The Crown of the Bandit King

by Matti Lena Harris

  They both stopped to listen. The waves crashed below us, and the wind whistled through the gorse. I could have sworn I’d heard music, but maybe I’d imagined it. No. There it was again. Really soft and distant. I couldn’t tell what direction, though. Finally, Sweet Pea heard it too.

  “Carnival music,” she said. “But where’s it coming from?”

  “It’s all around us,” Deeter said. “Weird.”

  “What a minute. I have an idea.”

  Out of her backpack she pulled a red silk coin purse.

  “Hello?” she called. “We’d like to buy three tickets for admission please!”

  There was a tremendous white flash. But when my eyes could see again, I could hardly believe them. A huge carnival now filled the once-empty field, with red- and white-stripped tents and spinning rides and cotton candy carts and ball-game booths. The whole place gleamed with blinking lights and colorful signs. Banners and flags flapped in the wind while the smell of popcorn and hot dogs filled the air.

  And we were standing in front of the ticket booth.

  Deeter patted Sweet Pea on the back. “How’d you come up with that one?”

  “Well,” she said, “I figured if we…oh, no.”

  Whatever it was that made her frown, Deeter saw it too. He shook his head.

  “Man! We come this far, go through all this trouble, and now the competition’s gotta show up!”

  “Competition?” I turned around.

  Four boys about my age had climbed up the beach path. They each dressed exactly the same—black slacks and white, pressed dress shirts with black blazers and black ties. They looked like they should be going to some gourmet restaurant or some expensive concert performance.

  “Betcha every peanut butter granola bar we’ve got left that they’re after the Magic Eight Ball same as we are,” Deeter said. Then he kicked at the dirt with his shoe. “Man!”

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  Sweet Pea rolled her eyes. “Choir Boys.”

  Chapter 15

  The Fortune Teller

  “Um, who exactly are the Choir Boys?” I asked.

  “They’re another group of Finders,” Sweet Pea said. “They may look angelic, but they’re actually big creeps. They work for the Maestro, one of the Ragman’s rival Collectors.”

  Deeter cocked his head. “Which means they’re our rivals too.”

  By then, the Choir Boys had joined us at the ticket booth. They regarded us for a minute, and then one of the boys stepped forward.

  “Well, well,” he said, “if it isn’t the Ragman’s little Ragdolls.”

  Everything about this kid was perfect. Besides his fancy suit, he had a perfect round face with perfect blue eyes and perfect white teeth. His perfect blond hair swept over his forehead, and not a single strand was out of place on his perfect head. The sun shining behind him even made it look like he had a perfect halo. Sweet Pea was right about him looking like an angel.

  Except for the perfect smirk on his face.

  “Back off, Allegro,” Deeter said. “This one’s ours. We got here first. We call it.”

  “Relax, Ragdolls. We’re merely here to enjoy this excellent carnival.”

  Allegro’s smirk grew even bigger, and the other three boys behind him snickered.

  “Of course, if we happen to find any magical souvenirs along the way,” Allegro added, “you can hardly blame us for taking them home.”

  He turned to one of the other boys, a real thick kid with red hair and a cherub’s face. Well, a cherub with the flu, maybe.

  “Get the tickets, Forte,” Allegro said.

  Forte shoved his way forward, pushing Deeter aside and knocking Sweet Pea to the ground.

  “Hey, jerk!” I yelled. “Watch it!”

  Forte spun around, sneering, but I didn’t care. No one treated Sweet Pea like that and got away with it. When I didn’t back down, he grabbed my coat collar and yanked me closer to his face. I caught a whiff of his breath—and it definitely was not the breath of a cherub.

  “Where are your manners, Ragdoll?” he asked. “Someone should teach this Ragdoll it’s rude to call people names.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Allegro said.

  He reached into his coat pocket for a strangely shaped piece of metal. On one end, two prongs connected in a U-shape to a single thin center handle. Like an alien’s dinner fork. It was a Collectible, though, no question. My skin started tingling the moment he took it out. He waved it in the air a few times as if the sight of it alone should be enough to scare me.

  “Not so fast, Allegro!” Sweet Pea shouted.

  She grasped the Swan Feather in her hands, ready for a fight. Then she pointed it at his face.

  “Remember last time?” she asked.

  For a moment, I could’ve sworn he started blushing.

  “Put the Tuning Fork away,” she said. “Now.”

  But that only seemed to make the situation worse. One of the other Choir Boys grabbed a red harmonica from his pocket and held it near his lips. Deeter readied his ring while Forte dropped me so he could take out a pack of chewing gum. The air buzzed with the energy of the Collectibles that everyone pointed at each other.

  This could get ugly.

  Then a deep male voice yelled at us from the ticket booth.

  “Hey! You kids gonna buy some tickets or what?”

  There was a pause. No one seemed willing to make the first peace. Finally, Allegro nodded once at Forte and the others to pocket their Collectibles. Then he straightened his tie and smoothed his hand over his hair.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “We’re so sorry to keep an important Artisan like you waiting. We wish to buy four tickets for admission to this lovely carnival.”

  Not only was he a creep, he was also a smoocher. He gestured at Forte, who went up to the window of the ticket booth and paid for the tickets. Then, with a backward glance at us, the Choir Boys passed through the carnival gates.

  “Wow, that was close,” Sweet Pea said. “I’ve never seen Allegro back down so quickly before.”

  “That’s because he’s a coward,” Deeter said.

  I frowned. “That’s because he’s smart. By backing down, he got a head start to beat us to the Magic Eight Ball.”

  Allegro may have been a jerk, sure, but he clearly wasn’t stupid. Looked like he was already thinking three steps ahead, which made our job even harder.

  “What about you kids?” the male voice asked. “Ya gonna buy tickets too?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sweet Pea called. She turned to us. “We’d better not keep him waiting any longer.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The Carnie. He’s the Artisan who runs the Artisans’ Carnival.”

  We approached the window of the ticket booth where the Carnie counted coins. He was a beefy, clean-shaven guy wearing a dark green windbreaker and a brown knit beanie. He leaned forward, his strange amber eyes glowing.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you kids, even if you are Finders,” he said. “I tell ya, no one’s got any time for a carnival anymore. I go around settin’ this place up day after day, night after night, and no one attends! I got so desperate, I started opening the place up to Ordinaries.”

  “Ordinaries?” I asked.

  “Normal people,” Sweet Pea said. “Non-magic.”

  The Carnie went on like he hadn’t even heard us.

  “See? That’s how low I was. Started postin’ flyers to advertise for Ordinaries. Started goin’ to places where the Ordinaries go. A lot of good that’s done me. Like that fiasco at Hiddleburg Park. Kept the carnival open all the way to Sunday morning. Just hoping, ya know? And not a single person came, Ordinary or Artisan. Can ya believe it?”

  I almost suggested that he might get more attendees if he stopped going to places like the Hiddleburg Park and Jetsam Pier and Edge Island. But that didn’t seem polite.

  “Ah well, you kids are here at least. Three tickets, all right. Here you go. Don’t forget, tonight we close at midnight.
The Management ain’t responsible for anything or anybody left in the park after that and lost subsequently thereof. Got it?”

  “Sure thing, Mister Carnie,” Deeter said. “Be out by midnight.”

  “You kids have fun!”

  The moment we entered the carnival gates, my stomach started doing loop-de-loops. Not quite as bad as in the Librarian’s library, but it was a close second. There was magic in everything here. The tents, the rides, the foods, the games, the flags, the lights—all of it was Artisan-made. Finding the Magic Eight Ball in this chaos would not be easy.

  Deeter and Sweet Pea peered at every corner and every shadow as if they expected an ambush.

  “No sign of the Choir Boys,” Sweet Pea said.

  Deeter snorted. “For now.”

  “Right. Their presence changes things.”

  “How do you suppose they found the Artisans’ Carnival?” I asked. “I mean, we only found it because of the flyers. Do you think they found the flyers too?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Deeter said. “Somebody must’ve tipped them off.”

  “But who?” Sweet Pea asked. “The Maestro? Do you think he could be the rogue Collector?”

  “Absolutely. Why else would his Finders be hunting for the Magic Eight Ball? Right when we’re hunting for it too. Suspicious, if you ask me.”

  “You’re right. We have to find that eight ball before they do. We need a plan.”

  Then, for some reason, they both looked at me.

  “Does the carnival have a fortune teller?” I asked. “If the Magic Eight Ball can be used to tell the future, then maybe she’s got it.”

  “Good thinking, Rookie,” Deeter said.

  Sweet Pea nodded. “I say we split up. We’ll be able to cover more ground.”

  “Split up?” Deeter huffed. “With a bunch of Choir Boys running around on the loose? That’s crazy talk.”

  “Think of it, Deet. We’re outnumbered even if we stick together, and they already have a head start.”

  Deeter only crossed his arms in front of him.

  “Oh, honestly,” Sweet Pea said. “I promise I’ll buy you a peanut butter funnel cake at the nearest funnel cake stand. All right?”

  That settled it pretty quick.

  Deeter decided to take the way leading to the left (he said it smelled like funnel cake). Sweet Pea decided to go right, so I wandered up the center path. It was edged on both sides by vendors’ tents and game booths and food stands. Nothing really seemed to match. Like a jigsaw puzzle that a four-year-old had jammed together using the mismatched pieces of five different puzzles.

  Strangest of all, though, was the emptiness.

  The rides clanked and growled while loud calliope music floated in the air. But there was no laughter, no joyful screams, no excited talking.

  No people.

  At least that meant there were still no Choir Boys in sight.

  Near the jungle fun slide, the path split into two separate directions. They both looked the same—more tents, more rides, more games. I decided to go left. Not the best choice. Just past the swinging carousel, I heard footsteps shuffling up behind me. Great. I’d walked into an ambush.

  I spun around, my shoulders tense, and I waited.

  A slight breeze whispered across the empty path and then everything was still again. The sun-faded banners drooped above me, listless in the afternoon heat, while the huge stuffed gorillas on the prize racks leered at me.

  This empty carnival was really beginning to wig me out.

  By the flip-the-turtle game booth, I heard it again. Footsteps. They seemed to be matching mine.

  “Sweet Pea? Deeter? Is that you?” I called.

  But it wasn’t them, and deep down I knew it. Maybe a Choir Boy?

  “Listen, Allegro, or Forte, or whoever you are. If you’re trying to mess with my head, it’s not going to work. I’m on to you.”

  I waited a minute. No sound. No movement. No Choir Boys.

  Fine. Maybe Allegro or Forte thought they could trick me, but I’d show them a trick of my own if I could just make it to the house of mirrors up ahead. I passed the shooting gallery, and then the frozen lemonade stand. I passed the train ride and the bottle-toss. I passed the churros cart and the face-painting tent.

  Finally, the house of mirrors.

  Near the entrance was a long, shiny mirror meant to entice visitors, so I glanced at the reflection in the glass to see which Choir Boy was stalking me. Problem was, it wasn’t a Choir Boy.

  It was a clown.

  And not some happy-smiley-bunny clown, either. This clown looked like he worked at a funeral home. He wore a black button-up coat and long, floppy black shoes. His face was covered with white makeup like other clowns, but instead of wearing a big red bozo nose, his was black. His eye makeup was black too, drawn in pointy arches like some evil Halloween pumpkin.

  Yikes. Who’d have ever thought I’d wish for a Choir Boy instead?

  Staring at that clown, I could think of only one thing.

  Run.

  I dashed ahead, then made a quick cut between the swinging pirate ship and the cotton candy booth. The clown’s shoes slapped against the path as he chased after me. But I could beat him—if I could find some tight corner, some unexpected turn. With those long, floppy shoes, he wasn’t as fast as I was. Maybe I could lose him with a dodge.

  I took another cut, this time by the hamburger stand. That cut led right into a row of tents, but I was on the wrong side. All the tent entrances were in front, and I was behind.

  The path had ended.

  I ran to the left, to the right. No good. I couldn’t go back—that way was blocked by the evil clown. There was nowhere to go. The sound of the flapping shoes grew closer. Suddenly, a hand grabbed my left shoulder, and I cried out.

  “Whoa, easy Rookie! What’s wrong with you?” Deeter asked.

  Maybe he was the world’s most annoying boy, but right then I could have given him a big hug, just for not being that clown instead. Only there wasn’t time.

  “Quick! There’s a creepy psycho clown,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “A clown at a carnival? Man, clowns belong at a circus. You’re nuts.”

  “I’m not kidding!”

  “What’d you do to make a clown chase you?”

  “Nothing! I swear!”

  Deeter scrunched his mouth up like he was thinking.

  “All right,” he said. “I can handle this. You have your kazoo?”

  I pulled the Red Kazoo out of my coat pocket and handed it to Deeter.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked.

  “I trusted you at the pier. Now you gotta trust me. Watch and learn, Rookie.”

  The flappy footsteps were only a few tents away. With a quick nod, Deeter slipped the Sneak’s Ring onto his finger and vanished. Then he raised the side of the nearest tent and shoved me underneath.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I lose this loser.”

  For a while I lay there in the dirt and straw, listening. There was no way to tell what was happening though I strained to hear. What was Deeter planning to do? What if that creepy clown caught him?

  I lifted myself to my feet. I had to help him.

  Then a woman’s voice spoke somewhere in the tent.

  “He won’t catch your friend today. You may as well come over here and sit at my table.”

  I turned around. For the first time, I noticed what was inside the tent.

  And more importantly, who.

  The whole interior was swathed with thick flowing scarves in deep jewel colors—sapphires, rubies, emeralds. In the center of the tent was a round table with a crystal ball, and in the ball’s murky depths I could see everything that was happening at the carnival. The Carnie counting ticket stubs. Sweet Pea walking up to a basketball toss game booth. Allegro smirking at the Ferris wheel. Even the creepy clown, heading back to the house of mirrors.

  No way.
>
  Sitting there at the table was a woman dressed as a gypsy. She leaned forward so that her long black hair flowed down her shoulders, and she rested her elbows on the table’s edge. I didn’t know if I was finally getting the knack of things or what, but I could tell that she wasn’t any regular Ordinary.

  “You’re the Fortune Teller,” I said. “You’re an Artisan.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said. “And you’re late, Boy of Destiny!”

  Chapter 16

  The Finder’s Duel

  If the Magic Eight Ball was here in the Fortune Teller’s tent, I sure didn’t see it. Or feel it. I tried my best to sneak a look around, in case the eight ball was hidden somewhere amongst the scarves and wisps of incense, but the Fortune Teller laughed at me.

  “You won’t find what you’re seeking in my tent, Boy of Destiny. I don’t keep ridiculous plastic trinkets like the Magic Eight Ball in here.”

  “Will you tell me where it is?” I asked.

  She batted away my question with a wave of her hand. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “Then what do I need you to tell me?”

  “Ah, at last. You’re starting to ask more sensible questions. Come over here to my table if you really want an answer.”

  I paused. Somewhere out in the carnival, a psycho clown was chasing Deeter. Sweet Pea was out there, too, along with the Choir Boys. Who knew what trouble those creeps were planning? And here I was about to get my fortune told?

  The Fortune Teller made a noise of disgust like a cough that wanted to be a sneeze.

  “Ercgh! How disappointing! Go on then to your business and leave me to mine! Go on! Get out of my tent!”

  I sure didn’t need any more Artisans angry with me. The Librarian was enough. And even if the Fortune Teller wouldn’t tell me the Magic Eight Ball’s location, she still might give me some other answers. Like maybe the identity of rogue Collector. Maybe she could even tell me how to defeat the Ragman.

  How to get my memories back.

  “All right,” I said. “If you answer a few questions, I’ll sit at your table with you and let you tell me my fortune.”