"I had this great idea, Gonko," and Gonko tunes out as Doopy relates everything Gonko has just said, which takes the entire length of the trip up.
They surface through the elevator to a port-a-john in a Brisbane City construction site, vacant now since it's night. The gypsies have to make four more trips for the rest of the wagon parts. Gonko tells the carnies to steal a truck, load the wagon parts in, and then head north before they fix it. They have no tools or anything, but carny rats fix shit like magic. Gonko will find them when the time comes, once he's found a good site for the new show.
The other clowns step cautiously from the lift, out into the crisp air of a winter Brisbane evening. Suddenly they are all silent and stand there in a daze, their faces mirrors of Goshy's perpetual surprise. "What's the gag?" says Gonko. "We got stuff to do."
Doopy points at the stars. "Wh—what are them pretty things, Gonko? No foolin', you just gotta tell me."
"You seen 'em before, ain't you?"
"Heck no. Gosh they're pretty. What is them things?" Rufshod looks equally confused.
"They call 'em sky-pretties," says Gonko. "All the real super duper clowns get a chariot ride across the sky to have a lick. Like ice cream, is what I hear."
"Gee, swell!" Doopy's voice is awed. "And them tall things?" he points at the buildings.
"You seen it all. Don't you remember outside jobs for Kurt?"
Rufshod laughs, embarrassed. "Bit scattered," he says, hitting his skull with the corner of a brick, presumably to work out the kinks. Each collision makes a sound like a dog's squeaky ball toy, causing Goshy to wildly spin around seeking whoever in the gloom around them shares his secret language.
"It's all spooky," Doopy whispers. A car horn blares. "Goshy's scared, Gonko. Don't leave us here why don't ya?"
A van drives slowly by, with mr. muscle cleaning service painted on its door and rear, with a small cartoon man resembling Popeye cocking a bicep. Rufshod stiffens. "I know that fuck!" he yells. "Hey, Mr. Muscle! Remember me?"
"Ruf, relax."
"He owes me. Owes me big!" And he's off, tearing across to the fence and over it in one bound before Gonko can collar him, sprinting after the van as it rounds the corner.
"Whatever," says Gonko. "All right, you two. Have a look around, a quick search of the city. See that club where JJ used to work before we clowned him. Stay in the dark, don't get seen. See if the sights jog your memories, looks like the MM turned your brains to custard. Meet you back here in four hours."
From his pocket Gonko pulls a compass with the letter J for JJ instead of N for North, and R, D, G for Rufshod, Doopy, Goshy instead of East, South, West. The compass point will keep track of any of the clowns when he twists the dial. He is nonetheless nervous about setting them loose up here. "Let's find this rat bastard," he says, grabbing another compass for each of the clowns. Though the dials do not always agree where the J ought to be pointed, they seem reliable enough to at least keep track of each other. "Here." He tosses them each a large poncho, pulled from his pockets. "Cover up. You ain't clowns for a little bit, just to be safe."
"Gee, Gonko. That's mighty confusing. Cause see I coulda sworn we was . . ." Doopy elaborates at length, but Gonko has already fled, following the J on his compass til it leads him to a bridge above a passing train. He drops onto its roof and clings tight as it carries him north.
•
Gonko arrives after midnight to stand before the brick two-story home, sniffs the air, and can somehow tell JJ has been here recently. But as he stands at the driveway the compass point twists about and points south, frantically extending its point to indicate JJ is a long way away. It means either his magic pants are damaged from their stint below, its trinkets damaged with them, or it is just some quirk of circus magic, whose mechanics often escape those who wield it; perhaps it is not merely leading him to where JJ is but also the best time when to find him. An older version of JJ, some trick relation, looks out a curtain and sees him. Gonko contemplates busting down the door and causing some possibly fatal damage to the trick, but decides against it, in case it puts JJ on notice that he's hunted.
He rides into town on the roof of a freight train, unseen in the dark except for the glint of garish color now and then catching the corner of someone's eye as the train sails by. Not far from the house he visited he eyes again the parkland by the river when the train rumbles over a bridge through it. It's a campsite, tucked nicely out of the way of the main roads with plenty of room to set up some circus acts. Maybe this place will make a decent first stop for his new traveling show. He kisses the little compass. Looks like it steered him well, after all.
It is near dawn when he tracks down Doopy and Goshy who stand exactly where he left them in the construction site. They have not moved so much as a footstep. The ponchos sit at their feet. Doopy's head is tilted back. "They taste like ice cream, Gonko, ain't that swell? Just like ice cream, and all the real super duper clowns, they get to—"
It is hard to stay mad at them since it feels good to have his crew back, so a quick round of slapping suffices. "Don't hurt him, Gonko, gee-whiz, it's not funny," Doopy reproaches him as he slaps a little sense into Goshy, who in turn peels back his lips, body heaving up sobs as clown tears fall at his feet and flop around like dying fish.
"Wise up you dick maggots," Gonko snarls. "Where's Ruf?"
"He, why, he beat up Mr. Muscles, Gonko, got him real good, and got back that tire Mr. Muscles owed him. Then he went chasing Mr. Whippy."
"He's got his own pass-out anyway. You sorry pukes need a little more time to adjust, it looks like. Daytime now. Time to hide."
"We gotta find JJ, Gonko, we just gotta, or Gonko's gonna be soooo mad . . ."
"Truer words never spoken, Doops." They take the porta-a-john elevator back down below.
•
When he returns, Gonko sees JJ's trick chum Steve slowly making his way from the elevator, with a withered old hag in his arms who looks vaguely familiar. She looks to be, say, three hundred years old, give or take a decade. Gonko mugs the guy for his pass-out (never hurts to have spares in case George gets shitty and confiscates them back) and thinks no more of it.
Steve, not too bothered by the mugging, watches the clown boss strut away, lashing his boot at various inanimate objects that seem to bother him. Feebly the hag whispers in Steve's ear. He sets her gently down. "I'll be right back," he assures her. "You're already looking better."
And she is. As the minutes pass, days of age fall away from her. Steve finds his way to George's trailer, breathing with relish the popcorn-scented air he has missed so badly, marveling at the newness and polish to everything. He clears his throat, knocks on the trailer door. "Excuse me, Mr. Pilo? I'd like my old job back, sir. And I've brought the fortuneteller."
A little later George stomps over to Shalice and laughs himself hoarse. She looks a sprightly hundred-and-fifty now, but it's comedy gold to George. "Don't dress too skimpy please," he warns. "This is a family circus. You want directions to the freak show?"
The crone regards him with ancient eyes. "I've missed you terribly," says Shalice. She produces a tear.
George falters—he's slightly touched. Conflicting emotions wrestle briefly across his face. He spits. "Eh. Get set up in your booth or whatever. And don't let the clowns know you're back. I send 'em up looking for you every night." George laughs at their shared joke, and she favors him with a smile. "Show day soon," he says happily. "I'll send your crystal ball and some instructions from below. You'll be busy, lots to do up there."