The Complete Short Fiction of Charles L. Grant, Volume IV: The Black Carousel Read Online Free PDF Page B

them smiling self-consciously or laughing
as if it wasn’t their idea, to dance in front of their friends, in
front of strangers.
    Around, like the carousel, until the music
stopped.
    She curtsied prettily, without mocking.
    He bowed as gallantly as he knew how, and asked
if she’d like sit down for a while, until he caught his second
wind.
    “I —”
    “There.” He pointed at the saddled animals. “At
least I won’t black-and-blue your poor shins.”
    She closed one eye in a frozen wink, giggled,
and nodded, and they jumped onto the platform just as it began to
move. The animals and a few sleighs were three deep, and she hopped
onto a stately giraffe, grabbed his shoulder when he tried to climb
onto the beast beside her.
    “No, the other one,” she said, pointing to the
inside, a haughty llama with bared teeth.
    Puzzled but afraid to argue, he did as he was
told, then asked why without speaking.
    The carousel began to turn; he grabbed the brass
pole as the llama began to rise in a slight forward motion.
    “It’s a contest,” she explained, not quite
shouting over the music. “You have to wait for the penny tune.”
    “Huh?”
    Oh, brilliant, Casey, just brilliant, you
jackass.
    “That’s all right.” She tilted her head. “See,
you can’t ride the lion unless you hear the right tune.”
    “Lion?”
    She nodded.
    He felt like a jerk for not noticing the
creature between them — a male lion. Gold, features suggested
rather than carved. It took him so long, he couldn’t help thinking
of the way he had teased Yard, back at the Brass Ring. But this
woman wasn’t he; she simply waited until he said, “Oh, I get it.
Kind of like musical chairs.”
    “Right,” She laughed and applauded.
    “You hear the tune, you get to the lion
first?”
    “Right!” she said again, and leaned across the
lion’s saddle, patted his arm in congratulations. “Ride the lion,
win the prize.”
    “What’s the tune? What’s the prize?”
    A shrug. “It’s different every night. Both of
them.” She pulled away slowly. “So you keep trying, because
sometimes it’s worth a lot of money.”
    “Damn, I never heard of it.”
    She lifted a shoulder. “Who cares, if we
win.”
    Faster, the carnival a blur, the lights a single
stream, making him dizzy, and he looked at the mirrors instead,
spotting a break in them midway along. An alcove, and in it a
quartet of mechanical bears playing drums, horn, chimes, a
two-tiered silver xylophone. They wore tuxedos and huge goofy
grins; and he soon grinned with them, looked at the woman and
wondered when it was he had died and had been carried secretly to
heaven, tried to see ahead and behind in hopes that Yard was still
around. Yet it didn’t matter when he couldn’t find his friend
because this was somehow something he didn’t think he could
share.
    The carousel slowed, the music slowed with it,
and before it was done, she was out of her saddle and off the
platform, on the dirt. With a pat to the llama’s neck, he climbed
down and stood next to her, not sure what to do with his hands,
found at least one thing when Fran and her friends raced past him
to get back in line, and she waved. He waved back, blew her a
kiss.
    “Yours?”
    “Nope. Just a kid I know.” He sniffed, tugged at
an earlobe. “Do you work here?”
    “Now what makes you think that?”
    “I don’t recognize you. I mean, it’s not that I
know everyone in the Station, but —”
    She grinned, scowled mockingly, grinned a second
time. “Most of the time I substitute at the midway games. You know
— a guy needs a break, I step in, stuff like that.” A glance and
grimace at her watch. “In fact, damnit, I’d better get going or I’m
gonna get killed.”
    “I’ll walk with you.”
    She shook her head, half-turned as if to run.
“Too long. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”
    He held up a hand. “Hey, wait, what’s your name?
I can’t thank you for the dance and ride if you don’t tell me your
name.”
    “Sure