Season of Reckoning
Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.
Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode Two – Hyacinth
written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, and Myrtle Antioquia

Previously, on SR…

“Feast your eyes! Come see the wonders of the November Carnival!”
“You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“Last time anyone checked, you were a tree.”
“I don’t get why people are getting so worked up about this thing.”
“Chester. We should…we should probably go. Right now.”
“I guess there’s no better time than November to get it all done.”

Now, SR continues.
______________________________________

Chester’s shoes feel unnaturally heavy as he lumbers up the stairs at 7:45am. Halfway up the third flight, he realizes he’s left his homework in the dormitory, underneath the stack of Clover chips he was eating, but it’s far too late for him to double back and retrieve it. He pushes through the glass doors of the Science and Humanities building, and stops at the junction.
Left or right? Which way is Math again? Just a week’s vacation and I don’t remember anything anymore.
Adjusting the grip on his backpack strap, he makes a decision, and pads down the hallway, eyes glued to the red clay tiles passing under his feet. It gets harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. The floor seemed awfully cozy. Maybe just a short stretch, another dream…
Turning his head to the right, he sees across the space of the quadrangle, through two open windows, and into his class. Strontium was already well into Ma’am Kiel’s refresher address.
Shucks. Now I have to go around. Geez.
When he finally steps into the doorway, a class of twenty-seven students turns to look at him. He raises a finger to his lips, warning them, and then slides down the aisle to his seat. Ma’am Kiel had her back turned to the class. Maybe she hadn’t noti-
“Late again,” she quips, rather cheerily, as she finishes writing the day’s topic on the board in colored chalk. “Come on, Chester, snap out of it. It’s first day back and you’re already due for an admission slip.”
Right. The Registrar. Dammit.
Chester gets up again, and rubs the sand out of his eyes. Jethro shoots him a look, referring to the incident. Chester stops to look at his bag, unmindful of the class already in session. He remembers slipping something inside, the night of their adventure in the carnival.
“Hurry up, Chester, or you’ll miss the Super Bingo.” Ma’am Kiel holds up a set of orange and pink index cards, each clearly marked with a ten by ten grid. The students groan, glancing at the table, where stacks of paper await.
Before he leaves, he takes a quick look at the board. Trigonometric equations.
And congratulations, ladies and gentlemen, I’m already asleep.
His vision falls out of focus, and he rubs his eyes again. When he looks up, each of the letters in the word Trigonometry seems to jump up, one by one, all flashing a different color as they pop off the green-painted wood.
TRIGONOMETRY.
Chester’s heart skips a beat. He gulps, and rubs his eyes again. This time the word is back to normal – two-dimensional. Something felt off about the colors Ma’am Kiel had used; they weren’t the same as the flash.
“Hey. What are you waiting for?”
Eyebrows knotting, Chester backs away from the blackboard, and makes an unsteady exit, stumbling in the direction of the Registrar’s office.

*****

“Fill these up, honey, and then you’re good to go.”
A strangely bearded man hands the new student a clipboard with some files attached, and then points to a ballpoint pen lying on the counter. The girl sighs, gently running her fingers through her hair for comfort, before setting out to accomplish the information sheet.
Behind her, several sophomore boys dawdle around, pretending to be looking at notices tacked to the bulletin board. Every few seconds, they glance over their shoulders, snicker, and begin talking amongst themselves.
“Hey!” hisses the secretary. “Get out of here. We signed your slips already. Out!”
The boys reluctantly step out of the office, but hesitate at the doorway. They stare at the new student for a few more seconds, and wave with awkward grins as she catches them looking.
Chester pushes past them, yawning, and walks by the new student. She cringes as he passes by, as though preparing for something, but when she turns around, he is already taking an admissions pass from the shelves. Her lips purse, and she continues signing the sheet.
“Woke up late again, didn’t you?” taunts the bearded man. Chester’s eyebrow twitches at the unkempt wires sprouting from his chin. They reminded him of something he’d seen in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
“Dreamt again,” he mutters, handing the slip over. The hairy man notes the date and time, checks a few boxes, and then returns it to him.
Chester whirls around, ready to leave, but another strange, colored flicker catches his eye. Bright wisps of pink were emanating from the new student. He runs his tongue over his teeth, breathing heavily.
What am I seeing here?
The trails of lavender float around the room, snaking around the tables and personnel. When they reach the air-conditioning, however, they change direction, and waft over to Chester.
Instinctively he waves them out of his face, coughing.
“Hi,” begins the new girl, facing him for the first time. Her hair was neatly combed, falling softly over her shoulders, and there was the smallest twinkle in her eyes. They were big, expressive…but unnervingly quiet at the same time. “My name is Chari. I just transferred, and I don’t know where my first class is.”
Moments pass, as Chester pays more attention to the bright pink smoke than the girl. He swats at the fog as it rises, feeling the colors play along the tips of his fingers. He could smell something very sweet in the air – the faint scent of strawberries.
Chari waits patiently, although her gaze shifts to the floor. She sighs, closing her eyes, and turns away. Her arm goes to her shoulder.
“Aha, sorry,” Chester laughs. “Got a bit distracted.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, barely breathing. There was a sort of provincial accent in her speech.
“What class are you going to?”
The new girl pulls a schedule sheet out of her binder, scanning it intently. She wasn’t in a hurry, and Chester was glad for it, because neither was he.
“Math 4,” she finally announces, tucking it back into the pages of a leather planner. “Do you know where that is?”
“Well that depends,” he says, tilting his head back. “Which teacher is assigned to your class?” He leans over to take a look. The fragrance intensifies, the color blowing full blast in his face, and he sneezes. The pink scatters.
Ma’am Kiel Granada. Chester’s eyes fly to the section listed under her name.
“It’s your lucky day,” he chuckles. “We’re going to be classmates.”

*****

Several polite raps to the window wake Noel from his shallow sleep. He swings an arm out to his side, knocking several instruments off his desk. Sunlight floods his trailer as Lydia pulls the door open, carrying several pieces of toasted bread on a blue plastic plate.
The ringmaster kneads his temples, groaning, and one hand clambers clumsily over his desk to find his glasses. He puts them on and takes a look around. The bed, wedged in one corner, had yet to be tidied since the last night he slept in it, perhaps a week or so ago. The festive streamers dancing from shelf to cabinet had been torn down, hanging dismally over an upturned waste bin. Crumbled sheets of paper were spilling out.
“Dream a better dream, Noel?” says Lydia, pulling up a stool and taking a seat beside him. She places breakfast on the table in hopes of enticing him back to the world of the waking.
“Only the same one I’ve been dreaming for ages. Are these buttered?”
“Thin. Noel, here, come to bed. I can handle tonight’s show.”
“No, no,” he replies, rising. He snatches a piece of toast as he throws his cape over his shoulders and stumbles down the trailer steps. “We have to prepare, Lydia. We have a special guest coming to us today.”
The Tattooed Lady purses her lips, and follows after him, her light lace clothing billowing in the morning wind. The other carnies had gathered in one of the tents for the communal meal, and were eagerly awaiting their leader.
“Where did I leave my ink, Lydia?” Noel asks, snorting. He seemed to have contracted a perpetual cold. “I need you to find him for me.”
“Tough luck, then. I’m trying to use my ability to actively search for someone else. Someone far more important.”
Noel stops in his tracks, crunching burnt bread.
“And who would that be?”
“The old you. The one who took the time to say grace before breakfast. The old Noel, who could tell when detachment was causing his family pain. Where is he?” says Lydia coldly. She pulls her sleeves up. “No tattoos.”
Locating his pipe and jar of mineral inks, Noel leads Lydia to the side of his trailer. He draws the veil around the window canopy, and begins to stir – slowly, almost passionately.
“The lines I’ve crossed run parallel to the scars on my back. I haven’t changed, Lyd. Haven’t left. Still the same Noel. You know me probably better than anyone else. Since the beginning I’ve meant for this to happen. But I respected his wishes. Even if the reasoning behind it all was never…clear.”
Red sparks begin to fly from Noel’s fingertips. He briskly pushes the glass jar away. Lydia places her forehead on his shoulder.
“So I’ve tried to keep it all to myself, Lydia. The pain. But it wasn’t coming from the carnival, not from the others. It was coming from outside. The world was hurting and our people, the specials – they were in anguish. It’s time to bring them home, Lydia. What happened to him was…unfortunate -”
Suddenly the Tattooed Lady turns away, ripping the shawl off her shoulders.
“No more words. I’ll find him for you. Please, just stop it.”
Noel hesitates, sniffing again. Then he lightly pricks the tip of the pipe against her skin. The ink murmurs, shifting, then sinks. It bubbles back to the surface, churning violently, and sketches the image of a wealthy country estate.
“Thank you, Lydia.”
Gathering up her shawl, the Tattooed Lady walks away without another word. She passes by a young man in a baseball cap, and then points him, back still turned, to Noel. He jogs over excitedly.
“She said you needed me?”
Noel shifts in his seat, fist clenched. “Terence. I need you to deliver an invitation. Take Golda with you.”

*****

“Did you know that I’ve always wanted to become a teacher?”
Newspaper ruffles as David turns the page, feet planted on his old desk. Beside him, Adre begins to laugh. The fan whirs steadily over head, and air drifts in from the open balcony.
“Something funny?”
“No, it’s just… I can’t imagine you dealing with children. One instruction misinterpreted and you would demote them back to first grade. You’re kind of scary that way.”
David merely blinks. He places a hand on his fedora, as he is likely to do when he is confused. Adre notes that he’s been doing that a lot in the past two days.
“I’m not scary. I’ll have you know, I’m a very understanding person.”
The door blows open all of a sudden, and a powerful gust of wind fills the room. Newspapers scatter and David’s hat is thrown off his head. Several pieces of furniture and potted plants are knocked over, soil cascading all over the carpet.
Before the Company agents stand two visitors. The woman is dressed like a magician: leotard, cerulean tuxedo jacket, and a top hat decorated with playing cards. The man simply sports denim jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a baseball cap.
“How did you get in here?” says David, through gritted teeth.
“Front door,” smiles the girl. Her voice rises and falls, as though in mockery.
“Excuse me a moment,” he replies, swiveling in his chair to a unit on the wall. He calmly dials a number, and waits for a response. “Hello? This is our security office? Yes, it’s David. Whoever is manning the front station is fired. Have the Release Division wipe their memories. Thank you.”
The man in the cap snickers, tossing a neatly wrapped package on the table. It looks to be about the size of a large shoebox, enfolded within elegant red paper.
“Okay, allow me to introduce ourselves,” begins the woman, smiling. Adre, seated quietly in the corner, notes her to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. “My name is Golda, and this is Terence. We’re from a carnival ring; I’m sure you’ve heard of us. The November Carnival?”
Seconds pass as David stares glumly at the parcel on his desk.
“Yes, of course. Gabriel is with you, right?”
“That’s correct,” answers Golda, in her prim and proper way, hands folded. “Our new ringmaster,” and here she falters for a moment, “graciously invites you to come see our show tonight. He has a striking proposition for you, and would be delighted by your…” Golda checks her palm. “…company.”
She begins to laugh at her own pun, and Terence lightly smacks her on the shoulder. She cries out, and Adre’s eyebrow twitches. Well, they’re certainly an act.
“You should go, alright?” Terence says, leaning his face forward, staring David down. He tilts his head back up. “You can find us. Your ticket’s in there.”
Golda waves her wand, bowing, and as she does so, the two of them disappear. Another strong gust of wind returns the soil on the carpet to its pot, throwing the plant upright. The door slams shut as they leave.
David unfolds the crimson wrapping, and turns over the contents – a piece of parchment rolled up and tied with a ribbon, a gleaming gray and red ticket, and…
“A dowsing rod?” says Adre, coming up beside the desk. “I’ve seen those before. Romeo and I used them to find water in the desert.”
The Company boss sits quietly for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. The Carnival’s gift was a two-pronged branch, lightly embossed with twisting lines of gold. A brilliant topaz gem was lodged in the pointer end, and as David holds it in his rough hands, the dowsing rod begins to bob up and down.
“…Are you busy tonight?”

*****

Chester nods toward the class as he and Chari sneak up on them from the back door. Behind them, the sophomore boys are carrying her books, still bound in straw, and her cat-patterned bag.
“You can go now, thank you.”
The lower years refuse to leave, and instead move their heads up and down, if only to show their comprehension of her words. One of them leaves his tongue hanging from his mouth; the other begins to drool slightly. Chester shoves them away.
“Nervous? Don’t worry about it, they’ll like you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” mumbles Chari, stroking her hair. Chester blinks, and again the thin layer of pink fog is building. He blinks a second time, and it’s gone, but the scent remains.
When they turn to look at the class, they find that everyone is already aware of their presence. Chester notes all his friends have a glazed look in their eyes. The room is still, and the lesson has ground to a halt.
“I guess that’s our new student,” begins Ma’am Kiel, slowly. She seems unnerved by Strontium’s sudden silence. She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, she is back to her peppy self. “Ms. Beleran, right? The Registrar told me you’d arrive. Go ahead, take a seat.”
“You can sit beside me, new girl. Look, an empty seat,” pipes one of the boys.
“No, sit here. In my chair. It’s near the fan. It’s cool - I can move,” follows another.
“You can use both of our chairs,” adds another. His friend continues, “In case you know, you want to lie down. Or something. We can sit on the floor.”
“Can I carry your books?” says Jethro, coming up to her. He has the same blank look in his eye. He begins to pull up his polo sleeves, exposing his upper arms. Chester can see him inhaling clouds of the pink light. “I’ve been working out, so -”
“No you haven’t,” Chester interrupts, amused, before Jethro’s shoes fall heavily on his feet. “Yow!” He bites his lip, and waves his hand through the stream of pink. The wisps break apart, scattering, and Jethro sneezes.
Chari begins to turn away, terror chiseled on her lovely features, but Elise takes her by the hand and parts the crowd of restless students. “Hold it, everyone. New student coming through,” she says, putting her arms out defensively, ushering Chari over to a seat.
“Good idea, Elise,” sighs Ma’am Kiel, wiping her brow. “I’m putting you in charge of showing Ms. Beleran around. You’ll all have to wait for homeroom later to get to know her. Back to your seatworks.”

*****

He could only half hear what Jethro was saying to him about the new student. Inside his own head, Chester was crunching numbers, burning holes in his long test answer sheet. He’d failed again, the fourth in a string of less than desirable exam results, and it wasn’t very pretty on his report card.
But it was uncannily beautiful right there, on the paper. The more he looked, the harder he had to squint to keep the lights out, the brighter the colors came to him. As he did the math in his head, the numbers kept flashing – red for every 3, yellow if it was a 4, and green if it was a 7. Each of them seemed to have their own numerical personalities.
And he was finding the pattern. Chester saw that if he was using Arcsin, which was half red and half blue, then his answer would have to come out purple. If it wasn’t, then it was wrong – and a different color. His breathing starts to get faster. He doesn’t notice, but his hands are shaking.
“And I mean, wow, look at that. There isn’t a table in here that doesn’t want her. She’s just…wow.”
Chester looks up, allowing the noise of the cafeteria to fill his ears again, and the canvas that was his Math long test fades back into plain black and white. “Are you listening to yourself? Just three days ago you were sitting at the top of a Ferris Wheel, ready to ask Elise out to prom. What happened?”
Jethro opens his mouth to respond, but comes up with nothing. Behind them, Chari begins on her tray of rice and stewed vegetables. Elise chats happily away, and she nods serenely.
“And you honestly don’t find her pretty?”
His tablemate weighs his words.
“She smells nice.”
“What?” Jethro chortles. “What are you talking about?”
“You should know. You’re the one taking in truckloads of her weird perfume.”
“Now you’re just making fun of my nose.”
“You’re serious? You can’t see it? It’s so thick, it’s distracting,” says Chester, tucking his long test back into his bag. Even now, as he speaks, the letters seem to materialize into thin air, blinking like neon signs. “Gotta keep fanning it out of my face.”
Chester pauses, and leans to the right to catch a glimpse of Chari. He could see them, crystal clear, shining pink lights circling their table. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with sweet strawberry.
“That perfume. See?”
“…No.”
Jethro continues with his lunch, occasionally sneaking peeks and smiling to himself. Chester reclines in his seat, irritated that the cafeteria is poorly ventilated and therefore unsuited for between-period naps. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the heat.
“Chester. Hey. That carnival…”
“What about it?”
“Nothing. I mean, it was weird, huh? The way they kept talking about specials.”
“About you, you mean.”
Jethro looks up, spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Pshaw. What? Special? What?”
“Don’t deny it, Jethro,” snorts Chester, shutting his eyes again. “I was there when you took the lights out. And geez, you even stopped the entire Ferris Wheel. That’s gotta be more than coincidence, to have it conk out when you’re at the top, primed for an invitation.”
The music continues to play in Jethro’s ears, throbbing against his brain. Chester seems comfortable with his own discovery, and swats at a fly near his nose.
“Don’t worry, I think it’s awesome.”
Jethro hesitates, before muttering, “It’s not. It’s not…awesome.”
“Shit, man. Yes it is. And I think I’m special, too.”

*****

“The last time I was at one of these things,” breathes David, shuffling through the crowd with Adre at his heels, “was to pick up a very special young girl.”
“Oh, wow. You found love at the carnival?”
“What? No! I found Vianca. She was a trapeze artist. Power manifested in the middle of a performance. One that was, regrettably, her last. Watch yourself, Adre. The carnival is a dangerous place to be.”
Ominous rumbling reverberates through the sky. The festive music seemingly slows, notes stretching, until it is no longer recognizable, save as an eerie warning.
“You’re early.”
The agents spin around, and the air before them ripples. As though pulling an invisible sheet aside, Golda appears, tipping her hat to them. She hands them each a tarot card – The Hierophant for David, and Strength for Adre.
“Noel is expecting you in the big top,” she says, using her wand to point to the largest tent, smack dab in the center of the carnival. She smiles at them, squinty eyes gleaming behind her glasses. “May I go?”
David replies with uncertainty. “Sure.”
“Okay,” she says, and Adre just manages to catch her lip quiver as she turns and vanishes. Suddenly struck by genius, the agent turns his ability on, letting cold silver metal slide down his arms and the side of his face. He glints in the retreating afternoon sunlight.
“You can take your hat off, Boss. It’s the carnival, right? We can walk around and be us and still blend right in.”
“Alright,” says David, taking his fedora off. He rolls his sleeves up, revealing gnarled branches for arms. He snaps his twiggy fingers briskly, and Adre hands him a briefcase. “Go have some fun. I’ll handle this.”
“You’re serious? I haven’t had a day off in…ages. That’s pretty funky of you, boss.”
The tin man wanders off, pointing and winking at some kids who pass by. David laughs quietly to himself, and is surprised by the way his voice sounds.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a reason to laugh.
David passes some more carnival sideshows, and challenges himself to name each of their obvious abilities – elasticity, underwater breathing, paper manipulation. The entire operation was toying with the regulars, teasing them with the magnitude of powers they could never understand, could never know about. Subconsciously, he puts his fedora back on, shrouding his face in anonymity.

*****

Noel hunches forward on the bleachers, grinding his teeth, as a beam of light sears through the tent tarpaulin, framing a silhouette. The figure walks in its own shadowed footsteps, paced, carrying a tightly-locked suitcase in one hand.
“So glad you could make it,” he says, his voice filling the big top. Two spotlights activate, raining illumination down upon him and his guest. “I wager the dowsing rod was of help?”
“I’m an intensely curious man.”
“Oh? Well that’s good, because I’d been worried you wouldn’t be interested in what I have to say to you. Stand there in the center where I can see you.”
David raises his chin in defiance.
“I’ll stand where I like, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
The Company boss looks up at the ceiling, light and dark playing over the tent slopes. Nine golden spheres orbit the performing ring, buzzing continuously.
“I came to see a show,” says David, brandishing the ticket Terence delivered. Noel grins, inhaling sharply, and claps his hands twice.
“Right. The main attraction tonight happens to be an acquaintance and benefactor of yours. Feast your eyes on The Living Statue.”
The orbs draw together, crisscrossing and sliding off each other, showering sparks over the stage. A third spotlight snaps into action, focusing on a cloaked figure now approaching the center. The man removes his hood and throws his mantle open, exposing clothes and skin completely tinged by polished gold.
“Gab. Statue?”
“Your humor is refreshing, David. But our stars converge here today on matters of a more serious nature,” Gab replies. The spheres over his head soften and elongate, plunging into the ground as spears. “I believe you owe me something, friend.”
“Only an apology. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You borrowed his services,” Noel fills in. “Many, many years ago.”
“Of that I am aware. But I was under the impression that our altruistic relic companion here was more than willing to transmute vast fields into gold for me, on the condition that my purposes be for the betterment of humanity. And they were.”
“So I hear,” answers Noel. “You established a Company that monitored and supposedly protected people like us. A noble deed, a labor of love. But then, I hear many things. From many people. You were a tree, they say. For who knows how long. How are we to be assured of the Company’s deeds?”
“What is the point of all this?” asks David, narrowing his emerald eyes.
“The point here is that you clearly deceived me,” says Gabriel, voice hollow and emotionless. “You vowed to use the wealth I graciously bestowed on you for benevolent purposes, but as I understand it, the Company did more harm than good.”
“Is this a trial? Am I being judged?
“No, your debts are merely being put in order. We now require repayment. But the thing is, David, we are not your enemies. Your Company and our Carnival have similar goals. We can help each other.”
“How?”
Gab remains still and silent, true to his name. Noel passes his staff from one hand to the other, and then rubs his chin theatrically.
“The Icarus incident. Sound familiar?”
“Not something we’re proud of. Desi Mina was a rogue agent. We didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“No, no, of course not,” nods Noel. “But it was your agents that ended up undoing everything that you were working towards. And now the entire world knows of our existence. We are threatened, David.”
“You certainly sound like it.”
David smirks, and Noel grunts, striking the staff on the ground. Red arcs fly.
“Here at the November Carnival, we are a family. We accept each other, in the ways that our previous families have failed to do. We’ve found a way to make an honest living, out in the open, and we’re happy here. I can sense the pain of our…brethren… beyond these gates. Restricted by laws, watched and guarded… They deserve better. Even better than your Company – which may I remind you is at fault here – has ever conceived.”
“Go on.”
“All we want is for their way of living change with the times. I tried to invite a few of them to our family. But what are we, a mere carnival, a traveling gypsy act, compared to the intricate workings of an organization such as yours?”
“Ah. I see,” says David. “You’re too small for your big ideas.”
Noel grits his teeth, struggling to drain all of his frustration into his clenched fists. He looks to Gabriel, who doesn’t return his gaze, and swallows audibly.
“We need your help, David,” he continues, gagging on his own bitterness. “To bring our family home.”
The Company boss turns his back. He walks to the exit, and pulls apart the tarpaulin. Noel moves to stop him from leaving, but he doesn’t have to – he turns back to them and gestures with his long, branchy arms.
“This is home? This is the protection you offer them? To be made freakshows, exploited for money and cheap laughs? And here, of all places, on a sun-crisp, wind-thrashed plain?”
Noel cracks his knuckles one by one, turning his head so that his ears pick up the laughter of his family outside the tent. David waits, arms crossed, unaware of but only mildly concerned with the ringmaster’s thoughts.
“Stick to your magic shows, Noel. Pull rabbits out of your hat. Because you’ll never get anything from me. The Company works for integration, not seclusion.”
“But isn’t that what you’ve caused? Seclusion?”
Chains rattle against Noel’s unsteady legs as he takes several shaky steps forward, fearful of tripping over his words more than his feet. He knew what he was thinking was right, but his mouth and his heart were scrambling the message up. The echo of his outburst sounds desperate, and the tiniest hint of a chuckle flickers on David’s face.
“I can feel them trembling,” he presses. “They are more alone than ever. What hope they had for coexistence is gone. It’s just a matter of time before violence, like countless times before, becomes forefront in a war of discrimination.”
“If it comes to that, then the Company will be ready.”
Gabriel shifts.
“You are making a mistake. Every day I meditate and ponder the mysteries of the universe, the workings of human minds. They come to this carnival to see wonders, and they hold our majesty in contempt. Even their children are learning to discriminate, to take our future away from us. Your debt, David. Do not forget. I certainly will not.”
“Here,” replies David, tossing Noel the metal briefcase in his hand. “Good thing I thought to bring bargaining chips. That contains every file we have on the carnival. If you’re so afraid of being discovered, persecuted, then take that and rip it to shreds. Your secret will be safe forever. You’ve been hiding a long time, haven’t you?”
“This is our chance to come out and do something!” Noel roars, pitching his staff into the ground. He groans as he gives way to some of his anger; a sizzling wave of red energy fractures the ground so deeply that water begins to seep out of the cracks.
David watches his own warped reflection in the gurgling stream now forming at his feet. He sees his own green eyes, cocking his head back in surprise, and bends over. Where his fingers touch the water, delicate pink flowers begin to bloom.
“The carnival behaves in just the same way as water hyacinth. Ever heard of the plant? It has exquisite blossoms, quite beautiful. But only at first glance. It crops up where it isn’t wanted and takes everything, feeds on an ecosystem that was never ready for it. A monster of a plant.”
The Company boss straightens up, throwing a last glance at Noel, too tired to speak, and licks his lips.
I’ve made my bargain. And now, I make my exit.”
“You are indebted, my friend,” says Gab, carven eyes flashing. He runs his hand along the tent tarpaulin, and it stiffens, hissing weakly as it turns into solid gold. The entrance flaps fall back into place, sealing the three of them inside. “Your payment will be extracted, one way or the other. Perhaps not now, perhaps not by my hand. But karma will perch upon your shoulder. Your refusal will mean the loss of all your resources.”
“Look at you, trying to play calm and collected. Get angry, Gab. Will you change my gold back into straw, like Rumpelstiltskin? Your polite requests mean nothing to me. You said so yourself. The carnival is too small to make a stand.”
Gabriel does not react, and merely shakes his head.
“Take your files and leave the Company alone. We want no part in your endeavors. Anyone you find who joins you is yours, by all means. Good luck.”
Heavy footsteps rumble through the ground, shaking the poles holding the big top up. Seconds later, Adre crashes through the concrete golden flaps, ripping a massive hole in them. David tips his fedora to them, and serenely walks out.

________________________________________________________________________