Chapter 15

Ghastly, Grim, and Ancient Ravens

y the next morning, Aix could hear a bit, though things sounded sort of underwater. St Croix checked their ears and said they were healing up nice and fast. Pippin kept reaching for the scope, wanting to ‘help’, during this examination, and Aix was pleased to finally be able to hear all her cute beeping again.

‘Hey um,’ Aix said, softly, when St Croix was done and Pippin was climbing on the bedframe while they watched in case she fell. ‘René seems kind of… disengaged… with Pippin. I’m worried about that.’

‘Oh good, I’m not the only one who noticed,’ St Croix said, relieved. ‘I think he’s trying, but he didn’t really pick her out, and he’s clearly not used to real pets, only human ones.’

‘Would he react badly if I offered to take her? She seems to like me—hi, baby!’ Aix said, as she landed a few feet from them on the bedspread and jumped on Aix with a happy beep, beginning to purr instantly. ‘Yes, we were talkin boutchu! Yes we were!’

‘I don’t think he would, no. He doesn’t have any signs of that sort of behaviour.’ St Croix knew that Aix was asking because they knew St Croix was very experienced with spotting abusers after very little interaction; it was his job, after all. ‘I think you should ask him.’

‘I also want to actually meet Mr Grishakin. As much as I read about clowns I have never had one, and if Pippin isn’t a fooly then she has special needs.’

‘Sounds like you’ve made your decision, maybe?’

‘Yeah,’ Aix said, ‘yeah, I think I did after Michaela suggested I skip town. Like, I’m scared but… this is also the kind of thing I’ve wanted for a long time. To be the town witch, to have people come to me and take care of me because I’m important to the community but not have to work for wages or salary. I just… I know it’s not fair, but…’

‘Listen, when I say life isn’t fair—and I’m going to right now—what I mean is that everyone has different needs and also different things they give to the community, and you are one of those people that gives things that cannot be paid for or they don’t exist. You are a service, the way people pay for those is with care and maintenance.’

‘I’m a utility, not a luxury,’ Aix joked, smiling. St Croix chuckled.

‘You are though. And listen,’ he said, bumping shoulders with Aix gently. ‘Vampires are good at maintaining services. René has been wanting to get rid of this woman and the legacy she comes from for a while. You saved the kingdom and now you can help heal it, too. And I know you like to help, I think this would help you feel better about life, I do.’

Aix agreed; they were one of those sorts of people that liked being of service, that sort of needed to be of service, and all the jobs that they found joy in were treated badly and required a fit and able body they just did not have anymore. Things like washing dishes, or baking, or carpentry; but they had never wanted to charge money for telling stories, or doing witch things like reading tarot. The idea of people actually respecting them as an established adult with wisdom to share was… well, everyone kept saying things like ‘you seem like you’re at a point in your life where you need a house’, and it was nice to be noticed. They’d spent most of their adulthood so far having to start over from nothing every six months, and it was exhausting. They just wanted to settle down somewhere and matter to the community. New York was not that kind of town, and in fact a feature of New York was how much you didn’t matter. It was for visiting, not living in—not for someone like Aix, anyway.

‘Would you be okay taking me to see Simon?’ Aix asked, still feeling somewhat guilty about accepting St Croix’s help, even though he’d assured Aix several times that he not only didn’t mind, but that it was very much something he needed; his profession meant he didn’t get to interact with regular, kind people very often.

‘Right now? Yeah, of course.’

‘Cool. Hey Pippin, hey,’ Aix said, You wanna go for a ride? Aix clearly imagined going out and travelling on the train to see other clowns and meet other clownkeepers. Pippin beeped and her Flash lit up sparkly blue.

Meet Big Simon? She shared with Aix the memory of Simon, who was indeed very much bigger than her, seeing as he was a very large human.

Yeah! That’s exactly who we’re going to see! Do you want to live with me instead of René?

Pippin thought about that for some time. Magic fren very bisybisy. No time for Pippins. Has too many pets for also have Pippins. She didn’t feel sad about it, she felt rather like René was younger than her, inexperienced with having a troupe—he was a pierrot, like her, and you couldn’t have two of those in a troupe. That was too many.

Yeah, maybe he does. But I don’t have anybody, I’m lonely-by-myself; it would just be you and me together. And I like taking you everywhere with me, and when I find a place we can give you a nice playroom to live in and fun toys. Aix showed her their vision—a clown her size could take advantage of all the fun rope bridges and wall-mounted climbing equipment made for cats, and Aix had grown up playing in indoor playgrounds enough to have very clear ideas of what kind of thing they wanted to build for Pippin. They’d been a climber and a tumbler as a child, too. They knew what would be fun.

Pippin beeped excitedly, but never forgot that she needed to be quiet so she wouldn’t hurt Aix, her tail leaping about and twitching like an excited cat’s. Ye pls! Wan live with Duckie!

They took the Baltimore Underground Railway, which had every inch meticulously designed for comfort and beauty, acoustically and otherwise; there were no turnstiles, and no tickets, Nepenthé itself was a stop, the elevator for it necessitating you be admitted by one of René’s people.

It was a grand old elevator with wood panelling and a brass folding gate, and clanked with the feeling of gears and chains as it went down, though Aix didn’t feel nervous. The door, they observed, was generous enough to easily accommodate a chair, and the elevator car itself big enough to put perhaps two in—a very thoughtful design, given that the assumption was usually that if there was a disabled person at all, there was only one in any space at any given time.

The station itself was beautiful, despite being confined by being underground, and the floor was very even and smooth, with ridges along the edges of the platform, that glowed with organic green. The walls were tiled in bright and sparkling mosaics of cabaret dancers and showboys, and the sign was inlaid with brass that said, Whorefang Road. Aix assumed this was the very old name for this area, and felt their usual delight in places that had such long history.

There were only two tracks and a platform, here, and the train came within five minutes, clacking cheerfully without any of the usual din of squealing that Aix was used to from New York’s sixth borough.¹ Inside, the seats were arranged in little groups that alternated between facing back, forward, and sideways, just like some of the older trains Aix had been on—but these were not moulded plastic but made of brass and upholstered in black material that seemed like leather, but also seemed like it wasn’t leather at all. Aix settled in a chair somewhat near the door, but nestled in a front-facing seat by the window, Pippin on their lap.

‘Whorefang Road. This is an eastbound F train making all regular stops. Broadway next, stand clear of the doors.’

They stayed on the F train for two stops (Broadway, Patterson Park) and got off at Highlandtown, transferring to a southbound 6. Aix kept track because they loved maps, and trains, and were making effort now to learn their way around. The letter trains seemed to go east-west, and the numbers north-south. From the map, the Underground was mostly on a grid, even though much of Baltimore’s roads were not—Aix appreciated that, grids were efficient and easy to navigate, though it was odd to have the trains themselves be arranged thus, with no major hubs. They supposed it was easier to hide a small platform than it was to hide a huge terminal, though.

It was only a short way down from Highlandtown to ‘Brewer’s Hill—Toone Street’.

The clown shelter was set up in a little building that, because of the bright colours the fence had been painted, and the playground equipment, looked vaguely like a kindergarten. But the sign over the red-and-white striped awning read ‘Saving Joeys Clown Rescue’, and the colourful, honking beings on the play equipment were not children. Aix identified mostly horror-drag mixes, and a few just plain horrors, with a handful of party and circus clowns. One spotted Pippin, and there was suddenly a lot of honking and many colourful faces trying to hoist one another to see Pippin over the fence, Pippin waving like a little princess until she got inside.

The brick building had the sort of windows that made Aix think it had been built in the nineteenth century, and it was gratifying to see the original wooden floors on the inside, and someone had built a reception desk and cared enough to stain it the same colour as the floor. There was a quite young person behind it, with colourful hair and makeup that mimicked clown markings, and bright pastel colourblock clothes, with a mask in a pastel rainbow pattern that Aix figured was some kind of pride flag they didn’t know. They had a name tag that said ‘Marshmallows (they)’, and gasped when they saw Pippin in Aix’s arms.

‘Is that Pippin?’ they gushed in a soft voice, standing up and leaning forward and cooing at Pippin, so rapidly and in such a high voice that Aix couldn’t discern what they were saying. Aix just waited patiently, assuming from context they were just talking about how cute Pippin was, and from the way Pippin purred, she was basking in the attention. Soon, however, Aix needed to sit down.

‘I gotta sit,’ they said, and went over to one of the colourful second-hand wicker sofas, sitting down. St Croix spoke to Marshmallows, who nodded and then sat down and picked up the phone. St Croix sat next to Aix.

‘Simon’s on a check-in, he’ll be back soon. They said you could go outside and play with the clowns if you wanted, there’s a volunteer out there, so you wouldn’t be alone.’

Do you wanna go play with the other clowns?

‘Ye!’ Pippin actually said, throwing up her little hands, her Mask turning very traditionally zanni pierrot. She’d gotten dressed in her little baby boots and a onesie of soft denim with apples on it, before they’d left, and was even wearing a tiny baby sun hat over the head-tails that looked like a jester hat. She was, in short, ready to Play Outside.

St Croix startled. ‘Did you talk?’ he asked Pippin, who smiled mischievously.

‘Clowns are known to say words, on occasion, and zanni can talk more than domestic breeds, though they do it less often,’ Aix said, from memory. Pippin, can you tell the other clowns I need them to be a little bit quiet because my ears are injured?

Ye! Pippin said, in a determined little way, with a determined little set to her little face. Bees quiet for Duckie so Duckie ear booboo go ‘way. She got off Aix’s lap and went over to the door to the playground, Aix and St Croix following her. Aix opened the door, and Pippin went outside by herself.

‘Wait,’ Aix said, stopping St Croix with a hand out. ‘She’s telling the others about accomodating me.’

‘Hello?’ called a voice from outside, a human voice.

‘Um, hi, hang on a sec, she’s got to tell the other joeys something for me,’ Aix said.

The person who came to the door was a fat, butch Asian woman with a shaved head, wearing a John Waters shirt with the sleeves cut off with her jeans, her face mask yellow with a blue seahorse that had an alicorn, and a blue feather on either side. It was definitely heraldic, and Aix immediately wondered if it was the SCA device for this area, because they knew what the blue feathers meant if so.

‘I’m Suze. She’s got to what?’

‘It’s a long story. I have hearing damage from being shot at yesterday, so she was going ahead of me to ask the other joeys if they could be quiet when they’re near me.’

‘We’re friends of René Charbonneau,’ St Croix said, as Pippin came back over to them, tugging at the hammer-loop of Suze’s jeans and beeping, her big dark eyes looking into Aix’s.

It okay now Duckie! We play Quiet Game.

‘Thank you, little bean,’ Aix said, resisting the urge to pick her up, and went outside, Suze holding the door for them.

The playscape wasn’t simply a single conglomerate structure with nothing else around it—it was a proper old playground, with trees, and beams to balance on, and swings, and monkey bars, and even some moulded painted concrete for climbing on.

‘Okay, so, that’s the famous Pippin, obviously,’ Suze said, as Aix sat down at the well-kept wooden picnic table under an old striped awning. ‘What’s this about being shot at? Are you—are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m okay now, just healing from the whatsit, the deafening thing. Um, so are you—are you a friend of Mr Grishakin’s? I have something kind of important to tell him. About clowns.’

‘I’m a breeder,’ she said, game for soldiering past trauma if this hijabi was. ‘We’re as good as siblings, we both had the same mentor; I took over the clownery because I married the boss’ daughter,’ she said, winking roguishly. ‘And Simon’s always been a better fit for rescuing.’

‘What do you know about clown evolutionary origin? I haven’t read up on it in a while.’

‘Well, we don’t know where they came from, they first appear in the historic record in Egypt, and spread into Europe from there. Never really ended up in the Islamic world,’ she added, thoughtfully.

‘Oh um,’ Aix said, feeling a bit awkward. ‘I… haven’t been Muslim for long. I’m still exploring whether it’s right for me.’

‘Ah,’ Suze said, nodding. ‘I imagine the veil is more comfortable than a facemask, too.’

Aix was surprised—Suze was the first person to really make that connection. ‘Um, yes, actually. I think even if Islam ends up not being right for me, I’ll still wear niqab to protect against plague. I want to make a few with the proper type and layers of fabric, but I’m… sort of in the process of moving.’

‘Moving to Baltimore?’

‘Yeah,’ Aix said, watching as the clowns hid from a blindfolded high content horror-drag with beautiful striping. She was groping through the air while the others hid in plain sight, but endeavoured to lean out of the way of her hands, and be silent—though there were many very loud expressions being made, clowns being clowns. Aix had seen videos of people playing such a game with water pistols or nerf guns in online videos, and they wondered which of the clowns had seen a clip of this game before.

‘What about you, hon?’ Suze asked St Croix.

‘Oh, I’m helping them move,’ St Croix said. ‘Me and some friends. You know the Slocums in Staten Island?’

‘I know their clown—by reputation, at least,’ Suze said, but there was a tone in her voice, her eyes piercing. ‘And I know they’re… shall we say related to Mr Charbonneau? Clown people are adjacent to bats, you know. They keep clowns enough for us to be. Are you leading up to telling me why you act like you and Pippin have some way of talking?’

‘I am, yeah,’ Aix said, worried about whether this was strictly allowed. ‘I learned where clowns come from, recently. It’s uh, it’s a lot to take in.’

‘This is Baltimore, hon,’ Suze said, chuckling. ‘Home of Edgar Allen Poe and John Waters? You know?’

‘It’s… New England weird, though,’ Aix tried to be subtle about it. ‘More… Lovecraft weird.’

Suze looked at Aix, then looked out at the clowns, then looked at Aix. ‘Are you implying that joeys are some kind of elder god relative of Cthulhu or something?’

‘Well, they’re more like grad students, not gods,’ Aix said, ‘But um, clowns are descended from the Goat of a Thousand Young. They’re… they’re her Thousand Young.’

Suze sat with this for a minute or two. ‘Huh,’ she said, finally. ‘Well,’ she said, and paused. ‘That does explain some things.’

‘Obviously that’s—that’s not really something I’m sure how to break to people, because Lovecraft treated the Starfolk like they were all scary monsters. And I know horror clowns have enough to deal with.’

A van pulled around to the lot behind the building. It was a distinctive shape and colour of green with equally distinctive pink and purple airbrushed zig-zags that said it was from the nineties, and Suze nodded to it.

‘That’ll be Simon,’ she said, but didn’t get up. ‘He’ll be out here in his own time.’

‘Okay,’ Aix said, and watched Pippin sitting down and taking off her shoes. The ground was the bouncy soft kind that was almost too safe—for human children, at least. For clowns it was perfect, since they did more serious acrobatics, barefoot. Shoed clowns were a cruelty practise of the past, in respected clownkeeping. Pippin neatly tucked her socks in her boots and immediately shinned up a sliding pole.

‘Starfolk are psionic, they communicate natively by telepathy. Clowns have the same… frequency? I don’t know how to explain how to use it to other people, but my teacher indicated that the learning goes both ways—they have to figure out which frequency we use, and they can adapt to that.’

‘That would help with so much of husbandry, you realise,’ Suze said in a low voice. She’d been listening intently, though she hadn’t met Aix’s eyes, for which they were grateful. ‘And rescue. Can’t tell you how many times we could have used the ability to talk to them.’

‘I can imagine,’ Aix said, ‘I used to volunteer when I was younger. I had to stop because… people are just. So dumb and cruel.’

‘I don’t know how Simon does it,’ Suze agreed, ‘then again, he says he wouldn’t be able to raise foolies, because losing foolies just tears him up—oh, speak of the Devil.’

Simon was coming toward them, from the gate out to the parking lot. It was a sturdy gate of reinforced wood, the fence high and cinderblock for practicality, and painted with colourful polkadots on the inside, stripes on the outside. There were trees and plants inside the wall to keep the yard from looking too much like a box.

Simon himself was a very tall, fat, white fellow, in paint-splattered overalls and a tie-dyed t-shirt, a worn baseball cap on his head, and very green, pale eyes. From the look of the hair on his freckly arms he had hair that was probably curly and dark red. He wore a very short beard that confirmed the curly hair theory. He looked kind, Aix thought. Before he got to them, he paused and took a disposable mask out of his overalls pocket, opening the crinkly plastic wrapper, which got many of the clowns’ attention.

‘No,’ he said, idly. ‘Not for joeys.’ He put the black mask on, hooking the straps to some mismatched buttons he’d sewn on his hat, adjusted it a bit, and continued the rest of the way toward them. ‘Sorry, nearly forgot. It’s… asalaam alaykium, right?’

‘And peace be upon you and your family,’ Aix returned. ‘This is my friend Saintie, he’s helping me move here. I’ve got gunshot deafness from being kidnapped and shot at yesterday night, so if you could speak clearly but in a normal volume, that would be helpful. Anyway,’ Aix said, believing that if they just soldiered on and didn’t give anyone time to react, they’d force people to not comment. ‘So, Pippin saved my life, because she got The All-Mother to come eat the woman who kidnapped me.’

Aix was fully prepared to be called insane. Simon did nothing of the kind.

‘Go on,’ he said, ‘I’m with you so far.’

‘Joeys are the Thousand Young. Of the Black Goat of the Woods?’

‘Oh. I’m not familiar with that deity.’

‘No, no, she’s not a deity. She’s a grad student. From… uh, well another dimension or galaxy or something. Haven’t you heard of Cthulhu before, at least?’

‘Oh yes, that. So, all those… beings… are real, but they’re… not gods.’

‘No—and I’m not saying that in a dismissy sort of, uh,’ Aix sighed. ‘I feel like I started this wrong. Okay, so I’m a witch. I know how I’m dressed, but just… ignore that for a second, I’m going through some things. I’m an oracle, and I had this dream a few weeks ago, in this cavern where Cthulhu was. He’d been trying to communicate with somebody on this planet for ages. I was the first person that understood that’s what he was trying to do. So once that happened, a bunch of other things happened, I met a bunch of people—including Saintie—’

‘Hi,’ St Croix said, waving.

‘—and when we stopped here in Baltimore, I got kidnapped, and I tried to call out to somebody the way Cthulhu had called out to me, in Dreamspace, and I got… Pippin. She said she was going to go get Mommy, who ended up being the Black Goat of A Thousand Young, and Pippin hasn’t left my side since. And she talks just like Cthulhu does, with telepathy. She was my ears last night, off and on. She can understand everything you say, which makes me think it’s likely all clowns can.’

Pippin leapt on the table, and following her was a clown with only half a tail, her fat tendrils held out to the sides of her head, like pigtails rather than a jester cap. She was dilute, and probably a circus or party. Pure circuses were rare these days, with the decline of circuses in general.

Beepbeep have asking for the Big Simon. Duckie help?

‘I was wondering when you’d start using me as a translator,’ Aix told Pippin, smiling. Go ahead, what’s her question?

In reply, Aix was given a memory—several, all of them coloured by fear and trauma. Being kept in a basement, being hungry, being ignored, and—one very awful memory, of how she lost her tail.

Why? What a Beeper do badwrong?

Aix took off their glasses, shaking by the end. St Croix had a hand on their back, half-hugging them.

‘Whoa, Aix, Aix? Come back, babe.’

‘She—she doesn’t understand,’ Aix said, crying. ‘She—no, I’m fine—she doesn’t understand abuse, she wants to know why it happened. Oh gods, come here, baby, come here,’ they said, and hugged her tightly. They were careless, and selfish, and it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. You’re a good Beeper and I love you and it wasn’t your fault.

‘Oh, Beeps,’ Simon said, petting her as she honked her scratchy honk, a little distressed at how upset Aix was. The other joeys were picking up on it too—they were very attentive to crying—and drifting over.

Duckie hurt? Was echoed softly by many of them, not just Pippin.

Duckie angrysad because humans so mean to Beeper.

‘Does—does Beeper have a new home?’ Aix said, when they stopped shaking.

‘She’s one of mine,’ Simon assured them. ‘She’s safe now.’

‘Did those people get arrested? Can I kill them? I definitely could if you wanted.’

‘The people that found her weren’t the people that put her there,’ Simon said, privately agreeing with Aix; he didn’t need to see Beeper’s memories to know what she had probably suffered, he’d rehabilitated her through the aftermath. ‘They were just as surprised as we were to find her in that basement. And that makes it worse, I know it does. What did you tell her?’

‘She—she asked me what she’d done wrong, she—god, she showed me her memories of the abuse. And I told her she hadn’t done anything, that they were just cruel and it wasn’t her fault.’

‘You’re a good egg,’ Simon said. ‘It’s been years, and every day I wish I could explain it to her like that. I’m so sorry, you probably weren’t ready for that.’

‘She doesn’t know. She’s communicating the way she knows best. I’m fine,’ Aix insisted, reaching under their veil to wipe their eyes. ‘She’s okay now, she’s safe and loved. That’s all that matters.’

If anyone else has questions, please don’t show me any more memories about being hurt.

Beeper’s Mask was very sad, and she hugged Aix. Sorrysorrysorry.

‘Shh, baby, shh, we’re okay now. We’re both safe and loved. It’s gonna be okay.’

‘Question,’ Suze said. ‘Are you a therapist?’

‘No, I’m a witch,’ Aix said, and hearing it made them feel more confident. Pippin took her turn to hug Aix, purring and sitting in their lap, lifting the niqab a little to poke her head under it so she wouldn’t pin it down. She was a quick learner, and had figured out that Aix always gently pulled it out from under her. ‘Which is what therapists are a pale reflection of, really.’

There was a cackle from above, loud enough that Aix startled, and the joeys suddenly scattered. Aix looked up at the movement to see one very casually leap down from the roof, landing into a fluid roll before springing back up to his feet again. Instead of one or two tendrils, like the other clowns, he had five, all of them held curled forward in Venetian style.

The harlequin was wearing nothing, though it took a while to figure that out, his motley pattern was so perfect and bright. He moved with the surety and grace of a very old being that was very comfortable and knew every inch of their own body, his ruff the wild type that went down his chest and back.

Aix had never seen a zanni harlequin before—he could be nothing else, only zanni had blue markings.

‘Pepper,’ Simon said, sighing in a way that said he was used to this behaviour. ‘You are not supposed to be on the roof.’

Aix looked at those unsettlingly piercing eyes for a while, reflecting that they were very near the colour orange that Cthulhu’s were. Until they turned green, and then purple….

‘Pepper, be nice…’ Simon warned.

Tell your saint I want to fuck him. Pepper said to Aix, ignoring Simon entirely.

Do you, or are you just trying to see how easily I scare?

Pepper tilted his head, black lips in a smirk that looked like he’d been the model for every Venetian mask with the same expression that had ever been made. He bowed to Aix in respect.

I do, as it happens. I’m far too old to care for these half-witted children they’ve made of us. Would you fuck a dog?

No. But I think you should know, the reason humans in this culture don’t fuck clowns anymore is because we’ve started valuing consent, and we can’t get it from clowns, not in a way we understand.

You are the ones who made it so we cannot talk, Dottore.

How so?

Nevermind. Tell him.

Aix gave it some thought, but was aware they were being watched. ‘Simon, Suze, could you… give us a minute? Pepper wants a private conversation with Saintie.’

Simon got up, despite his misgivings. He looked at Suze, and she just quirked a brow, half-shrugging as if to say, he’s Pepper, what did you expect?

‘Holler if you need anything,’ Simon said, because he was southern, and he couldn’t just leave without saying that. He went off a little ways away, Suze starting a juggling game with the other joeys to keep them occupied.

‘With me?’ St Croix was surprised, looking at Pepper incredulously. ‘What do you want to talk to me for? We just met.’

Your face does not only belong to you, Saint. I knew someone with it in New Orleans.

‘He says he wants to fuck you. He also says he knew your family from New Orleans. Is there… a relative you look like?’ Aix asked. St Croix shrugged.

‘No idea. Photographs were expensive. The only relation I have any media of is Alix St Croix. There’s a single recording of him singing St James Infirmary that I digitised a while back.’

I took all the photographs with me after Auntie died.

‘Auntie… so, probably Auntie Esther, then.’ St Croix said thoughtfully, after Aix translated this, still talking to Pepper directly, as was polite when having a translated conversation. He kept an arm around Aix, though, so Aix wouldn’t feel ignored. ‘I named myself after him,’ St Croix said to Pepper. ‘But I’m not him, you know,’ he added. Pepper shrugged.

I still want to live with you. Simon will say no. But I am Radioman’s clown, and Simon knows I’m bored. He has kept me safe enough, but safe is not very interesting. We zanni are meant to travel, not stay in one tent forever.

‘Harlequins are the trickster role, aren’t they?’ St Croix asked, thoughtfully. ‘That’s sort of what I do… and if you were my Great Uncle Alix’s clown, and you want to reunite with your family, then shouldn’t it be up to you? Granted, I’m not sure about the fucking, but this is more about my family. You’re part of my family. And,’ he added, with a winning smile and a bounce of his eyebrows. ‘The other side of my family are the Coney Island Hexts; they’ve been running freakshows on the midway for centuries. Just, if you want to get back into it.’

Pepper hummed. It’s been a long time since I was in New York City. It looks very different now. Taller, less horses.

St Croix and Aix were both surprised to hear that. Pepper laughed.

‘I don’t… know much about clown lifespans….’ St Croix said, glancing at Aix.

‘They don’t die,’ Aix said. ‘They just… they just don’t. Pepper, can I ask—why did zanni ever let humans keep them as pets? Why did you… I mean, obviously you’re people, and…’ Aix trailed off, nervous and not sure how to navigate the delicacy of the question, being as they were not any kind of ethnicity that had ever been enslaved.

Pepper smirked, laughing that low, rich laugh of his, that made you worry about everything. If we were people, you would make us work, like you do. If we were livestock, you would make us work, like horses do. Pets don’t work, pets get to play all the time. And even when humans are cruel, there are always humans that are not; and animals are never at fault for their misfortune, not like people. We see how you treat other humans. We learned what not to do. So we will be leisure-pets, companion-pets, for pleasure and for luxury. Not useful. Art is quite useless.

St Croix grinned. ‘I like that level of mindfuck, sir. I think you and I could be a good team of cultbreakers—and don’t worry, it’s not exactly work. I like to bedevil terrible people that take themselves far too seriously.’

Pepper’s wide grin and subsequent rolling and villainous laugh sent pleasant shivers down Aix’s spine. When Simon looked over, Pepper merely lashed his tail mockingly, his ruff fluffed all the way up, and colours brightening with his uplifted mood.

But he also hadn’t missed the way it had affected Aix, and suddenly those alarming and mischievous eyes were focussed all on Aix. Ohh, does the Dottore want to fuck Arlecchino? Hmmm?

Aix ducked their head, avoiding eye-contact. Don’t punch down.

You know the rules! Poor little Pedrolino, I see why the little one adopted you so quickly. She’s older than she looks, you know, and only pretends to be Pedrolina. He tilted his head. Or perhaps she doesn’t know, perhaps she had no troupe to tell her, once she was grown…. He covered his sadness with anger, but Aix could tell. Telepathy made reading nuanced emotions a lot easier for Aix, because for some reason the telepathy targeted their synaesthesia and lit up the emotional tones with colours.

Tell me what? Pippin woke up, squeaking and uncurling from where she’d been napping on Aix’s lap. Pepper came closer, and crouched down.

Only grown clowns can be Columbina.

Pippin sparkled in confusion, but gave it some thought. She looked up at Aix, and then set her face into the little determined furrowed-brows-and-pressed-flat-lips expression that she wore oftener than a Pierrot should. Pierrots didn’t Solve Problems, and Pippin did. Pierrots didn’t Take the Lead or Make Decisions, and Pippin did. Pierrots… really did not have any sort of Gumption, or Moxie. But Pippin did. Maybe she was a Columbina. And after all, Pepper would know. He was very old.

Pippin bees a grown-up lady, yes. Bees a good Columbina for Duckie Witch.

Mind you take care of her, Pepper said to Aix, with warning. Aix didn’t need the warning, however, and found the strength of aggression to stare back at Pepper just as hard, not minding the way his eyes changed colours constantly, even, appreciating the control it took to idly shift his Mask that finely, just because he felt like it.

They showed Pepper exactly why there was no reason to worry about that; they showed Pepper all their rage, and how they used it. They showed how protective they were of the small, because they had been hurt, and abandoned, and neglected, and they never wanted anyone to feel like that. Pippin was in no danger from being given human poisons, either—Aix knew how to pamper without harm, they could say no if Pippin wanted something harmful for herself.

Pepper’s smile meant more than any approval from a human being ever had. He dropped his gaze to look at Pippin again, kissing her forehead. It’s good to see another zanni again.

Pippin reached her arms out for a hug, wiggling, and Pepper rolled his eyes and looked away, but opened his arms, catching her when she leapt on him with a happy beep—and he purred too, just like she did, as Pippin wrapped her tail around his chest and nuzzled his cheek with her face.

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