The Darker Carnival (The Markhat Files) Read Online Free PDF Page B

days of the Kingdom.”
    “I see my coin is not wasted,” said Thorkel. He smiled, his perfect white teeth wet and gleaming.
    “You do have a remarkable cast of performers,” I said. “Not at all what I expected.”
    We passed Gogor the Troll, who snored peacefully beneath a pile of hay.
    “And what were you expecting, Mr. Bustman?” asked Thorkel, idly swinging his cane as we walked.
    “Well, the old stories. They described carnivals as more…salacious. Carnal, if you will.”
    Thorkel nodded. “Dancing girls, side-shows of a decidedly immoral nature? Gambling, fighting, that sort of thing?”
    “So the old stories say.”
    “Perhaps, in the old days, other carnivals catered to a less refined audience. But Dark’s Diverse Delights is clean, wholesome enjoyment, for the whole family.” Thorkel graced me with another smile. “Especially the children. We love children, you see. Love them.”
    I nodded amiably as I scribbled. “Sounds wonderful, Mr. Thorkel. Just what Rannit needs these days.”
    He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a pair of bright red tickets. “Come and see,” he said, as I took them. “Bring your wife. Bring a friend. I promise you will never forget your time with us.” Someone called his name, and he tipped his hat to me. “I have neglected my duties long enough. Pray wander as you will, speak to whom you would. Good day, sir.”
    He withdrew.
    I wandered as I willed, spoke to whom I would. I saw no signs advertising the presence of a living dead girl. I didn’t ask about her by name. If anything the Ordwalds told me was true, asking was more likely to earn me a beating, or worse.
    Halfway down the midway, on the right, was a long narrow tent festooned with wind-chimes fashioned from wire and bones. HALL OF HORRORS, read the placard over the entrance. NO ADMITTANCE TO PERSONS OF MEEK CONSTITUTION.
    A clown snored by the ticket box. I passed by him, meek constitution and all, and ducked inside.
    They hadn’t lit the candles. But enough light leaked into reveal two rows of stuffed and mounted monstrosities. A DRAGON, read the first marker to my right. Behind the sign lurked a ten-foot-tall assemblage of bones tied together with wire. The dragon’s fore claws were raised in menace, its head hanging over me, its jaws opened wide for a killing bite. It was only after my eyes adjusted to the dark that I saw the cracked plaster holding the beast’s spine together and recognized carved wooden bones wired in with the rest.
    Even less impressive was the mottled gray cemetery ghoul chained to the wall. Yes, its rotten limbs twitched in a feeble effort to escape, but the loud ticking of the clockwork mechanism behind the body robbed the display of any real menace. Every twenty-two seconds, the ghoul turned its head and extruded its long, slimy tongue before resuming its original posture and starting to twitch all over again.
    Maria the Snake Headed Woman might well be a display of a large woman’s corpse and a dozen long dead serpents, but none of the various parties had met until an indifferent taxidermist’s needle stitched them all together. I daresay Egan the Crocodile Boy and Engorgia, Mistress of the Dark were the products of the same method, if not the same taxidermist. Too, the unfortunate Engorgia’s horns were held in place by means of a rather obvious pair of nails.
    There was a unicorn. I suspected more than a hint of donkey in its recent lineage. A coiled gray bulk labeled Serpentia, Terror of the Sea floated in a great tub of old beer. Toward the back was a towering thing of coils and wires which claimed to deliver ‘Powerfulle Jolts of Life giving Spirit Essence.’
    A peek behind the machine revealed a hidden hand-turned crank and a stool for a clown. I gave the crank a whirl, and blue sparks arced from the machine’s whirling innards. If they imparted me with any life giving spirit essence, powerful or not, I didn’t feel it.
    Magog the Were-Bear, Slithins the Snake