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ball," ran the whisper, "she is really looking into your mind." Other whispers
had it that she was pondering your soul. Old and emaciated, with bony hands
ridged with blue veins and a shriveled face made grotesque by gleaming
dentures, she nevertheless managed a gentle smile. If she were held in awe,
she also was well liked.
Occasionally Jedro managed to share breakfast with Kathy and The Snake
Woman in the big warm mess tent. At other times, as he and the blond girl
walked along the sawdust street, they gravely discussed life. But not once did
she mention her past, nor did he question her about it. Intuitively he knew
that it was sealed off behind a curtain of pain. All in all, there was but one
jarring note in his mind: the presence of The Tattooed Man.
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Why had he killed Mr. Clement? Every time Jedro glimpsed The Tattooed
Man or thought of him, the question came unbidden. Each time, touching the
memory stone to feel its warmth, he instinctively knew the answer: The
Tattooed Man had been trying to get the memory stone. But why?
For that question, he had no answer.
Jedro awoke in the cold hour of dawn. Throwing aside the blankets, he dressed
hurriedly in the rickety old wagon that had been assigned as his personal
quarters. Although it was filled with strange odors that spoke of former
tenants and odd cargo, he thought it the best home he'd ever had.
The horses and relks whinnied softly as he approached their corral. He spoke
reassuringly to them as he dumped fresh fodder in the troughs and filled the
water tubs. Now and then he paused to pat one or scratch it behind the ear.
Their large dark eyes reminded him of the rain pools set among the otog trees
in the Ullan Hills.
Afterward he crept into the big tent and went to the lion cage. Lying
alongside the bars, Taber lifted his head, watching him approach. Rana,
sprawled on her belly with her head on her paws, raised herself from the floor
and came toward him.
Jedro reached through the bars and ran his fingers through Taber's mane, then
scratched Rana under the chin. He was rewarded by deep rumbling purrs. He
tried to keep such visits secret, for he knew that Jason Hart would be quite
angry.
"Those cats are dangerous," the lion tamer had warned time and again.
But looking into their large golden eyes, Jedro knew that Jason Hart was
wrong. The lions weren't at all dangerous, not where he was concerned. They
were merely lonely. And if they were irritable, it was because they were
penned up. When he spoke to them, he had the odd feeling that they understood
him -- if not his words, at least his thoughts.
When his chores were finished, he washed in a tub of cold water before going
to the mess tent. Disappointed that Kathy wasn't there, he had breakfast with
Corky and Dum-Dum. Devoid of their makeup and ring attire, the clowns appeared
quite ordinary, although Corky's eyes never lost the sadness that gave his
long face such a lugubrious expression.
Later he wandered outside. Both Klore and Bergon had risen, painting the
eastern sky a glorious golden-orange. He was gazing around when he saw The
Tattooed Man emerge from the carnival owner's big red- and white-striped
trailer. Jedro shrank back against the mess tent, his pulses quickening. A
sharp tremor ran through his body -- reactions he got whenever he saw the man.
Nervously he watched him.
Gurdon's bony, brilliantly patterned face gleamed in the morning sun.
Glancing around quickly, he strode along the sawdust street. His lithe body
and quick, light steps reminded Jedro of the big cats; The Tattooed Man was
like them -- all sinewy, flowing movement.
Jedro's thoughts were uneasy. What business had The Tattooed Man with
Dr. Faust? Although they were rumored to be close, he couldn't imagine the
carnival owner choosing such a man for a friend. Yet Barracuda and The Human
Pincushion had picked The Strangler; and The Strangler visited Granny...
Friendship, he was discovering, was an odd thing; likes seemed more often
drawn to unlikes than likes. Or was he seeing the exceptions? Perhaps his
perturbation was caused by what he'd seen in the Ullan Hills. If The
Tattooed Man ever discovered that...He shuddered at the possible consequences.
He saw Madame Brevet standing in front of her booth, her wrinkled face
turned toward the sky. Her skin, in the morning light, resembled old leather.
Glancing up, he saw that the guy wire holding her sign had become loose,
allowing it to cant at an odd angle.
"I'll fix it, Granny," he called. Leaping, he caught the edge of the roof and
pulled himself up. Tightening the wire, he dropped back to the street.
"My, you're agile." She patted his head, her old eyes wistful. "I used to be
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that way. Long ago," she added.
Caught by her nostalgia, he declared stoutly, "You can do other things,
Granny."
"Not much." She shook her head sadly. "I'm getting old."
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