, and did David detect a hint of a tremor in his voice? He thought so, and this more than anything frightened him.

  “Who are these people?” another Councilman spoke, a young man with a patchy blond beard. His nameplate read, Councilman Evans.

  “They arrived at the southern gate in a very large truck,” Officer Mayes said from the door. “Claim to be some kind of performers. Clowns. Want to put on a show for us.”

  Councilman Peavey grunted thoughtfully. “The southern gate? Why would you be coming from the south? Who sent you?”

  “Nobody sent us, dear sir,” Telly said with another bow. “We are a traveling show. We took the road north from Port Shreve on the advice of locals there who claimed the road was safe all the way to Missouri.”

  “Safe?” Councilman Evans laughed. He had a wild cackle that made David flinch. “They lied to you, little man.”

  “Well, yes, as it turns out, they did,” Telly replied. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are known collectively as The Klown Kroo, and we only desire to entertain. Juggling, acrobatics, balancing acts, comedy, we do it all, if you’ll only give us—”

  Councilman Peavey cut him off, raising one plump hand. “Who is the young man behind you? Let him step forward and speak for himself.”

  Telly turned to David and beckoned him forward. David took a step toward the table and cleared his throat.

  “David Morr,” he said. “Of Mountainburg.”

  This produced gasps around the table. An older woman with a nest of gray hair and a thin face leaned forward. “Isn’t Mountainburg full of sick?” she asked. Her nameplate read, Councilwoman Deems.

  “No, ma’am,” David said. “That is, we do have a few sick now and again.”

  “Don’t the sick migrate down to Mountainburg from West Fork?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” David replied.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Young man,” Councilman Peavey said, “West Fork is where we sent our infected people. We do not permit them to remain within our walls. They are like the lepers of old and must be removed from the camp.”

  “Yes, sir,” David said, only because he did not know what else to say.

  “West Fork is their home now, a place to live out last days. They accept this, and they do not return to Fayette, for they know what will happen to them if they try.”

  David nodded.

  “And what do they do with the sick in Mountainburg?” Councilwoman Deems asked. “How do you keep them out?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, after a moment. “I mostly stayed at home.”

  “Boy, what are you doing with this little bitty man?” Councilman Evans asked, running his fingers down the length of his short embarrassment of a beard. “Why have you left Mountainburg?”

  “I guess I wanted to be a performer,” David said.

  “You guess you did?” Councilwoman Deems said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Telly made another little bow and said, “This young man can perform the most amazing acrobatic feats. Would you like him to demonstrate for you?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Councilman Peavey said. “We won’t turn this Council House into a circus.” He snapped his fingers. “Officer Mayes.”

  She stepped forward. “Sir?”

  “Have them all checked for sickness,” he said. “Confiscate any weapons. Make the proper arrangements.”

  “Sir?” she replied uncertainly.

  Councilman Peavey gave her a broad grin, and it was possibly the ugliest smile David had ever seen. His big, swollen lips parted to reveal crooked teeth the size of fingernails. “If they want to perform, we’ll let them perform.”

  “Yes, sir,” Officer Mayes said with a crisp salute.

  “And what sort of venue will you be needing?” he asked Telly.

  “Venue?” Telly asked.

  “Do you perform on the street or what?”

  “Why, no, not at all, good sir. Actually what we need is a stage. Any sort of stage will do. A theater, if one is available.”

  Councilman Peavey flicked a finger at Officer Mayes. “Work out the details. Find them a place. We’ll see what they have to offer.”

  Officer Mayes looked displeased, but she nodded. “Do I let them bring their vehicle inside the gates?”

  Councilman Peavey seemed to consider this, but Councilwoman Deems spoke first. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she said. “Leave the vehicle where it is. Let them bring a reasonable amount of things inside, nothing dangerous, no weapons.”

  “I concur,” Peavey said, though he spared Deems a glance that suggested he did so reluctantly. “Does this suit you, little clown?

  “Indeed it does, my good sir.” Telly held his hands up toward the Council. “Thank you and thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  “No, we won’t,” Deems said. “In Fayette, you’ll find we have no time for regret.” She brushed her hands at them. “Get them out.”

  Officer Mayes nodded and waved Telly and David toward the doors. “Come on, you two. Looks like it’s your lucky day.” As they headed for the door, she added, “You better be good.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Show Must Go On

  The old man had three fingers in Cakey’s mouth, running them along his gums. To his credit, and unlike Karl and Gooty, Cakey bore this with minimal protest. The doctor grabbed one of his incisors and gave it a wiggle to see if it was loose, and Cakey grunted but did not resist.

  “No signs of infection,” the Doctor said, running his other hand through Cakey’s mop of neon bright hair. “This is your real hair? Ah, hair plugs? Interesting.”

  Cakey ran his tongue along his teeth and frowned. “What’s interesting about it, Doc? You’ve never seen a clown before?”

  “Actually, no, I have not,” the doctor replied, pulling his latex gloves off and tossing them in a nearby trash can. “Pictures in books, yes, but never in person.”

  Cakey was the last to be checked. They were all sitting in a row on padded stools inside the dusty interior of an old nightclub. Telly had requested a theater, but this was the only thing they’d been willing to provide. It had a tiny stage in one corner with a single speaker hanging crookedly from a chain in a nest of cobwebs. Tables and chairs were scattered across the room, many of them broken, and what had once been a giant picture window across the front of the building was covered in sheets of plywood. The front doors were propped open, and a thick bar of hazy sunlight spilled into the room and glinted off a cracked mirror behind the bar.

  “I’ll tell the Council you’re all clean,” the doctor said, closing up his little kit bag and heading for the door.

  “Thanks for your help,” Telly said.

  “My mouth and scalp feel violated,” Karl said. His face, if possible, was even worse. The bruising around his eye had spread down the side of his nose, and his cheeks were a riot of colors from black to blue to yellow.

  Telly smacked Karl on the knee. “Hush with that,” he said. “Doc, be sure and come to the show.”

  “I’ll consider it,” the doctor said, his tone suggesting otherwise. He stepped outside and disappeared into the daylight.

  Officer Mayes and another guard were standing by the doors. When the doctor left, they came inside, carrying a large wooden trunk between them. They set it on the ground.

  “Here is your stuff,” Officer Mayes said.

  “We’ve got a lot more stuff than that,” Karl said.

  “Here is your stuff,” she said again, favoring him with an unfriendly look. “The rest will be waiting for you outside the gate.”

  “We will need our sign,” Telly said, slipping down off the stool and walking over to the trunk.
“If you can work it out.”

  “I’m not here to work things out for you,” she said.

  And with that, she turned and left.

  “We won’t be far,” the other guard said before following her out.

  Telly knelt in front of the trunk and opened the lid. He dug through the contents and sighed. “No knives,” he said. “We’ve got your plates, Belle, but not the poles. Make-up and some pieces of our costumes but not all.”

  “We can’t put on the show,” Annabelle said. “It’s as simple as that. If they won’t let us bring all of our props, we can’t put on the show.”

  “We’re gonna put on a show,” Telly replied, slamming the trunk shut. “I don’t know what it’s gonna look like, but it’s happening.”

  “The show must go on,” Cakey said with a laugh. He spun on his stool, grabbed the edge of the bar to stop himself, then slid backward onto the floor. “Isn’t that what we say, Telly?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Telly replied sourly. He rose, pulled the top hat off his head and tossed it onto a table. “That’s what we say.”

  David was studying the tiny stage. It wasn’t big enough for any of his gymnastic routines. Two flips would take him right into the audience, and the ceiling was low enough that if he wasn’t careful, he might kick the hanging speaker and bring it down on top of him. The whole room smelled of decay and oldness. He didn’t like it.

  “What do you say, David?” Telly said. “Are you ready for your debut?”

  He turned to face Telly and decided to be honest. “No, I’m not ready. But I guess it’ll happen anyway, right?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Telly said.

  “You’ll do fine,” Annabelle said. “At least you don’t have to worry about any missing props. Telly, how am I supposed to spin the plates without poles?”

  Telly walked over to the stage. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “That’s what you always say about everything.”

  “Because we always do figure something out, don’t we?” he said, climbing up onstage. He slipped on the thick layer of dust and caught himself against the wall.

  “No, not always,” Annabelle replied.

  “Most of the time, then.”

  Gooty had been sitting quietly at the bar, but he stepped down from his stool now and walked across the room to the front doors, glancing outside. Then he turned back and said, “They’ll never let us leave. You clowns know that? We’re never leaving Fayette.”

  “Don’t be paranoid,” Telly said. There was a small curtain at the back of the stage. Telly pulled it back and looked into the dark room beyond. “Let’s not assume the worst.”

  Gooty pulled the front doors shut, casting the room into shadow. The only light now came from a pair of small round windows on either door. “You tell me what’s going on here, jefe. A walled city full of guns and guards right on the border of Tockland. That’s bad stuff, man. Peligroso!”

  “Okay, it’s bad stuff,” Telly concurred, letting the curtain fall back in place. “But it could be worse. Look, they’re letting us perform. That’s a good sign.”

  “Gooty’s probably right,” Karl said. “He usually is. These people are with Tockland. That’s what I think.”

  “Couldn’t be,” Telly replied. “The flag’s all wrong.”

  “So what?” Gooty said. “They got a local flag, so what? Doesn’t mean they’re not with Tockland. Where you think they got all these guns? This is Tockland, man, I’m telling you.”

  “Which country has the crimson flag?” Telly asked. “Anybody know?”

  “Southwest Territories is red and white,” Gooty said. “But there’s no way these people are aligned with the Southwest. Too far away, and Southwest can’t afford to hand over this many guns, not when they’re right in the middle of losing a war. These people are with Tockland. Gotta be.”

  “It seems likely, Goot,” Karl said. “Maybe General Mattock is about to make his push eastward, and this is the staging ground. You gotta admit, Telly, it makes sense.”

  “If they were with Tockland, we’d be dead,” Telly said. “Since we’re not, I choose not to think the worst. We’re going to entertain the hell out of these fine folks come tomorrow evening, and they’ll send us on our way with pockets loaded down with coins. That’s what I choose to think.” He sat down on the edge of the stage.

  Gooty started to say something else, but a loud crashing sound cut him off. Cakey had found an old glass mug under one of the tables and flung it at the far wall as hard as he could. It shattered into a hundred pieces with a crash and tinkle of glass. Then Cakey hopped up on the nearest table, kicked over a chair and turned to the others, spreading his arms wide.

  “You say one word about the ever-night,” Karl muttered, “and the next glass that gets thrown will be aimed right for your ugly face.”

  “These people are afraid,” Cakey said, with an exaggerated swing of his arms. “Terror is what drives them behind gates and walls. Fear of the sick, which they think they can keep out, though they cannot and will not. Fear of Tockland, for they know the day must come when the silver star flies over the Council House, and their bodies will be made to line pits like decorative stones. Waves crash in on all sides, and all that they cling to must be swept away. They know it, yet they hold the line. That is what you are seeing here in Fayette, my friends.”

  “Muy dramatic, as usual,” Gooty said. “But you don’t know any more than we do.”

  “And now you get to sweep up all that glass over there by the wall, you moron,” Telly said. “We are not rubes that you need to speechify to us.”

  Cakey hopped down off the table. “I know things,” he said. “They have taken root in my thoughts.”

  “The magic river told you,” Karl said. “Is that it? The magic river?”

  Cakey looked at him, flat and emotionless, with that absurd smile-frown tattoo across his mouth. “There will come a day when you will no longer question me, Karl,” he said.

  “Clean up the glass,” Telly said again, cutting off a retort from Karl. “Go find a broom and clean it up. No more throwing things. Find less destructive ways to make your point.”

  Cakey nodded once and went behind the bar to hunt for a broom.

  “Folks, there’s no point in speculating,” Telly said. “I don’t want any more talk about how we’re gonna die or Tockland is here. We don’t know what’s going on in Fayette, but we’ve got a show to put on, and for now that’s all that matters. We clean this dump up, and we get ready for the show. Can we do that?”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, the first to respond, though she sounded less than enthusiastic.

  “Yes,” David said.

  Karl nodded but said nothing. Gooty only grunted.

  “Good,” Telly said. “Let’s get to work.”

  Karl and Annabelle traded a confused look. “Get to work doing what?” Karl asked. “This place is destroyed.”

  “Do I need to delegate tasks?” Telly said. “Fine, I’ll delegate tasks. Karl, go see if you can get the power on. Look for a fuse box. Maybe in the kitchen.”

  Karl sighed, hopped off his stool, walked around the bar and shouldered his way through the kitchen door.

  “Alright, while he’s rooting around in the back,” Telly said. “Gooty, go see what kind of cleaning supplies you can scrounge up. Annabelle, see what sort of accommodations you can find for sleeping. David, check out the backstage area. Cakey…”

  Cakey had found a small broom behind the bar, but the handle was broken and many of the bristles were missing. He tried to use it to sweep up the glass, but it only scattered them around. Finally, he set the broom aside and began picking up the shards of glass one by one and setting them on a nearby chair.

  “Cakey, just keep on doing what you’re doing,” Telly said. “Looks like you’re having fun.”

  “By gum, I’m having a wonderful time,” Cakey said, and sounded like he meant it.

  “There, everyone has a task. Get to it.�
� Telly clapped his hands.

  David approached the stage. A single mud-brown curtain hung in the corner. When he drew it back, he saw a small alcove and a set of stairs leading down into darkness. The smell of mildew and rot made him gag, and he let the curtain fall back in place.

  “I can’t go down there,” he said, turning back to complain. But Telly had moved across the room, and nobody heard him.

  David pulled the curtain back again and took a step into the darkness. The shadows felt thick, pressing in against him, and he could not will himself to go down the stairs. He might have stood there for a very long time, but then the whole building groaned, a loud snapping sound echoed through the rooms, and the lights turned on. A single bare bulb hanging from a wire in the alcove illuminated the stairway and the room below. He saw a hint of thick, yellow carpet, and what appeared to be a crumpled, brown sock.

  He took another step, letting the curtain fall back into place behind him, and made his way down the stairs. The smell of rotten dampness was overwhelming. David pulled the collar of his shirt up over his mouth and nose in an effort to block it out. At the bottom of the stairs was an open doorway into a back room. He stepped through the door into ruin and decay. A moldering old couch sat against one wall, the stuffing bursting through rotten upholstery. Clothes were scattered about the room, not just the single sock but an entire wardrobe of jackets, pants, shirts, shoes, some so mildewed that they had melted into piles of goo. The walls of the room might once have been a light shade of green, judging by the few clean patches, but most of it now was splattered with mold. The ceiling tiles, those few that had not long since fallen to the floor and rotted away, sagged downward like ancient skin sloughing off bones, and the space above the tiles was festooned with cobwebs. A big, fat spider sat high up in one corner, and as David entered the room, it twitched its legs and shifted position, sensing an intruder into its heretofore undisturbed little kingdom.

  David stepped farther into the room, and his shoes squished on the carpet. Foul water seeped out around the soles. At the back of the room, there was a dark opening into a hallway on one side and a small door on the other. The top two hinges of the door had rotted out of the frame, and the door now hung slack like a broken jaw. In the room beyond, he could see a glint of light on water from puddles on a tile floor. He made his way over to the door, careful to step over the scattered clothing. It didn’t feel right stepping on them, too much like walking on dead bodies. When he got to the door, he tried to open it, but the last remaining hinge slid right out of the soft wood, and the door came loose in his hands. He dragged it over to the couch and set it down. In the process, his shirt collar popped free of his nose and mouth, and he got a good whiff of foul air. He gagged, bent over and might have puked if he’d had anything in his belly.