Carnies Read online

  Alvan didn’t respond. They just continued to walk.

  Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Alvan led them to their right, circling the house. They heard the door close behind them and the locks snap back into place one by one. They walked in silence for a while, past window after window, then turned the corner and continued.

  ‘He’s a charmer,’ Paul said to break the tension. Alvan merely grunted and continued to walk.

  ‘So,’ Paul said after another lengthy silence, ‘what was with all the ‘Master William’ stuff?’

  ‘That’s my name,’ Alvan muttered.

  ‘William.’ Alvan nodded.

  ‘William Parkes.’ Paul thought about it for a moment.

  ‘It’s not that bad, really. I mean, I know you changed your name to distance yourself from your family, but...’ He trailed off, unsure how to phrase his question politely.

  ‘Why pick ‘Alvan Roy’?’ Alvan finished for him.

  Paul nodded, a little flushed, and his cane crunched on the rough dirt they were walking on. The grass had given out at the front edge of the house. That was just for show. It was all about appearances, it seemed.

  ‘My parents once took me on a business trip into the city when I was about eight,’ he explained. ‘I remember passing a street sign where two different streets joined. One was Alvan Road, the other was Roy Street. For some reason, that name stuck in my head. So when I left home and wanted to change my name, I chose that.’

  They now walked along a path through some overgrown bushes. Paul noticed that Alvan was becoming more and more unsettled as they progressed through the undergrowth.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  Alvan didn’t meet his eyes. ‘This is where it happened,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Where what... oh,’ Paul finished, as he realised what Alvan was referring to. The whole thing was suddenly very clear to Paul, now that he was in the environment. He could imagine the smells that the young pup must have been chasing, the winds wrapping themselves around the trees like Mayfair ribbons... and then the shot...

  For a moment Paul thought he’d daydreamt it, and that the sharp crack of gunfire was just a figment of his imagination. Then there was another, and a bullet ripped through the bark of a tree just to his right. Both he and Alvan threw themselves face first onto the ground.

  ‘Jesus!’ Paul grunted, lying in the damp dirt. ‘He’s shooting at us!’

  Alvan nodded. Mud had splashed on his face, staining his cheeks like blood. He raised his head a little. ‘Dad? Dad, it’s me! Al... uh, William!’

  There was quiet laughter from a distance, then a soft, wheezy, almost emphysemic voice. ‘I know it is, Alvan,’ he emphasised the last word with such venom that it made Paul flinch, ‘but you’re with them now.’ The man laughed again. ‘You lie down with dogs, boy, and you get fleas.’

  Paul spoke up. ‘Mr Parkes, my name is Paul

  Hampden...’

  ‘Hampden!’ he spat. ‘I wish I’d never sent your brother that accursed note!’ He coughed a few times, all but breathless.

  ‘Mr Parkes,’ Paul continued, ‘it’s my brother that I want to ask you about. He’s back in town.’

  That horrible, reedy laugh again. ‘You think I don’t know that?’

  ‘I know you know it,’ Paul said. ‘You know everything that happens here. And I think you know where he is, too.’

  There was a long pause, then the man spoke again, some of the strength gone from his voice. ‘I never meant for this,’ he said. ‘I just wanted them out of my town. I never... I never wanted this,’ he said again.

  ‘Where is he?’ Paul asked, ignoring Parkes’ mutterings.

  ‘He left me a message. He told me not to interfere.’

  ‘Interfere in what?’

  There was a long silence - long enough that Paul suspected that Parkes might have walked off and left them there, face down in the dirt like fools. ‘He said he’d pay me back if I disrupted his plans,’ the old man said at last. ‘He said...’

  ‘Where is he?’ Paul asked again, his patience at an end.

  ‘The motel.’ Parkes sighed. There was no way that Alvan could have heard his quiet response, but Paul’s ears picked it up. ‘My contacts in the police have reported seeing his car there.’

  Paul couldn’t believe it. ‘The Inn Tillbrook?’ he asked without answering Alvan’s confused look.

  ‘Leave now,’ the old man said, his voice tired. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. Now turn around and go away. Don’t look back, or I’ll shoot.’

  Alvan started to protest, but Paul put a hand on his shoulder. He closed his mouth and nodded. They got to their feet, Paul with some effort and pain, and headed back down the path.

  They’d never even caught so much as a glimpse of the old man.

  Paul’s mind was racing. He hoped that they could get to the motel before anything irreversible happened. Perhaps it wasn’t too late after all.

  -36-

  From his hiding place at the edge of the woods David had watched the encounter between old man Parkes and his brother with intense interest. He’d been walking just inside the tree line alongside the road, heading towards the carnies’ encampment with Tacker in tow, when they’d spotted the silver van trundling down the highway, before it had turned off into a well-maintained track. He’d caught and recognised his brother’s scent, and had decided to follow them at a discreet distance. He’d handed Tacker his bag and sent him on ahead to the encampment, with very specific orders to stay out of sight - not to mention smell. He had then tracked the van, circled wide around the property and emerged at the back of it, just in time to hear the conversation.

  Judas, his father hissed inside his head, as he watched Paul and the other man hurry away. Traitor! He betrayed us!

  ‘The spirit was willing,’ he whispered, ‘but the flesh was weak.’ He looked across at the old man, who was standing with his back to the woods, leaning on his rifle like a crutch. Or a cane.

  A cane, the voice agreed, a cane like my son’s. A symbol of weakness.

  ‘Yes,’ David breathed.

  He heard a car start up in the distance, then the crunching noise of tyres on gravel. The sound of the engine faded away. But Parkes stood there, not moving, not turning, watching the path where the two men had been just minutes earlier.

  ‘Time to touch base,’ David muttered.

  Be careful, his father said. He has a gun, and I’d wager it’s loaded with silver. And he knows how to use it.

  ‘He won’t have time,’ David responded, then crouched down and loped towards the old man. His shoulders slipped forward, his neck arched back and he ran on all fours. He crossed the paddock as fast as a galloping horse. The grasses whipped his face as he ploughed through them, and they left stinging trails across his forehead and cheeks, but he barely felt them.

  Parkes heard his approach at the last second, and started to turn around, rifle raised in his bony hands. But it was too late, much too late. David lunged forward, grabbed the barrel of the gun as he flew past the old man and yanked it from his fingers. He heard a few cracks, and Parkes cried out as his fingers broke. Then he rolled on the ground, rifle in his hands, before springing back to his feet. He held the gun over his head, triumphant.

  ‘Too slow, Sebastian!’ he crowed, twirling the rifle a few times. ‘But nice try anyway.’

  ‘Hampden,’ Parkes sighed. He didn’t seem surprised to see him. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

  David grinned, baring his sharp teeth. ‘Here I am!’

  ‘Here you are.’

  There was a silence then, as the two men looked at each other.

  ‘Well?’ Parkes said at last.

  David’s eyes were wide, mock innocent. ‘Well what?’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Kill me.’

  David laughed. ‘I’m not here to kill you, Sebastian. I just wanted to check in with you personally, update you on our progress.�
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  Parkes raised an eyebrow. ‘Our progress?’

  ‘Of course,’ David said. ‘This is what you wanted, despite what you might have told my brother and his fat little partner. Who is that, anyway?’

  ‘He’s... that’s none of your concern,’ Parkes said. ‘And you’re wrong. I never...’

  ‘Never used that rifle to take pot shots at the carnies before?’ David finished for him. ‘I doubt that very much.’

  The old man’s face reddened, and David knew he’d hit his mark.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, stepping towards Parkes. ‘Deep down, this is what you’ve always wanted.’ His smile turned nasty. ‘To wipe them out. Every man, woman and child. To remove this speck from the eye of God. To salt the earth afterwards, so that they may never grow back.’ His voice had slowly turned into his father’s as the words became more impassioned. He took another step forward. ‘To reclaim this land in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.’

  Parkes staggered backwards, away from David’s steady advance. ‘You’re insane,’ he wheezed.

  David stopped then to consider that. ‘Most great men throughout history have been called that,’ he said, with a small smile. ‘Perhaps you have to be a little insane to throw off the shackles of mediocrity and achieve greatness.’

  ‘Please...’ the old man whimpered, cowering now.

  ‘And greatness is what I shall achieve, you can trust me on that, Sebastian.’ He grinned then. ‘I’ll take care of the carnival folk, and then my brother and his new friend.’

  ‘His...’ Parkes swallowed. ‘No, don’t hurt him. Not him. Please.’

  David looked at Parkes carefully. ‘And why not? Why should you... ah, I see,’ he said suddenly, as he realised the truth. He should have spotted it earlier. The slight physical similarities, something around the eyes and in the shape of the nose. Even their scents. ‘He’s your blood. Your son.’

  Parkes was crying now. ‘I did it for him,’ he sobbed.

  ‘This town is mine, and one day it will be his. I did it for him.’

  ‘Oh, how touching.’ David laughed and wiped a non-existent tear from his dry eye. ‘But you see, this is a war, and that makes your son a collaborator. And you know what happens to collaborators.’

  ‘Please...’ Parkes continued to cry and his shoulders shook.

  David put a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Sebastian. As a favour to you, I’ll make it quick.’

  The old man moaned through his tears.

  David turned to walk away, but then stopped. ‘Oh, just one more thing,’ he said, turning back to face Parkes.

  ‘It seems you’ve told them where I’ve been staying. That makes you a collaborator too.’

  Parkes’ knees gave out then, and he collapsed to the ground, head in his hands, sobbing.

  ‘But never fear,’ he continued, raising the rifle. ‘I’ll afford you the same courtesy as your pissant son. I’ll make it quick. Though, frankly, you don’t deserve it.’ He pointed the barrel at Parkes’ hunched form. ‘Damn it, Sebastian, at least die like a man!’ he barked.

  Parkes stopped crying then and looked up, his cheeks wet with tears. But there was steel in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll die like a man, Hampden. But you, you’ll die like a dog,’ he hissed. ‘And I’ll see you in hell!’

  David pulled the trigger. The gunshot was louder than he’d expected. It hurt his sensitive ears, and he cried out in surprise. But his aim was true, though at that distance, it would have been almost impossible to miss. A tiny hole burst open in Parkes’ throat, just above his Adam’s apple. For a moment it stayed that way, black and empty, then the blood came, a strong flow like someone had turned on a tap inside his neck. Blood flooded down and soaked the front of his shirt. Parkes knelt there for a few long seconds, still staring into David’s eyes, looking more surprised than anything else. It was the expression of a dying man who, deep down, had expected to live forever. He tried to speak, but only gurgled, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up in his skull, and he collapsed backwards, ending up sprawled on the ground.

  David stood there for a while longer, still pointing the rifle. There was a faint wisp of acrid smoke from the end of the barrel, and the gun felt warmer somehow, alive. He shrugged and walked past the body of Sebastian Parkes and towards the path that led back to the house. He felt no need to hide now, no need at all. Every death simply made him stronger, more resolved. And the rifle, with its valuable payload of silvered ammunition, would be very handy indeed once he reached the camp.

  God provides, his father murmured.

  ‘That he does,’ David agreed and turned back towards the road, towards the path he’d been on before he’d made this unexpected, yet fruitful, detour. ‘That he does.’

  He slung the gun over his shoulder and whistled as he walked.

  -37-

  For Paul, returning to the Inn Tillbrook was a bit like looking over childhood photographs. It was a reminder of a life that was no longer his, even if it had been only a few days before. As Alvan parked the van outside his room, he couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding. Jasmine had told him, on the last night of his previous life, that there are no second chances. No going back.

  He climbed out of the van and leaned on the cane. His leg hurt less with each hour that passed. He was amazed at how fast the healing process in his body progressed. By tomorrow he’d barely have a limp. Somehow, though, he suspected that his chances of actually seeing tomorrow were slimmer than usual. It was instinctive, like that feeling before an electrical storm, when everything goes quiet and still and the hairs on the back of the neck and along the arms stand to attention. There was trouble brewing.

  And it all seemed to begin with that damned car.

  It was parked alongside the van, another tangible reminder of his earlier existence. Inside it, on the passenger seat, was a mess of congealed blood and meat. He could have smelled it even if he hadn’t seen it through the window. He remembered driving in the car here on Tuesday... was it only Tuesday? Four days ago? That didn’t seem possible. Still, he thought, they say God made the world in six days. I guess a single insignificant life can be completely rebuilt in less than that. And can end in less still.

  ‘Come on,’ Alvan said, tapping him on the shoulder. Paul snapped out of his reverie with a shudder. He realised he’d been staring at the car, that ordinary car, trapped in a hypnotic combination of memory and premonition. He felt like he’d been standing there for days. He blinked a few times, nodded, then headed for the door with Alvan.

  ‘Do you think he’s here?’ the man asked as he nervously ran a hand through his thin, curly hair.

  Paul shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I can smell him, but only because he’s been here, not because he’s here now.’ He looked at the motel room door and smiled. ‘And even discounting that, I think I’d know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I just would.’

  Alvan looked at him, curious.

  ‘We’re joined,’ Paul explained. ‘By blood, twice. Once by birth, once by bite.’

  ‘That sounds very zen.’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘But be prepared.’

  ‘For what?’ Alvan asked.

  Paul looked at him, grim. ‘I can smell David’s scent, but only out here. From inside, the only thing I can smell is blood, and plenty of it.’

  Alvan smiled, though he still looked nervous. ‘I think I can handle it.’

  Without another word Paul walked up the steps to the front door, his cane clunking on the wooden boards. Alvan walked a few steps behind him. He came to the door, put his ear against it and listened.

  ‘Can you hear anything?’ Alvan whispered.

  Paul nodded. ‘The television’s on.’ He took a step back, then glanced over his shoulder at Alvan. ‘Should I knock first?’

  ‘It’s good manners.’

  Paul smiled and turned back to the
door.

  ‘Knock knock,’ he breathed.

  He punched the door right near the keyhole with as much force as he could manage. A little too much, in fact, as he still hadn’t quite become accustomed to his new strength. The door came away from its hinges and flew inside, the frame splintering as it went. Paul stared for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at Alvan.

  ‘Stay here,’ he ordered.

  Alvan looked like he would protest, but didn’t. He nodded and took another step back. Paul took a deep breath, then stepped into the darkened room.

  If the smell from outside the motel room had been bad, inside it was much, much worse. Paul’s newly sensitive sense of smell could barely cope with the stench, though to a normal nose it probably wouldn’t have been that bad.

  After all, the dead man didn’t look like he’d been that way for very long.

  Paul had never seen anything like it. It was as if something had completely stripped the bald man from neck to knees. From the frozen, tortured expression on his face, he’d been alive and conscious when this had been done to him. Paul recognised the man, even in the flickering half-light of the television. He was one of the bikies who’d come with David a few nights earlier, who’d tried to start a war with the carnies. It looked like he’d survived that melee, only to be slaughtered in a dingy motel room only a few kilometres away. It would have been unfair, if he hadn’t seen the man charging at unarmed carnival workers with a huge hunting knife. It looked like justice to him, albeit very rough justice.

  Paul looked around the room for any sign of his brother, but there was none. There was a cold puddle of vomit at the dead man’s feet, blood and meat like the one in the car outside, but it didn’t smell like David’s. He allowed his instincts to survey the room, to try to determine what had happened.

  Another bloodstain on the couch, an indentation next to the corpse. There had been a second man sitting here. Not his brother - the indentation was too thin for that. So, there were three in the motel room, and the mystery man vomited while David attacked the big man... no, that wasn’t right either. Something didn’t fit. What was...?