Joy is a rare and precious commodity. The struggle for survival consumes most of our waking hours, yet the human spirit, resilient as ever, finds ways to seek solace and entertainment even in the harshest of circumstances.
I have witnessed the birth of new forms of art and amusement, born from the very detritus of our shattered civilization. In one settlement, I saw a storyteller captivate an audience with tales woven from scraps of Old World literature, mixed with the harsh realities of our new existence. Her words painted vivid pictures in the minds of her listeners, offering a brief escape from the omnipresent grit.
In another town, I encountered a group of musicians who had fashioned instruments from salvaged materials - drums made from empty fuel cans, wind instruments carved from the bones of long-dead creatures. Their haunting melodies spoke of loss and hope in equal measure, echoing across the red dunes long after the last note had faded.
Yet, we must be wary. For in a world where resources are scarce, entertainment can become a powerful tool of control. I have seen leaders use spectacle to distract from hardship, to manipulate the desperate, to create a façade of normalcy in a world that is anything but normal.
In the end, dear reader, we must remember that while diversion is necessary for the soul, we cannot allow it to blind us to the realities of our situation. The most valuable entertainment, I have found, is that which not only diverts but also enlightens, strengthens, and prepares us for the challenges that lie ahead.
- From the Writings of Brother Felix St George
They saw the convoy from far off, even without November’s scope. It seemed to fill the High Way with its garishly-painted wagons and caravans.
“What do you think?” asked the Librarian warily. “Traders?”
November shook her head. “Painted like that? Traders wouldn’t waste the bullets on it.”
He paled slightly. “Then raiders? I’ve never seen a pack that big before.”
“No,” she said. “Too slow and too obvious. You can see them coming a mile away and they’d be easy to out-run.” She lifted the scope to her eye. Was that? It couldn’t be…
“There are Dusters chained to those wagons,” she said disbelievingly. “Some of them, at least.”
“It’s not unheard of,” said Josiah. “It’s risky, but I once rode through a town where they’d trained Dusters to pull ploughs. They had the occasional bite, but they felt it was worth the danger.”
November adjusted the scope. “But these ones are wearing…costumes?”
“What? No way!” Scout exclaimed. “Gimme that!” November let her wrest her beloved rifle away, and did not reflexively break her fingers. She was oddly proud of the fact.
Getting soft, girl, growled the Old Man.
“That is so awesome,” said Scout. “See that one’s in a dress…and that one’s wearing polka dots…”
“No,” said November said patiently. “No one else can see, because you’re hogging the scope.”
Scout ignored her. “The…Circus...Lazarus…”
The Librarian started. “What?”
“There’s a sign,” she said. “Big one painted on the front wagon.”
“Hmm,” said the Librarian. “That’s actually rather clever. Lazarus was a man raised from the dead in the Bible.”
“So what?” said Scout. “People come back from the dead all the time.”
He laughed softly. “No, Lazarus came back as a living man, not a Duster. I don’t think this is the case here, though - just a bit of wordplay.”
“There’s a rider headed our way,” said Scout.
November snatched the rifle back and drew a bead on instinct.
“Relax, November!” laughed Scout. “It’s just a circus!”
She couldn’t know that in a few short hours, that circus would change all their lives forever.
****
The rider rode a fine chestnut mare and wore a red velvet coat made even redder by the grit. A black top hat completed his ensemble, which he tipped as he approached. “Welcome, my fellow travelers!” he boomed, “to the Circus Lazarus!” He slid smoothly from the horse and into an exaggerated bow. “I am Nathaniel Belmont, leader of this band of humble vagabonds! And whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
The others didn’t know quite what to make of this, but the Librarian was delighted to meet anyone who could place ‘whom’ correctly in a sentence. “I am a Brother Librarian of the Sacred Library of the Glass Castle. This is Brother Josiah of the Order of the Eastern Wood, and that’s Scout and November.”
“Fine people and a fine craft!” laughed Nathaniel, stepping back to admire Win. “And what formidable armament!” He seemed unperturbed by Rattler tracking his every move, but for someone who seemed to spend much of his time in close proximity to Dusters the risk seemed small enough.
“So you run a circus,” said November. “With trained Dusters in it. How are you all not dead?”
Nathaniel smiled humbly. “Time and practice, my young friend. I won’t say we haven’t had the occasional incident, but the danger is part of the allure to our customers…
“You are likewise on your way to God’s Boot?” he continued. He did not pause to let a reply interrupt his flow. “Why not ride with us a spell? Those of my living crew who can read would be delighted to meet a Librarian and all are curious about your travelling marvel. I don’t suppose,” he said, lowering his voice theatrically, “I could persuade you to part with her? With a fresh coat of paint she would make a wonderful part of the troupe.”
“Not a chance,” said Scout firmly. “Win stays with me.”
He did not seem daunted by her blunt reply. In fact they were getting the impression that very little daunted Nathaniel Belmont…or that he was just very good at hiding it.
****
As Nathaniel had predicted, the Librarian’s collection and Win were both extremely popular with the circus folk. At November’s insistence, they drove Win on the opposite side of the convoy from the wagons with Dusters attached, and she spent the ride on the roof with Rattler and her rifle, glowering at them.
They stopped for lunch and the performers were generous with their food, which contained rather more fresh meat that the four were used to. That gave the Librarian pause, though the others happily munched on. It wasn’t that he didn’t know where the cured meat they had bought really came from, but he tried not to dwell on it. The thick stew and the Dusters chained nearby just made the facts a little too obvious for comfort.
November finished his share without trouble.
As she licked the plate clean, a girl of about her age sat down next to her. “Hi.”
November swallowed the last of the gravy. “Hi,” she said warily, suddenly suspicious that the food wasn’t actual free at all, and she was about to be hit up for bullets.
“You seem mighty nervous of the Dusters,” said the girl cheerily. “Haven’t you seen many before?”
November wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or laugh. “No. I just…I was trained to always treat them as a threat.”
The girl grinned. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite!” she laughed like tinkling bells. “Little bit of carny humor for you. No you’re right, they are dangerous. Anybody who gets in the ring with them and forgets that, usually doesn’t get out again. But,” she leaned close, voice dropping to a confidential whisper, ”we tend to work with older ones. They look scarier, with the bones and the grit everywhere, but they’re also slower. Easier to keep ahead of.”
November looked at her with new respect. Maybe these people were not as foolhardy as she had assumed. “And what do you do?”
“Me?” asked the girl. “I dance with them!”
November changed her mind. These people were clearly all insane.
****
God’s Boot was maybe half the size of Haven. Instead of a barbed wire maze, it just had well-armed men in watchtowers who kept their weapons ready with healthy caution as the circus approached.
That caution evaporated slowly in the face of Nathaniel’s enthusiastic huckster banter and a crowd began to gather.
Scout felt slightly insulted. Usually Win commanded the attention of any new town they visited, but in the face of the Circus Lazarus, it seemed it was merely background.
The circus troupe sprung into motion, raising tents and unloading wagons. In thanks for the food, Josiah and November helped lift and carry where they could, though November still refused to work near the Dusters. Meanwhile, the Librarian and Scout headed into town to distribute books.
In what seemed no time at all, the sun was setting, and with great ceremony, Nathaniel pulled the lever on an old portable solar generator, fully charged from day’s travel.
And the Circus Lazarus blazed with light.
Silhouetted against it, Nathaniel’s voice rose to a roar, as it became clear that if anything he’d been holding back. “Come one! Come all! Witness death-defying feats of daring between the living and the dead! Try your luck at shooting a real Duster up close! For your entertainment, the impossible waits! The one, the only Circus Lazarus!” he finished, throwing his hat in the air and catching it with a flourish.
There was silence and then the crowd burst into thunderous applause. “One 9mm for entry! .22s for the kiddies! All games paid for separately! Address any complaints or requests for refunds to the Dusters, because I won’t be listening! And have a wonderful night!”
Scout grabbed November’s arm. “We’re going, right? We have to go! I think I might die from anticipation if we don’t go!”
November shook her off. “One niner is pretty reasonable,” she said grudgingly. “They’ll probably gouge us on the game prices, so don’t play anything without asking the cost up front.”
Scout was already running to the first attraction. The other three walked after her at a leisurely pace.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
****
“Test your aim! Test your skill!” shouted a huckster. The stall was a grisly sight, even by wasteland standards. Six Dusters stood in a row, their decaying bodies secured to sturdy metal poles. Their heads were held in place by crude iron collars, forcing them to face forward. Behind each Duster hung a crudely painted target, the red and white circles a stark contrast to the grey, grit-covered flesh.
"Step right up, folks!” the man yelled. “Show these walking corpses what for! Six shots for one 9mm round, a whole clip back to you if you can take out all six!"
The Dusters gnashed their teeth and clawed at the air, their restrained heads unable to turn towards potential prey. Their constant, low moans created an eerie backdrop to the tinny carnival music playing nearby.
A small crowd had gathered, some eager to test their marksmanship, others simply gawking at the macabre spectacle.
“You should try,” Scout urged Josiah. “You’d make a killing!”
The gun-saint shook his head in disgust. “There would be no honor in such a thing. This is just a way to give bored townsfolk a taste of the wasteland without actually putting themselves at risk.”
The Librarian shook his head. “I think that’s a little harsh. Not everyone has training or weapons, but we all live in fear of Dusters. That stall gives people a small way to strike back against that fear. There’s something…noble about that.”
November shrugged. “Well I don’t have any issues of honor - I just see an easy clip waiting for me to take it. Want to come watch?” she asked Scout “I’ll spot you a bullet if you want to try too.”
The men walked on to the next attraction, while the girls dropped back towards the sounds of gunfire and the cries of the excited punters.
****
“I understand your position,” said the Librarian, purchasing two small cups of beer from a vendor for a .38 cal. He passed the second to Josiah. “But you were uncharacteristically…firm with Scout back there. Is something on your mind?”
Josiah took a swig of beer. “I was so sure when I swore the Oath of One Bullet. Sure I would find the Man Who Walked on Air and sure I would deliver justice. And yet look at me. I enjoy traveling with you but we have been on the road for near a week and there is no sign of my quarry. I mediate on my bullet every night, and yet no inspiration comes to me. No indication that we will not spend the next few months aimlessly delivering books to local towns.” He raised his hand hurriedly. “Forgive me, I mean no offense and I know that is your sacred duty. But you are a teacher. I am a sword, and it is my destiny to be wielded.”
He drained the cup. “Not to mention,” he added quietly. “That if I fail, I must end my life.”
The Librarian sipped his own drink. “That must prey on your mind. I do not mean to pry, but if you do not find Saint Gabriel, when will you consider your mission a failure? Is there a…time limit, for want of a better phrase?”
“The Elders say you just know,” Josiah replied thickly. “That the weight of your continued shame becomes too great to bear and you turn to the Lead Mercy to escape it.” He looked up at the Librarian, his face tormented. “I feel the weight of my failure bear down on me a little more each day.”
****
‘Wonders of the Old World’ proclaimed the sign. “We have to check that out,” said Scout
“Really?” said November, her pockets heavy with freshly-won bullets. Scout’s enthusiasm was infectious and she could feel her mood lightening uncharacteristically.
“Of course! There might be gear I could use! I saw and watched you shoot Dusters, now you have to do this one for me!”
November chuckled softly. “You’re just bitter because you didn’t hit a single one.”
Scout flushed. “That is not that point. Come on!”
Inside the tent, they were greeted by a ghost.
****
November unshouldered her rifle automatically, as a strange spectral figure flickered in the air before them.
Scout grabbed her shoulder. “It’s just another hologram, like Saint Gabriel’s cave!” she pointed at a silver disk on the floor. “Amazing they got it to work!”
“Come in, come in!” called an elderly man, rounding the displays and hurrying towards them. “I grant that my displays may be less obviously thrilling that some of the stalls, but there is plenty of wonder for the inquiring mind.” There was something of the Librarian in the eager flare in this eyes, though less so the mercenary gleam of his smile as he proffered a bucket. One shotgun shell each, please.”
“Two shells!” November turned to leave in disgust but Scout dragged her back.
“Maybe there will be something else like…you know who’s. A lead for Josiah!”
“Listen to your wise friend,” said the old man. “I know the price is high, but many of my mechanisms require expensive maintenance to protect them from the grit. You will find wonders in here you cannot see anywhere else! I am the Archivist, and this is my collection.”
November dropped two shells in the bucket reluctantly. “Thank you, young lady,” he said. “As your friend quite correctly said, this is a hologram. It is said that back in its original condition, such an image was indistinguishable from reality itself! I myself might be a hologram and you would have no idea.” He laughed. “Sadly, time and grit have treated it ill, and now it is an obvious facsimile.”
Scout stared at it. “I wonder if a Duster would be fooled by it. Quality is obviously a resolution issue…” Suddenly, she was on the floor, poking at the disk with one of her screwdrivers.
“Young lady, please! That is a priceless antique!” the Archivist yelped.
“Trust her,” said November. “You saw our vehicle and the auto-turret. She’s the one who keeps them in working order. She won’t break anything.”
Scout tightened a few screws and loosened others and began to shake the disc vigorously. The hologram flickered on and off as she did so.
“Scout…” November said, her confidence and light mood beginning to rapidly fade, when abruptly the hologram came back on, sharp and clear. It still wasn’t indistinguishable from a real person, but it had changed from an indistinct specter into what was clearly a woman, clad in a scanty negligee. The woman batted her eyelashes and pointed off into the distance and said something, though no words could be heard.
“There we go,” said Scout. “Grit in the secondary image emitter. Audio’s hopelessly clogged, though.” She laughed as she looked up at the half-naked girl. “I kind of feel like the ghost was more mysterious.”
The Archivist’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Young lady, you are a marvel!” he glanced around and then drew the tent flap closed. “Let me show you to my…personal collection.”
“Most of it doesn’t work,” he called over his shoulder as he led them to the back. “But I keep working at them. Some have no moving parts, like this weapon,” he held up a round black disk roughly the size of a plate, “One of the lethal throwing discs of the famous Disk Jockeys, a fierce bandit gang. But the rest take months to restore, if I can get them working at all.” He gestured proudly at what, to November, looked like a pile of random junk.
Scout practically dove into it, cooing with delight. “A catalytic converter! I haven’t seen one of these in ages.” Her mumblings became even more inscrutable to November, even as she started pulling things apart and playing with their insides.
The Archivist smiled fondly, though she could still see a little uncertainty as Scout rooted through his precious collection.
“Don’t worry about her,” said November. “She’s good for at least the next twenty minutes and she’ll probably have fixed five different things. I’m not so familiar with this sort of thing. Have you got anything to show me while we wait?”
The Archivist’s eyes brightened. “Yes, yes! A new acquisition.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve been waiting for a bigger town to debut it. That way word will spread faster and people will come from miles to see it, I’m sure.”
November stared at the strange, flat object the Archivist held reverently in his hands. It was about the size of a book, but thinner than any she'd ever seen. Its surface was smooth and dark, like obsidian, but lighter in weight. One side was completely flat and featureless, while the other had a small circular indentation near one edge.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
“I call it…the Infinite Book.” The Archivist tapped the flat side with his finger, and suddenly it blazed to life with light. November stared in awe.
The surface now displayed vibrant colors and shapes, constantly shifting as the Archivist's fingers danced across it. It reminded November of the hologram they'd just seen, but confined within the borders of this strange device.
"It's some kind of... moving picture book?" she guessed, leaning in for a closer look. The images seemed to respond to the Archivist's touch, changing and rearranging themselves at his command.
"How does it work without wires?" she wondered aloud. "And where does the light come from?" She couldn't see any flames or electrical components like those Scout sometimes tinkered with in Win.
And then it spoke. “Would you like to adjust brightness settings?” She nearly jumped out of her skin, and Scout looked up in shock from her work.
The Archivist giggled like a giddy child. “Hold down the button and ask it something.” He pointed to the bump.
November’s mind went completely blank. “Uh…”
Scout craned past her and pushed the button. “What are you for?”
The Infinite Book didn’t hesitate for a moment. “I am a Mark VII personal data device. I search, store, retrieve and display data. Unfortunately connectivity is currently down so I am unable to conduct wider searches beyond what is currently downloaded. Please check with your service provider when connectivity will be restored.” Its voice sounded female, crisply neutral and yet oddly pleasing to the ear.
November stared at it. “Um. What do you know about guns?”
Scout rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
"I have extensive information on firearms across various categories,” said the Infinite Book. This includes historical data, technical specifications, and usage statistics. Would you like me to focus on a particular type of gun or era? For example, I can provide details on: ancient firearms like muskets and blunderbusses, modern small arms such as pistols, rifles, and shotguns, military-grade weapons including assault rifles and machine guns, specialized firearms like sniper rifles or anti-materiel weapons and theoretical and experimental gun designs.
Please specify your area of interest for more detailed information."
The device paused again, then added, "I should note that my information is purely factual and technical. I do not provide instructions on illegal weapon modifications or usage."
November's eyes widened at the wealth of information apparently contained in this small object. She glanced at Scout, who looked equally amazed.
"It knows more about guns than you do," Scout whispered, a hint of awe in her voice.
November frowned, both impressed and slightly unsettled. "Maybe," she conceded, "but I bet it can't shoot as well as I can."
Scout grabbed her hand. “We have to find the Librarian.”
****
The Librarian’s eyes were wet with tears as he held the Infinite Book in his hands. “The Order had thought all such devices were lost or destroyed. Sir,” he turned to the Archivist, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable, now that Scout had brought the Librarian and particularly the obviously-armed Josiah back to his tent. “For the sake of my Order, I have to buy this book from you.”
“Not a chance,” the Archivist shook his head firmly. “I appreciate the enthusiasm of a fellow collector, but the Infinite Book is not for sale.”
The Librarian didn’t blink. “We have a full box of .50 caliber ammunition. A box and a half if you count what’s loaded into our weapon.” He knew he had no right to make such a deal on behalf of his friends, but his duty was clear. Somewhat to his surprise. November was the one who protested and it was Scout who shushed her. Clearly the tech-savvy young girl realized the importance of what lay before them.
The Archivist hesitated for a moment. That was a small fortune. But again he shook his head. “The Infinite Book is solar-powered. It will bring in customers in for years, maybe even decades.” He smiled sadly. “Perhaps even after I am dead, the circus will still be using it as an attraction. You have your obligations to your order, but I have responsibility to my family. You’ve met my son already - he leads our troupe. I am Patrick Belmont, though ‘the Archivist’ has a better ring to it.”
“Mr Belmont, please,” begged the Librarian. “Re-consider, I ask you.”
Belmont shook his head a third time. “Now I must ask you to move along. As I explained to your young friends, the Infinite Book is not yet ready for public viewing and I don’t want someone to catch sight of it.”
The Librarian left the tent in a black depression. The lights of the circus seemed to have dimmed and the cheers of the townies grated on his ears. The grit whispered to him.
Book. Fetch? Steal!
He hesitated, tempted for a long moment. No. I’m not that sort of person.
You’re just scared that you don’t have enough control over the grit, that you’d damage the book. Then you really would never forgive yourself.
He wasn’t sure if it was his own thought or the grit’s voice. Maybe there was less of a difference each day.
****
It wasn’t normal for November to worry about how other people felt.
Empathy leads to sympathy, whispered the Old Man. Sympathy leads to mercy. Mercy gets you killed.
But she couldn’t help feeling bad for the Librarian. He had been through so much…his wound, the voices of the grit…but after all that, it seemed like it was this one last thing that had broken him. Such a precious treasure for his Order, just out of reach. He walked ahead of them with no more animation than a Duster, Josiah a sympathetically quiet presence at his side.
“November,” hissed Scout at her side.
“What?”
“I think we should steal the Infinite Book.”
November came to a halt. “What?”
“I think we should steal it,” Scout repeated. “We know where it is, there’s no guards and hardly anyone even knows its there or that it even exists!”
November stared at her. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. First, we’re surrounded by circus people and they’re led by the son of the man you’re proposing to rob. Second, that same man has his own personal horde of Dusters. Third, the Librarian would never go along with it and fourth, Josiah would definitely never go along with it. Yes. I admit. It’s amazing. Even I am impressed, but its just a machine.”
Scout’s face was stubborn. “You’ve seen the good the Librarian can do with just a few paper books. That thing probably holds the equivalent of thousands of books, maybe tens of thousands. You heard what he said about his Order. They could copy the books out, share them around…” her voice went high with excitement, ”We could really change the wasteland, make everyone’s lives better! You can’t deny that’s a better use for the Infinite Book than a fairground attraction!”
November shook her head. “This isn’t like you.”
Scout scowled. “Well, I’ve never had the chance to do something so important before! I love Rattler, I loved fixing him, and he keeps me safe but he doesn’t make anything better. This could change everything!”
Their voices had grown louder and Josiah and Librarian glanced back.
“Keep it down!” November growled. “It’s a terrible idea, and I don’t want to hear another word about it!”
She stalked forward to catch up to Josiah and the Librarian.