The Crimson Carnival: Chapter II, The Fairgrounds

--- Gregory Fischer ---

Instead of focusing on Briar’s reaction, he went ahead and opened the book Mr. Peabody had given him. An act that unleashed hundreds upon thousands of pages from the book, far more than it should’ve been capable of containing as he and the dog were wrapped in a cocoon of glowing paper.

He couldn’t help but steel himself as he remembered what happened the last time this had occurred. How it had forced him to watch some of the more… painful clips of his life. Things that while now healing -something they hadn’t done in years- were still sore in a way he didn’t want to poke.

Mercifully, no such thing happened as instead the pages began to burn away leaving them in a completely new location from their previous one. An experience that even having been teleported once or twice before, was still a jarring experience. Even more so since he hadn’t even felt the rush of magic that usually accompanied such an act.

Looking around he realized that wherever he was it was late into the afternoon, the sun just a few hours from setting. (Shit, I’d have to be on the other side of the world for that to happen.)

He… was putting a lot more faith in Briar’s ability to get him home than he was really comfortable with. (Do not think about how complicated a teleportation matrix is. Do not think about how complicated a teleportation matrix is. Do not think about how complicated a teleportation matrix is.)

Pulling out and lighting another cigarette, he forced himself to actually take in his surroundings beyond the sky and time of day. Something he’d instinctively done first due to what happened the first time he’d looked up after the library sent him somewhere. (Well, a lack of eldritch horrors is always a good start.)

The buildings around him held all sorts of colorful attractions and were all surrounded by a number of lights that were currently off. Each building was vaguely shaped in a way that he could recall from the one or two times he’d been to a fair or carnival back when he was a kid, and yet also strangely empty of hosts to maintain them. (Just means fewer people I have to deal with.)

In the distance he could just barely make out a number of what he assumed to be rides of some kind, a massive ferris wheel being the most recognizable. (Can use that as a compass point.)

Despite the festive surroundings, there were a few people he could sporadically see on the roads, but nowhere near the number he could usually find on the city streets. (Alright, as long as they don’t get too close I can handle a few people here and there.)

He ignored the way Mr. Peabody stared at him as he worked his way through three more cigarettes before finally saying, “Alright, we’re here and I need to figure out where to find a story. First step in a new environment is always recon.” He glanced at the dog. “Which is supposed to be the scouts job…”

Said dog continued to stare at him from behind its glasses.

He took in a lungful of smoke before sighing it out and watching the smoke rise as he finished off the last cigarette of this little smoke break.

With no real help here, he set out on his own keeping his head on a swivel as he tried to take in as much of these fairgrounds as he could, slowly building up a mental map. A mental map that told him (this place is massive. I’ve been walking for at least an hour and I haven’t seen any major landmarks outside of the ferris wheel and I can’t tell if I’m any closer to that thing.)

If he didn’t know better he’d swear someone had enchanted these grounds with a spatial enchantment. A branch of magic that he only knew in so much as how to make implode, something he had no intention of testing while inside said possible enchantment.

(And even then I’m not sure that’s what’s going on here.) He could feel a faint amount of magic in the air, but it was spread too thin to really know what it was doing. More of an ambient existence like the faint thrum that was common to his own city, only noticeable because its underlying flavor was different despite being the same thing at its core. (Almost like someone slipping a different brand of cigarette into your carton.)

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He was getting frustrated enough that he was tempted to stop for a smoke break, even if he’d been steadily pulling new ones out of his pack as he marched along. (Seriously, where am I supposed to find a ‘Story’ in this place? Briar said the book would help me but…)

With no better ideas, he went ahead and pulled the book out and found two edits to the main index. The first being a new section titled, Borrowed Books and a small change to Working Draft(s). Namely that (s) newly added to the end.

Deciding to check with the section he had an actual frame of reference for, he focused on Working Draft(s) causing the book to flip to an index similar to the ones he’d found in most of the other sections. Even if this one only had a single line.

(“The Crimson Carnival?”) Focusing on that line pulled up another writer’s brainstorming page, this one with a circle containing The Crimson Carnival with a single line and a circle around it that read (“Prologue(?)”) as if the book wasn’t sure that was what this was or not.

“Real helpful…” He dryly told the book before flipping back to the main index and focusing on Borrowed Books to see what had been added to the magical book. A section that once opened, he found, looked very similar to his own Current Story. If compressed to a singular page rather than being spread across two like his own.

The top half of the page was taken up by an ink picture of Mr. Peabody lay on the ground in front of a fireplace, looking like he was reading an open book in front of him.

Below this was the shifting eldritch script that he was slowly adapting to, even if the words were both very similar and very different to what his own book contained.

(“Name: Herman L. Peabody, Species: Lupus Sapien, Genre: Adventure, Classification: Tactician/Infiltrator/Scout, Derivative Addendum: None.”) He read with a frown, wondering if he should be offended that the book considered the dog to be a tactician and not him.

Deciding that he was just going to put this under the category of ‘Library Weirdness’ and ignore it, he moved onto the next section listing a familiar set of symbolic attributes. (Slash, Blunt, Pierce, Mind, Spirit, Fire, Ice, Electric, Light, and Darkness… With a circle and slash next to Mind, and a… cracked shield(?) next to Fire.)

That amused him, if only slightly. (So he’s got no mind and is weak to fire… sounds about right for an animal.)

Pushing past the faint ache that was building from looking at the book for so long, he continued down the page expecting to find a section similar to his own collection of skills. Only instead he found something that looked more like an abbreviated pair of his Volumes, that were shifting twice as much as his own text. Enough so that he could only get the vaguest impressions from the second of the two, and only because of the overlap it had with one of his own Volumes.

(“Black Briar Delivery Scout: This soul is a member of the Black Briar Library. Spend (1 Blank Page) to search a number of chapters from the top of your opponent’s library equal to the number of faction members in play. If one of these chapters is legible and costs less than your faction count, you may pay the cost and read it.”)

He found himself pinching the bridge of his nose as he snapped the book shut, trying to make sense of what any of that meant and finding himself coming up blank. The pain from reading so much eldritch scrawl at once being too much to focus right now.

By the time his migraine had faded and he was halfway able to think again, he lit a new cigarette and puffed away at it. Hoping the chems would take the edge off before his head exploded.

A barking sound forced him to wince, the sound doing nothing to help him even as it drew his attention towards Mr. Peabody a fair bit away from him staring at him.

“Look I’ve got a migraine, we can get moving once it calms down.” He told the dog.

The dog -not understanding him- barked once more, before looking at something in front of it.

“Stupid dog…” He grumbled, forcing himself to make his way over if only to spare himself more of that stupid barking. (Remember, your boss won’t like you roasting her pet alive.)

Even then it was still a tempting thought.

As he got closer he realized the dog was staring at a stand of some kind between two cardboard clowns, the stand having what looked like a massive map of the park. And more importantly a number of paper maps. (Where was this thing an hour ago?)

Taking the map in, he found a number of attractions listed and while he doubted that the various rides would find him one of these stories Briar wanted, he did see a few that might have something.