Full Circle
The circus folk were less than a hundred yards away. ‘No more nightmare! No more nightmare! Real! Real! Real!’
Dom Magator waited until the last possible moment, and then he said, very quietly, ‘OK, everybody. Let ’em have it.’
Zebenjo’Yyx released a blizzard of arrows from both hands. They clattered and whistled as they flew from the release mechanisms on his forearms, and the clowns collapsed into the wheat by the score, their bodies bristling like porcupines.
Jemexxa kept her back to the circus folk, so that she could raise the palm of one hand and reflect a bolt of lightning into Jekkalon’s hand. The lightning jumped from one twin to the other with an ear-splitting crack, and Jekkalon aimed it into the thickest part of the crowd. It exploded with such force that they could see a visible shock-wave ripple across the field, and fragments of clown and clothing were blasted high up into the purple sky.
Now Dom Magator hefted his Scythe Rifle up to his hip. He squeezed the trigger and it uttered a piercing, continuous scream. A stream of liquid lead poured out of the muzzle like water from a high-pressure hose, cutting the circus folk into pieces as he slowly swung the rifle from left to right. Soon the field in front of them was heaped with bodies and the wheat was stained rusty with blood.
Within minutes, fewer than a dozen clowns and circus hands were left standing, apart from three or four freaks – one of them a boy with six legs, like a huge spider.
‘You want some more, you bastards?’ Dom Magator yelled at them, and he shocked himself by the harshness of his own voice. ‘There’s plenty more where this came from!’
The circus folk hesitated for a moment, and then they turned around and began to scamper and hobble back toward the black tents.
‘Come on,’ said Dom Magator. ‘No time to waste. This is where we go for the Grand Freak himself.’
They stepped gingerly through the scattered bodies. Xyrena kept saying, ‘My God, my God, what have we done?’ but Dom Magator didn’t answer her. He remembered the first time that he had fought a battle in a nightmare, and inflicted casualties, and he remembered how shocked he had been, even when he had woken up the following morning.
‘We’re on our way, An-Gryferai,’ Dom Magator told her. ‘See if you can pinpoint Mago Verde.’
‘OK, but I’ll have to dive down lower. They’re all hiding themselves underneath their awnings now.’
‘Be careful, that’s all.’
He saw An-Gryferai circle over the big top, and then dive downward. But suddenly she appeared to jerk, and thrash, and her wings folded up. She disappeared from sight behind the tents, and he could hear a shout of triumph from the circus folk.
‘An-Gryferai! An-Gryferai! What’s happened? An-Gryferai, get back to me!’
Over his intercom, he picked up struggling noises, and static, and somebody saying, ‘Got her, the bird-bitch! Got her!’
He heard An-Gryferai grunting with effort, and then saying the single word, ‘—net!’
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked the other Night Warriors. ‘Sounds like they’ve caught her in a snare!’
They began to jog more quickly toward the circus. The morning was even hotter now. Their boots crunched through the trampled wheat stalks and the black pennants on the big top made a lazy, slapping sound. As they approached the outlying tents, a single figure appeared, in a black tuxedo, with a bright green smile. He waited for them patiently as they came nearer.
‘Well, well, what a surprise!’ Mago Verde called out. ‘It appears that I’m guilty of mistaking your identity, tin man! But then one lard butt looks so much like another!’
‘Where’s An-Gryferia, you creep?’ Dom Magator demanded. ‘If you’ve so much as touched her, I’m going to rip off your head off and piss down your neck!’
‘An-Gryferia? Is that her name? The bird-bitch who blew up poor Flammo? She’s OK for now, maybe a little bruised. But I warn you. If any of you try anything funny, she’s going to suffer. And not just suffer for now, but for ever and ever, amen. She wants to be a bird-woman? We can make her into a bird-woman for real!’
Dom Magator lifted his Scythe Rifle. ‘This is the end, you piece of shit. This circus is going out of business, permanent.’
‘I don’t think so,’ grinned Mago Verde. ‘You know why I came here tonight. That’s why you followed me. I have a ninth sacrifice for Brother Albrecht, and once we’ve enhanced his appearance, so that he begs us to stay with the freak show for the rest of his life, it will be time to pack up the tents and hitch up the caravans and trundle our way through to the wonderful world of wakefulness!’
‘Take me to An-Gryferai,’ said Dom Magator, pulling back the bolt on his rifle. ‘Take me to An-Gryferai or so help me I’ll cut you in half.’
‘I was going to anyhow,’ said Mago Verde. ‘Come on, tin man, follow me!’
He turned around and started to walk between the tents toward the big top, his thumbs in his lapels, strutting like Charlie Chaplin. Zebenjo’Yyx looked at Dom Magator and said, ‘What do we do now, man? He might have caught An-Gryferai, but we can’t let him take this circus through to the real world, can we?’
‘Let’s play it as it comes,’ said Dom Magator. ‘I don’t want any casualties if I can help it. Especially not An-Gryferai.’
Mago Verde led them through the archway that said Albrecht’s Traveling Circus & Freak Show and into the big top. Inside, the noise was overwhelming. The Night Warriors stood in front of the stage and looked around, and every seat was taken – by a clown, or a freak, or a dreamer. This was going to be Brother Albrecht’s big night – the night when he and his circus at least broke the sacred sanction that had kept them imprisoned in the world of dreams for over eight hundred years.
‘Here’s your precious An-Gryferai,’ said Mago Verde. And there she was, on the far side of the stage, gagged with a red scarf and tightly bound to a wooden chair, her wings folded behind her. A tattooed strong man in a leotard stood next to her, grinning toothlessly, holding a long-bladed knife in his hand.
An-Gryferai stared at the Night Warriors with her eyes wide, shaking her head from side to side as if she were appealing to them not to surrender.
Zachary, the bald Freakmaster came strutting up to them, wearing his long black rustling raincoat. He smiled at Jekkalon and Jemexxa and he obviously recognized them, even with their helmets on. ‘We meet again, then! Kieran and Kiera! Your mother the Demi-Goddess is very well, you’ll no doubt be pleased to know! You will see her in a moment!
Then he turned to Dom Magator and said, between gritted teeth, ‘Your weapons, please, all of them.’
‘You’re kidding me,’ said Dom Magator.
Zachary, still smiling, shook his head. ‘We can’t allow you to jeopardize Brother Albrecht’s greatest night, now can we?’
‘Go screw yourself,’ said Zebenjo’Yyx. ‘You ain’t havin’ my arrow storm stuff.’
‘Well, that’s your choice,’ Zachary told him. ‘But if you don’t hand over your weapons, your feathered friend here is going to be disemboweled before you can blink.’
Dom Magator looked across at An-Gryferai. He had seen other Night Warriors give their lives in the struggle against evil, and Brother Albrecht’s circus was one of the greatest evils that the world had ever faced. Corrupt, cruel and merciless. But how could he allow An-Gryferai to be cut open, right in front of him?
He unbuckled the rack of rifles on his back, lifted it off, and lowered it on to the ground. Zebenjo’Yyx said, ‘No, man! Sheeit! You can’t do that! We’re goin’ to be defenseless!’
Even Jekkalon said, ‘Yes, come on, D.M.! We’re warriors, dude! We know what the risks are!’
But Dom Magator shook his head. ‘I can’t let them butcher An-Gryferai, not in cold blood. Not when I can stop them.’
‘And how many other people are going to be butchered, because we didn’t stop Brother Albrecht? Thousands, maybe! Millions! You know what Springer told us! The whole damn planet is go
ing to go to hell!’
Dom Magator loosened his belt and let all of his knives and handguns and ammunition magazines drop with a clatter around his feet. Zachary snapped his fingers and one of the circus hands came over and collected them up.
‘Now your friends,’ he said. ‘Come on, please. We’re running out of time here.’
‘Shit,’ said Zebenjo’Yyx, and reluctantly unfastened the arrow-firing mechanisms on his forearms. Another circus hand lifted the curved quiver off his back.
Jemexxa took off her power pack and that was carried away, too.
Zachary approached Xyrena. She looked up at him with a challenging expression on her face.
‘And what weaponry do you have, beautiful lady?’ he asked her.
Xyrena shook her head. ‘Only my irresistible looks, baldy.’
‘She’s Xyrena the Passion Warrior,’ put in Dom Magator. ‘That says it all. Don’t tell me she isn’t turning you on already. She can turn on a cigar-store Indian.’
‘OK . . .’ said Zachary, although he didn’t look totally convinced. ‘Now why don’t you people take a seat beside the stage? I believe that Brother Albrecht is quite keen for you to watch his final sacrifice. He always savors the taste of revenge.’
A clown with a miserable blue face led them to a collection of chairs not far behind An-Gryferai. They sat down together, feeling defeated, not even talking to each other. An-Gryerai twisted her head around to look at them and her expression was filled with pain.
Almost immediately, there was a shrill fanfare of trumpets, and the curtains at the back of the stage were drawn back. The audience clapped and whistled and whooped with excitement as the ringmaster came striding out in his bottle-green tailcoat, cracking his whip.
‘Ladies and gentlemen and those who cannot decide which they want to be! Welcome, welcome, welcome to Albrecht’s Traveling Circus and Freak Show! Today is the most momentous day that this circus has ever known! Today is the day that we make our ninth and last sacrifice to Brother Albrecht, and return this circus at last to the world where it rightly belongs!
He spun around on the heel of his black polished jackboot and cracked his whip again. ‘I give you! Albrecht’s Traveling Circus and Freak Show!’
The audience rose to their feet, roaring with excitement, as the stage was flooded with scores of clowns and freaks. Dom Magator saw Jekkalon and Jemexxa’s mother, the Demi-Goddess, being wheeled to one side. To his horror, he also saw Maria Fortales, Brother Albrecht’s eighth sacrifice. Her face looked more like a Mayan death-mask than a human face, with empty eyes. The operation on her arms had been completed by another surgeon, and now she had two huge cross-bred pythons writhing from her shoulders. Their jaws had been wired together to prevent them from biting anybody while they were on stage.
Once the throng of clowns and freaks had filled the stage, a gurney was wheeled out, and brought right to the very edge of the stage. Pinned to the gurney with leather straps was Walter Wisocky, dressed in nothing but a filthy white T-shirt. His face was swollen and his hair was sticking up and he looked as if he were only half conscious. Between his thighs there was nothing but a blood-crusted surgical dressing.
‘Jesus,’ said Dom Magator. ‘Do you know who that is? Rhodajane – can you see who it is? It’s that detective who gave me a hard time when I first took you into the Griffin House Hotel. Windsock, or whatever his name was.’
‘That’s probably what Mago Verde meant when he said that he’d mistaken your identity,’ said Xyrena. ‘He must have caught him by mistake, thinking he was you. What did I call you two? Tweedleydum and Tweedleydee.’
‘Jesus.’
But now the ringmaster cracked his whip yet again, and shouted, ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Furr-eaks and misfits! I give you . . . the Grand Freak himself, for the very last time in the world of dreams, Brother Albrecht!’
Accompanied by another fanfare of trumpets, Brother Albrecht’s black-canopied contraption was pushed on to the stage by his naked, tattooed entourage. The ringmaster wound the handle, and the canopy gradually opened up, revealing Brother Albrecht. His hair was tangled with fresh yellow flowers from the wheat fields around the circus site, and he was smiling in triumph.
He nodded to acknowledge the clapping and the cheering of the crowd. ‘And now,’ he announced. ‘The ninth sacrifice! Opfer nummer neun!’
Walter moaned and struggled against his restraints, but it looked to Dom Magator as if he were either sedated or in shock. He hoped for his sake that he was sedated, and heavily. God alone knew what Brother Albrecht and his assembly of freaks were planning to do to him next.
‘Now we can say goodbye to eight centuries of enforced exile!’ Brother Albrecht cried out. ‘Now we can exact our recompense for being treated as outcasts and inferiors! Es ist Zeit für unsere Rache!’
From the rear of the stage, a man with spiky straw-colored hair appeared, wearing a long green surgeon’s robe. He was carrying a wire cage, holding it up high so that everybody in the audience could see what was inside it.
‘Oh my God,’ said Xyrena.
Leaping and jumping inside the cage was a thin black river otter, with white markings on its face. The crowd roared again, and whistled, and applauded, and the otter went into a frenzy, hurling itself from one side of the cage to the other.
‘What the hell they plannin’ to use that for?’ asked Zebenjo’Yyx. ‘Dom Magator – we should never of given up our weapons – we gotta stop them!’
The ringmaster led the man in the surgeon’s robe up to the front of the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Nondescripts! You are about to witness the conversion of our ninth sacrifice to a willing sacrifice! A freak who will agree to stay with us for ever! I give you Doctor Norman Agnew, and in turn Doctor Norman Agnew will give you Detective Walter Wisocky, Otter Lover!’
Doctor Agnew gave a gap-toothed grin, and unfastened the wire latch on the cage. He reached inside and lifted out the struggling otter, raising it up over his head. The crowd went wild, drumming their feet on the floor and standing on their seats and waving their arms.
‘Otter Lover—’ said Xyrena. ‘My God, I know what they’re going to do! That poor man!’ Without any hesitation, she stood up and walked around An-Gryferai’s chair and across to the center of the stage.
Dom Magator said, ‘Xyrena—!’ but she ignored him. She went right up close to Doctor Agnew and stood beside him, until he realized that she was there. Very slowly, he lowered the wriggling otter and stared at her.
‘Yes, madam?’ he asked her. ‘And what do you want?’
Xyrena smiled at him. ‘More to the point, doctor, what do you want?’
Doctor Agnew continued to stare at her. He didn’t say anything, but it was obvious that he was breathing more deeply. He licked his lips, and then he looked toward the black contraption where Brother Albrecht was ensconced, as if he were guilty about feeling so aroused.
In his grip, even the otter began to rise up stiffly, as if it were a huge sleek member covered with shiny black fur.
Brother Albrecht called out, ‘You again, Xyrena, you Lorelei! We didn’t finish our conversation the last time, did we, when you and your friends caused such havoc?’
‘So sorry about that,’ said Xyrena. She reached out and stroked the otter all the way down its back and Doctor Agnew shuddered as if she had stroked his penis. Then she walked over to Brother Albrecht’s contraption and said, ‘Congratulations are in order, then, your Grand Freakiness? Your ninth sacrifice, all ready to be converted into a sideshow attraction? What’s so special about a girl with snakes for arms, when you have a man with a living otter for a membrum virile?’
Brother Albrecht said, ‘Come closer. How is it you make me feel like this, Xyrena?’
‘Just my personality, I guess.’
‘No . . . you have much more than that. You have a power which I recognize. You remind me so much of the woman for whom I lost everything. Your eyes. Your hair.’
Between his truncated, tatto
oed thighs, his brown leather jerkin was swelling up. Xyrena reached her hand over the edge of his seat and almost touched him with her fingertips. Even though she didn’t quite make contact, Brother Albrecht quivered, and closed his eyes, as if she had.
‘Who are you?’ he whispered. All around them, the circus folk on the stage were attentive and hushed, and even the assembled audience were much quieter, although they shuffled and coughed like any other audience.
‘You know my name,’ Xyrena told him.
He opened his eyes very wide. ‘Yes. But you look so much like my Lisbeth. How can that be possible?’
‘Coincidence,’ said Xyrena. ‘Fate. Or maybe you’ve forgotten what your Lisbeth really looks like. It’s been eight hundred years, after all. A body can forget a whole lot in eight hundred years.’
‘A body, yes,’ Brother Albrecht, with an unexpectedly wry smile. ‘A body without arms and legs.’
‘You have everything that counts,’ said Xyrena, her hand stroking up and down in the air, less than a half inch away from the contours of his bulging jerkin.
‘What does that matter? You wouldn’t willingly make love to me.’
‘Who says?’ she said, in a steady voice. And at the same time, she thought: would I? Could I? God, I sound like Barbra Streisand. But then she looked intently at his beautiful face and thought: I could, as a matter of fact. Plenty of women have lovers who are amputees or very special people. Even Prince Randian the Human Torso was married and had four children.
‘You would try to kill me,’ said Brother Albrecht.
‘What?’
‘You would try to make my blood boil, the same way you made my harlequin’s blood boil. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? You don’t find me alluring at all. But you would be prepared to make love to me, just to slide those long fingernails of yours into my skin. Aber Sie konnten mich nicht töten. Ich bin nicht der selbe wie Sie. Ich nicht sogar komme von der Welt von Träumen.’
‘What did you say? I don’t understand Krautish.’
‘I said that you cannot kill me, Xyrena. I am not the same as you. I am not even from the world of dreams. I was sent here by God as a punishment, but I ended up being punished far more harshly than I ever imagined possible. I can never forgive that.’
The Ninth Nightmare Page 31