working our tails off, securing tents, loading animals back into
their wagons, and making generally sure that everything was nailed
down.
Finally only the cat cages were left, and there was a special
arrangement for those. Each cage had a special mesh "breezeway"
accordioned up against it, which, when extended completely,
connected with the Demon Cat Cage. When the smaller cages had
to be moved, the felines could be herded into the big cage while
they were loaded up. The big cage itself rolled on gigantic casters
and could be muscled around to a position where each cat could be
let back into its original cage. It sounds complicated, and it was,
but it was just the only way.
We did the lions first, then Ebony Velvet, the docile black panther
that had set the circus back almost one season's receipts. It was a
tricky business coaxing them up and then back through the
breezeways, but all of us preferred it to calling Mr. Indrasil to
help.
By the time we were ready for Green Terror, twilight had come ---
a queer, yellow twilight that hung humidly around us. The sky
above had taken on a flat, shiny aspect that I had never seen and
which I didn't like in the least.
"Better hurry," Mr. Farnum said, as we laboriously trundled the
Demon Cat Cage back to where we could hook it to the back of
Green Terror's show cage. "Barometer's falling off fast." He shook
his head worriedly. "Looks bad, boys. Bad.'' He hurried on, still
shaking his head.
We got Green Terror's breezeway hooked up and opened the back
of his cage. "In you go," I said encouragingly.
Green Terror looked at me menacingly and didn't move.
Thunder rumbled again, louder, closer, sharper. The sky had gone
jaundice, the ugliest color I have ever seen. Wind-devils began to
pick jerkily at our clothes and whirl away the flattened candy
wrappers and cotton-candy cones that littered the area.
"Come on, come on," I urged and poked him easily with the blunt-
tipped rods we were given to herd them with.
Green Terror roared ear-splittingly, and one paw lashed out with
blinding speed. The hardwood pole was jerked from my hands and
splintered as if it had been a greenwood twig. The tiger was on his
feet now, and there was murder in his eyes.
"Look," I said shakily. "One of you will have to go get Mr.
Indrasil, that's all. We can't wait around."
As if to punctuate my words, thunder cracked louder, the clapping
of mammoth hands.
Kelly Nixon and Mike McGregor flipped for it; I was excluded
because of my previous run-in with Mr. Indrasil. Kelly drew the
task, threw us a wordless glance that said he would prefer facing
the storm and then started off.
He was gone almost ten minutes. The wind was picking up
velocity now, and twilight was darkening into a weird six o'clock
night. I was scared, and am not afraid to admit it. That rushing,
featureless sky, the deserted circus grounds, the sharp, tugging
wind-vortices all that makes a memory that will stay with me
always, undimmed.
And Green Terror would not budge into his breezeway.
Kelly Nixon came rushing back, his eyes wide. "I pounded on his
door for 'most five minutes!" He gasped. "Couldn't raise him!"
We looked at each other, at a loss. Green Terror was a big
investment for the circus. He couldn't just be left in the open. I
turned bewilderedly, looking for Chips, Mr. Farnum, or anybody
who could tell me what to do. But everyone was gone. The tiger
was our responsibility. I considered trying to load the cage bodily
into the trailer, but I wasn't going to get my fingers in that cage.
"Well, we've just got to go and get him," I said. "The three of us.
Come on." And we ran toward Mr. Indrasil's trailer through the
gloom of coming night.
We pounded on his door until he must have thought all the demons
of hell were after him. Thankfully, it finally jerked open. Mr.
Indrasil swayed and stared down at us, his mad eyes rimmed and
oversheened with drink. He smelled like a distillery.
"Damn you, leave me alone," he snarled.
"Mr. Indrasil --" I had to shout over the rising whine of the wind. It
was like no storm I had ever heard of or read about, out there. It
was like the end of the world .
"You," he gritted softly. He reached down and gathered my shirt
up in a knot. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
He glared at Kelly and Mike, cowering back in the moving storm
shadows. "Get out!"
They ran. I didn't blame them; I've told you -- Mr. Indrasil was
crazy. And not just ordinary crazy -- he was like a crazy animal,
like one of his own cats gone bad.
"All right," he muttered, staring down at me, his eyes like
hurricane lamps. "No juju to protect you now. No grisgris." His
lips twitched in a wild, horrible smile. "He isn't here now, is he?
We're two of a kind, him and me. Maybe the only two left. My
nemesis -- and I'm his." He was rambling, and I didn't try to stop
him. At least his mind was off me.
"Turned that cat against me, back in '58. Always had the power
more'n me. Fool could make a million -- the two of us could make
a million if he wasn't so damned high and mighty...what's that?"
It was Green Terror, and he had begun to roar ear-splittingly.
"Haven't you got that damned tiger in?" He screamed, almost
falsetto. He shook me like a rag doll.
"He won't go!" I found myself yelling back. "You've got to --"
But he flung me away. I stumbled over the fold-up steps in front of
his trailer and crashed into a bone-shaking heap at the bottom.
With something between a sob and a curse, Mr. Indrasil strode past
me, face mottled with anger and fear.
I got up, drawn after him as if hypnotized. Some intuitive part of
me realized I was about to see the last act played out.
Once clear of the shelter of Mr. Indrasil's trailer, the power of the
wind was appalling. It screamed like a runaway freight train. I was
an ant, a speck, an unprotected molecule before that thundering,
cosmic force.
And Mr. Legere was standing by Green Terror's cage.
It was like a tableau from Dante. The near-empty cage-clearing
inside the circle of trailers; the two men, facing each other silently,
their clothes and hair rippled by the shrieking gale; the boiling sky
above; the twisting wheatfields in the background, like damned
souls bending to the whip of Lucifer.
"It's time, Jason," Mr. Legere said, his words flayed across the
clearing by the wind.
Mr. Indrasil's wildly whipping hair lifted around the livid scar
across the back of his neck. His fists clenched, but he said nothing.
I could almost feel him gathering his will, his life force, his id. It
gathered around him like an unholy nimbus.
And, then, I saw with sudden horror that Mr. Legere was
unhooking Green Terror's breezeway -- and the back of the cage
was open!
I cried out, but the wind ripped my words away.
The great tiger leaped out and almost flowed past Mr. Legere. Mr.
Indrasil swayed, but did not run. He bent his head and stared down
at the tiger.
And Green Terror stopped.
He swung his huge head back to Mr. Legere, almost turned, and
then slowly turned back to Mr. Indrasil again. There was a
terrifyingly palpable sensation of directed force in the air, a mesh
of conflicting wills centered around the tiger. And the wills were
evenly matched.
I think, in the end, it was Green Terror's own will -- his hate of Mr.
Indrasil -- that tipped the scales.
The cat began to advance, his eyes hellish, flaring beacons. And.