As they strolled along the ever-more crowded streets towards the circus, Dutchy elbowed David and hissed, "He still followin' us?"

David casually glanced back over his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. He's about three or four people back, trying to look like he's not unhappy about all this."

Dutchy shrugged. "We did tell him he didn't have to come with us."

On Dutchy's other side, Denton grinned that crooked grin of his. "You guys can't really blame him for worrying. He wants to make sure you stay safe."

"Hey, you'se with us," Dutchy replied. "I don't see why Jack's got to worry. We'se with an adult, after all."

"An adult whose job it is to get himself into dangerous situations and make money off of writing about them later," Denton reminded him.

"And if things go wrong, it'll be good to have Jack nearby," David cautioned.

"Yeah, well, then why don't he just walk with us instead of starin' at my back? Ain't like none of us three don't see him," Dutchy said perversely. "Don't get me wrong, I like Jack, but he wasn't always such an old woman. When we was strikin', he was perfectly willin' to put us in danger. So why's this different?"

"Because he thinks we're being imprudent, possibly," Denton said. "We are, by the way."

Dutchy threw his hands in the air. "Then why'd you guys come with me? If you'se all so unhappy 'bout what we're doin', why'd you agree?"

"Because sometimes you have to do dumb things to get anything accomplished," David replied softly. "And at times, I think he worries so much about his friends that he forgets that."

Dutchy stared at David over the top of his glasses. "Didn't think I'd ever hear anything like that from you, Dave."

"I've learned a lot from all of you. And in any case," David drew nearer and lowered his voice, "Jack doesn't always see straight to the heart of the matter. He doesn't see how much you… Er…" He rubbed the back of his freckled neck, apparently trying to frame the words.

The meaning was perfectly clear enough to Dutchy who blanched and quickly glanced over to make sure that Denton hadn't heard them. Luckily, the crowds were now thick enough that unless they spoke at a normal volume, Denton hadn't – and wouldn't – notice. "You been talkin' to Race?" he whispered, already planning what he was going to do to Racetrack the next time he saw him. First he'd punch that smug, cigar-smoking face of his. And then…

He was so busy plotting revenge that he almost missed David's response.

"Racetrack? Talking to him about – No!" he exclaimed, still softly. "I didn't talk to anybody, Dutchy. I didn't need to. It's perfectly clear on your face. The way you talk about him – the way that you're as worried as if he were your… well, family, practically."

Dutchy could feel the back of his neck turning a dull red. "Great," he said heavily. "Anyone else know?"

David shrugged. "I have no idea. Like I said, I haven't talked to anyone about it – and I won't," he added firmly. "Don't worry about me blabbing."

"Thanks," Dutchy sighed, still feeling embarrassed.

"Guys, pay attention," Denton murmured over to them. "We're there."

Dutchy looked straight ahead. And then looked up. And up. And up. He gaped in awe, having never seen anything like this before. Sure, circuses had come to town before, but he'd never gone before; he'd never had a call to go before, or the money to buy a ticket.

The main tent was as large as any skyscraper he'd seen, and from this angle, a great deal wider. It seemed to stretch up, up, up into the sky, painted with red and white stripes. From inside, even over the crowds, he could hear the roar of an animal of some sort, and the terrifically loud voice of a man he supposed was the emcee.

The crowds surging around him, Dutchy grabbed nervously for David's sleeve. David glanced over him and laughed, though the laugh seemed to be a little shaky.

"Don't be afraid, Dutchy. It's just a circus. Hey, Denton!" he called louder. Dutchy swung his head around in time to see Denton fighting his way through the crowd over to what appeared to be the ticket booth.

"He can't hear us," Dutchy said, clutching more tightly to David's arm. Bravado or no, he didn't want to be separated from his friend in this crowd. "So, uh… what should we do?"

David craned his head around, apparently looking for something. "Let's move to the side of the tent. We'll get away from the crowd, and Denton can find us easier there. Come on."

Slowly, laboriously, the two boys fought their way through the mass of people, and finally, just when the sweating, surging crowd of faces and hands was really starting to make Dutchy uncomfortable, it thinned suddenly, and they found themselves away from the main thrust of the crowd. Dutchy took several deep breaths.

"Don't like crowds, huh, Dutchy?" David grinned at him, pale under his freckles.

"I guess not," Dutchy replied. After feeling as though he'd finally caught his breath, he glanced around curiously. They were very nearly on the far side of the main tent, and smaller tents surrounded them. "You really think Denton's gonna find us back here?"

"…Maybe this wasn't such a smart idea," David admitted. "Jack's still probably still back in that crowd, and he's angry that he lost us in it."

"Great," Dutchy muttered. "Even when it ain't me coming up with the plan, it still don't work. I think I'se cursed, Davey."

"You're not cursed," David scoffed. "We'll just have to… adjust the plan, I suppose."

"Well, neither of us has got the dough to buy tickets, and if Denton ain't gonna find us, we ain't gettin' in that tent."

"No, maybe not in that tent," David said musingly. "But these other tents…"

"What're they for?"

"I would guess that they're a place for performers to get ready… to get dressed…"

"…to put their clown makeup on," Dutchy finished, the idea suddenly dawning on him. "You think the clowns're somewhere in these tents?"

David shrugged. "It's worth a shot, don't you think?"

"Okay," he said, working it all out in his head. "So, we'se gonna go and listen outside the tents and see if we can learn somethin', right?"

"Right."

"But we ain't splittin' up," Dutchy warned. "Right?"

"Right," David answered, nodded. "Pick a tent."

The first five tents they listened in at were less than useless. Three of them seemed to be empty – or if they weren't, their inhabitants weren't talking – one tent had a woman complaining to a sympathetic ear of some sort that the costumes she was given were horribly inappropriate for bare-back riding, and the last tent contained only a man who was moaning, though it was impossible to tell whether it was in pain or in pleasure. Both Dutchy and David hastened away from that last tent in embarrassment.

The sixth tent they tried, however, sounded a lot more promising. There were several men's voices talking all at once, and when finally, after a confusing moment, one voice spoke clearly, his words made David and Duchy both sit up and pay close attention.

"So, what you guys are telling me is that you've all searched high and low, and you can't find one pathetic snot-nosed kid? Is that what you're saying?"

"Sorry," a nasally voice answered. "It's a big city… There's only so much we can do!"

"Yeah, and seeing as how we've only got a couple days more in town," a third voice said, also apologetically, "well, we maybe should give up."

"Give up?" the first voice snapped. "Have you forgotten what happened? You want to tell Bozo's ghost that we're giving up?"

A fourth voice spoke up, sounding rough and phlegmy. "You guys have to yell so loud? You woke me."

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't be napping in here, huh?"

"Hey, I got a right to this tent, same as the rest of you."

"Guys, go easy on him," said the first voice. "He's new, remember? He doesn't know all the rules yet."

The rough voice coughed. "So what are we yelling about?"

"It's a long story. One of our friends was killed by a kid who tried to make money off of us over it. We found him nearby. We nearly had him, but he got away, and we don't have much time left."

The fourth voice was silent for a moment. "Oh. That's bad."

"Yeah."

"Certainly hope you find him."

Suddenly, the first voice laughed loudly. "You fell asleep in your makeup again, Buttons."

"Uh, yeah. Being a clown's hard work, and I… forget I have it on. Sorry, Duffer."

The first voice, apparently Duffer, laughed again. "I love this kid." There was a sound of someone being kissed loudly on the forehead. "He's taken to the profession faster than anyone I ever knew. Yeah, faster than you, Gonzo."

The nasally voice snorted. "Yeah, well, you pay more attention to teaching him the ropes than you ever did to us."

"You questioning me?"

"N—no."

"Good. Buttons here reminds me of myself." Duffer sighed nostalgically. "Tough. Ruthless. Cutthroat."

Buttons laughed, though he coughed again in the middle of it. "Aw, shucks, don't flatter me."

"We'd better get ready to entertain the brats before the show. Get your baggy pants on, men."

Outside the tent, David poked at Dutchy. "Hey," he hissed. "Let's get out of here before they see us."

"Not yet!" Dutchy whispered back. "What if they say somethin' more?"

"We know that they don't have Bumlets. That's all we need to know for now!"

"O—okay," Dutchy responded hesitantly. He knew that David was right, and that they should get out of the way before the clowns emerged, but there was something nagging at him… He wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed like it was important.

All the same, he let David drag him back towards the big tent, going over what they'd heard in his mind. Suddenly, a huge smile spread over his face.

"Dave," he said, "they don't have Bumlets! He got away!"

"Yeah," Dave nodded, "I said that already."

"But he got away from 'em! That means he's safe!"

Dave grinned, but still shrugged as they hurried.

Dutchy felt a little embarrassed. "I guess it just took me a second longer to get it," he said softly. "That he's safe. Wherever he is."

"It's okay, Dutchy," was David's response. "I know how you f—"

Before he could finish his thought, he was cut off by a wild yell as Jack hurried towards them, pushing his way through the crowd.

"Hey! Where've you two been?" Jack yelled. "I been looking all over!"

Dutchy grabbed Jack's shoulders and shhhed him, leaning in. "Jack," he muttered, "we found the clowns… or we heard 'em, anyway. They don't have him!"

Jack blinked, his mouth agape as the words worked their way through his head. "Good," he said finally, the conviction in his voice making Dutchy feel guilty for having been annoyed with him. "Can we, uh, scram now?" he continued.

David looked like he was on the verge of saying yes, but then he noticed Denton hurrying towards them, four tickets in his hand. "It would be a shame to waste Denton's money," he noted. "And it looks like he got a ticket for you too, Jack."

Jack frowned, but didn't say anything.

"Okay," Dutchy said, shrugging, though inside he wanted to go and scour the streets of Manhattan for Bumlets. "We came to the circus, we might as well…"

Several minutes later, Dutchy was regretting those words. The circus tent was hot, it was crowded, it was smelly, and to make matters worse and worse, it looked like the clowns were wandering separately through the crowd, doing tricks to entertain people before the show started.

"What now?" Jack asked, leaning over to Dutchy and David, still grumpy. "If they recognize us, there's gonna be big trouble."

"We can't get up and leave in a hurry," David replied, sounding worried. "That would draw attention to us – and then they'd notice us for sure."

"Well, you'se safe, Dave," Dutchy put in. "They ain't never seen you before. Cowboy, you'se probably all right too. They seen you from a distance, and during the fight, but never up close for long. But…" He trailed off.

"But they got a good look at you when they followed you to Medda's," Jack finished grimly.

Denton had listened to their conversation quietly up until now. "So the solution is simple enough."

Three faces turned to look skeptically at him.

He shrugged. "We disguise Dutchy. Here," he continued, unbuttoning his suit coat. "You put on my coat and my hat. Slick your hair back so it doesn't stick out and… voila," he finished, dropping the hat on Dutchy's tousled head. "I doubt they'd be looking for any of you here, much less a young gentleman."

Dutchy adjusted his new ornaments uncomfortably. "Uh, thanks, Denton," he said. "I hope you'se right."

"I'd better be," Denton said, his eyes drawn elsewhere, "because here comes one now."

Swallowing nervously, Dutchy pulled the hat as low on his face as it would go and stared at the ground. He could still see a pair of feet in an overly large pair of shoes approaching. From the ball that dropped to the ground next to his feet, he judged that the clown was juggling.

In the hopes that the clown wouldn't lean down to grab the ball and catch a glance of his face, Dutchy reached down, picked up the ball, and held it out, waiting for a hand to snatch it away.

But it didn't happen. Instead, the clown let out what sounded like a strangled gasp, and several other balls dropped to the ground in front of Dutchy. At the same moment, David elbowed him in the side. Hard.

Almost against his will, fearing what he'd see when he looked up, Dutchy raised his eyes to look at the clown.

He took it in by pieces: the now-empty gloved hands that trembled at the clown's sides, the black hair that peeked out from beneath the ill-fitting hat, and the face, covered in grease paint, that had been staring at David, Jack, and Denton in amazement, and that now, slowly, fastened on Dutchy's face with a look of amazement and longing so tangible that it nearly took his breath away. He had only seen a look like that once before. It had been the look in Bumlets' eyes that night at Irving Hall.

Dutchy began to tremble himself. There was a roaring in his ears that wasn't coming from the crowd around him, but from the blood racing through his veins. "B—Bumlets?" he whispered, sure that the look in his eyes was the mirror of that in the dark eyes that stared down at him.

A shaky smile appeared on the painted face, but the clown didn't respond. He jerkily knelt down to gather up the balls he'd dropped upon seeing his friends. "Sorry," the clown said loudly, "but I don't know anyone named Bumlets. I go by Buttons. Buttons," he repeated strongly.

Dutchy blinked. It didn't sound quite like Bumlets. It was the rough, coughing voice that he'd heard in the tent. But it was him. It had to be. He opened his mouth to respond, but David elbowed him again.

"Of course," David said smoothly. "Buttons. Nice to meet you. New to this, aren't you?"

"Yes," the clown said, rising to his feet with the balls clenched to his chest. "Very new. Doubt I'll keep the job very long." White, even teeth flashed. "In fact, I doubt I'll have the job when the circus leaves town."

"B—Bu—Buttons," Dutchy stumbled over the words, "I…" He couldn't finish the sentence, though, and just kept staring at that beloved face, covered with paint and strange colors though it was.

Jack, showing once again why he was in charge of things, took over for him. "We'd like to hear more 'bout all of this when you got the time, Buttons." His quick eyes darted around, noting that a couple of the other clowns were looking in their direction curiously.

"Sure. Meet me at the far edge of tents after the show." The clown kept a smile on his face for the crowd, but the look in his eyes was all for Dutchy. "Gotta go – Got a job to do!"

He started juggling again, moving off through the stands, but he glanced back once, and for an instant, his eyes met Dutchy's.

And Dutchy, completely overcome by the shock, and by everything else that had happened since Bumlets had told him that he was being hunted by clowns, by all of the exhaustion, and all of the terror, and all of the anger and misery… Well, Dutchy did something that was perfectly understandable under the circumstances, but which he would never hear the end of from those who were with him.

Dutchy stood up on shaky legs, watched the boy he loved amble around the tent, juggling deftly for goggling children, and passed out cold.