The Carnival of Borrowed Fates
A proper Carnival story...but so much more. What will take from it?
Jason Tarne had prepared for everything except the possibility that his grandmother's old amber pendant might have been waiting for this moment.
He had carried the thing for fifteen years without giving it much thought. A family piece, given by his grandmother when he was barely ten along with a handful of cryptic advice about misfortune he'd never quite understood. Today, however, it felt different against his chest.Ā
The telegram had reached him that morning whilst he was investigating the Carnival of Borrowed Fates' scheduled performances in London. "Carnival appeared overnight Pendlestone village Yorkshire stop Matches description stop Come quickly." The sender remained anonymous, but Jason's instincts told him this was the break he'd been seeking.
The carnival had a reputation that followed it like shadows. Strange stories accumulated wherever it went - of people who'd played certain games and come away... somehow changed. Not in ways that could be easily explained or proved. Jason had spent weeks chasing such tales across England, following complaints that seemed to evaporate when examined closely. Investigations would begin with great enthusiasm, then quietly fizzle out. Official records showed the carnival performing in Brighton whilst witnesses swore it was in a Welsh town the same night.
The train journey to Yorkshire had given him time to review his notes, but the closer he drew to his destination, the warmer the pendant became. By the time he reached the village, it felt almost uncomfortable against his chest.
From the lane, he could make out coloured banners moving in the evening breeze and the warm glow of lanterns strung between tent poles. Somewhere beyond the entrance, a calliope played a cheerful melody whilst the distant sounds of laughter and conversation suggested families enjoying an evening's entertainment. It looked ordinary enough, the sort of travelling carnival that appeared in market towns across the country.
Jason approached the ornate iron gates where a tall gentleman in an impeccable red and white striped jacket stood waiting. The man's smile was theatrical perfection, wide enough to seem genuine whilst maintaining the precise calculation of someone who understood the commercial value of warmth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!" the Barker called out to the gathered crowd with theatrical grandeur. "Welcome to the Carnival of Borrowed Fates, where wonder walks hand in hand with consequence, and every desire finds its proper price!"
His attention shifted to Jason, engaging him with a practised ease. "And you, sir, have the look of a gentleman seeking more than mere entertainment."
"Jason Tarne... London Herald," Jason said, holding out his press credentials."I wonder if I might have a word? We're preparing a piece about travelling entertainments, and your carnival has quite the reputation, Mr...?"
Jason waited for more, but the man simply smiled. Jason studied the man's face, recognizing the type - smooth operators who thrived on controlling conversations. He decided to test the waters. "Just Barker? Mr Barker the Barker?" he smiled back.
"Nominative determinism, Mr Tarne. But you are refreshingly direct." The Barker's expression grew curious. "A reputation? What sort of reputation would that be?"
"The sort that brings journalists asking questions," Jason replied, maintaining steady eye contact. "About stories that don't involve rigged ring tosses or weighted milk bottles. You know what I'm referring to, don't you?"
The Barkerās professional warmth dimmed slightly as he gestured subtly for Jason to step aside from the small queue waiting to enter. "Perhaps we shouldn't discuss such serious matters where they might upset our paying customers," he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge that suggested consequences for those who interfered with business.
Jason followed him a few steps away. "I've documented seventeen separate incidents across six counties, Mr Barker. People who've played your games and come away... changed. Fundamentally different."
"Misfortune is hardly uncommon, Mr Tarne. Not everyone can win a coconut." He thought for a moment "How do you believe these... incidents... connect to our humble entertainments?ā
"This isn't just about losing games," Jason said, pulling out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. "It's about how your carnival can be performing in Brighton according to official records whilst witnesses place it in Wales the same evening.Ā You have all the permits and insurance to prove it.Ā All that perfect paperwork comes in handy when investigations need to be discredited, doesn't it?"
The Barker stood in silence. The last trace of warmth faded from his smile, replaced by something calculating and far more dangerous. He studied Jason's face for a long moment, as if reassessing his worth as an opponent.
āWhich reminds meā Jason continued āHow is it you are advertised to appear in London tonight but here you are in Yorkshire with no fanfare? Would you care to comment?āĀ
āMay I ask how you found our little troupe this evening?āĀ
āA journalist doesnāt reveal his sources Mr Barker. And you have not answered my questionā
"You're quite persistent, aren't you?" he said finally. "Very well, Mr Tarne. I suspect that words alone will not satisfy your curiosity." His voice returned to its theatrical warmth, though something predatory remained in his eyes.
"I will show you wonders not seen by ordinary visitors, reveal what the Carnival truly is. But I make you a promise - not a threat, merely a certainty - after tonight you will not write your story. You will not blame us for this. If you wish to discover why..." He gestured toward the gates with theatrical flourish. "You merely need to enter."
"What exactly do you offer that's so different to warrant such confidence?"
"Everything, Mr Tarne. Absolutely everything." The Barker stepped aside with an elaborate gesture. "Shall we begin your education?"
____________________________________________________________________________
The carnival spread out before them, bright colours and the promise of wonder. People wandering between game stalls, children running around excitedly, vendors calling out their wares.
They began walking down the main thoroughfare, the Barker pointing out various attractions with evident pride. "The merry-go-round there has been with us for decades," he said conversationally. "Those steeds have carried thousands of our guests." Adding with a smile, "Polishing the saddles nicely."
Jason nodded with a soft grunt and glanced at the painted horses, which seemed just like any others he'd seen over the years. Faded splendour and chipped paint if you looked closely enough. Heād never liked them even as a child. Depressing and creepy in equal measure.
They continued their tour along the main avenue, passing families queuing for rides and sideshows. A young mother wiped candy floss from her daughter's face whilst her husband eyed up the āring the bellā hammer game evidently wanting to show off his prowess. Children rushed by with balloons and brightly coloured toy windmills firmly clutched in their fists, their babbling chatter mixing with the general bustle of evening entertainment.
"A good turnout tonight," Jason observed, making note of the crowd. Working folk mostly, he guessed - farmhands and miners spending their hard-earned shillings for a special outing for their families.
"We find ourselves most welcome in the smaller towns.Ā A spectacle of wonder and excitement for a few nights to brighten their lives." The Barker raised his hat to an elderly gentleman who acknowledged him with a touch of his walking stick.
Jason watched a courting couple deliberating over a bottle game. The girl pointed eagerly at a stuffed monkey whilst her young man counted coins in his palm with the careful consideration of someone who knew the value of every penny.Ā
Decent people enjoying a harmless evening's diversion.
"You run a superb show." Jason admitted, his professional cynicism momentarily set aside.
"We believe in maintaining certain standards of presentation." The Barker paused to secure a banner that had worked loose in the evening air. "Visitors return. They tell their friends. The best advertising is word of mouth"
"Word of mouth indeedā¦Mr Barkerā¦so tell me more about the games I can find here." Jason asked, pulling out his notebook and getting down to business.
"Traditional fairground entertainment as you can see. Ring toss, coconut shy, the usual diversions. Roll up Roll up." The Barker's tone was casual, but Jason noticed he didn't actually look at the stalls as he spoke.
"Yes..all right and proper.ā Jason agreed and then stopped suddenly and grabbed the Barker's arm. "But you know thatās not what Iām talking aboutā
He leaned in closeĀ āThe stories I've followed all say the same thingā¦that there are other games played here. Darker games with consequences that extend far beyond a lost shilling or won prize. What say you to that?"
"Faustian bargains, you mean?" The Barker's laugh carried genuine amusement. "Ha! No devil or god holds sway here, Mr Tarne. None would dare."
Jason paused at the theatrics. Ā Deflection and distraction. He had seen this tactic countless times. But he knew how to deal with that. Present evidence. Dig deeper. And watch them give themselves away. but even so the words seemed strange
"Yet there is something going on hereā¦something not right thatās ruining people. And youāre getting away with it again and again." Jason flipped through his notebook. "Mrs. Eleanor Hartwell of Whitby - she played your 'Mirror of Truth' game in July according to her family. Within a month she'd divorced her husband of twenty years and disowned her children, claiming they were all liars who had deceived her about their affections. She now lives alone and trusts no one."
The Barker's expression remained neutral, but Jason pressed on. "Peter Frinton. His fiance says he played a game called the Coin of Destiny last spring on..erā¦23rd May. He broke off their two year engagement the following dayā¦ and her words āhe had changed completelyā. He then began to claim he was one Silas Green. And has been committed to an asylum.
"Interesting stories" the Barker observed mildly
āHereās where it gets more interesting. Silas Green was a murderer. He was hanged on May 24th. I followed this up and talked to the prison guard.Ā Just before his execution he was screaming he was called Peter Frinton. They had to gag himā Jason continued aggressively āSeventeen such coincidences across six counties, Mr Barker. Whatās your game? Fraud? How are you doing this? Is it hypnosis?"
The Barker looked at Jason with something approaching respect. "I promised to show you everything, did I not? Come. Not much longer now I assure you"
As they walked deeper into the grounds, something began to change at the periphery of Jason's vision. The transformation was gradual at first, like watching a photograph develop in a darkroom. Details appearing moment by moment. But not the whole picture. Not just yet.
Jason blinked hard, trying to clear his head. "The light's playing tricks," he muttered, more to himself than the Barker. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. The pendant against his chest had grown warm, then hot, as if held near an open flame. He brushed at it irritably.
A small child ran past chasing a red balloon, and for just a moment Jason could have sworn the balloon was chasing the child instead. He shook his head. Optical illusions. Fatigue from the long journey.Ā
"Mr Barkerā¦" he began, then stopped. As everything had changed. Not in an instant but as if it had always been like this and he was just catching up. The grounds stretched considerably further than the field should have been able to contain. His notebook fell from nerveless fingers.
The Carnival now spread before him like a fever dream made manifest, all gold and crimson and geometries that hurt to contemplate directly. Paths led in directions that hadn't existed moments before, curving in ways his eyes couldn't quite follow. Tents folded in on themselves like origami made of space itself, suggesting impossible depths. Lanterns hung without visible support, their light casting shadows that pooled where no shadows should fall.
āThis isn't..." Jason's voice caught. He was a rational man. A journalist who dealt in facts, evidence, verifiable truth. But the evidence of his senses was telling him something that his rational mind refused to accept.
"Take a moment to adjust Mr Tarne. I have as promised granted you your request. Pick up your notebook. Write."
Jason bent to retrieve his notebook, hands shaking slightly. When he straightened, his handwriting looked different on the page, as if the very act of recording these observations was changing something fundamental about his perspective.
"This is magic. he said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. The enormity of the concept too great to process.
"Is it?" the Barker asked with gentle curiosity. "What makes you so certain?"
Jason turned to face him directly, his voice rising with something close to panic. "Did you drug me? What are you doing to me?"
"Nothing at all. I am merely allowing you to experience what was always here."
Sounds washed over him in waves that hurt to hear - calliope music in scales that shouldn't exist, conversations in languages that seemed familiar until he tried to listen closely, laughter that came from empty spaces.
Jason blinked, and for a dizzying moment saw the world as if through multiple panes of glass, each showing a different version of the same space.Ā
āFocus Mr Tarne. What do you notice?ā
He was drawn to the merry-go-round he'd noticed earlier. The painted horses now straining against their poles with frustrated intelligence, their eyes rolling to follow specific visitors. A small girl rode one, laughing with joy but unaware of the seething struggle beneath her. To her parents, watching fondly, their daughter was simply enjoying a gentle fairground ride.
"She doesn't see anything wrong at all," Jason said softly.
"She sees wonder without consequence. You see truth without knowledge."
He backed away from the Barker.Ā
"Why canātĀ they see any of this?," Jason asked in disbelief. But the Barker had disappeared. He looked around frantically.
"Perhaps theyāre not meant to," the Barker whispered next to his ear.Ā
Jason screamed. His heart thundered in his chest.
āPull yourself together Sir. Just my little joke.Ā I assure you that you are quite safe. But write as if your life depended upon it.ā
He started to writeĀ but found his hand sketching symbols that seemed to burn themselves into the page. The words wouldn't comeā¦only these marks that felt urgent and important despite being utterly alien to him.
"I canāt make sense of thisā¦"
"You're beginning to see the carnival as it truly is. Few mortals can bear such clarity without... certain accommodations.ā
āWhat does that even mean? Tell meā
āLater. But for nowā¦ā said the Barker , his earlier theatrics returning āyou asked about our āGames. And so..ā He bowed and made a sweeping gesture with one arm āWalk with me Mr Tarne.ā
Banners proclaimed attractions that seemed to shift in meaning as Jason watched. 'The Hall of Shrouds' appeared to other visitors as a simple tent with a fog machine at the entrance. Jason saw a column of black smoke that moved with predatory intelligence, reaching toward anyone who ventured too close.
Most patrons moved through the carnival with ordinary contentment, casting normal shadows, leaving solid footprints in the dirt. But scattered among them were others - figures whose shadows fell in impossible directions, who left no trace of their passage, who moved with subtle wrongness that the normal visitors unconsciously avoided without seeming to notice why.
"Whatās been done to themā¦.to her?" Jason asked, gesturing toward a woman who was fading from his sight despite the blazing fairground lights. People simply walked around her...oblivious to her plight
"We have given them exactly what they won or taken what they owed. Some come seeking harmless entertainment. Others...with deeper needs" The Barker paused, watching the fading woman as she faded to nothing. "And some come seeking answers to deeper questions. We sometimes let them find their answers."
āDo you see now?ā He gestured at the carnival around them, where layers of reality were superimposed. "This is one element of how we exist in multiple places at once, Mr Tarne. This is how we operate in plain sight whilst leaving so few traces that investigations simply... evaporate."
"This is impossibleā¦evil" Jason said, his voice strengthening as understanding dawned. "You're harvesting pieces of lifeā¦of substanceā¦whilst everyone else experiences nothing but a pleasant evening out. They have no idea what's happening right beside them."
The Barker watched him with what might have been approval. "Evil presupposes intention to harm. We offer genuine chances to change your fate. Genuine exchanges - wonder for wonder, desire for consequence. What did you expect to find when you came seeking the truth behind those seventeen cases? A simple fraud operating where anyone might observe it?"
Ā "I expected something monstrous," he said, his voice hollow with realization. "Something that would explain every terrible story I've collected. I didnāt think.."
The Barker's voice carried notes of challenge. "But you didn't come here seeking safe answers, Mr Tarne. You came seeking truth. Perhaps you need a more comprehensive demonstration of our capabilities before you can appreciate the restraint we typically exercise."
Jason backed away slightly. "My Paper knows I am here. I need to leave. Now"
"Of course you should. Any sensible person would. But indulge me for a moment"
Before Jason could respond, the world around them changed.
Darkness rushed in like flood water, pressing against his body until breathing became an effort. The carnival's cheerful sounds died as if cut by invisible glass, leaving only his thundering heartbeat and the whisper of something vast moving in the shadows.
The Barker stood transformed - no longer courteous but towering, his limbs stretching to impossible proportions, his smile widening to reveal rows of teeth like broken glass. Around them, Jason glimpsed horrors beyond description: corridors where visitors wandered until they forgot their names, theatres where audiences became unwilling performers, markets where human essence was weighed and sold like grain.
"Please," Jason begged, his sanity straining against visions of what the carnival could be. "Stop. Let me be. Please. Please stop."
The terror lasted perhaps ten seconds. Then darkness lifted as suddenly as it had fallen, and the Barker stood in proper dimensions, adjusting his coat with professional care.
"Forgive the demonstration," he said with genuine sympathy. "Consider it an education about the scope of our capabilities in order to appreciate the courtesy with which we typically conduct business." He reached out with his hand, an offer to help steady Jason.
Jason staggered away and collapsed against a nearby tent post, gasping for breath. " What... what was that?"Ā
"Possibility, Mr Tarne. The carnival could easily be everything your stories suggest and your nightmares fear. Dark. Twisted. Evil made manifest. We possess all the necessary infrastructure." The Barker's tone was almost conversational now. "But such approaches are crude, wasteful. And more importantly, untrue to our nature. We prefer more elegant solutions to the eternal problems of human desire and, shall we say, cosmic necessity."
The pendant against Jason's chest had blazed with heat during the darkness, but had now settled to steady warmth. He touched it through his shirt, hands still shaking. He silently thanked his grandmother.
"The question is whether you possess the courage to pursue that truth to its ultimate conclusion," the Barker continued. "You have only seen a fraction. True comprehension requires direct experience. Would you care to witness how we actually conduct business? I promise it will prove... educational."
Jason straightened slowly, his journalist instincts warring with basic survival instincts. After what he'd witnessed, how could he walk away without understanding what this place truly was? If they wanted to do worse to himā¦then let them.Ā This was the story of a lifetime.Ā
"Show me," he said with a new firmness in his voice.
The world shimmered around them like heat haze. Suddenly the carnival sounds became muffled, as if heard through thick glass.Ā They remained in the same location but the carnival faded to black around them.Ā
"What new trick is this Mr Barker" Jason asked calmly, his voice strangely distant in his ears.
"No trick. We're observing from a slight remove," the Barker explained matter-of-factly. "A fold in reality that allows us to witness events in parallel possibilities without participating directly. Think of it as a scholarly vantage point for those seeking understanding rather than mere sensation. Watch"
Sound and light returned. Through this barrier, Jason could see the normal carnival continuing its operations, but their space felt separate, removed from the ordinary flow of events. The sensation was deeply unsettling, like watching people through a two-way mirror.
"Parallel possibilities?" Jason managed.
"The carnival exists simultaneously across not just this but multiple dimensions, Mr Tarne. What you're about to observe occurs in realities adjacent to this one, where the stakes are rather higher than candy floss and carousel rides."
Through the strange filtered reality of their observational fold, Jason watched two figures emerge on what appeared to be a near perfect copy of the carnival's main thoroughfare. One was unmistakably another Barker - identical to his guide but somehow occupying a different thread of events. The other was a gentleman in an expensive coat who moved with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to avoiding unwanted attention.
"Sir Peregrine Winchester," Jason's Barker observed. "A man of varied talents, currently engaged in what might charitably be called a tactical withdrawal from certain social obligations."
They watched as the parallel Barker showed Sir Peregrine past various attractions. As they walked, a carnival patron stumbled slightly near a game stall, bumping into Sir Peregrine. Jason watched as Sir Peregrine's hand moved with fluid precision, lifting something from the man's pocket in a movement so smooth it was almost invisible.
"Rogue and thief," Jason's observing Barker commented with mild distaste.
Sir Peregrine and his Barkerās conversation was interrupted when something small and metallic scuttled directly across their path - a clockwork crab, perhaps the size of a dinner plate, its brass carapace gleaming with intricate engravings.
The parallel Barker's expression flickered with irritation. "Confounded automaton. It has no business in this section."
But Sir Peregrine was fascinated. "Remarkable craftsmanship. Wherever did you acquire such a thing?"
The crab seemed to notice his attention and raised one claw in what could charitably be interpreted as a greeting. In its grip was a small paper ticket, slightly crumpled but still legible.
"A paying customer, no less," Sir Peregrine observed with genuine delight. "You really should be more gracious to those who support your establishment."
"Indeed. My apologies, of course" the parallel Barker replied in a tone that suggested the subject was closed.
"We shall return to their story later," Jason's Barker said as the scene began to fade. "Sir Peregrine's evening has only just begun, and his particular game requires rather more elaborate staging. But first, let me show you how we conduct our more typical business."
The scene shifted, revealing a different section of the carnival. A well-dressed merchant stood before an ornate mirror, all polished wood and brass. Above it a sign "The Mirror of True Reflection: See Yourself as You Really Are."
Another parallel Barker ā or perhaps the same one in a different moment ā addressed the merchant with a smile that was all fairground charm. "Welcome, sir, to the Mirror of True Reflection. What is that you ask? I shall tell you!Ā This is a game that offers the priceless gift of perfect insight, but requires considerable courage. Are you prepared to see yourself without the comfortable veils of self-deception?"
The merchant, a stout man with shrewd eyes and a waistcoat that strained slightly across a belly he would have described as prosperous - others would be less kind - puffed out his chest. "I've built my fortune on reading people accurately, my friend. I'm hardly afraid of a bit of honesty. How does one play this game?"
"Excellent!" The parallel Barker clapped his hands softly. "The rules are simplicity itself. Gaze into the mirror, observe yourself as others do. One reflection is the real youā¦the others false. Then with complete certainty identify which reflection shows your authentic self. Success brings the ability to see through all deceptions, to understand exactly what others truly think and feel about you. A considerable advantage for a man of your profession, wouldn't you agree?"
āHa! A fine game. I acceptā
Jason watched as the mirror's surface began to ripple, reflecting multiple versions of the merchant. One was the confident, successful businessman. Another was a nervous, self-doubting figure. A third was consumed by a hungry, avaricious greed. And a fourth, surprisingly, showed a quiet kindness beneath his stern exterior.
The merchant's brow furrowed. He swayed slightly on his feet as his keen gaze took in each reflection. He saw the doubt, the greed, the nascent kindness. But his eyes kept returning to one particular image: a towering, unyielding figure radiating absolute, unshakeable self-belief, a man utterly devoid of hesitation or regret. This was the man he wished to be, the unburdened titan he believed he could be.
"That one!" the merchant declared, his voice firm, pointing to the reflection of the unyielding, regret-free titan. "That is who I truly am. That is my authentic self!"
The parallel Barker's smile faltered for the barest fraction of a second, replaced by what might have been genuine regret. "I'm afraid not, sir. You have chosen incorrectly."
Jason felt a surge of adrenaline. This is what connected his stories.Ā This was it. The forfeit.
"But every game must have its conclusion, win or lose," the Barker continued, his voice regaining its theatrical lilt. "Since you've chosen incorrectly, the mirror will take something from you instead. A burden, perhaps. Something that holds you back. You'll be free of it entirely."
The mirror's surface glowed with a soft, urgent light. Jason watched, horrified, as something intangible but inexorably real seemed to tear itself from the merchant. The man gasped, clutching his chest, a fleeting expression of profound loss twisting his features - a silent scream on his face that quickly smoothed over. Then, it was gone. He straightened, his eyes clearing, a profound, chilling relief spreading across his face.
"I sayā¦I feel.. I feel... much lighter," the merchant said, examining himself with apparent satisfaction. "Much better, actually. A strange game but I suppose losing wasn't so terrible after all." He walked away, a new, unsettling confidence in his stride.
As he departed, Jason caught a glimpse of something settling behind the merchant's eyes - a cold, blank space that hadn't been there before. He looked at his Barker, his face pale. "He never asked what the forfeit would be."
"He didn't ask the right questions," his Barker agreed quietly, his gaze following the merchant. "The carnival answers precisely what is requested, no more, no less. We honour our bargains with mathematical precision."
Jason shivered, a cold dread seeping into his bones. The merchant seemed pleased, but Jason knew, with a certainty that made his blood run cold, that the man had just lost something far more valuable than he could ever comprehend. His own humanity, perhaps, stripped away piece by insidious piece. Each guilt free act taking one piece more.
The observational fold dissolved around them, returning them to the normal flow of the carnival. The sounds and scents rushed back with almost physical force.
The Barker's attention focused on Jason with renewed intensity. "Now then, Mr Tarne. Having observed our methods, would you care to experience them directly? You've seen how surface observation can mislead. True understanding, as you journalists say, requires participation."
Jason felt his blood chill. "After what I just witnessed with that merchant? You must be joking."
"I understand your reluctance completely." The Barker's voice, however, held no trace of sympathy, only an almost scientific curiosity. "But consider this: you came here seeking truth about the complaints your newspaper has been tracking. Those people experienced something far more profound than mere carnival tricks. I offer you complete transparency from the start ā something I provide to very few visitors. My definition, Mr Tarne, is simply full disclosure of terms and outcomes before you make any commitment."
Jason studied the Barker's face carefully, searching for deception. The man's expression remained perfectly sincere, even sympathetic.
"That seems remarkably generous," Jason said slowly, his mind racing. "But you implied earlier I wouldn't be able to write about tonight. Is the game rigged for me to lose?"
The Barker's smile widened, an expression of what appeared to be genuine appreciation for Jason's acumen. "The game is entirely honest, Mr Tarne. You would have seven chances out of ten to win your desired outcome. Should you lose, I would even permit you to choose again. A second opportunity, no forfeit. I give you my word."
"Generous terms indeed," Jason murmured, a profound uncertainty warring with a desperate need for answers. Why such leniency after all he had witnessed? After all he had lost?
"Truth often is, Mr Tarne. The question is whether you possess the courage to pursue it when it requires more than mere observation." The pendant against Jason's chest had grown warm again, its heat spreading through his body with what felt almost like an irresistible current, a silent, ancient call. He found himself nodding, every rational instinct screaming warnings, yet unable to resist the pull.
"If you're being completely honest about the terms," Jason said slowly, "then yes. I need to understand what this place actually is."
The Barker's smile held a chilling respect. "Then follow me, Mr Tarne. Let us settle this question properly."
They walked through the carnival to a section Jason was certain hadn't been there moments before. Here stood a circular platform surrounded by ten brass panels, each inscribed with symbols that seemed to flow and shift gently. The space felt different from the rest of the carnival, more serious, as if designed for more than mere entertainment.
"The Choice of Destinies," the Barker announced with a theatrical flourish. "Ten possible outcomes. Simply select one panel and accept whatever fate it contains."
Jason studied the panels, noting how the symbols pulsed with different rhythms. "The terms again, precisely," he insisted.
"Of course," the Barker replied, his voice precise. "Seven panels will provide the comprehensive knowledge you seek about our operations across multiple realities - a truth so vast it must, by its very nature, be temporary for any human mind, though utterly complete in the moment of its perception. Two will result in what you might call a loss for your desired outcomeā¦the removal of certain burdens you carry. The net result, I assure you, would be a benefit to your life and goals. No trickery."
"Burdens?" Jason asked, thinking of the merchant's chilling transformation.
"Emotional weights that serve little constructive purpose," the Barker elaborated smoothly. "Regret over past failures that prevents forward progress. Envy of others' success that breeds bitterness rather than ambition. Such feelings often cause more suffering than benefit."
"That outcome will grant you all the understanding you desire, but ensure you cannot share it with others. Any attempts to articulate your experience, to write about tonight, would result in incomprehensible text. Your memories would remain intact, but translation into communicable form would prove impossible."
Jason considered this carefully. Seven chances of profound, if temporary, insight. Two of emotional maturity.. One of professional frustration. The mathematics, despite everything, weren't terrible.
"I accept your terms," he said, and placed his hand on a panel inscribed with interlocking circles, each containing what looked like tiny landscapes viewed from impossible heights.
The brass was warm, almost alive, and for a moment he felt connected to something vast and patient. Light flowed from the panel into his hand, up his arm, spreading through his mind like a golden dawn.
Knowledge bloomed behind his eyes - understanding of how the carnival existed across multiple realities simultaneously, how it maintained perfect alibis by genuinely being in all places at once, how its games operated according to cosmic mathematics that made human concepts of fairness seem childish and limited.Ā
The knowledge was intoxicating, complete, utterly satisfying. Mind, body and soul. More than epiphany. For perhaps thirty seconds, Jason possessed a true understanding that would have revolutionized human comprehension of reality's underlying structure.
Then, like water running through his fingers, it began to slip away.
"The outcome you chose," the Barker observed, his tone carrying something that might have been genuine regret, "provides knowledge of our operations, complete and accurate, but unfortunately temporary. By sunrise, you'll retain only the general impression that you experienced something remarkable."
Jason strained, a silent, internal scream tearing at his perception as he fought to hold onto the understanding, to keep fragments. But even the remaining tendrils of knowledge were evaporating like morning mist, leaving a horrifying, aching void. "I'm losing it," he gasped, a deep sadness filling him, and he began to weep.
"Yes," the Barker replied with gentle sympathy. "The human mind is simply not equipped to retain understanding of multidimensional operations. Consider a two-dimensional being suddenly given three-dimensional form and awareness, then returned to its flat existence. It would have no words, no framework capable of processing what it had experienced."
"You promised no trickery," Jason whispered, though the accusation felt hollow.
"And I provided none. You gained exactly the knowledge you sought. The fact that mortal minds cannot permanently retain cosmic understanding is not trickeryāit is simply the nature of consciousness itself. To allow you to keep such knowledge would have driven you mad within days." The Barker's voice carried genuine kindness. "I kept my word precisely, Mr Tarne. The knowledge was real, the understanding complete. That it proves so fleeting is not the carnival's limitationā¦it is yours."
"Wait. Please wait," Jason pleaded, tears streaming down his face, the profound sadness of what he had lost unbearable.
"Dry your eyes, Mr Tarne, we must move on" The Barker ordered, his voice suddenly firm, and handed Jason his handkerchief. "You will want to see this. Take notes," he added softly, "it seems to calm you."
Just holding the notebook seemed to anchor him. As his breathing slowed, he felt the pendant once more warm, its heat spreading through his chest. Not assurance, but an anchor dragging him from the infinite back to the immediate, single reality. He snatched the handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, the remnants of universal truth a terrible, raw ache fading in his mind.
The Barker smiled and raised a hand. "All will be well, Mr Tarne. You have my word. Now perhaps you would appreciate observing the application of the principles you have briefly glimpsed. Sir Peregrine's evening, I believe, is about to reach its climax."
The world shimmered around them once more, and Jason found himself back in the observational fold, watching as events unfolded in that parallel thread where Sir Peregrine's fate hung in the balance.
The scene that materialised showed a vast amphitheatre carved from what appeared to be black marble, its seats rising in impossible spirals that hurt to follow with the eye. The audience was a curious collection of beings - some recognisably human, others wearing forms that suggested they had dispensed with conventional anatomy in favour of more creative approaches to existence. All watched with the polite rapt attention of connoisseurs at an art gallery but to Jason they appeared more like a crowd at an unlicensed boxing match. The desire for violence and blood.Ā
At the centre stood Sir Peregrine, no longer the confident gentleman Jason had observed earlier. His face was pale, his usual composure cracked by a dawning understanding of his situation.
"I really must protest again," Sir Peregrine was saying to the parallel Barker. "I never accepted any invitation to this establishment."
This Barker smiled with theatrical sympathy and produced an ornate card from his coat. "But of course you did, Sir Peregrine. How else would you have found your way here? The invitation is quite specific to your... particular circumstances."
He walked over and straightened Sir Peregrineās coat before opening it and placing the invitation in the inside pocket. āYours I believeā
Jason spotted something glinting in the amphitheatre's stallsā¦the clockwork crab, motionless among the audience, its brass carapace catching the strange light. It was watching. Waiting.
"What exactly is this game?" Jason asked, his voice tight with growing unease.
"The Grand Escapement," his Barker replied, and there was something in his tone that suggested anticipation of a performance he had witnessed many times before. "One of our most elegant demonstrations of cosmic necessity."
"I have no idea what that is."
"Ah, but you will. The game..." The Barker's attention focused on the scene below with obvious satisfaction. "Sir Peregrine finds himself caught in a beautiful paradox. If he emerges victorious from the trial ahead, the carnival shall reward him according to our discretion. But should he lose..."
"He goes free but there is a forfeit," Jason said, remembering the merchant's game and his own.
"Under normal circumstances, yes. But these are rather special conditions."
The parallel Barker below raised his arms with theatrical grandeur, his voice booming across the amphitheatre as he addressed both Sir Peregrine and the bloodthirsty crowd.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed beings of all dimensional orientations!" His voice carried a ringmaster's practiced showmanship. "Tonight we present The Grand Escapement, a contest of exquisite psychological precision! Observe our contestant, Sir Peregrine Winchester, a gentleman renowned for his competitive spirit and absolute hatred of defeat!"
The crowd murmured appreciatively, leaning forward in anticipation.
"Now, here lies the delicious irony," the parallel Barker continued, his grin widening. "The rules tonight are elegantly, beautifully simple. Sir Peregrine must lose in order to win! Should he emerge victorious from the trial ahead, the Carnival shall reward him according to our own generous discretion and I assure you, our generosity in victory is... memorable. But should he lose, he shall be free to depart, with our compliments and no further obligation!"
The crowd's laughter held an edge of cruelty that made Jason's skin crawl.
"Of course," the parallel Barker added with mock concern, "losing deliberately would normally be the simplest thing in the world. Any fool can choose to fail. But tonight's circumstances make such a choice rather more... complicated."
"And the nature of this trial?" Jason whispered to his Barker.
"A contest against an opponent perfectly suited to test his capabilities," his Barker replied quietly, his eyes never leaving the scene below.
The parallel Barker raised his hands higher, speaking words in a language that seemed to make reality itself recoil. The air tore open with a sound like the universe screaming, revealing a jagged portal that radiated such profound wrongness that Jason felt his sanity begin to fray at the edges.
"Dear God," Jason whispered, his journalist's composure finally cracking. "What has he opened?"
"The space between possibilities. Where discarded realities go to cease existing entirely." The Barker's tone was almost conversational. "Keep watching."
Through the portal stepped a figure that made Jason's rational mind simply refuse to process what he was seeing. It was Sir Peregrine, exact in every detail from the cut of his coat to the precise way he stood. But where the original's eyes held desperate intelligence, this thing's gaze spoke of hunger that had never known satisfaction.
"A doppelganger," the observing Barker explained with clinical detachment. "Created from Sir Peregrine's own essence but purified of inconvenient moral constraints. Superior."
Jason watched in horror as Sir Peregrine faced his perfect double. "They're going to fight arenāt they? This is barbaric."
"Indeed. And here lies the trap's beautiful cruelty. Ancient laws govern such encounters. When a doppelganger meets its original, they must battle until only one remains. The loser must journey through that portal to complete dissolution."
The full horror crashed over Jason like ice water. "So if he fights the doppelganger and loses, he dies. But if he wins against it..."
"He will have won the contest, thus failing to lose as the rules required. The carnival will reward his victory with whatever punishment we deem appropriate." His Barker's tone carried casual menace. "There are fates that make simple death seem merciful."
"This isn't a game," Jason whispered. "It's elaborate murder. Why are you showing me this?"
The Barker paused, his attention focusing on Jason with something that might have been curiosity. "Do you know who has won this contest, Mr Tarne?"
"How can I? It hasn't even begun properly"
"Hasn't it? Look more carefully."
Jason stared at the scene below, his human perception struggling to process what his fading cosmic awareness was trying to tell him. Sir Peregrine trapped in an impossible situation. The invitation that had appeared exactly when needed. Even the clockwork crab in the audience. The parallel Barker's complete certainty about how events would unfold.
"This has all been arranged,the Carnival has won" he replied with heartfelt disgust. " This is not fairā¦"
"Ah yes," his Barker said with something like amusement. "Fairness."
Below, the parallel Barker had finished explaining the rules of the game.Ā He then addressed Sir Peregrine with theatrical sympathy. "Of course, we are not unreasonable beings. Should you manage to find your way out of the Carnival before your double catches you, you would indeed be free to depart. No obligations. No forfeits"
āWhat are his chances?ā asked Jason
"Through a carnival that shifts its geography at will?" Jason's Barker observed quietly. "Against a creature that shares all his knowledge but possesses none of his limitations? The odds are astronomical but not impossible."
āFalse hope?ā Jason sneeredĀ
āHope springs eternal Mr Tarneā replied his Barker pointing back to the arena.
"And how much of a head start do I get?" Sir Peregrine asked, his voice steady despite his desperate situation.
"Thirty seconds," the parallel Barker announced with obvious relish. "From now! off you go!"
Jason watched as Sir Peregrine turned and fled with as much dignity as panic would allow. The crowd roared its approval, bloodlust evident in every voice. Sir Peregrine disappeared beyond the amphitheatre's edge into the carnival's twisted pathways.
The doppelganger waited with predatory patience, counting down the seconds with mechanical precision. When exactly thirty seconds had elapsed, it smiled with terrible anticipation and followed.
Jason felt sick āAnd so what happens now?ā
But Jasonās view was only of the amphitheater.
"I can't see them," Jason said frantically. "Donāt you want to show me this? What is the point of this if I canāt see their battle "
"The crucial moments occur beyond observation. That is rather the point."
Jason found himself gripping the barrier of their observational fold, every fibre of his being screaming in protest at the meaningless cruelty disguised as entertainment.Ā But beneath the overwhelming horror, something deeper whispered that he was witnessing forces as natural and inevitable as gravity.Not good, nor evil, but a calculus too vast for human morality to encompass.
The dichotomy was too much to bear; the impossibility of resolving compassion against cosmic indifference.
Jason was snapped back into the moment as a huge crash echoed through arena.Ā The crowdĀ went quite as each being strained to hear more.Ā Closer. Jason heard a shout of rage or pain then the thud of something heavy striking stone. Each noise made Jason flinch, his imagination conjuring terrible images of the unseen battle..Ā
"He didnāt escape," Jason spoke to himself, gripping his notebook until his knuckles went white. His writing of the events long forgotten "No one could."
The sounds grew closer and more violent. Surely just outside the amphitheatre now.Ā Finally a short scream that cut through the air like a blade. Then nothing. The ominous silenceĀ stretched on until Jason thought he might go mad from the suspense.
"It's over, isnāt it" Jason turned to his Barker.
The crowd stirred restlessly, their anticipation building to a fever pitch. They wanted blood, wanted resolution, wanted to see which figure would return triumphant. Minutes crawled by. Jason found himself holding his breath, waiting for movement at the amphitheatre's edge. When it finally came, his heart nearly stopped.
After what felt like hours, footsteps echoed from the amphitheatre's entrance. Two figures emerged through the entrance. One was pristine, his clothes immaculate, face unmarked, bearing no sign of the violent struggle they had all heard. The other was battered and bloodied, moving with the unsteady gait of someone barely maintaining consciousness, his fine clothing torn, his face bearing cuts and bruises that spoke of desperate combat. The crowd erupted in savage cheers, their bloodlust finally satisfied by the visible evidence of violence.
The doppelganger deposited its burden near the platform's centre, where Sir Peregrine swayed but remained upright. "It is done. I am Sir Peregrine now."
"Excellent," the parallel Barker announced to his audience. "Gentlebeings! The Grand Escapement is concluded. Sir Peregrine has lost our game and is therefore..." He paused, theatrical timing perfect. "Free to depart. According to the rules clearly stated, the carnival has no claim upon him."
The parallel Barker studied both figures with obvious satisfaction, raising his hands to quiet the baying crowd." He gestured toward the portal with theatrical flourish. "Howeverā¦The ancient laws must be satisfied."
Jason felt the cosmic trap closing.
But Sir Peregrine raised his bloodied head, his voice carrying clear despite his battered state.Ā
"Wait. Hold on.Ā Heās not what you think" pointing at the other him.Ā
Jason leaned forward, watching as Sir Peregrine straightened with obvious effort, blood still trickling from the cut above his eye.
"I am not Sir Peregrine," he said panting, his words cutting through the amphitheatre's expectant silence. "I am the doppelganger.āĀ Ā
āMadnessā cried the other āI amā ā
But before he could continue, the bloodied figure stepped forward āThat's the real Sir Peregrine!ā he cried pointing desperately at the victor ā He had help from that mechanical creature! It attacked me during our fight" He gestured angrily toward the clockwork crab in the stands.
Jasonās head snapped up āWhat the hell?āĀ
His Barker looked at him āThe game is not over yetā
The crowd's cheers died away, replaced by murmurs of confusion and perhaps anticipation. An unexpected twist to their eveningās entertainment.Ā
"Which is which?" Jason whispered, unable to distinguish between the two identical men. One bloodied and desperate, claiming to be the duplicate. One confident and composed, protesting innocence and also claiming to be the double. "I can't tell which is the real Sir Peregrine."
"Nor can the audience, and nor can my counterpart" his Barker observed with something approaching satisfaction. "That is rather the genius of it."
The parallel Barker's attention snapped to the crab, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Outside help?" The Barker's voice carried a dangerous edge that made even the bloodthirsty crowd fall silent. "That would constitute cheating!"
Jason watched in stunned fascination as the clockwork crab seemed to consider this accusation for a moment. Then, with what could only be described as mechanical purpose, it began its descent from the stands and launched itself directly at the bloodied figure who had just made the accusation.
The crowd gasped collectively at this sudden development.
"Again!" the parallel Barker roared, turning toward the unmarked Sir Peregrine, fury contorting his features. "You dare use outside aid twice!" In a fury he unleashed a bolt of energy that sent the crab flying backward in a shower of sparks, much to the crowd's delight.
The Barker's rage was magnificent and terrible to behold. "This is cheating of the highest order!" He stepped toward the pristine figure with blazing eyes. "Let us see what truths we can find, Sir Peregrine."
The crowd was on its feet now, howling for justice and blood in equal measure.
"I beat him" the unblemished figure began desperately.
"Silence," the Barker commanded, and immediately the figure's mouth sealed shut, invisible bonds wrapping around its limbs "Let us see what truths we can find, Sir Peregrine."
The parallel Barker raised his hand, and luminescence began to emanate from the bloodied figure's coat. The invitation started to materialise through the material of Sir Peregrine's jacket, suspended in mid-air like an accusation made manifest.
"Further proof!" the parallel Barker hissed. " You are indeed Sir Peregrine."
The man's eyes went wide with desperate protest, but he could make no sound.
"Cheater! Let this be your prize for victory achieved through deceit!"Ā
With a violent gesture, this Barker unleashed another bolt of energy that hurled the bound man toward the portal. Sir Peregrine fought with savage desperation as invisible forces began to drag him toward the portal. His fingernails clawed at the amphitheatre floor, leaving deep gouges in the dirt as he was hauled inexorably toward dissolution. The crowd cheered wildly at this display of violence.
āAt the portal's threshold, he made one final, desperate attempt to break free. For a heart-stopping moment it looked like he might succeed, muscles bulging against the fabric of his jacket, reality itself appearing to strain against the portal's inexorable hunger.
The crowd appeared to hold its collective breath. The parallel Barker stood stock still. His eyes urging on the terrible process.Ā
Then the portal seized Sir Peregrine completely. He was yanked through with a shriek that pierced through his gag then cut off abruptly as reality sealed itself behind it with a sound like thunder, leaving only smooth air where the tear had been. The crowd erupted in the loudest cheers of the night, their bloodlust finally satisfied.
Jason couldnāt move. Couldnāt speak. Sir Peregrine had so nearly beaten the Carnival. The terrible rules. The unfairness. Only to be caught out at the last moment. Murdered. Killed. He found his anger building.Ā Ā
āEvil. Sick. What was the point of this? What was the bloody point?.ā He began to weep uncontrollably.Ā
āYou must watch to the end Mr Tarne,ā said his Barker coldly.
Silence fell over the amphitheatre as the cheers finally died away. The parallel Barker pressed his palms together and bowed to the audience. He then looked at the victor.
The bloodied figure straightened slowly, no longer swaying. "I am Sir Peregrine, now" he said quietly.
"You are indeed, by the laws of the doppelganger," the parallel Barker replied, his fury cooling to professional satisfaction. "The Grand Escapement is concluded. You are free to depart with our compliments. Continue with your purpose... Sir Peregrine."
The polite applause was brought to an abrupt halt by a piercing whistle.
Sir Peregrine removed his fingers from his mouth and stared at this Barker.
āFor the record"Ā he said, his voice carrying a note of triumph "I am Sir Peregrine. And to put no finer point on itā¦the one and only damned original.Ā And the game, by your own declaration, is over."
He gave an extravagant bow to the audience
The crowd erupted in gasps and excited murmurs as the full implications of this revelation swept through the amphitheatre. They leaned forward eagerly, hungry for every detail of the deception they had witnessed.
Waves of disbelief and joy surged through Jason's body. His weeping instantly transformed to cheering.Ā He grabbed his Barkerās arm āhe won. He won! By the Gods he beat you!ā The Barker gently shook himself free and pointed back at the scene.Ā
To Jason's delight he watched the parallel Barker's face cycle through rage and confusion, dawning comprehension, and something that might have been admiration.
Then the parallel Barker began to laugh, a sound like braying and madness that went on far longer than human lungs should have allowed. His laughter died away slowly, though his eyes still sparkled with appreciation.
He held up a hand for silence. "Very clever Sir Peregrine. You reversed the entire situation," the Barker said slowly. "You made me think your duplicate the cheating you whilst claiming to be the wronged copy yourself."
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, appreciation building for the audacious trick.
"I may have made certain tactical adjustments during our encounter."
"I believe we are owed an explanation. The invitation?"
"Planted during our struggle." Sir Peregrine's fingers performed an absent, unconscious twiddling motion as he spoke.
The crowd laughed. They were enjoying this.Ā A superb nightās entertainment they would not forget. Sir Peregrine nodded to them in acknowledgement.
Jason's eyes widened as memory struck him. The pickpocketing earlier in the evening, those same nimble fingers, that same casual dexterity. He found himself smiling recalling the Barkerās words ārogue and thiefā.Ā
"And the mechanical creature? Your audience awaits"Ā
"Was never under my control. Ā Pure coincidence that it chose such a propitious moment to get involved and play along with my ruse. Splendid fellow. Perhaps you annoyed it somehow?". Sir Peregrine smiled and bowed to the crowd again.
The roar of approval was deafening. Jason looked around the amphitheatre but could not see the crab - he found himself hoping that it had survived
āI only ever needed to make an accusation of cheating. The invitation I hoped would do the restā
"You exploited my own prejudices.ā The parallel Barker mused ā Turned my memory of our earlier encounter into evidence of conspiracy where none existed."Ā
He stared at Sir Peregrine for a long moment "You understand, Sir Peregrine, that by all rights I should be furious with you. You've made me appear quite the fool in front of my audience."
"I understand completely," Sir Peregrine replied with a slight bow. "Though I would argue that being outmaneuvered by superior tactics is no disgrace."
"Superior tactics indeed. It has been some time since anyone has surprised me so thoroughly. The artistry of your deception..." He paused, genuine admiration in his voice. "Quite remarkable."
"Thank you. But do recall the game was actually concluded when I lost," Sir Peregrine pointed out with perfect reasonableness. "Your subsequent actions, while understandable, could not alter that outcome. I had already won by losing, as your rules promised."
The parallel Barker's smile was one of pure professional admiration. "Bravo, Sir Peregrine. Bravo indeed." The crowd began to understand that they had witnessed something extraordinary tonight. They rose as one, applauding with genuine admiration.Ā
Jason stared down at the arena in amazement. The rollercoaster of emotion had exhausted him but now he was invigorated "The sheer audacity of it. He made you - other you - doubt his own judgement.Ā And he got a standing ovation!"
"Indeed," his Barker replied with quiet satisfaction. "A masterpiece of misdirection."
Jason shook his head slowly. Once again something deeper whispered of elegant mathematics beyond moral categories. But it was beyond him now.
Does the other Barker know about you? About us watching?" Jason asked quietly.
"He is me, operating in a parallel thread. But no, he experiences his reality as complete and immediate. We are invisible to him, as he is unaware of us. Think of it as... adjacent performances of the same cosmic play
"Was it all planned?" Jason asked quietly. "Even his escape?"
"Ah," his Barker replied with evident satisfaction. "Sir Peregrine believes he outwitted fate through superior cunning. The carnival believes it maintained perfect fairness whilst eliminating an inconvenient duplicate. Both are correct. Both are utterly wrong.Ā
The scene began to fade as their attention withdrew from that thread of possibility.
"I don't understand," Jason said, though part of him suspected it was lack of comprehension rather than lack of information. āWhat happens next? To Sir Peregrineā¦the mechanical crab?āĀ
āTheir slice of story is over for youā said the Barker not unkindly āyou understand the lesson surely?ā
āNo. Not reallyā replied Jason āI..ā
"You experienced cosmic awareness briefly, Mr Tarne. That perspective whispers truths your human consciousness can no longer safely process. If it helpsā¦Sir Peregrine was simultaneously victim, victor, and unwitting participant in games spanning realities. His cleverness was real. His manipulation was real. His freedom was real. So was his predestination. And these situations hold true for all that we do."
Jason nodded as he felt the last drops of temporary understanding slipping away, leaving only fragments and the aching sense of something vast moving just beyond the edges of perception.
The observational fold dissolved, returning them to the normal carnival where families continued their evening's entertainment, blissfully unaware that sophisticated mathematics of fate and possibility operated invisibly around them. The pendant around his neck pulsed once then started to cool.
Jason was at the Carnival gate. Without knowing how he knew his time at the carnival was coming to a close. He looked at the Barker.
"Your article, Mr Tarne?" the Barker inquired, his smile radiating a knowing satisfaction.
"You were right," Jason admitted, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. "I cannot write about what I have seen. You were right from the very start. I wish I had not played your game."
"You were playing the moment you stepped through the gate, Mr Tarne."
"I still have a story to write," Jason insisted, clutching his notebook.
"And it will be accurate," the Barker replied, his gaze drifting to the notebook in Jason's hand.
Jason looked down. The pages, once filled with frantic descriptions of impossible geometry and shifting realities, now held only mundane observations of a perfectly ordinary traveling carnival. He felt no surprise, only a dull, aching emptiness.
"I'm certain it will provide your readers with exactly what they need to know," the Barker continued, his voice knowing. He began to walk back through the gates, then stopped and turned to face Jason once more.
"Mr Tarne. A moment please. If I might ask you a question?"
Jason nodded, a leaden weight in his chest. "Please do."
The Barker smiled, a thin, knowing thing. He pointed at Jason's neck, to where the pendant lay beneath his shirt and tie. "A curious trinket. A Whisp Stone, unless I'm mistaken. How did you come by that?"
Jason's hand went to his chest, covering the object. "My grandmother gave it to me when I was young. She said it protects the wearer from misfortune. It was burning hot at some points tonight."
"Protect from misfortune?" The Barker's laugh was a soft ripple, like chimes in the wind. "Mr. Tarne. Whisp Stones don't protect. They attract. They pull their wearers toward narrative turbulence, toward the scent of possibility and risk. It doesn't warn you of danger. It hungers for it. Tell me, did you feel particularly... drawn to our little carnival? To the stories you collated? A sense of purpose you couldn't quite explain?"
Jason stared at him, the memories of his "investigation" rearranging themselves into something far more insidious. His dogged pursuit, his inability to turn back... were they really his choices? The pendant, now cool, felt heavy against his chest. Not a protector, a silent accomplice luring him onwards
"Why did she give it to me?" Jason whispered, his voice cracking. "What should I do with it?"
The Barker shrugged, a gesture of cosmic indifference. "Did you learn nothing tonight, Mr Tarne? Do nothing! Itās not finished with you yet."
Jason walked through the gates. The sounds of the carnival behind him.Ā The evening breeze carried a memory of popcorn and fried onions. When he reached the lane he looked back. Only once.Ā The Carnival of Borrowed Fates was no longer there. Or simply not for his eyes any longer. If he checked - and he would - it would be playing in London.Ā
He took his seat on the night train and looked over his notes. Some truths were too immense to be understood by frail human minds. He would write his story. A perfectly ordinary one, of course, about an excellent traveling fair and the charming eccentricities of rural life.
It would get published, never mentioning the loose ends he had discovered, providing the Carnival with yet another impeccable alibi. This was the price he had to pay for his understanding.Ā Even cosmic necessities required a convincing narrative.Ā He felt the pendant warm ever so slightly against his chest, a soft pulse of anticipation. The Whisp Stone. A lure and silent accomplice. He didn't pat it, didn't acknowledge it but promised to pay his grandmother a visit.
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