O'Hara studied Karl Arnheim for a few moments as he searched for the words, but then the Governor shrugged. "It's a disease."
THREE
His permit and title in hand, John J. O'Hara ordered the show torn down, moved from its stand at Manotick Station to Ottawa Interplanetary Spaceport, and from there into the holds of the freighter Venture. In loading a show, there are important considerations concerning the care of animals and equipment, as well as the order in which things are needed. These considerations were rote to Boss Hostler Skinner Suggs and his razorbacks in loading the show for transportation, but Cargo Master Hoik of the merchant vessel Venture had other considerations to take into account: balance, acceleration, fastening in case of free fall, and so forth. After some initial disagreements, the cargo crew and razorbacks arrived at an understanding, depositing the show intact upon the planet Ahngar with bruised knuckles and aching heads.
Since the show had arrived three months early for Erkev IV's birthday celebration, the Governor decided to finish out the season, making the show's first stand at Ossinid, a burg of about twenty-five thousand. To give the performers time to polish up their acts at the slightly lighter gravity, only the evening performance was scheduled.
Rat Man Jack, the show's route man, stood in the midway in front of The Amazing Ozamund's spieler, while the barker looked at the willowy, robe-clad Ahngarians crowding the entrances to the various sideshows. "Lookit 'em, Rat Man. I've sold out every show for Ozzie, and the other spielers are getting straw houses too. But, they come in, sit, watch the show, get up and go out. Never saw anything like it. Not a single clap, not even an appreciative nod. They just sit like so much granite. I tell you, it's about to drive Ozzie into his cups."
Rat Man nodded. "The ticket sellers at the front entrance have been out of blues for an hour, and the advance sold off the last reserved seat a week before the show arrived." He studied a few of the Ahngarians emerging from the freak show, then turned toward the spieler. "Motor Mouth, you've been looking at them all day. Do they seem just a little hostile? Like they might be planning something if the show doesn't measure up to what they expected?"
Motor Mouth shrugged, then shook his head. "No. They just don't do anything. I almost wish they'd start throwing garbage, just to get a reaction. It's spooky, that's what." Motor Mouth turned to his left and noted that The Amazing Ozamund's audience was letting out. "Well, back to the job." He lifted his bamboo cane, cocked his straw skimmer over his right eye, and proceeded with the ballyhoo. "Laydeeeez and gentlemen, inside this tent, brought to amaze you with feats of magic at great expense, The Amazing Ozamund, who will astound you with..."
Rat Man stepped away from the stand, and in seconds a line of fresh customers were buying tickets to attend the magic show. Rat Man shook his head, then noticed the Governor and Boss Canvasman walking in his direction. The three moved to the side of the midway, between two tents, then stopped.
O'Hara looked over his shoulder to make certain that no one would overhear them, then he turned and faced Rat Man. "Have you learned anything?"
"No. But, I have a feeling. I don't know—there's just something wrong."
O'Hara nodded at the Boss Canvasman. "After the show, instead of sending the menagerie and cookhouse on ahead, I'm keeping everyone here. Duckfoot's warned the Irish brigade."
Duckfoot looked at the Governor. "What about that Larvune character, the Monarch's representative?"
"I couldn't get through to him about the problem. I explained it, but he just kept saying what's the difficulty?" O'Hara shrugged. "Anyway, he said he'd send someone, just in case."
Rat Man felt something brush his leg. He looked down to see a balding man in formal dress suit crawling out from under the sidewall of The Amazing Ozamund's tent. Rat Man reached down and pulled the fellow to his feet. It was The Amazing Ozamund. "Ozzie, what're you doing?"
The magician looked from Rat Man, to Duckfoot, to O'Hara, then back to Rat Man. There was a wildness in his eyes. "Nothing, Rat Man. Nothing! Those rubes just squat on the benches staring at me! No applause, no Ahhh's, no Ooooo's! Right now I'd give my holdback for a Bronx cheer—"
O'Hara grabbed Ozzie's arm. "What are you doing out here?"
Ozzie barked out a short, bitter laugh. "Right now, Mr. John, I'm doing a disappearing act, and that's just what I intend to do: disappear!"
The Governor pointed at the tent. "You get back in there, Ozzie. Those people paid their money to see your act, and that's exactly what you are going to show them."
"Mr. John, you just don't know what it's like! You just don't—"
"You get in there, Ozzie, or I'll grab one of Duckfoot's four-foot tent stakes and give your act a new wrinkle!"
Ozzie frowned, wrung his hands, took a deep breath, then nodded. "Very well." He nodded again. "Very well." Ozzie stooped down and went back under the sidewall.
The Governor nodded at Duckfoot. "Check the back and make sure Ozzie doesn't get lost."
As Duckfoot went around the corner of the tent, Rat Man shrugged and held out his hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. John. If I'd known it would be like this, I would have steered the show away from this stand. But, there just wasn't any indication."
The Governor frowned and scratched the back of his neck. "No shakedowns, no permit problems?"
Rat Man shook his head. "The General Contracting Agent said he never had an easier time, and the squarers arranged for banners and posters with some of the best hits I've ever seen. I don't get it."
A bugle sounded, and O'Hara perked up his ears. "Five minutes to the main show." He looked up at the darkening sky. "It'll be dark before the show's done. I hope that Ahngarian from the Palace shows up before too long." O'Hara turned to go.
"Mr. John, what do you want me to do?"
O'Hara stopped, rubbed his chin, then dropped his hand to his
side. "You might as well get one of Duckfoot's toothpicks and stand by with the Irish brigade. May need you."
Rat Man stood in the dark along with the canvasmen and razorbacks, and the performers who had concluded their acts. Everyone sported one of the Boss Canvasman's toothpicks, the four-foot, hardwood tent stakes. A clown in makeup approached the group, picked a tent stake from a wagon, then walked over to Rat Man. The clown was muttering under his breath.
Rat Man nodded toward the main top. "Easy laughing house, Cholly?"
The clown glowered then shook his head. "I've played to faster towners, and that's a fact." The clown rested the stake against his legs and held out his hands. They were shaking. "Lookit this, Rat Man. Just look!" Cholly lowered his hands. "It was awful, that audience, quiet as death, staring down at you from the blues. They don't even blink!" The clown smacked the stake against his left palm. "I hope they do start something, Rat Man. Have I got a case to work off!"
"What about the others?"
Cholly shook his head. "A couple of Joeys are in Clown Alley right now—crying! Stenny, the tramp clown that works the come-in before the start of the show, tried to blow his brains out." Cholly shrugged. "Stenny couldn't find anything in the Alley but a water gun. We got the Bones watching him."
Rat Man sighed. "I never saw anything like it."
"You know how Sam always tells the customers to pipe down before the Riettas do their pyramid on the high-wire?"
"Yes."
"It was already so dead Sam didn't bother, but the quiet was so thick, Paul—the old man himself—got so nervous he almost fell off the wire." Cholly smacked the stake into his palm. "Just let 'em start something!"
They all heard the orchestra's switch in tempo, and Duckfoot stopped in front of them, swinging one of his own toothpicks. "All of you. The windjammers're wrapping it up, so be ready."