They didn’t encounter any more pursuers as they made their way through the decaying forest. By late afternoon, Ink halted.

“We’re close to Yarko Village,” she said. “We’ll need to play it cool. Yarko is a bit out of the way by road, so with any luck the gray cloaks haven’t beat us here. North is the least likely direction they’ll assume we take. Away from the front with the witch-kind and away from the free kingdoms to the south that detest the Iron Square.”

They moved more slowly through the thinning pines, careful not to make any unnecessary noise as they reached the edge of the forest. Eldren could see that the forest grew right up to the wood palisade that surrounded Yarko Village. Parts of it were old and moss covered while other beams had been repaired more recently.

“We’ll have to climb over,” Ink said. “We don’t want to raise any alarms trying to walk through the main gate and your jump spell is—uh— not subtle.” She uncoiled a length of rope from her bag. “I’ll go over first, if you can boost me. Then, I’ll secure the rope and you can use it to get over.”

It took Eldren a few tries but eventually he managed to boost her up high enough that she could grab the top of the palisade. The wooden slats had once been sharpened at the top but most had long since dulled with weather and age. He heard Ink thud to the ground on the other side.

He waited a few moments and then the rope flopped over the top. He grabbed it and hoisted himself slowly up the side of the wall. His shoes slipped against the wet wood as he tried to scramble to provide some extra momentum with his legs. Exhausted and arms burning, he reached the top and rolled himself over. While the palisade was dulled, it was still uncomfortable, digging into his ribs as he flipped over the top, dangled for a moment, and then fell unceremoniously down into the mud.

As Eldren tried to wipe mud off of his pants and sweatshirt, Ink had already started investigating their surroundings. They were in a back alley between two houses. The buildings were well-built, with stone foundations and wooden exteriors. Empty crates were stacked against the buildings while a few piles of garbage including rotten produce and meat lent the alleyway a putrid and sour smell. Down the way, behind another house, Eldren could see a hog rustling through some refuse.

“Remember, play it cool,” Ink said as they slipped between the two buildings toward one of the main thoroughfares of the town. “Oh my Gods, the carnival is here!” Her sudden enthusiastic scream startled Eldren and, he thought, was the exact opposite of cool.

“What?”

She eagerly pointed down the road as they emerged from the alleyway. Eldren could see that out toward the far edge of the village a huge purple, gold, and emerald green stripe tent stood at odds with the bleak gray and browns of the village.

“We’ve got to go! It almost never travels these parts. I saw it once in the South. Incredible stuff! You’re going to love it!” Ink darted off down the street, weaving between oxcarts of cabbage, apples, and sacks of flour. A few market stalls were open and hens, more hogs, and a couple of dairy cows seemed to wander the street freely.

“Ink, wait!” Eldren rushed to catch up, adjusting his backpack. He felt Ardos topple over inside. “We can’t just go rushing into the circus. It’ll be crowded.” He caught up with her and whispered, “And guarded.”

“What better place to blend in than with a big crowd?”

She had a point. Eldren, especially in his red sweatshirt and Nikes stood out like a sore thumb on the more sparsely populated main street. He reluctantly nodded.

“Yes! Alright, let’s go! Like I said, you’re gonna love it!” Ink renewed her brisk walk toward the tent.

As they approached the carnival tent, Eldren was amazed to find an atmosphere that wouldn’t have been out of place at Mardi Gras back in his world. Villagers thronged the street in front of the tent wearing masquerade masks adorned with feathers and small metal beads that tinkled and chimed together as they walked. Lines snaked through the crowd leading to food stalls and the smells of fried dough and roasting meat wafted over Eldren and Ink. This ruckus certainly explained why the market street had been so empty.

“Do we need tickets?” He looked to Ink who nodded and pointed toward a booth near the entrance flap to the gigantic tent. They waited in line behind a family with four children who appeared just as excited as Ink to see the circus acts inside. As they waited, a tall and tan man with curly black hair walked up and down the line, greeting customers. He wore a magenta velvet shirt and pants, blood red cape, and black top hat. Eldren assumed he must be the ringmaster of the carnival.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all! It’s so good of you to join us on this fine evening! Aberforth and Aka’s Traveling Tent of Fantastical Follies! Sights unseen and sounds unheard! Death-defying acrobatics and improbable feats of strength and skill!” He approached a different family behind them in line.

“Ah, what’s this!” He stooped down in front of a young girl, who was maybe four or five and produced a small copper coin with a flourish from behind her ear. His sleight of hand was impeccable. “My dear, watch where you put this— you don’t want to lose it!” The girl squealed in delight as he handed her the coin.

“And what’s this? Woah!” The ringmaster turned to the mother of the family who was caught off guard. He looked quizzically at her and then reached toward the side of her head, seeming to pull a larger bronze coin, the size of a large cookie out from behind her ear. “Now I see where the little one gets it from! Always wash behind your ears, you never know what you may find!” The crowd around them applauded and cheered at the trick.

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“Thank you, thank you, we’ll see you inside!” The ringmaster bowed and then bowed again, clearly soaking in the approval of his would-be customers.

Eldren continued to watch the man as he wandered toward the tent flap and after the crowd had diverted its attention. The man reached into his belt pouch and removed a small glass vial with an eyedropper stopper. He squeezed it to fill it with a milky white liquid and quickly tilted his head up to the sky, dropping a drop in each eye and blinking. He re-stoppered the bottle and returned it to his belt pouch before ducking inside the tent. Very strange.

While Eldren had been watching the ringmaster, Ink had purchased two tickets.

“You can pay me back, wiz kid,” she said.

“Oh,” Eldren said, frowning. “I —uh. I haven’t gotten any money.” He hadn’t considered this before and felt slightly embarrassed.

“How much is ‘any’?” Ink asked skeptically, frowning. “Like zero?”

“Like zero,” he confirmed.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, that’s pretty annoying,” she said. “On the run with a coin-less, magic-less wizard. Super.”

“Sorry Ink, I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can do some odd jobs for your guild.”

“You good at mapping?”

“Never tried.”

“Then probably not,” she said. “Let’s forget it for now, we’ll figure something out. We gotta get to our seats!”

The inside of the tent was strikingly familiar to circuses that Cam had attended in his own world. Huge wooden stands had been built on scaffolding for the audience surrounding a large sand pit that dominated the tent. Eldren reckoned it was fifty yards in diameter. Different colored flames flickered at the top of poles set up around the edge of the sand circle, casting green, blue, purple, and orange shadows over the crowd which was buzzing in anticipation of the acts starting.

Ink and Eldren found their seats.

“Wanna see, Ardos?” Eldren asked, shifting his backpack around so that he was wearing it backwards. The tortoise poked its head out of the zippered pocket.

“I can’t believe you’re delaying our quest to go to the circus,” he said. Eldren suspected that the wizard had intended the comment to sound disappointed but even the turtle’s gaze seemed to be captivated by the sights of the carnival tent.

A hush went over the crowd as the ringmaster stepped into the sand pit.

“Welcome one, welcome all! Tonight Aberforth and Aka’s Traveling Tent of Fantastical Follies will astound and delight you! I am Aberforth and I will be your master of ceremonies this evening!” At the words ‘master of ceremonies’ the multicolored torches flared brighter on cue and Eldren could feel the heat they gave off.

“First, we will see the most ferocious beast of the northern wilds. A predator—a hunter. Fester, King of the Wolves!” A gargantuan wolf, bigger than any Eldren had ever seen sprang from the shadows across the tent into the sand. A small woman, presumably its trainer, entered the pit and began putting the wolf through paces. It sprinted and jumped and howled as it hurdled obstacles and barriers and, at one point, feigned an attack on the woman which she successfully dodged to the oohs and ahhs of the townsfolk.

This is a complete waste of time, Eldren thought. I need to figure out how to do more magic and get home.

Next to him, Ink was enthralled by the performance.

“I shoulda done this for a job,” she lamented. “Way cooler than making maps.”

The ringmaster stepped back in front of the crowd.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, trolls and gnolls, beasts and cretins, I present to you the Bullseye of the Bride Water, one of the main attractions we know you came to see tonight. Witness the miracle of black powder and the impeccable aim of Baltran son of Baltran!”

Eldren was intrigued as a squat dwarf sauntered onto the sand arena. He looked unlike any dwarf that Eldren had ever seen or imagined. He wore cargo shorts and no shirt. A bandoleer like the kind you might expect G.I. Joe to wear criss-crossed his bare chest. His beard was bleach blond and his hair was spiked into a mo-hawk with his head cleanly shaved on the sides. Baltran son of Baltran took a bow as the crowd cheered.

Meanwhile, high above, two of the carnival’s acrobats began to perform their trapeze act. They launched themselves down from platforms on the poles that held the entire carnival tent up and swung from high wire rope to high wire rope, exchanging places. As Baltran turned his gaze upward, one of the acrobats retrieved what looked to Eldren like a large hoola hoop with paper stretched over it. A target.

As they swung and flipped around in the air high in the tent, Baltran unholstered two metal revolvers from his sides. Taking aim carefully he fired. A loud bang startled the crowd, seemingly unaccustomed to black powder and explosives. The shot was true and ripped through one of the acrobat’s paper hoop targets, dead center. The audience roared.

The next ten minutes included Baltran shooting a series of targets tossed from the platforms above in quick succession, a series of trick shots involving shooting various fruit out of the acrobats’ hands as they swung, and, for a grand finale, a blindfolded shot that pierced more paper targets. It was impressive shooting and the crowd loved it, gasping before each improbably shot and issuing thunderous cheers when the little lead spheres connected with their targets. This act alone had been worth the price of admission.

Shortly after Baltran’s performance as the crowd filed out of the tent, Ink was still reenacting it.

“I lied earlier about the wolf trainer,” she said. “I should have learned to shoot like that!”

“It was pretty awesome,” Eldren admitted. He was watching the crowd carefully. No gray cloaks in sight, but he still struggled to relax and enjoy the chill evening air.

“Let’s follow the crowd to the tavern,” Ink said.

“What about the safe house?” Eldren asked.

“Plenty of time for that after,” she replied. “C’mon Eldren. You just spent some time in the clink. Don’t you want a drink? Hey! That rhymes!”

“Not especially,” he said. “I’d really like to avoid going back to the dungeon, actually.”

“Look around! Nobody’s here. They probably think we went south, toward one of the kingdoms that the Iron Square doesn’t have influence over. Or, if they really think you’re a you-know-what—“ she avoided using the word witch-kind, “— then they’ll think you went east. Either way, north is one of the last places they’ll look. We’ve got a little time.”

Still not fully comforted, Eldren looked around again at the joyous townspeople who had been given the gift of levity by the carnival. For tonight, at least, the hard reality of the swamps and war was forgotten. He took a deep breath, trying to embrace the spirit of the circus.

“Fine,” he said. Ink beamed. “One or two drinks, at most. And then, we find the safe house.”

“Deal!” Ink said. They allowed the flow of circus patrons turned tavern-goers to sweep them up and carry them toward the nearest inn.