Tarzaka whispered, her voice trembling. "We have our provisions, No One. We should be going."
Slowly he shook his head. "I must do this."
"Do what?"
"I must hear what Goofy Joe has to say. I want to hear what the people of Momus will hear about me and about what I did."
"What if you are recognized?"
No One looked at the robes surrounding him until he found an orange one. He reached out his hand and tapped the figure's shoulder, "Clown."
The figure turned. "Yes, fortune teller?"
"Have you any clown white in your kit?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Of course."
"Sell it to me."
The clown shrugged her shoulders, and reached into a pack suspended at her side by a strap that crossed her breast. Her hand came out of the pack holding a cloth-wrapped stick. She looked at No One. "I have half a stick."
"Five movills for it, then."
The clown laughed. "It cost me twenty for the stick."
"Ten then."
"There would be no profit in that, fortune teller."
No One studied the clown's face. "Fifteen."
The clown slapped the stick into No One's hand. "Done!" No One counted out the coppers then handed them to the clown. "Tell me, fortune teller, for what does a seer of fortunes need face paint?"
No One replaced his purse, then faced the clown. "What value do you place on my answer? I warn you that it is expensive."
The clown pocketed her coppers and turned back to face the square.
Tarzaka shook No One's arm. "What are you doing?"
He unwrapped the stick, then began to smear the white paint on his face. "I am hiding." In moments, No One's face was a stark white image broken only by his dark eyes.
"Laydeeeez and gentlemen!" All eyes turned toward the center of the square. A master of the ring was conducting the performance. "Tonight the Great Goofy Joe brings us important news from the town of Miira. Great Tackhammer, the master of the Dirak priests, and the singers of Dirak will assist."
A figure wearing the black and white diamonds of the priests replaced the master of the ring in the center of the square. He began in a quiet voice, and the crowd hushed. "It is written in the books of all of the priesthoods, that to have a circus, there must be bulls. Bulls are the circus's special animal; and bullhands are the keepers of a special trust."
Great Tackhammer removed a document from his robe and unrolled it. "This is copied from the archives of the Tarzak Priesthood. It is a letter written by the Great John J. O'Hara to the officials of World Eco-Watch—" Tackhammer was interrupted by loud hissing from the crowd. "The letter's date is March Fifth, Twenty-One and Twenty-Seven." Great Tackhammer began reading by the light of the fire.
" 'My Dear Mister Chappin, I have pondered it ever since I was notified that your bunch filed for a restraining order to prevent my show from taking possession of the two bulls I ordered. We have done all of the forms, appeared at all the hearings, and have all of the permits and licenses required by the laws of three nations. There's enough paper hanging on each one of those pachyderms to supply my advance with bills for two seasons. And now you want to change the rules. As I said, I've pondered it. I figure there must be something in the water down your way.
" 'The application for the restraining order says that your action is being taken "in the interests of the animals, and the heritage we hold in trust for future generations." If whoever wrote that is ever at liberty, I have a straw hat and cane waiting for him. Thanks to your brilliant management, the bull populations in both African and Indian preserves are crowded to where you hire hunters to go in and kill them. Then you cut them up for cat meat. But you don't even do that very well. Last summer over a hundred African bulls starved to death in the drought.
" 'I don't suppose that any of you simps have figured out yet that those bulls are part of this generation's heritage, and that maybe this generation would like to get a peek at a bull. Now maybe getting shot and cut up for cat meat is better than being in a show. When times are lean, there are plenty of troupers that'd agree with you. But we care for the bulls; because without them, we wouldn't be a show. I've seen a lot of bullhands die to protect their animals; and I wonder just how many puzzle wizards in your paper factory ever died for an elephant? Hmmm?
" 'To hell with it. Thanks to you people, it has taken me close to two years to close this deal, and I'll be damned if you're going ex it now. Either withdraw that application for a restraining order, or I'll dump one of my problems in your lap. You see, our snake charmer has a bunch of cobras and coral snakes, and I'm kind of concerned about their welfare. I just might send him and his poison hose collection over to your house and have you check into it.' "
Great Tackhammer lowered the letter. "This comes from The Great Patch Wellington's collection of letters he never allowed John J. O'Hara to send."
As Tackhammer moved from the square, the cashiers from Dirak collected the coppers from the crowd. A cashier paused in front of No One and held out her hand. "Coppers for the priest?"
No One glanced at her, then reached into his purse and handed her two movills. The cashier continued moving through the spectators as a figure in black newsteller's robes was helped by two apprentice newstellers to the center of the square. It was the Great Goofy Joe Master of the Tarzak Newstellers. He shrugged off the helping hands, and the apprentices retired. The newsteller spoke.
"Five days ago in the town of Miira, Johnjay, Little Will's son, killed five of the last six bulls on Momus." Not even the sounds of breathing broke the stillness. "May, Johnjay's sister, was trampled underfoot by the bulls, then Johnjay went and exed 'em." Goofy Joe looked around at the crowd, then held up his arms. "The town put Johnjay's trunk on the lot until Reg, the last bull, dies." Goofy lowered his arms, looked down, then back up at the crowd. "That's the long and the short of it."
The Great Goofy Joe looked around at the faces surrounding him. "May was a bullhand! Her mother is a bullhand! Her granddad, Bullhook Willy, was a bullhand. He was boss elephant man with the old show. Bullhook learned to handle bulls from Poison Jim Bolger with the Snow Show out of Spokane. Poison Jim died trying to calm an outlaw bull. People Bullhook knew and loved—Buns Bunyoro, Siren Sally Fong, Black Kate, and more—died working their bulls for the old show."
No One turned and began walking from the square. His pace quickened, but Goofy Joe's voice was not to be left so easily behind: "Bullhook Willy died after Number Three went down 'cause he went into the main carrousel when no one else would. He's the one who opened the doors. He died doing that."
Tarzaka caught up to No One, Goofy Joe's words still at his back.
"A lot of you are young. Never seen a show. You don't know what the bulls mean to the show. We only got one bull left, now. When Reg dies, the show dies."
No One began running. The Great Goofy Joe's voice covered the Town of Dirak. "Miira put Johnjay's trunk on the lot. What are you people going to do?"
The words screamed by the crowd moved his feet even faster. "Blackball! Blackball! Blackball!" As he left the edge of Dirak and ran along a timber road into the northern foothills of the Snake Mountains, No One could hear the voices of the people of Dirak raised in song.
Black Diamond, old Black Diamond, you was a killer true; But no thin' can forgive what them Rangers done to you.