Nightmare Carnival

Kleininger had already scrubbed off the clown makeup while Schmidt’s whiteface had smeared into the crags and lines of his face, his eyes old and weary. What little muted conversation there was died away as the Bishop walked into the top, still dressed in his velvet vest and tails, glass diamonds in his buttons glittering. One of the rousties quickly fetched a folding chair. The Bishop smiled wanly in thanks as he sat down heavily. He still had the ringmaster’s whip coiled in one hand, dangling between his knees as he rested elbows on his thighs, head hanging. The Bishop sighed, then looked up.

“The mayor of this fine town took a good deal of pleasure in informing me he’s sent telegrams down the wire. Every town between here and the West Coast knows we have a killer elephant. They’re threatening to ban the circus altogether if we don’t get rid of her.”

Mae’s heart sank. “But she’s not. ” she said, so softly she was nearly inaudible. In the hushed tent, a hundred eyes turned toward her, waiting. “That man. Who died. He threw a lit cigar in her mouth, it wasn’t her fault.”

“Doesn’t matter, she has to go.”

“If another circus won’t take her, we can find a zoo who will, can’t we?” For a little man, Schmidt had a remarkably deep voice, his German accent slight.

A few faces brightened with hope, quickly dashed. “If it were one of us, it would be different,” the Bishop said, shaking his head. “We know the life. But she’s killed an outsider. The mayor told me the preacher’s got the townsfolk so riled up they’re planning to drag an old cannon from the Civil War memorial up here tomorrow to shoot her.”

One of the spec girls burst out into loud sobs, clapped a hand over her mouth, and ran out of the tent.

“You can’t just let them kill her,” Mae said, and felt Max’s hand settle on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mae. I have to think of the entire company, not just one elephant. You’ve seen these people — they’re out for blood, and they’re dead set on getting it, too. If it isn’t Madelaine, who will they go after instead? How about our coloreds, strung up on light poles the way they did in Dumuth?”

The boys in the minstrel band looked impassive, but Eileen squeezed her eyes shut, shaking so hard Kleininger stood up and awkwardly put his arm around her and stared at his bare feet as she crumpled against him.

“You sideshow freaks? Maybe all of us? This entire crazy town is standing between us and the circus train; they’re not letting us go until they get their pound of flesh. This isn’t a discussion about if she has to die. The only thing to decide is how.”

No one spoke for a long time. Then North said, “Can’t shoot her. We don’t have anything big enough to do the job proper.” His lips compressed into a hard line. “And I won’t do it, no.”

“I don’t have enough potassium cyanide to poison her,” the Bishop said.

“She’s too smart for that anyway,” North said. “After today, she’s going to be damned skittish about what goes in her mouth.”

“Jumbo was killed by a locomotive,” one of the rousties said. “Maybe get two railcars goin’ from opposite ends, sort of squash her in the middle?”

The men around him looked sick. The Bishop winced. “Can’t be sure she’d set still in place long enough, too big a risk if she spooked and broke free.”

“I saw Thomas Edison electrocute an elephant at Coney Island some years back,” Eric said, then dropped his gaze as well, as if ashamed to be part of the conspiracy.

The Bishop snorted with contempt. “There’s not enough electricity in this piece-of-shit town and I’m not using our gennies for that.” He glanced at Mae, embarrassed by his profanity in front of women. “Begging your pardon.” He stood up. “These podunk white-trash hillbillies want a lynching. So we’ll give them a lynching. We hang her.”

Even Theresa, who normally had a face carved from stone, closed her eyes, tears running black mascara like molasses.

“The railroad has a one-hundred-ton derrick car in their rail yard they use to load lumber onto freight cars, strong enough to hold her.” The Bishop’s demeanor had hardened, businesslike. “We’ll do one last show tomorrow, then get the whole town away to the loading yard to watch her hang while the rest of you ready the haul. She weighs five tons; it’ll be over quick enough. So I want those trains loaded for the jump like your lives depend on it. Because they do.”

The roustabouts and riggers and canvas men nodded.

The Bishop’s face was bloodless with repressed fury. “All of you. We take this clem town for everything. Cheat ’em, ding ’em, gaff every game, clutch every ride, fleece every damned one of them. I don’t care what it takes, don’t leave them a dime, not a nickel, not two fucking pennies to rub together. We burn the lot, understood?”

This time, the Bishop didn’t apologize for his profanity, jammed his top hat onto his head, and stalked from the tent.