Jim slipped his hand through the leather mouth and hefted forth a metal shaft clustered with chimeras, Chinese dragons all fang, eyeball and moss-green armour, all cross and crescent; every symbol around the world that made men safe, or seemed to, clung there, greaving the boys' hands with odd weight and meaning.

'Storm never came. But he went went.'

'Where? And why did he leave his bag?'

They both looked to the carnival where dusk coloured the canvas billows. Shadows ran coolly out to engulf them. People in cars honked home in tired commotions. Boys on skeleton bikes whistled dogs after. Soon night would own the midway while shadows rode the ferris wheel up to cloud the stars.

'People,' said Jim, 'don't leave their whole life lying around. This is everything that old man owned. Something important - ' Jim breathed soft fire - 'made him forget. So he just walked off and left this here.'

'What? What's so important you forget everything everything?'

'Why - ' Jim examined his friend, curiously, twilight in his face - 'no one can tell you. You find it yourself. Mysteries and mysteries. Storm salesman. Storm salesman's bag. If we don't look now, we might never know.'

'Jim, in ten minutes - '

'Sure! Midway'll be dark. Everyone home for dinner. Just us alone. But won't it feel great? Just us! And here we go, back in!'

Passing the Mirror Maze, they saw two armies - a billion Jims, a billion Wills - collide, melt, vanish. And like those armies, so vanished the real army of people.

They boys stood alone among the encampments of dusk thinking of all the boys in town sitting down to warm food in bright rooms.

18

The red-lettered sign said: OUT OF ORDER! KEEP OFF! OUT OF ORDER! KEEP OFF!

'Sign's been up all day. I don't believe signs,' said Jim.

They peered in at the, merry-go-round which lay under a dry rattle and roar of wind-tumbled oak trees. Its horses, goats, antelopes, zebras, speared through their spines with brass javelins, hung contorted as in a death rictus, asking mercy with their fright-coloured eyes, seeking revenge with their panic-coloured teeth.

'Don't look broke to me.'

Jim ambled across the clanking chain, leaped to a turntable surface vast as the moon, among the frantic but forever spelled beasts.

'Jim!'

'Will, this is the only ride we haven't looked at looked at. So...'

Jim swayed. The lunatic carousel world stirred atilt with his lean bulk. He strolled through brass forests amidst animal rousts. He swung astride a plum-dusk stallion.

'Ho, boy, git!'

A man rose from machinery darkness.

'Jim!'

Reaching out from the shadows among the calliope tubes and moon-skinned drums the man hoisted Jim yelling out on the air.

'Help, Will, help!'

Will leaped through the animals.

The man smiled easily, welcomed him handily, swung him high beside Jim. They stared down at bright flame-red hair, bright flame-blue eyes, and rippling biceps.

'Out of order,' said the man. 'Can't you read?'

'Put them down.' said a gentle voice.

Hung high, Jim and Will glanced over at a second man standing tall beyond the chains.

'Down,' he said again.

And they were carried through the brass forest of wild but uncomplaining brutes and set in the dust.

'We were - ' said Will 'Curious?' This second man was tall as a lamp post. His pale face, lunar pockmarks denting it, cast light on those who stood below. His vest was the colour of fresh blood. His eyes-brows, his hair, his suit were licorice black, and the sun-yellow gem which stared from the tie-pin thrust in his cravat was the same unblinking shade and bright crystal as his eyes. But in this instant, swiftly, and with utter clearness, it was the suit which fascinated Will. For it seemed woven of boar-bramble, clock-spring hair, bristle, and a sort of ever-trembling, ever-glistening dark hemp. The suit caught light and stirred like a bed of black tweed-thorns, interminably itching, covering the man's long body with motion so it seemed he should excruciate, cry out, and tear the clothes free. Yet here he stood, moon-calm, inhabiting his itch-weed suit and watching Jim's mouth with his yellow eyes. He never looked once at Will.

'The name is Dark.'

He flourished a white calling card. It turned blue.

Whisper. Red.

Whisk. A green man dangled from a tree stamped on the card.

Flit. Shh Shh.

'Dark. And my friend with the red hair there is Mr Cooger. Of Cooger and Dark's...'

Flip-flick-shhh.

Names appeared, disappeared on the white square: '...Combined Shadow Shows...'

Tick-wash.

A mushroom-witch stirred mouldering herb pots.

'...and cross-continental Pandemonium Theatre Company...'

He handed the card to Jim. It now read: Our specialty: to examine, oil, polish, and repair Death Watch Beetles.

Calmly, Jim read it. Calmly, Jim put a fist into his copious and richly treasured pockets, rummaged, and held out his hand.

On his palm lay a dead brown insect.

'Here,' Jim said. 'Fix this this.'

Mr Dark exploded his laugh. 'Superb! I will!' He extended his hand. His shirt sleeve pulled up.

Bright purple, black green and lightning-blue eels, worms, and Latin scrolls slid to view on his wrist.

'Boy!' cried Will. 'You must be the Tattooed Man!'

'No.' Jim studied the stranger. 'The Illustrated Man. There's a difference.'

Mr Dark nodded, pleased. 'What's your name, boy?'

Don't tell him! thought Will, and stopped. Why not? he wondered, why?

Jim's lips hardly twitched.

'Simon,' he said.

He smiled to show it was a lie.

Mr Dark smiled to show he knew it.

'Want to see more, 'Simon'?'

Jim would not give him the satisfaction of a nod.

Slowly, with great mouth-working pleasure, Mr Dark pushed his sleeve high to his elbow.

Jim stared. The arm was like a cobra weaving, bobbing, swaying, to strike. Mr Dark clenched his fist, wriggled his fingers. The muscles danced.

Will wanted to run around and see, but could only watch, thinking Jim, oh, Jim!

For there stood Jim and there was this tall man, each examining the other as if he were a reflection in a shop window late at night. The tall man's brambled suit, shadowed out now to colour Jim's cheeks and storm over his wide and drinking eyes with a look of rain instead of the sharp cat-green they always were. Jim stood like a runner who has come a long way, fever in his mouth, hands open to receive any gift. And right now it was a gift of pictures twitched in pantomime, as Mr Dark made his illustrious jerk cold-skinned over his warm-pulsed wrist as the stars came out above and, Jim stared and Will could not see and a long way off the last of the town people went away toward town in their warm cars, and Jim said, faintly, 'Gosh...' and Mr Dark rolled down his sleeve.

'Show's over. Suppertime. Carnival's shut up until seven. Everyone out. Come back, 'Simon,' and ride the merry-go-round, when it's fixed. Take this card. Free ride.'

Jim stared at the hidden wrist and put the card in his pocket.

'So long!'

Jim ran. Will ran.

Jim whirled, glanced back, leaped, and for the second time in the hour, vanished.

Will looked up into the tree where Jim squirmed on a limb, hidden.

Mr Dark and Mr Cooger were turned away, busy with the merry-go-round.

'Quick, Will!'

'Jim...?'

'They'll see see you. Jump!' you. Jump!'

Will jumped. Jim hauled him up. The great tree shook. A wind roared by in the sky. Jim helped him cling, gasping, among the branches.

'Jim, we don't belong here!'

'Shut up! Look!' whispered Jim.

Somewhere in the carousel machinery there were taps and brass knockings, a faint squeal and whistle of calliope steam.

'What was on his arm, Jim?'

'A picture.'

'Yeah, but what kind?'

'It was - Jim shut his eyes. 'It was - a picture of a...snake...that's it...snake.' But when he opened his eyes, he would not look at Will.

'Okay, if you don't want to tell me.'

'I told you, Will, a snake. I'll get him to show it to you, later, you want that?'

No, thought Will, I don't want that.

He looked down at the billion footprints left in the sawdust on the empty midway and suddenly it was a lot closer to midnight than to noon.

'I'm going home...'

'Sure, Will,' go on. Mirror mazes, old teacher-ladies, lost lightning-rod bags, lightning-rod salesmen disappear, snake pictures dancing, unbroken merry-go-rounds, and you want to go home!? Sure, old friend, Will, so long.'

'I...' Will started down the tree, and froze.

'All clear?' cried a voice below.

'Clear!' someone shouted at the far end of the midway.

Mr Dark moved, not fifty feet away to a red control box near the merry-go-round ticket booth. He glared in all directions. He glared into the tree.

Will hugged, Jim hugged the limb, tightened into smallness.

'Start up!'

With a pop, a bang, a jangle of reins, a lift and downfall, a rise and descent of brass, the carousel moved.

But, thought Will, it's broke, out of order!