Carnival of Deepest Desire, Part 2
Driving A Hard Bargain
This serial is a sequel to North of Midnight. Carnival of Deepest Desire can be read as a standalone, but if you’d like to read North of Midnight first, click the button below.
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Stepping into the park was like stepping into another world. Carpinteria had been bathed in early morning sunlight. Here—wherever here was—it was either night, or the cloud cover was so heavy that it completely blocked out the sun.
The daytime carnival scene I’d noticed earlier must have been like a curtain hanging over the entrance to this place. The real location was still a carnival, but except for the dim strings of lights hanging on some of the booths, the place was nearly pitch black.
Carlos and I looked back, but there was no longer any sign of the parking lot or anything else we’d seen on El Carro Lane. I wondered if we could just walk back out or if we were trapped here. None of us could open a portal.
Shar’s eyes were focused ahead. “Alexandra, can you tell me where Khalid is?” His voice had the calm tone of someone used to facing danger, but it didn’t completely cover his anxiety for his brother.
I concentrated as hard as I could, but the carnival seemed to impede my magical senses almost as much as my physical ones. Khalid’s half djinn nature should have been easy to spot, but I couldn’t find him. Beyond the fact that we were in a place of great power, I couldn’t tell a thing. I knew the carnival couldn’t have been designed just to thwart me, though. It was a coincidence that I’d even noticed it.
Or was it? Someone who knew about my abilities could have caused a magic surge to get my attention. That possibility made me shudder despite myself. Most of my supernatural abilities were only about a day old. Had we walked right into a trap set by the very beings we had just beaten in Santa Brígida? Who else could have known about me?
Shar looked back and forth as if he could penetrate the darkness by sheer force of will. When that didn’t work, he drew his sword, which glowed as if it had been carved from one gigantic emerald. I couldn’t tell much about the nature of the power the blade radiated, never having seen that type of magic before.
“So much for stealth,” said Carlos.
“I’m sure we set off some kind of alarm the moment we entered,” said Shar. Turning to me, he said, “This is Shamshir-e-Zomorrodnegar—Zom for short. It once belonged to King Solomon and has the power to block all hostile magic. If the amulet Vanora gave you proves insufficient, just get close enough to me to be able to touch the sword, and you’ll be protected, too.”
“He can’t really fight with the sword while we’re trying to stay in contact with it, though,” added Carlos. “So we only do that as a last resort.”
Perhaps my recent experiences were turning me into a pessimist, but I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before we had to use the last resort.
Carlos also drew his sword. It wasn’t as impressive as Shar’s but he’d told me before that it did cause people nicked by it to feel as if they were drowning, sometimes forcing them to heal themselves before they could continue to fight. Following their lead, I drew my even less impressive sword, though I couldn’t see anything I needed to attack or defend myself against.
After a minute, Carlos said, “I guess our ‘hosts’ are waiting for us to make the first move.”
“Then we will not disappoint them,” said Shar. “Whoever took Khalid needs to return him at once, or there will be consequences!” he yelled in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.
He waved the sword to underscore his words, and the surrounding darkness pulled away from the blade as if it were part of the magic I sensed.
“Who makes such a racket at the Carnival of Deepest Desire?” asked someone with a thick Irish accent. I turned toward the sound, half-expecting to see a leprechaun. I couldn’t have been further off.
Out of the shadows appeared something that looked like a coach made of human bones. It was pulled by six midnight black horses with skulls for heads, their eye sockets lit by what looked like candle flames. The coachman was a headless man dressed all in black, carrying his rotting head under his arm.
My blood felt as if it had frozen in my veins. Shar, who I suspected was seldom at a loss for words, had none now. But the emerald light from his sword didn’t quiver at all. Even faced with such a monstrosity, he kept his hand steady.
“I, Shahriyar Sassani, bearer of Shamshir-e-Zomorrodnegar, who was once Achilles and after that Alexander, am the one making the racket.”
“Supernatural creatures are overly impressed with ancestry, titles, and stuff like that,” Carlos whispered to me.
“Well, what’s all the noise about?’ asked the headless man. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was speaking through his severed head. “I have a business to run.”
“You are holding my brother prisoner. I demand you release him.”
“Demand, do you now?” asked the headless man, chuckling in a way that made my heart feel like a lump of stone in my chest. “And how do you know I even have him?”
“He ran in here,” replied Shar. “I’m sure he didn’t just disappear.”
The headless man chuckled again. “Actually, things do disappear here from time to time. But that doesn’t mean I took him. There are many here who might object to a trespasser. Did you see a sign anywhere that suggests I’m open for business yet?”
“I apologize if I made a mistake,” said Shar, sounding not even a bit apologetic. “But if you are the owner of this…place, and you are so close to the entrance, you must surely have seen a boy of about fourteen pass by. Just tell me where to find him, and I will happily be on my way.”
“Would you say that finding him is your deepest desire?” asked the headless man. Suddenly, the banner announcing that this place as The Carnival of Deepest Desire lit up as if a spotlight had been shined on it. Its intense red letters now looked as if they’d been painted in blood.
“Not just my desire. My right!” replied Shar. “He doesn’t belong to you.”
“He is a trespasser. More than that, he is worth a great deal. Half djinn are rare, as I’m sure you know. He would fetch a high price.”
“This is supposed to be a carnival,” said Carlos, pointing at the sign. “Not a slave market!”
“People come here for many things. I provide entertainment, as you can see, but I also run a faerie market. You can find anything here—for a price.”
“Khalid is not yours to sell,” said Shar. “Give him back, and I will depart in peace.” Nothing in his tone sounded even remotely peaceful, but I knew he would go once he had Khalid—if only to get Khalid to safety.
“Shahriyar, I do not think you know with whom you deal. I am the Dulluhan, the Dark Man of the Unseelie Court. Wherever I go, I bring death and misfortune. Any living mortal who sees me must lose his eyes.”
Moving faster and with better aim than I would have thought such a creature could possibly have, the Dulluhan cracked a whip that looked uncomfortably like a human spine straight at Shar’s head. Shar countered with a swift sword stroke that severed part of the spine whip with an emerald flash.
Seemingly untroubled, the Dulluhan pulled the whip back. “Of course, I waive the eye forfeit here. I wouldn’t be having much business if I didn’t, now would I? All of you can keep yours—unless, of course, you decide to trade them—”
“Enough of this nonsense,” said Shar. “I’ve heard of you—but not that you run a carnival or a faerie market, let alone both. Regardless, I know enough faerie law to know that you cannot just seize a mortal—”
“The Unseelie recognize no law but that of their own survival,” said the Dulluhan. “Well, and in my case, my own profit.”
“Bring Khalid out or I’ll—” began Shar, his eyes glowing like emerald fire, a reflection of the light of his sword.
“You’ll what? Cut off my head? You’re a little late for that. But be at peace, friend, for I would never deny a customer the right to examine the merchandise. Phooka, bring forth Khalid!”
Out of the shadows lumbered a much larger black horse, this one smelling like sulfur and breathing blue flame from his nostrils.
Someone had managed to pull a bound and gagged Khalid onto the creature’s back. His eyes were wide with terror, though he calmed a little at the sight of Shar.
“To be clear, you will not get close enough to use that magic sword of yours,” said the Dulluhan slowly. “The phooka is under orders to gallop off with the boy at the slightest sign of trouble. This place is vast, and the phooka can outrun any of you, fit though you be. And should you think about killing me, that will guarantee that the phooka will never get close enough to you for you to seize the boy. If you want Khalid, you will have to buy him from me.”
“What is the price?” asked Shar in a tone much calmer than I could ever have managed under such alarming circumstances.
The severed head managed a mischievous grin. “To redeem Khalid, all you need to is give me that sword of yours.”
“This is a sword that is close enough to sentience to know its wielder,” said Shar. “It’s touchy even when my friends handle it. I’m not sure how it will react to you—or to your potential buyers.”
For a moment, the severed head’s eyes glowed with cold fire, as if it were examining the weapon.
“It’s power is…strange,” admitted the Dulluhan. “The sword will require special handling. As for buyers, some have already expressed an interest in acquiring such a weapon.”
“If you are willing to swear an oath that you will send Khalid and all the rest of us back to Carpinteria unharmed as soon as the sword is in your possession, then we have a deal,” said Shar.
“I would swear such an oath,” replied the Dulluhan. “But perhaps I should test the sword first.” He snapped his fingers, and a vaguely humanoid creature emerged from the darkness.
He was less frightening than the Dulluhan and his phooka—but only a little bit. Short and stocky, the creature had long teeth too big for his face. In his clawlike hands, he carried a pike that looked too large for him to hold, though he seemed to manage it skillfully. His eyes were a fiery red, and his long, unruly hair flowed down to his shoulders. On his head, he wore a red cap that appeared to have been dipped in fresh blood relatively recently. As I watched, a stray drop of blood ran down his forehead.
“Hand the sword to Red Cap,” said the Dulluhan.
“Not until I have your oath,” said Shar. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Nor was I. I cannot swear an oath until I have determined that the sword is truly a worthwhile purchase. If you don’t like that, well, remember, you’re the one who put the idea in my head that the blade might be a bit difficult to manage.”
“I’m no stranger to supernatural bargains,” said Shar. “Swear the oath provisionally, so that it will bind you only if you accept the sword.”
Oath or no oath, this deal was making me nervous. Zom was clearly the most impressive weapon we had, as well the best protection. The moment it was out of Shar’s hands, he’d be vulnerable. But I couldn’t very well tell him not to pay Khalid’s price.
“Very well, if I accept the sword as a worthy trade, I swear that I will free Khalid and send all of you back unharmed to the point at which you entered the carnival. Now, hand Red Cap your sword without delay, or I will end our negotiations, and you will never see Khalid again.”
Shar scowled at the extra threat, but he held out Zom to Red Cap, hilt first. The creature put down his pike and eagerly took the sword from Shar. The moment he had it firmly in his hands, the emerald glow faded. I noticed what might have been an emerald embedded in the hilt, but it looked dull and lifeless, like faded green glass.
“It’s a little heavy for my arm,” said Red Cap in loud, scratchy voice. “But it looks like good workmanship.”
“What of its magic?’ asked the Dulluhan. His severed head’s eyes narrowed as it squinted at the blade.
“I told you,” said Shar. “It knows its wielder, and if you have heard its background, you know that its power is said to come from the blessing of God Himself. As such, it is not a morally neutral weapon. It is likely that only a good person could easily use its magical power.”
The Dulluhan chuckled again, but this time he sounded more bitter than amused. “This may shock you, but saints are few and far between in a place like this. I might eventually find a buyer eager to try bending the sword to his will—but such a one will never pay as much as Khalid is worth.”
For the first time, Shar looked unnerved. He must have hoped to find the sword a good home, or at least, keep it out of overtly evil hands. Instead, he’d talked himself straight out of a deal.
“You named the sword as your price, and I was honest with you from the beginning,” said Shar. “Under the rules of a faerie market, you’ve already agreed to accept the sword as payment. You cannot reject the bargain now just because the sword behaved as I told you it would in the first place. You can only reject it if you discover some detail I didn’t disclose. Wait, where do you think you’re going?”
Red Cap had started to back away, still gripping the sword. He froze when Shar spoke but made no attempt to answer him.
“Perhaps the sword should be consider the price of trying to palm off such a useless item on me,” said the Dulluhan.
“If this is a faerie market, it has to be abide by the rules, including the one I just mentioned, whether it’s run by the Unseelie or not,” said Shar. “I wasn’t trying to palm anything off on you, and I was careful to disclose the problem you might have. You have no just cause to claim I forfeited it. Besides, your eagerness to take it suggests it is worth more than you say.”
“Give him back the blade,” said the Dulluhan in an irritated voice, waving his free arm in Shar’s general direction. “But I will not exchange Khalid for it.”
Shar snatched the sword from Red Cap the moment he was close enough to do so. Emerald light blazed from it again, this time so brightly that Red Cap staggered backward, the phooka snorted blue flames, and the Dulluhan’s severed head winced.
“Phooka—” began the Dulluhan, probably intending to have it carry Khalid back into the shadows.
“Surely, there is something else we can offer you.”
“You have nothing I want,” replied the Dulluhan, sounding more like a child on the edge of a tantrum than the fearsome specter he appeared to be.
“What if I were to offer myself in exchange for Khalid?” asked Shar.
“What?” said Carlos. “You can’t be serious!” Khalid tried unsuccessfully to speak through his gag, but I could easily enough imagine what he was trying to say. He wouldn’t want his own freedom if it came at the cost of Shar’s.
“Do you see another way?” asked Shar, looking him straight in the eye. Turning back to the Dulluhan, he said, “It’s true that I don’t have magic like Khalid does, but I’m an expert in swordplay and mixed martial arts. There must be a good market for bodyguards.”
“You aren’t valueless,” said the Dulluhan, eying him from head to toe. “But a bodyguard with no natural magic resistance would be too easy to circumvent. Perhaps I could market you as a sex slave—but you would not fetch as much as Khalid, whom I could market as a master thief.
“I seldom haggle, but in this case, I will make an exception. To purchase Khalid’s freedom, you can sell me her,” he said, pointing to me. “She has more value than even she realizes.”
I felt as if I’d been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. I couldn’t let myself be sold to such an evil creature for…God only knew what. But I looked back at Khalid and saw the renewed terror in his eyes. The idea of leaving him here made me sick. I couldn’t do that, either.
I longed for a way out, but there wasn’t one. I doubted we could grab Khalid fast enough to keep the phooka from spiriting him away. Even if we could, we didn’t know if we had a way home, and there was no telling how many Unseelie creatures the Dulluhan might have lurking in the shadows.
Any way I looked at it, my life was now over—or might as well be.
“The Carnival of Deepest Desire” is related to the Spell Weaver series. (The action takes place between the sixth and seventh books, just after the end of “North of Midnight.”)
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