Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, cause you’re white and I’m black? Psht. Racist. Your lover, my dad, might have been black.”

  I couldn’t believe we were discussing this. “That, and I’ve got to be only five years older than you.” I shook my head in disbelief.

  She widened her eyes and chuckled. “Oh, you’re serious?” She shook her head. “That’s right, you’re totally clueless.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No,” she whispered. “Seers live a long time—I’m like, really old.”

  “Oh come on.”

  “Seriously.” She counted on her fingers. “I lose track, but I’m over three hundred.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “I know, right? I look good for my age. I’m young on the outside—and mentally, and maturity wise.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, praying for patience. “Okay, Rhonda, want to tell me what’s going on?” It was strange to see her behind bars, without her usual funky style. Instead she wore the same sack-like top and pants the other prisoners wore. Though, the lack of demon necklace was definitely an improvement. “Are you all right in there?”

  She took my hands through the bars. “You have to get me out of here.”

  “Me?” I looked around, then lowered my voice. “What can I do?”

  “I had a vision.”

  I arched a brow and gave her a skeptical look. I’d heard that one before.

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, in the tent I didn’t have a real vision of you helping me. Though—” She pulled her hands back to gesture at me. “Though you are here now, so in a way I was right.”

  I folded my arms.

  “Okay, okay. I got a real vision—I saw Madame Zerna’s diary hidden in her caravan. It’s hidden under a skull. It was hazy, but it looked like a small skull, maybe a rat’s or a child’s….”

  I raised my hands. “Okay, big difference there.”

  Rhonda shrugged. “I haven’t seen too many children’s’ skulls.”

  I scoffed and folded my arms across my chest. “Neither have I! But I should think you’d know—”

  Rhonda grabbed my arms through the bars. “Listen! I’m getting visions related to Madame Zerna’s death. I’d look into them if I could, but—” She looked around her tiny cell. She had enough room for a raised wooden bed frame and space to walk maybe four steps around the bed in either direction. At least she got a window at the head of the bed—though barred and dirty as it was, nothing outside was visible.

  “So you want me to look into these visions? Why?”

  “Why?” She shook her head at me. “To clear my name!”

  “So… you didn’t kill Madame Zerna?” I raised a brow.

  “Imogen Banks! How could you even think that?”

  I capitulated. “I don’t, but we found you standing over her body holding the saw. Why were you even in there?”

  Rhonda cleared her throat and backed up a step, scratching her neck. “I, uh—I, uh, saw a vision that Madame Zerna was in trouble, and I came to help.”

  I frowned at her. “You didn’t like her. And even if you did, why would you go by yourself if you saw her in trouble?”

  Rhonda rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know—’cause I’m brave? Okay? Look, that’s not important. I didn’t kill her. Do you believe me?”

  I nodded. “I do.” It was the truth. Even though I knew she wasn’t telling me something, I couldn’t imagine her guilty of murdering anyone—even her greatest rival.

  “Then please help me. Look for the diary—maybe it’ll clear everything up. There’s got to be a reason I had that vision.”

  I nodded. “Right. We should take this to the police.”

  “Urg!” Rhonda growled and paced a few steps around her bed. “No. The police are convinced I’m guilty. They’re not even bothering to look into any leads, I guarantee it.”

  “Have you tried?”

  Rhonda shook her head, her tiny braids swishing over her shoulders. “I don’t need to try.”

  I glanced at the guard to make sure he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Fine. I’ll sneak into her caravan tonight and search for the rat child’s skull.”

  Rhonda released a breath. “Thank you, Imogen.”

  I raised a finger. “If, and only if, the police won’t do it themselves. I’m going to speak with Inspector Bon.” She nodded, and I moved off.

  “Oh, and Imogen?”

  I turned partway down the hall.

  Rhonda cupped her hands to be heard over the other prisoners’ shouts. “I wouldn’t mind if you brought me some of those hand pies next time you come? And a blueberry muffin? And a coffee?”

  I waved at her and followed the guard back out to the courtyard and down to the offices on the first floor. He popped into Inspector Bon’s office, announced me as a visitor, and then waved me in. I took a seat in front of Bon’s desk. He smirked and leaned back in his chair, kicking his black boots onto his metal desk.

  “Well, if it isn’t Imogen Banks, former murder suspect and almost kidnapping victim. What brings you here today? Come to stage a prison break?” He clapped his small hands over his stomach and chortled.

  “Ha. Ha. No. In fact, I’m friends with Rhonda the Seer and—”

  “Ah. Definitely guilty, that one.”

  I pressed my hands to the cool metal desk. “What?”

  He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Yep. Guilty as can be.”

  “That’s actually why I’m here—because she’s not. She’s had a vision about Madame Zerna’s diary and I think it might hold clues—”

  Inspector Bon waved a hand at me. “Come now. You’re being a good friend, but sometimes we have to accept that someone’s a lost cause.” He cleared his throat. “Definitely a lost cause that one, definitely.”

  “How can you say that?” I leaned toward him, gripping the desk. “What about Madame Zerna’s prediction? Did you know that last night, she predicted her own murder? She said a man would do it—a man with dark eyes and skull on his throat. Aren’t you going to look into that?”

  Inspector Bon coolly raised a brow. “Yes, a performer makes outrageous claims on stage—very convincing. Let’s look at the evidence against your friend, though, shall we?”

  He ticked the facts off on his fingers. “She was found, by you I might add, standing over the victim’s body, holding the murder weapon. She had a public argument with the victim two nights prior. She had a long-standing rivalry with the victim and stood to gain professionally from her death. And she has no alibi.”

  I let out a heavy sigh, then stood. “I’m going to prove her innocent.”

  I turned and marched out of the prison with Inspector Bon calling after me, “Good luck.”

  11

  Madame Zerna's Caravan

  Late that night, I lay still in my bed. Too still? Did Wiley know I was fake sleeping? I peeled an eye open and peered over at him in the wrought iron bed across the tent from mine. A sheer curtain divided the peaked tent in two, so I couldn’t see much.

  Iggy huffed. “For sand’s sake, he’s asleep.”

  I shushed him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Listen to him! I don’t even have ears and I can tell he’s passed out.”

  I’d had to wait for ages for Wiley to come back. Every night, after close, many of the carnival workers gathered in the center of the tents and caravans around a giant bonfire and laughed and drank and told stories. I’d joined them a couple times, but my body was still on a baker’s schedule, up before dawn, and I didn’t have it in me to stay up till late with them.

  That didn’t stop Wiley though. As he never made it into the royal bakery on time, he had no trouble staying up to the wee hours of the morning. That meant hours of twiddling my thumbs in bed, waiting for him to return. When he finally did, he first stumbled toward my bed. I shrieked and shoved him over to his. He got trapped in the divider curtain, eventually made his way through, and collapsed face first onto the mattress
.

  His deep, rattling snore had started up almost immediately. At least he’d come back alone.

  I sat up and hissed, “Fine.”

  I tugged on some boots, then picked up the lantern that held Iggy from the wooden trunk that did double duty as dresser and side table. I crept around to Wiley’s side of the tent, walking on the edges of my feet so as not to make too much noise, and I kept most of the lantern shuttered to keep the light down.

  “Honestly.” Iggy crossed his little fire arms. “If his own snoring doesn’t wake him up, we certainly won’t.”

  I gave him a look, then pushed back the curtain and held the lantern aloft. Wyatt drooled on his pillow, still fully clothed, with only half his tall body on the bed, his feet still on the ground. I shook my head.

  “For shame, yes, we know.” Iggy waggled his brows. “Let’s go snoop already.”

  I crept out of the tent, holding Iggy in one hand. The deep blue sky cast the carnival grounds in dark shadows. A faint mist rose from the dark campfire pit, and from the thicket across the field, an owl hooted.

  I snuck past tents and caravans, some silent, some filled with murmuring, and others emanating snores as loud as Wiley’s. I’d seen Madame Zerna’s caravan before, separated from the others. From what Rhonda had said about her being a diva, it surprised me that she’d stayed on the grounds with the other carnival workers instead of in one of the magical hotels.

  It soon came into view. I peered out from behind a tree trunk, holding Iggy so that he could see as well. Steps led up to the door, like Edward’s. A purple sign hung over the door that read The Marvelous Madame Zerna, with an eye painted below the letters. Two lanterns on either side of the door glowed golden, but no light shone from the windows.

  “What if her assistant’s inside?”

  Iggy frowned. “Scout it out first.”

  I crept forward, reluctantly leaving the cover provided by the tree. Crouching low, I moved to the side of the caravan and used one of the blocked wooden wheels to climb up and peek through the window. I barely raised my eyes above sill level, my fingers clutching the narrow ledge. I squinted.

  Inside, everything lay in darkness, though it appeared so cluttered I couldn’t tell if some of the lumps and shadows were furniture or a person. With aching fingers, I eventually lowered myself down and crouched next to the lantern.

  I shrugged. “I couldn’t make out much.”

  “Perfect. It’ll add some suspense when we break in.”

  “Hold your horses.”

  Iggy frowned. “You know I don’t have any.”

  I sighed. “Figure of speech. It means, hold up.”

  “Hold… up?” Iggy turned his palms up, then lifted his arms in the air. He gave me a skeptical expression. “Your human expressions make no sense.”

  “You make no sense,” I hissed.

  He rolled his eyes. “Great comeback.”

  “I’m going to knock first.” I lifted the lantern and moved to the front of the caravan. I climbed the steps with trepidation.

  “We’re going to knock? Spies don’t knock. Cat burglars don’t knock. And what if someone answers?”

  I held the grumbling flame up to my face. “Then you better think of a good reason for us to come around… and fast.”

  “Oh sure.” Iggy folded his arms. “We can say we came by to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  I knocked, three short raps on the wooden door.

  “What? Seriously, you’re knoc— Geez.” Iggy grumbled to himself as anxiety clenched my stomach. What excuse would I give if someone answered?

  Still, I’d rather be caught out here, then break in to find Madame Zerna’s assistant, or someone else, inside. Then again, who would sleep in a dead woman’s caravan? I didn’t want to know. I swallowed, and when after several more long moments, no answer came, I turned to Iggy.

  “All right, looks like it’s sneak in time.”

  “That’s a terrible catch phrase. We need a better one. Like… it’s sneakin’ time.”

  I nodded. “I think that’s much worse.”

  I reached a hand forward for the knob.

  “Oh! And now you think we’re going to find it unlocked? Why do you think we brought your credit card and bobby pins and—”

  Iggy stopped talking when the metal knob spun in my hand and I pulled the door open, revealing the dark caravan beyond.

  “You were saying?”

  “Stop gloating.” Iggy folded his arms.

  “You would think the police would have locked this up though, right?”

  Iggy nodded. “Maybe they did. Maybe someone else beat us to it.”

  I gasped in mock surprise. “You mean… we’re late for ‘sneakin’ time’?”

  Iggy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Shut it.”

  I pushed through the beaded curtain that hung over the entrance, and stepped inside. I coughed into the crook of my elbow, my eyes watering. The smell of tea leaves and incense was almost overpowering. While I longed to open the windows, I didn’t dare risk being heard or seen.

  Instead, I drew the curtains over the windows and quietly pulled the door closed behind me. Then I opened the lantern shutters to allow Iggy to fully illuminate the small space. I held him aloft and turned in a slow circle.

  The bed was crammed against the back wall and draped in layers of quilts and piles of multicolored pillows. Shelves above the bed held candles, lanterns, and jars of buttons and iron keys. At least thirty clocks lay scattered about, all set to different times. Their ticking gave me a sense of our time running out.

  Rugs blanketed every inch of the floor, and sheer scarves, curtains, and hanging lamps obscured the ceiling. Tables wedged in against the walls were similarly packed with specimen jars, candelabras, teacups, cards, and clocks.

  I let out a sigh. From the outside, the caravan had seemed so small, I’d expected an easy task of finding the diary. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Remind me what we’re looking for again?”

  I held Iggy up to the shelves above the bed and combed through all the knickknacks. “Her diary. It’ll be under either a rat’s or a child’s skull, Rhonda couldn’t tell which it was.”

  Iggy scoffed. “How can you not tell?”

  I dipped my chin. “That’s what I said.”

  We made our way through the shelves, then turned to the low table under the window. After we’d combed through the contents on the table, Iggy suggested we check underneath. I lifted the ruffled velvet tablecloth and groaned.

  “It has drawers?” Iggy moaned. “We’ll never find this thing.”

  “Don’t give up.” I glanced around, feeling less positive than I sounded. “We’re bound to find it… eventually… if Rhonda was right and it’s even here.”

  “And we don’t get caught first,” Iggy added.

  “Right, that too. Oh!” I spotted something on the other table that caught my eye. I grabbed Iggy and set his lantern down next to a rounded cage with a bird skeleton on a perch inside. I moved a couple of candles aside and pointed.

  “There it is.”

  Iggy and I eyed the discolored skull. I folded my arms and cocked my head to the side.

  “I can see what Rhonda meant, actually.”

  Iggy grimaced. “I really hope that was a large rodent.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Because a child should not have those incisors.”

  Gingerly, I lifted the skull… and found nothing but tablecloth below. I patted around. The book was not under the cloth. “It’s not here.”

  Iggy frowned. “Maybe Madame Zerna moved it. Or the police confiscated it.”

  I titled my head side to side. “Maybe. But Rhonda had the vision after they arrested her, and Inspector Bon gave no indication that they’d be doing any investigation. Let’s keep looking. Maybe you’re right and it got moved.”

  I’d turned to ruffle through a trunk in the corner when a voice startled me.

  “Maybe what got moved?”

  I yelped and whi
rled to find Madame Zerna’s mousy assistant standing in the doorway, thin arms folded across her chest. I glanced at Iggy, who stared back at me wide-eyed.

  “What are you doing in here?” She stepped closer, her brows drawn together in a scowl.

  “Uh—” My mind went blank and I went with the first idea that popped into it. “Borrowing a cup of sugar? Neighbor?”

  Frennie’s deep-set eyes blazed. “Get out! Now!” She pointed a trembling finger toward the door.

  I held up my free hand. “All right, we will.”

  Her nostrils flared in her long nose. She shook her head tersely and folded her arms tight across her chest, glaring as Iggy and I inched past her. “You people make me sick. Come by to gawk, did you? Or on a dare from your friends? Ooh, you can go tell your school pals you snuck into the dead woman’s caravan?”

  I pressed a hand to my chest. “School pals? How old do you think I am? I’m flattered, but—”

  She stomped her boot and pointed again. “Get out!”

  I inched past her toward the stairs and held up my hands. As I did I noticed she kept one hand behind her back. When I tried to peer around her, she angled herself to keep it hidden. Her eyes blazed with fury. As I climbed down the stairs, a thought occurred to me. At the bottom, I turned and faced her.

  “Listen. I’m not some kid here on a dare. I’m working here too, at the baking booth. I know you were her assistant—Frennie, right?”

  Her brows softened and she turned her head, looking me up and down with suspicion.

  I thought, since she seemed upset at the idea of us of disrespecting the memory of Madame Zerna, she might appreciate our true reason for breaking and entering. “The police arrested my friend for your boss’s murder, but she’s not guilty. I’m trying to clear her name and we think Madame Zerna’s caravan might hold some clues.”

  Iggy hissed, “What are you doing?”

  I ignored him and continued. “Did she keep a diary?”

  Frennie gasped and slammed her back against the caravan. “No. No!” She pointed with her free hand. “Get out of here before I call the police!”