October 31st, 1986
Dighton, Kansas
Halloween at Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders was always something special. The performances always had a little bit of extra flair and the side shows and game booths always had candy to spare for the kids. No matter where the Carnival was, there was always a crowd of kids running around in home-made Halloween costumes on a sugar high, having fun, their responsible adults frantically chasing after them.
This was Clint's fifth Halloween with the carnival and he had always looked forward to it as the highlight of the year. His first year, when he was just ten years old, the rest of the carnies had treated him like the King of Halloween, showering him with treats and telling ghost stories late into the night over cup after cup of hot cider. And then, of course, there had been the private show the adults had put on for the carnie kids after they had closed to the public for the night. That night had been the happiest he could ever remember being. And though he was performing now, every time he saw a wide smile on a ten-year-old face at a Halloween show, he couldn't help but remember that.
The last show of the night had finished almost an hour ago. The side shows were winding down and the games were beginning to close up shop. But Clint wasn't done yet. Presently, Clint was gallivanting through the tents and booths with a trail of young kids, none of them older than about nine, chasing after him. He darted them in and out of the shadows, urging them to be sure to keep up, and stopped behind the fortune-teller's booth. He gathered the kids in close and spoke quietly.
"Here's where we need to be extra careful," he said to them, as seriously as he could muster, "Old Lady Clementine talks to the ghosts and spirits and Halloween is always when their voices are strongest. Sometimes, they even materialize right out of her crystal ball and haunt the carnival until dawn. And there's even a story about how one kid when missing from her tent, once, years ago, never to be heard from again."
The kids all gave an enthralled gasp and huddled in a little tighter.
"Follow me, close, and stay quiet," Clint whispered to them, pulling an arrow with a little bit of tinsel in the fletching out of the quiver on his back and setting it on the string of his bow, "I think the ghost is nearby. And I only have the one magic arrow to use."
"What if you miss?!" one little girl exclaimed in horror.
"Silly, he's the Amazing Hawkeye," said another, slightly older boy in response, "didn't you see the show? He never misses!"
"Shh!" another of the kids hissed.
Clint led the way slowly, creeping toward a lantern that he could see only a little ways away.
"There!" Clint said, pointing to the lantern, "did you see that? How that flame flickered funny? That's where the ghost is. It's in the fire. I have to shoot the flame with the magic arrow and put it out or it'll set the whole carnival on fire."
"Oh no!" said one kid.
"Quick!" exclaimed another.
Silently, Clint motioned for the kids to stay in the shadow of the fortune-teller's tent and crept toward the lantern, drawing back on his bowstring and taking aim at the flicking flame.
Breathe... and... release.
The arrow sprung from Clint's bow and the flickering lights of the carnival glinted off the tinsel in the fletching as it riffled and flew unerringly toward the point where the lantern flame joined to the wick. But before it could reach its mark, another arrow shot across its path, striking it in the shaft and sending it tumbling off to the side to land harmlessly in the gravel.
"All right, enough's enough, kids," the voice of Buck Chisholm came from the same placed as the arrow that thwarted Clint's own, "time to find your parents. The carnival's closing up for the night."
"Awww," the kids all chorused.
"But what about the ghost in the lantern?" the youngest of the kids asked. "Now the Hawkeye can't shoot it!"
"You kids let ol' Trick Shot help out the Hawkeye, from here," Buck answered them, shepherding them toward the main path through the carnival and toward a waiting group of parents, "this ghost is too much for a bunch of junior ghost-hunters. Best leave it to the pros, now. G'won!"
Disappointed, the kids all shuffled off down the path, away from the two archers.
"C'mon, Buck, I had the shot," Clint complained.
"Yeah, I know ya did, kiddo," Buck replied, "after all I taught you everything ya know. But someone had to break up your little game. I know ya like Halloween, Clint, but we're closin' up for the night and it wouldn't do for us carnies to get a rap for kidnapping."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Clint said, retrieving his arrow and flexing the shaft to test it before returning it to his quiver, "sucks, though. That was probably the most excitement those Kansas hick kids have had in years."
"That's why Carson chooses the small towns," Buck said, "always fun to shake 'em up a bit. We still got two weeks here and shows tomorrow morning, though. So ya best get some shut-eye."
"Yeah, all right," Clint groused, "I'm not a little kid any more."
"Ya never were," Buck said with a chuckle.
"You seen Barney?"
"Nah, not since the show," Buck replied, "he probably went back to your trailer to pout, like he always does."
"He wouldn't pout if Jacques let him be in an act instead of being a stage hand, you know."
"Ain't up to me, kiddo," Buck said, as he began to walk away, tossing a wave over his shoulder.
Clint sighed and shook his head, still wearing a grin. He began to make his way back to the tiny, run-down old trailer that he shared with his brother Barney as the carnival lights began to go out, one by one. The place was already getting quiet and dark and Clint let out a yawn, admitting to himself that he was pretty tired following the last show of the night. And it was getting colder out. In a couple more weeks, they would pack up the carnival and travel down to Texas to play a few spots where it was warmer over the winter.
Clint was passing the tent that was housing the show monkeys when he spotted a crack of flickering light beneath the tent flap. It caught his eye because the monkey tent was supposed to be dark after the monkeys had been returned there following the show, so seeing light after the whole carnival had closed altogether was strange.
Curious, he got closer. As he did he began to hear voices. One he recognized immediately as that of Jacques Duquesne, his own mentor, who used the stage name of Swordsman. It took him a moment to recognize the other voices as those of some of the stage hands and camp followers, most of whom were people Clint tended to avoid. He moved quietly toward the tent entrance, listening as he went.
"C'mon, Duquesne," said one of the men, "you gotta convince Carson to take this show to some bigger cities. We're not making shit off these rural rubes."
"Hey, I'm trying," said Jacques, "but you know how he likes all that bull about bringing smiles to folks who don't get to have fun. Something's gotta happen to convince him there's more bank to be made near the cities."
"Well, maybe that's on us," said one of the stage hands.
"How do you mean?" asked another.
"If we step up our own efforts, maybe we can convince him," said the first. Clint was just now reaching the tent flap and managed to position his face near the narrow opening so he could just see inside.
"You sayin' we should up our take?" asked another man, one that Clint recognized as the guy that ran the booth where a customer paid to try and knock over a stack of bottles.
"Yeah," said the stage hand, "if Carson sees less and less money coming into the carnival from these rubes, maybe he'll take us where there's a little more scratch."
Clint felt a pit in bottom of his stomach. He couldn't have heard that right. There was no way that Jacques would help these pinheads steal from Carson and the rest of the carnival. There had to be some mistake. Surely, Jacques would put an end to this right here and now.
To Clint's horror, that was not what happened.
"Not a bad idea," Jacques said thoughtfully, rubbing a thumb over his goatee, "we get a larger take right now and then get the opportunity to make a more later. All right, get the word out to the others. We'll ramp it up slow over the next couple weeks. Now get lost, all of you. I gotta count it up for the shares."
Clint had just enough time to scramble back around the corner of the tent and into the shadows before the group of men streamed out of the tent and dispersed, silently, leaving Jacques on his own. A moment later, Clint heard the chime of metal on metal and the shuffling of paper that could only be the handling of money. He gave himself a moment, still trying to clear the feeling that he had been punched in the gut. Just as silent as he had been, he made for the tent flap and entered to see Jacques sitting on one crate and shifting around stacks of money, his back to the tent flap.
"C'mon, Rob," said Jacques, "we've been through this, I don't skim off the top before making the shares and you know-"
Jacques stopped short as he turned around and spotted Clint standing inside the entry way. The Swordsman gave a regretful, resigned sigh and looked away, shaking his head.
"Why?" was the only thing that Clint could force past his throat.
"Clint," Jacques said with a sigh, "it's just business. We're all just making our own way."
"You're stealing from Carson!" Clint shot back. "From all of the rest of us! How could you?"
"Look, Clint," Jacques said, standing up, "my act doesn't pay like it used to, you know that. And the stage hands and the booth guys, they don't make as much as the acts. If it wasn't for this, those guys would have left a long time ago and there wouldn't be a Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. A carnival don't run on just the trapeze and high wire guys."
"This is wrong, Jacques," Clint said with a shake of his head, "you should have talked to Carson, if the guys all thought they weren't making enough. You know that he thinks of us like family. He'd listen."
Jacques approached Clint slowly and set his hands on the teen's shoulders. "That's not how things are done. We're carnies and that means that we're self-sufficient. Carnies who need to go begging aren't worth having around. You're old enough to understand, now. Barney has been getting a cut for over a year. I see no reason not to cut you in."
"No!" Clint shouted, pulling away. "You're just stealing and I won't help you! I'm going to find Carson." He moved toward the tent flap to exit.
Jacques was in motion in an instant, Grabbing Clint by the arm. "No, Clint, you're not!" he said, raising his voice a little.
"Let go of me!" Clint exclaimed trying to shake his arm loose but finding the grip too strong.
"No, kid, I'm not going to let you mess this up for me!"
Clint felt the familiar taste of adrenaline rising in his nose and throat. There was a look in Jacques' eyes that he had never seen before and he hated the sight of it. He hated the situation. He hated Jacques. His breath starting to catch in his throat, Clint lashed out with the fist that was holding his bow, catching Jacques square in the nose, sending him reeling back and trying to staunch a flow of blood.
The look Jacques was giving him terrified the teen; rage, intent, and a determination not to be denied. Clint stumbled out of the tent and ran. He could hear Jacques hot on his heels. He poured on speed when he heard the ring of metal that heralded the Swordsman drawing his blade.
"Get back here, you ungrateful little bastard!" Jacques shouted at him.
The chase took them into the carnival grounds, away from the trailers where everyone else was settling in for the night. Clint made for the one tent where he knew there were obstacles that he could use to stay away from the raging Swordsman; the main show tent.
Bursting through the flap and into the back-stage area, Clint weaved through the stacks of crates and the show props, avoiding Jacques' sword swings. He heard the blade smash against wooden boxes and some of the metal stanchions holding up the tent. Several racks of props also went tumbling. Clint charged on, making for the stage area and the main ring. Behind him, he heard the fabric of the entryway tent flap rip.
Clint dove for the ladder to the high-wire and began climbing up to the platform. As his foot cleared a rung, he heard the clang of metal-on-metal as Jacques' sword narrowly missed him. A moment later and Clint heard Jacques climbing the ladder after him. He made it to the platform and started out on to the high wire, Jacques' hand just narrowly missing his ankle. Half way out onto the wire, well out of Jacques' reach, he stopped and pulled an arrow from his quiver, pointing it at Jacques just as the Swordsman righted himself on the platform.
"You can't reach me here," Clint said to him, still aiming his arrow, "you never could do the high wire."
Jacques gave a smirk and a shrug, throwing his arms wide for a moment, sword flashing in what little light there was. "Clint, Clint, Clint," he said as if speaking to a child, shaking his head, "I don't need to."
With a flick of his wrist, Jacques' sword whistled through the air and he cut downwards in front of him. The high wire beneath Clint's feet snapped and fell away, sending the archer tumbling toward the ground.
Clint didn't remember hitting.
The world swam back into focus. Everything hurt. Clint's surroundings were too white, too bright, and smelled of antiseptic. There was an annoying beeping off to his side somewhere and a voice repeating his name.
"C'mon, kiddo, open your eyes, already."
Clint recognized the voice; Buck. Clint forced his eyes to focus on the face near him and gave a groan of recognition.
"Wha' happened to me?" Clint asked.
"Took a tumble off the high wire," Buck answered, "it was cut. Didn't take us long to figure out by who, seeing as the whole place heard your scream. Barney found you and I saw Jacques running from the big top." He reached over and pressed a button for a nurse.
"They catch him?" Clint asked.
Buck shook his head. "Naw, he's gone," he said, "Barney was yelling for help somthin' fierce. You were so messed up, kid... we sorta focused on the higher priority."
A nurse swept into the room just then, Barney hot on her heels. Silently, Barney took a spot next to Buck and let the nurse fill Clint in on what had happened.
Both of Clint's legs had been broken in the fall and were going to take several weeks to heal. Additionally, the doctors wanted to monitor for a possible concussion, since there had been a substantial wound to the back of his head and he had been unconscious for nearly a day.
Silence reigned in the room for over a minute after the nurse left. Clint stared at the plaster casts encasing his legs up to the thighs.
"Look, kiddo," Buck finally said, "things seem pretty shitty right now, but... well, I ain't gonna just leave you twisting. Jacques may have had to convince me to help train ya at first, but... well, there's no gettin' around it. I like ya, Clint. And if you wanna stay with Carson's, I'll keep training ya."
With a sour look on his face, Barney gave an indignant snort and rolled his eyes. Buck's eyes darted over to him and he shifted a little.
"Well, anyhow," said Buck, "I'll give you two boys some time. I'll back back in a while." He gave Clint's shoulder a comforting pat and then silently left the room.
"Well, Clint, you screwed this up good," Barney finally said with a sigh.
"I screwed this up!?" Clint asked, incredulously. "He came after me with his sword, Barn! And besides." Clint lowered his voice, quickly casting a glance to the doorway to make sure no one was there. "I'm not the one who took a cut of the ill-gotten goods."
"I knew it!" Barney said, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes. "I knew you would do this! That's why I didn't tell you! You always screw up things for me!"
"Skimming off the top of the carnival's profits!" Clint pressed. "I can't believe you'd do that, after everything Carson and the rest of them have done for us! You know they probably would have split us up in the foster system by now!"
"All they've done for us?" Barney replied. "God, you're an idiot! How much help do you think they've been giving us since I turned 18, huh? Carson pays me like any other stage hand, now, but I gotta take care of the both of us on that and it's not much! You like eating, right?"
"Don't blame this on me, Barney," Clint shot back, "you decided to take the money from Jacques, not me!"
"I don't care what you think about it," Barney said, "but now that we don't have that, we can't afford to stick with the carnival. It's time for you and me to move on."
"And do what?" Clint asked. "Where can we go? How exactly do you plan for us to get work? You didn't finish high school and I won't ever, either! The carnival's all we got, Barn!"
"We'll do what we've always done; whatever it takes," Barney replied, "and you're gonna have to grow a thicker skin for us to make it because we're probably going to have to get into some shady stuff."
Clint shook his head, crossing his arms. "No, no, I won't do that."
"You don't have a choice," said Barney, "because I'm out of here and I'm the only one who gives a damn about you."
"You'll have to leave without me," Clint said, his eyes locking on to Barney's with a glare, "because I won't go with you if you do that. I'll take Buck up on his offer, I'll stick with the carnival."
"Fine," Barney said dismissively, making for the door, "just don't come cryin' to me when you're cold and hungry and alone. Because we're finished. I'm tired of carrying you. You think you're so grown up, go ahead and try to take care of yourself."
Clint's instinct was to try and chase after Barney. He shifted in the hospital bed, trying to make his broken legs move. All he got for his trouble was a spike of pain causing him to gasp and squeeze his eyes shut. It was several minutes before he found that he could open them again. His vision was blurred and tears were making their way down his face. He looked around the room, but there was no one.
He couldn't help it. He let out a sob and the tears tumbled down.
He was still like that a couple minutes later when Buck rounded the corner into the room at a run. He stopped dead when he caught site of the teen, helplessly sobbing and trying to rub the tears from his eyes.
"Aww, kid," said Buck, coming over to the bed and lighting on the edge, setting a hand on Clint's shoulder. "He's leavin' isn't he?"
Clint nodded, still trying to wipe his eyes.
"I know it looks bad now, but it's gonna get better," said Buck, "you're with me, now, ya got it?"
Clint swallowed hard, trying to find the ability to speak, but found he couldn't. He nodded again instead and then found that Buck was pulling him closer and putting his arms around him.
"Yep, you're with me, now."