Chapter 16

The Saint and the Knave

o,’ St Croix said, as he trotted up to Simon and Suze. ‘Pepper belonged to my Great Uncle Alix, back in the ‘20s, in New Orleans. He wants to stay with me, now that he’s found us again, and I want to take care of him properly; but I’ve never had a clown before. I’m a fast learner, though, and my lifestyle has plenty of enrichment for a harlequin. Are there some books I should read?’

‘I have reservations about this, but it’s not because of you,’ Simon said. ‘It’s because… there’s legal problems. Pepper… Pepper did some bad things.’

‘He set a man’s house on fire in 1986,’ Suze said frankly. ‘Though I’m pretty sure said asshole deserved it. We couldn’t prove anything, but harlequins aren’t violent like that, not unless you really torment them and they can’t escape.’

Those were, St Croix though, exactly the kind of skills that would be not at all a hindrance, in St Croix’s life. ‘Was he a white man?’

‘He was,’ Suze said with a nod.

‘And Pepper doesn’t trust white people—men or women,’ Simon added. ‘And he hates police. He puts himself between our black volunteers and white people, particularly cops, and gets very… suspicious. Guarding. He seems… very aware of antiblack racism specifically. I won’t pry, but knowing he was your family’s clown… that confirms some things.’

‘I’m not gonna tell you what he probably saw, but if he was close with Great Uncle Alix, he’s massively traumatised by death and racism, yeah. Which is why what I do with my life would probably be really healing for him.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a cultbreaker. I got into it because of what happened to Alix, and I go around ferreting out all the nasty little bastards that don’t get on the news, because they’re slick about it. The human monsters.’

‘Clowns don’t work.’

‘Pepper made that clear, don’t worry. This isn’t work, and I wouldn’t force him; but he’s bored, and given his personality, I think putting him into an environment where he’s allowed to bedevil The White Man is what he needs.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not a peaceful or polite person, I won’t ask him to be well-behaved.’

‘But can you protect him?’ Simon pressed. ‘Legally, I mean—he’s got a record, if he makes more trouble, that’s it for him. They’ll put him down.’

St Croix sucked his teeth, thinking on how to phrase his reply without outright revealing the existence of the massive half-criminal underground network that served the Hunting community. ‘I’ve got a cousin in Baton Rouge, keeps me a cipher on the internet. Can’t put down what you can’t catch. I travel a lot, through private channels. Always on the move, really—and I don’t know a lot about clowns, but I know enough to know they originally lived with travelling shows, right?’

‘Yeah. I’m a little protective of Pepper,’ Simon admitted. ‘He’s been with me for a while, and I fought for years in court with Suze and our mentor to keep him from just being put down as a nuisance animal. I’m… understandably a little hesitant to let him go. I promised him I wouldn’t make him go; but if he wants to go with you, that’s different.’ He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but St Croix could tell it was just that this was sudden, and he truly cared. ‘C’mon inside, I’ll get you the booklist, and the forms.’

‘How about I do that, Sy?’ Suze said, clapping a hand on his back. ‘You stay here, maybe Pepper will talk to you through the kiddo over there.’

‘And they wanted to meet you,’ St Croix said, smiling. ‘Unlike my clueless ass, they’ve got a Special Interest in clownkeeping. I think they’ll be a better fit for Pippin, than René.’

Aix laughed, in the distance, and they looked over to see Vim and Verve, twin horror-circus mixes who had belonged to an old magician that had since died, doing a magic routine for them. They’d also lifted their veil, their face framed by the black chiffon of it now; St Croix knew they did that when people were distant enough, to get a bit more fresh air. The niqab was more comfortable than a medical mask, but it still got stuffy underneath, especially in the humidity.

‘I know you don’t know us, but on behalf of my great uncle, thanks for taking care of Pepper,’ St Croix said, quietly. ‘It means a lot, getting a piece of him back, in a way.’

Simon finally untensed, at that. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said.

There was the sound of car doors opening in the parking lot, and a chorus of trills and peacock-like calls from the same direction, and the other clowns not entertaining Aix flared up—the drag mixes fluffed and sparkled their Flash, eyes on alert. St Croix raised a brow, and Suze chuckled, as did Simon.

‘Oh here’s Basil,’ she said, starting to lead St Croix inside.

‘Basil?’ he asked, interested.

‘Local drag breeder. He’s as much an institution as we are.’

‘Hallooooo~!’ trilled a very old fashioned sort of gay lilt, from the gate to the parking lot. ‘It’s Auntie Basil, poppets!’

St Croix stiffled a gleeful cackle. ‘Oh, I love elders in the community,’ he said, grinning as he followed Suze inside.

Aix looked over to see an older man in an exquisitely flamboyant suit (with matching mask) and cane being let in by Simon. He was a good deal shorter than Simon, a bit round but not as impressively as Simon, and wore a cock-brimmed fedora at a Quentin Crisp-ish angle, lilac wisps of hair showing from under the brim. Towering over him were no less than three purebred drag queens in full show plumage, though they had the sharp gothic colouration and markings that said they were crossed with horrors somewhere.

Pippin beeped excitedly, and ran over to the drag queens, her tail high and sparkling cheerfully, her arms up. Mommies!

‘Bless my soul!’ Basil said, as Pippin came over—his queens all cooed and fluffed their skirts immediately in motherly instincts as soon as they saw Pippin. ‘Whose little fooly are you, precious?’

Pippin bounced from foot to foot, reaching up her arms, begging the queens to pick her up. They fluffed and bickered briefly with one another, but the one with the sharpest and most regular stripes finally seemed to have seniority, picking Pippin up, the others crowding around to snuggle and kiss and make much of her.

Aix waved, calling from their seat. ‘She’s mine!’

‘She’s not a fooly, actually,’ Simon said. ‘She’s got dwarfism of some kind, I think. She’s the little one I found at Nepenthé in July.’

‘Oho! So you’re little Pippin!’ Basil said, tickling the bottom of Pippin’s little foot. She giggled. ‘Girls, girls,’ he said, shooing his drag queens. ‘Go on, mingle with the populace while Mumsy visits with Uncle Simon.’ He glanced at Simon and quirked a perfectly-pencilled brow. ‘And guest? Guest that Pepper approves of?’ He raised the other brow, seeing Pepper idly twisting himself into knots while the hijabi took off her cat-eye glasses and pulled her veil back down over her face, and seemed to be carrying on a whole conversation with him while she did.

Simon just started on over, taking care to slow his pace to mind Basil, who moved slow these days (not that he’d ever bothered rushing himself for anyone’s sake).

‘Hi!’ said the blue-eyed stranger, a little breathless and smitten. ‘I’m Aix. You’re—you’re Basil Montgomery, aren’t you?’

‘Oh dear, my reputation has preceded me,’ Basil said, sitting down and tipping his hat to Pepper. ‘Pepper.’

‘Bitch,’ Pepper said, with what passed as affection, for him.

‘I was given to believe that dear old René was Pippin’s keeper.’

Aix lifted a hand, wobbling it. ‘Pippin said she thinks René has too many pets already, and he doesn’t pay enough attention to her.’ And then they waited for the questions.

‘She can talk to them,’ Simon said.

‘Really? My, that’s quite a talent. I’d ask if you’re one of the munge-palone, but it’s a touch early in the evening for them to be about.’

‘I’m… guessing munge-palone means nocturnal?’

‘Ah, you don’t know polari, my apologies. Yes.’

‘I’ve always wanted to learn. I… augh, this is weird to explain when I’m dressed like this.’ Aix said, twisting nervously at their fingers.

‘Omi-palone,’ Pepper said from behind Aix, pointing at them.

‘I’m going through some things,’ Aix said, not sure what the word meant, but still struggling to speak, overwhelmed by meeting someone like Basil, someone so much like what they wanted to be.

‘Darling,’ Basil said, finally having it click together—he put a soft, well-manicured hand on one of Aix’s, feeling their nervous wringing go still and instead those pretty fingers wrapped around his like they were a lifeline.

Aix didn’t know why they burst into tears, but suddenly they were crying, and they didn’t know what to do about it, and they weren’t even sure what was wrong—possibly because it was several things. They couldn’t stop, no matter their trauma surrounding crying more than a few seconds, something was broken and everything just flooded out, to the point that Aix lost some time, and when they phased back into reality they were surrounded by lots of drag queens, and Pippin was hugging around their neck.

When the dear little chicken burst into tears, Basil let her keep holding onto his hands. He’d helped many people through nervous breakdowns, and they happened a shocking amount when young queers met him. Simon didn’t ever know what to do with crying people, bless him, but he got to his feet carefully, quietly.

‘I’m gonna go get her friend,’ he said. ‘He’s inside with Suze.’

‘Go on, then. I’m fine, Simon.’

Simon went inside, heard Suze and St Croix talking and followed the sound to the office, where St Croix was filling out adoption forms. Suze glanced up and saw his expression.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. Aix met Basil and then just started crying.’

‘They’ve been through the wringer, and from what I know of them, they haven’t cried about any of it yet.’ St Croix said, but stayed in his chair. ‘They’ve wanted to meet someone like Basil for years, I think—just, an older queen like them. That’s their gender, but they’ve never met anyone elder in the community like that. Just… there’s a lot going on right now,’ he said, sighing. ‘Is Basil going to be annoyed by crying boys?’

‘Oh god no,’ Suze said, chuckling.

‘He’s the most maternal person I’ve ever met in my life,’ Simon agreed. ‘I’m the one that doesn’t know how to emotions. I can calm down a joey no problem, but a human? I’m lost.’

St Croix finished the form he was on. ‘I’m gonna go check on them, just because I’ve got medical training and all, but I think this is one of those things where the best thing is to just… let them have the safety of comfort. I know this isn’t your job.’

‘It’s okay,’ Simon said. ‘Really, it’s fine. There’s no better place to seek comfort, all the clowns out there are… really, it’s fine.’

‘We’re unofficially a haven for the queer community, here, anyway,’ Suze said. ‘I can fill out the rest of this, I’ll bring out the other stuff you need to sign, it’s no problem. Go see your friend.’

St Croix nodded and headed back outside to see Aix had been surrounded by some drag queen clowns that hadn’t been there before, and he assumed they belonged to Basil, who had moved around to sit next to Aix on the bench, holding them gently, Pippin sitting on Aix’s lap.

Saintie here Duckie! Is okay Duckie, is okay! but her comforting had a bit of a desperate, worried edge to it. Aix knew it was because they hadn’t been answering her, and couldn’t even talk with mouth-words enough to explain why, right now. All they could do was hold her.

‘Hey,’ St Croix said softly, crouching down and sitting on the ground at Aix’s feet, looking up at Basil. ‘Sorry about this.’

‘Hush,’ Basil tutted. ‘This poor little chicken is suffering, and not that I need to know why or how, but I don’t know what to say.’

St Croix thought about it; the problem was, despite how talkative and open Aix was, and how many days they’d been travelling together, and how good St Croix was at reading people… he’d still not known Aix for long. The most obvious reason may not be the reason at all—Aix wasn’t repressing the trauma from being kidnapped and around a gun, it actually hadn’t been all that traumatic for them, since they’d solved the problem so well and gotten support so immediately. They’d told St Croix that despite having a few moments of being scared, things hadn’t taken long enough for the fear to really set in. And with Basil looking how he did, and being what he was, and the way Aix had been struggling with gender (and they spoke to Erastos and St Croix about that more than the girls)…

‘Has he said anything?’ St Croix said, making a decision.

‘No, but that’s the third pronoun I’ve heard,’ Basil said, without judgement, only concern.

‘It’s the one my trans boyfriend uses, and I trust his judgement.’

‘Is that, dare I hazard a guess, the “things” in “I’m going through some things”?’

‘A bit,’ St Croix said. ‘He’s a complicated person.’

‘Aren’t we all, dear,’ Basil said, chuckling softly. ‘Aren’t we all. What’s your name, my dear? I don’t believe I caught it.’

‘Ah, everyone calls me Saintie. St Croix. I came here with Aix because he wanted to talk to Simon about Pippin being special needs, but uh, things snowballed. There’s the whole… Aix can talk to clowns thing. And all that entails.’

‘Yes, what does that entail? I’m ever so curious.’

‘Well, psionics. Also, I should mention, Pippin saved his life last night. He got kidnapped by Ana Heeren, know her?’

Basil was hugging Aix harder the moment he heard the name. ‘Oh my darling, oh poppet, you brave soul, that wretched… bitch is too polite a word.’

‘Ah, yeah, she’s dead now. Pippin’s—well, all the clowns’ mother, really, but Pippin called her. She uh, she took care of the matter.’

‘She had it coming,’ Basil said airily, and Pippin beeped in agreement. Basil skritched her little downy ruff. ‘That was a very brave thing for a Very Small Animal to do, Pipkin.’

St Croix put a hand on Aix’s knee gently, letting him know St Croix was there. ‘So uh, these are drag queens?’

‘Of the joey variety, yes,’ Basil said proudly, ‘my showgirls. The striped palone is Bettina Juice, this red one is Dahli Doom, and Nebula Void is the lovely dappled girl sitting next to you.’

‘Betty Juice?’ Aix said suddenly, voice watery, sniffling. Basil offered him a handkerchief, and Aix took off his glasses, reaching under the veil and drying his tears. ‘As in Beetlejuice’s drag name?’

‘Oh you are a treasure!’ Basil said, as Bettina preened, making the white stripes Flash blacklight blurple, showing off. ‘Of course, our Bettina is very much more glamorous than her namesake.’

‘Sorry for crying all over you,’ Aix said, sniffling.

‘Oh, tush,’ Basil said, pursing his lips. ‘None of that, dear boy. Everyone cries on Auntie Basil, it’s quite all right.’

Duckie okay? Pippin asked, worry in her little upturned brows and black pout.

‘Duckie okay, babybean,’ Aix said, hugging her and kissing her little head.

‘Duckie?’ Basil asked, intrigued.

‘Aix is a genus of duck,’ Aix explained. ‘Wood ducks, and mandarin ducks.’ He looked around. ‘Wh… where’s Pepper?’

‘Oh, never ask that, Duckie, dear,’ Basil advised wryly, as the drag queens tittered, Bettina fanning herself with one hand, sighing adoringly.

Pepper dreamy….

Aix giggled. Pepper very dreamy, he agreed. St Croix stood up, stretching.

‘Welp,’ he said, and then suddenly sprinted toward the wall, jumped, and climbed up onto the roof. Up the sheer wall.

‘Parkour!’ Aix yelled, beaming and excited, tears completely forgotten with a thrill of the joy of watching a human do something extremely human.

‘Pepper!’ St Croix called, in the distance. ‘I’m comin’ ta getcha!’

There was a surprised squawk that turned into Pepper’s cackle—only this time, it sounded more delighted. Aix giggled.

‘Pepper used to be Saintie’s great uncle’s clown,’ Aix explained. ‘Before you arrived, he was just saying how he wanted to go live with Saintie.’

To Aix’s surprise, there was almost universal consternation from not only the three drag queens, but also the other clowns, who hadn’t been paying attention before.

No more Pepper?

No! Pepper not leave!

Bettina got up with a determined fluff of her striped plumage, taking out a mirror and adjusting her Mask just so, and looking assessingly up at the roof, taking off her heels.

I… I don’t think you’ll have much luck, sweetheart, I’m sorry.

She popped her tongue contemptuously at him, and fluffed up further; Basil reached over and covered Aix’s ears when he saw the back layer of her skirt flip up into the display-fan.

The piercing cry startled a flock of crows off the powerlines—they took off, screeching in annoyed alarm. Aix lifted their hands so Basil could take his away, and Basil set his cane on the ground, uncrossing his legs and pushing himself up. ‘Come on, dear,’ he said to Aix, ‘She won’t let up until she gets what she wants or gets tired.’

Aix picked up Pippin, who had her own little ears covered too, and followed Basil inside, just as the other two queens started up, joined by the less refined and practised calls of the mixed fosters.

‘Wow,’ Aix said, when the door shut. ‘I figured they were loud from the videos I’ve seen, but she’s got the lungs of a bull elephant.’

‘She’s been after Pepper for years,’ Basil said, but Pippin was fussing and reaching up for Aix’s face.

Duckie ear booboo okay??

‘Oh sweetie, yes I’m okay. Basil helped.’

‘What’s got into her?’

‘Oh um, I kind of got shot at yesterday, kinda got a little deafened. I’m supposed to be avoiding loud noises.’

Basil pulled him into a tight embrace immediately. ‘You should not be able to say that so casually,’ he said, in a fierce mutter that was suddenly very weary.

‘It’s fine,’ Aix said, muffled. ‘She’s dead now.’

‘They lord, Basil, is she in season or something?’ Simon said, as he came out of the back.

‘No uh, they got upset when I said Pepper was leaving?’ Aix said.

‘Ohhh, that would do it,’ Basil sighed. ‘Maybe you can explain why he’s never interested in any of the queens, no matter how good their pedigree.’

‘I… yeah,’ Aix said, feeling sort of bad about it. ‘Um… he… he says you bred the domestic clowns into… how did he phrase it… “these half-witted children you’ve made of us”, I think it was. He’s not interested in them, like, sexually, because they’re dumb babies to him.’

‘That’s odd, usually domestication makes animals more intelligent, not less.’

‘Maybe Cthulhu would know,’ Aix said, without thinking about it, looking down to arrange Pippin to balance on his hip, going over to sit down on a wicker loveseat that still had the pastel watercolour upholstery on its cushions. He pulled out his phone, starting to type a message to that effect to Victoria.

‘Where did St Croix go?’ Simon asked Basil.

‘He “parkour”ed up onto the roof. Pepper sounded delighted about it.’

Simon chuckled, but Basil could tell he was a little sad, and patted his arm. ‘It’s hard to let them go, I know, darling.’

‘Should someone watch the joeys?’ Simon asked.

‘And lose their hearing entirely? No, the best you can do is wait it out,’ Basil said, ‘come on, I need to make tea for everyone.’

‘We’re gonna get complaints…’ Simon fretted, but followed him down the hallway.

‘She knows better than to make noise for that long, dear. Now, what’s this about Cthulhu…?’

St Croix found Pepper around the time the shrieking started. At first, he thought it was a peacock; but there weren’t feral peacocks in Baltimore—well, that he knew about. ‘What the hell,’ he said, and Pepper snorted, rolling his eyes.

‘Queen call,’ he said to St Croix, in a strange voice that set each word out carefully, lingered on each phoneme.

‘Oh, so the girls call the boys?’ St Croix said. ‘Or do you not have genders?’ Was he going to have to figure out how to explain gender to Pepper? St Croix felt like, somehow, Pepper would already know what genders were. Pepper canted his head, narrowed his eyes, and St Croix felt… something. He mirrored Pepper’s head-tilt, focussing on his eyes, which were starting to swirl….

…must be a way to talk to you.

‘I heard that!’ St Croix said. ‘ “must be a way to talk to you”. That one!’

You sound very much like him. Less trained. People don’t take proper diction classes now, it’s a shame you waste your voices like that. And she’s no more a girl than your Duck is.

‘Hmm, you know I’m actually not sure how much you know about Aix’s gender, so I can’t say whether that’s accurate.’

I’m not sure he knows that much about his gender.

‘Hey,’ St Croix said, warningly. ‘I get you’re a bastard, but there’s limits.’

Am I wrong? He seems deeply troubled, a clown without a role is no clown at all.

St Croix sensed there wasn’t malice there, simply a harsh unwillingness to gentle the truth, and a lack of a nurturing personality. Some people weren’t. St Croix sighed, looking out over the city, toward the harbour. It wasn’t as spectacular a view as it might have been—the building had once been a grand one, but the city had built up considerably taller since then—but if you looked toward the harbour, you could see the trees from the park.

The cries got a little more desperate, from below. Pepper switched his tail in annoyance, Flash turning more red.

‘She really likes you, huh? You’re pretty sexy then?’

Pepper fluffed, at that, slanting an unmistakeably flirtatious expression at St Croix. Everyone loves bad, naughty, clever Arlecchino. Who can protect the troupe, the foolies, better than he can? Who can cause problems for the Dottori better than he can? Who can find the best of fruits that must be stolen from Dottore’s tree better than he can? He was fluffed out and proud, but looked toward the edge of the roof with a strange mix of disdain and wistfulness. But they are children. They will always be children. Pretty, with their grown stripes, but footling mummers at adulthood.

‘Then let her down,’ St Croix said. ‘When a kid has a crush on you, you don’t just let them go on pursuing and hoping. You turn them down, so they learn to turn to other, more appropriate people.’ St Croix decided to go for one of his usual tactics with proud people. ‘Or are you too scared to tell a pretty girl “no”? Hmm?’

Pepper flared, with a flash of anger, before realising what St Croix was doing, and laughing, getting to his feet. You cannot trick me, young Saint. Nevertheless, he crossed the roof and leapt down again. The crying stopped, and St Croix crept to the edge of the roof when he heard the fluttering noise of many feathers and the clicking of heels, and lots of excited cooing and trilling sorts of noises. The three drag queens had pounced on him, the striped one the most aggressive, and the other less purebred ones were keeping distant, lower in the social order, but still eager and interested, fluffing what plumage they had.

Pepper was quick, and clever, but he was still only one against three very determined queens, and finally made a loud cracking noise, with the sharp, rigid plumage of his ruff,¹ that caused them to instinctively draw backward, give him room. He went up to Bettina first, kissing her hand and dancing with her, courtly and romantic, and she fluffed and blushed theatrically and cooed as he dipped her low…

…only to have him drop her, without ceremony, and turn toward Dahli, who seemed a little hesitant after watching him do such a wicked thing to her compatriot, but was gradually reduced to the same blushing and smitten mess…

He grabbed a handful of her feathers and yanked them out, making her squawk indignantly and claw at his face with hands suddenly terrifyingly sharp. He only laughed and stuck his striped tongue out, before grabbing Nebula, who was not fooled at all, and struggled and kicked him, running away a few yards before turning to scold him like an angry goose, honking and hissing. Pepper laughed at her, rudely, and blew a raspberry, before vaulting back onto the roof, very pleased with himself.

Someone else might have made a comment about how Pepper needn’t have been so mean, but St Croix had no beliefs about everyone having to behave in the same way; he just accepted people where they were at, for who they were. ‘You just had that locked and loaded, huh?’ he teased. Pepper chuckled.

It’s been too long since I have had a Dottore that appreciated me properly. And then he quieted, his Mask turning blue and wistfully sad, as he looked at the sunset-coloured sky. Thank you, was quieter, for reminding me of who I am.

‘A clown without a role is no clown at all,’ St Croix said, figuring clowns were probably people that appreciated narrative echo. Pepper gave him a smile that went a little deeper than just the Mask, and coiled his tail around St Croix’s arm, just slightly.

You’re all reet, for a Saint.

St Croix smiled, but pretended not to notice the affection Pepper put into the old jazz slang, or how close he was letting St Croix be.

☙Back Next❧
Index