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Lampblack

"Percival Emberidge Black... a pair of dice, the contents of this envelope, and three fifths holdings in the estate of Cornelius Vantus Black. Due to liquidation, a sum total of Sixteen dollars and," the executor of the estate mumbled for a moment as he traced a withered finger down a register log before pausing and looking up, "forty-one cents."

"Well that's crap."

"Before taxes."

Not fifteen minutes later, young Percy found himself standing on the stoop of what had been the family home, having been ushered through the doors for what would be his last time. The auditor had vacated, as had his great aunt who had shuffled off with more pomp than a chihuahua in heat. She'd never spoken to him in the fifteen years of his life, and she apparently had no intention of doing so now.

That he was now an orphan had seemed to matter very little to anyone in the matter. That he had nowhere to live, no true inheritance, no family to speak of and no real future had seemed to matter even less. It was all quite frustrating, but given the circumstances, Percy really couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

With one last look over his shoulder at the rundown brownstone apartment he'd been living at with his grandfather, Percy sighed before stepping out onto the sidewalk and dropping the crumpled up check for eight dollars into the overfull trash can of the neighbor. He didn't have a bank account and the executor had seemed almost giddy with the chance to make even that tiny inheritance that much more insulting.

Pulling up his collar and stuffing his hands into threadbare pockets, Percy started the trek to the only place he knew he'd be left alone.

Cool autumn air turned the otherwise pleasant stroll into a brisk walk as he tried to warm himself up. Gray skies and bare trees only seemed to mock him further. A car crash, medical bills, and standing debt had left his family financially crippled years ago. The stress of keeping food on the table only added to his father's decline.

His father had tried to keep things together, but the drinking hadn't helped and before long, he'd been passed off to his grandfather when the last remaining member of his immediate family had suffered a heart attack while working an eighteen hour shift at the coal plant.

Cornelius had taken him in, had given him anything he could, but his grandfather had been old before he'd been born and by the time his father had passed, Cornelius was just a corpse pretending at life to begin with.

Percy had loved him dearly... even if the old buzzard hadn't had two sticks to rub together, he'd left him everything he could.

Which, apparently, amounted to eight dollars, a pair of dice, and an envelope which the executor hadn't even given him time to open before kicking him to the curb.

But, ultimately, that was nothing new for Percy since the accident. No one wanted to be near the weird kid. No one wanted to have to take on the 'burden' of caring for a minor. No one wanted to put in the effort.

And why should they? He was just another crappy kid in secondhand clothes wandering around town. He was probably up to no good anyway.

As he hurried across the road, he glanced up at the gateway to the park, a great stonework arch with rust stains and moss that proudly proclaimed to absolutely no one, "Central Park".

He smirked as he passed through.

The night was coming and he'd need to find a bench to sleep on. If he was lucky, the one under the bridge down by the riven would still be free.

Idly, he pulled a newspaper from a trash bin to use as a blanket. The nights were turning colder, and he'd need all the help he could get.
*****

Central Park was a big place, despite the name implying that it fit somewhere in the middle of town. Paths wandered through the softly rolling terrain, bushes and trees sectioning off clearings and features that lent a sense of peace to the tightly wound businessman and corporate lady alike. Events would come and go in season, sometimes lingering a bit longer if the patronage was good enough, sometimes leaving early and depriving those who took a little too long to come to see the show. Once in a while, there'd even be a bit of sport or a free concert... he'd never been to one, but he'd heard of them at school.

School.

That was one more thing to look 'forward' to now. Without parents, a guardian, or even a place to call home, he'd probably have to cut that from his life as well. He tugged his collar tighter as he thought it over. School never really held much interest for him in the first place, and since the accident, it had only really been another thing to distract himself from life.

No... school wasn't going to be a big loss as far as he was concerned, but the lack of distraction would probably have him stewing in his own juices in no time.

He huffed. It rather figured that for most of his life, he'd had to go to that torture palace, having his knuckles snapped by the nuns and his calves cracked with rulers because they couldn't figure out how to teach arithmetic, and now, when he was on his own, the notion of going back really didn't hold any appeal. What a shock! Being taught useless things ended up being useless when the real world existed outside those walls.

He shook his head as he made his way around another dip in the path... whomever was in charge of park maintenance really should have leveled that out a long time ago. Someone could trip.

Idly, he wondered if he might be able to get paid for fixing the paths in the park. A little sand, maybe digging up a few bricks and setting them back in level? Someone had to have done it in the first place, so it must be a job of some sort. What would you even call that? Path-fixer? Cobblestoner? Dirt-stomper?

Whatever. He didn't know who to talk to to find out, though one of the bobbies might know. They'd probably drag him off to school if he asked on a weekday, so that was still two days out, but at least they tried to act professional-like, unlike the nuns.

Coming around a bend in the path, he spotted a little stream breaking through some skeletal bushes, the trim banks looking neat and tidy, even in the falling light of evening. A bench sat on a small paved patch with a rubbish bin a few feet away. Two cats sprawled across the wrought iron of the bench, lazing in the dying sun. Cats, he decided, had it right in the end: sleep when you're tired and laze-around until someone else fixes it for just about everything else.

Passing the bench, one of the cats stretched out a paw and batted at his newspaper, yawning widely.

He offered the tabby a thin smile, reached out a hand and rubbed its ears before continuing on, listening to the soft burble of the stream as he went.

The park, he thought, looked decidedly less cheery as the sun went down, casting the otherwise bright colors into muted shades. Where daylight added greens and browns to the clearings and splashes of yellow, red, and orange among the browns of drying leaves, the oncoming night drug all those vibrant hues into blues and grays. Even the callbox, a bright red thing half as thick as a lamp post, seemed more a smear of brown with just the faintest hint of color in the shadows.

Still, the riven wasn't much further and he needed somewhere to sleep. Dull colors and a cold night didn't care much for the needy, so the needy really shouldn't care much about the night either. Besides, he reasoned, you didn't sleep with your eyes open, so it would end up being dark anyhow.

Turning one last bend in the path, Percy stumbled to a stop as a tall man in dirty overalls came into view. Rail thin and covered head to foot in greasy stains, the man wore a threadbare cap and carried a long stick in one hand and an old storm lantern in the other. He sauntered with a strange rolling step and swung his stick in a slow arc that never quite touched the ground. All in all, he set a curious shiver down Percy's spine.

Stepping back into the shadows, Percy listened to the man mutter a strange song as he strolled past. "...Bit of brine, bit of cord, bit of old faggot wood. Tied me knuckles, tied me knees, tied me up and tease tease tease. Bit of twine, bit of lord, bit my tongue to keep my word. Tried my cockles, tried my keys, tried me for my pleas pleas pleas..."

Percy hardly dared to breathe as the strange man passed, seeming all bouncing legs and swinging elbows. He stayed silent and hidden until long after the softest whispers of the bizarre song had faded, until finally a chill wind caused him to tighten his collar once more and hurry back out onto the path. The riven was still a few minutes away and he wanted to get there before night truly fell. Night, he was certain, cared less about him than he cared about it... and he wanted no part of the night where he couldn't have a nice solid wall to his back.
*****

The trees were whispering as clouds began to darken the sky but Percy, encouraged by the memory of the strange man with a lantern, hurried along as a chill breeze stole warmth from his breath.

Ahead, just around another copse of trees, the gray silhouette of the riven rose into the half-light of the park. Where the trees parted for the path, fitful lamps cast puddles of candle-glow upon tenuously even cobbles while dry leaves scuttled like so much vermin across the stone. Still, the riven rose, a full dozen feet above the crest of its grassy hillock to stand sentinel against the night.

With little care beyond the immediate, Percy hurried across the clearing, fleeing the lamp-lit path, and ascending the three steep steps of the porch before pushing against its spring-loaded door. Stepping inside, the screen door slapping shut behind him, Percy paused to let his eyes adjust.

The riven was, at its core, the heart of the park. A great old gazebo, lovingly crafted by some forgotten artist, of iron, copper, and wood. It's floor was raised, a full half meter above a sturdy stone and cobble foundation. Pylons, fully a foot across, sank deep into the earth, burnt and tarred to preserve their function and yearly maintained to keep their use. Walls, painted wood and sand-fill plaster, gave the old stand a kind of weight that just ~felt~ like a weight... like a stable, constant, ~thing~ amidst a slowly changing world. Open arches stood in place of windows, letting the night air cool its interior while the wide sloping roof would keep all but the most tenacious of downpours at bay.

Inside, tables and several benches stood vigil while a counter barred the only locked portion of the structure: a small kitchen used for events.

A wide, railed, stairwell rose to a tiered loft where trellised windows vented summer heat and a widow's walk overlooked the park proper.

Percy sighed as he wandered to a table, its heavy wooden surface scarred from use by uncounted visitors, and sank heavily upon the surrounding bench.

This would be his home, for now. A public roof in a public park with a public restroom only a short walk away.

He closed his eyes, trying to pretend the sighing breath of wind was nothing more than a passing breeze... that the soft creaking of the loft was just the neighbors above... that he was tucked in at home, curled up in a threadbare chair with his grandfather sleeping on the couch.

He could almost believe it — the brownstone hadn't had much in the way of heat and the windows had never sealed properly in the first place.

Of course, without a proper chair, nor the blanket or flannel his grandfather was frequent to drape across him, the drafty riven quickly drew what little warmth Percy had brought from his wanderings through the park.

Stifling a sniffle, he stood once more and drug two other benches over before upending one to form a narrow space beside the counter. With a final shiver, he crept down and nestled himself between the thick wooden walls of his improvised bed before spreading the newspaper over himself, pulling his feet free of his shoes, and curling up as tightly as he could.

It was a stark reminder that even in the vital heart of a city, there were places, people, that simply had to make due.

Percy had never had it easy, but he had always at least had a roof over his head and a meal, however meager, before bed.

He was, for the first time in his life, cold, miserable, hungry, and tired enough to simply want sleep in spite of it all.

So it was with a certain sense of irritation that Percy found himself unable to rest.

Something... something just on the edge of his hearing... something just faintly teasing at the ephemeral echo of the autumn breeze hinted at .... well, something.

He frowned. Not even being a homeless orphan afforded him the calm of sleep? Not even the loss of everything he ever knew could purchase a night of dreamless rest? It was infuriating, this... this not-sound that tickled at the faintest reaches of his senses.

And so, it was with no slight startle, that Percy jolted from his irritation at the creaking voice of the riven's spring-loaded door.

Standing like the shadow of the Reaper himself, a hunched figure towered in the doorway, having managed to approach unheard.

Percy felt his heart thundering in his chest, the bitter chill of the night breeze stealing what feeble warmth he had as a cold sweat ate at his skin. Remaining as still as possible, he watched as the figure seemed to crumple in on itself before a bright flare of brilliant light blossomed a foot from the floor, revealing a rabbit-masked clown cupping a quickly dimming match.

Startlingly enough, a friendly young woman's voice called out, despite the bizarre mask. "'ey now... what's a scamp like you doing out on a night light this? Skivving off the poorbox 'er something?"

Percy blinked a few times before finding his voice... and when he did, it cracked just the tiniest bit. "N-no ma'am. Just didn't know where to go. I'll be shoving off if this is your spot."

But when he moved to rise, he startled at the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder. "'ey... none of that, eh? It's not my place, just thought I saw someone sneakin' off in the night and came to check. It's not right ta scrimp when the night chill's coming in."

The touch was light, but to Percy, the warmth was almost more than he could bear. "Ma'am?"

There was a pause as the masked woman seemed to look out the door briefly, the dying light of the match dancing over the soft fur of her mask, before she turned back to look at him. "Right then... up and lively. Storm's rolling in and it's libel to be a screamer."

Percy blinked, "Up and lively, Ma'am? Screamer?"

The soft chuckle as she pulled him to his feet with unexpected strength seemed at odds with the situation. "'ey. Up and Lively, so I don't have to carry you," she laughed, a soft, warm sound, "And screamer afore the lightning and thunder as it'll be roaring." She seemed to almost fold herself again as the match finally winked out, but her shadow was clear against the faint glow of the park lamps outside. "So let's be off, then, eh?"

Percy paused to grab his newspaper and quickly fold it into a wad before stuffing it in a pocket. "Where are we going, Ma'am?"

As the woman in a rabbit mask shifted toward the door, Percy had a brief moment of confusion as he could have sworn he saw the ears of the mask flick.

"Why, to the only place aglow in the dark on a night of storm and thunder..." he found himself tugged almost roughly to the door, only stopping as he tumbled unexpectedly into her unusually soft rear. "To the Tenebrous Revel we go, young hopling..." she chuckled merrily," ...we go to the Fadewyn path. To warmth and room and feastly things, from dark and dire to angel wings!"

Almost breathlessly, she cast the screen door wide before folding down in a silken move that buggered the mind just as the first flicker of distant lightning painted the sky. "We go to the Bacchanal!"
*****

The trek from the riven had started as little more than a walk as the strange rabbit-masked clown had led the way. For every step that she took, Percy had needed to manage three, and for each fanciful leap or bound she had graced the night with, he had found himself struggling to catch up.

It wasn't that she was taunting him, he reasoned, simply a matter of scale. She, being clearly an adult, and most likely a performer if her nightgoing outfit was any indication, was simply in possession of considerably longer legs. He, being a young boy, freshly orphaned and homeless, could only be expected to shuffle along out of sight.

Of course, he also reasoned that such a transformation made absolute sense until he actually considered it, did not speak well for his state of mind.

Regardless, despite his brief sprints to catch up (and her frequent pauses to beckon him on), by the time an orange glow began to seep between the trunks of barren trees and up through the dense cover of brush that lined the parks clearings, a cold drizzle had begun to fall.

The clown seemed unconcerned, almost happily bouncing as she waited near a dark patch of briars. Leaning down as he stumbled, panting, up to her, she tutted softly. "'ey now. Rascals like yerself're supposed to be fulla mischief and mud and twice as much trouble. Whatchor on about that yah can't run a bit in the night?" She rose back up in a twisting stretch that painted her figure against roiling clouds glowing dimly in orange light. Teasingly she added, "Ye sure ya ain't a geezer?"

Percy, still breathing hard but with youthful pride, pushed himself to his full height, determined to show off, at least a little bit. "Of course not, Ma'am. Just not used to the cold, as it were."

A soft chuckle echoed back from the rabbit-masked clown. "as it were... as it were."

Abruptly, she clapped her hands, laughing pleasantly before stopping dead still and bowing down. "ey then. As it were, t'was just about to invite ye in for a spot a warmth, a bite te eat, and a spin a wit an' whimsy." Her masked face rose up to pause only inches from his own, the fine carving and metal inlays of the mask seeming to shiver and shift in the reflected orange glow from beyond the trees. "A taste, a toast, a trial and tail... And all for the young master Night and his court of merry meddlers."

Though her voice was cheerful, Percy found himself suddenly wary of the strange clown.

What was she doing out at night? And why in the park? What purpose would even an entertainer have for aimless wanderings? And for that matter, why had he followed her so quickly? So willingly? Was he really so desperate that he'd have thrown caution to the wind? That he'd have been duped by a strange stranger by even the most boorish standards?

And yet, when she stood with a spin, an arm drawn out as if presenting a thing of great import, he found his gaze draw smoothly, evenly, and so very naturally to where she directed that the mere notion of deception seemed to drift away when seen in the glowing light of a magnificent string of tents and gates.

A fair. A circus, perhaps? No... this was too grande for such a simple thing. Not with it's orange glowing sheets and brightly striped tents. Not with the hanging lanterns that merrily steamed through the foggy drizzle of a cold October night. Not with the whispers of music both whimsical and discordant. Not with the smiling faces of the curious wandering among the many starkly contrasting booths and attractions. No... this was not a fair. No simple showing of pies or animals, nor a circus with its shows and barkers... no... this was something else... something different. A carnival?

Percy shook himself from his thoughts as he felt the warm touch of the clown's hand on his shoulder. "A carnival?"

For a moment, she seemed to pause, glancing towards the lights and sounds of the tents, her mask almost looking thoughtful in the orange glow of torches and lanterns. "ey... closer than ye'd think, hopling. The Bacchanal's a walk, a run, and a ride. A trip upon a whisper and a touch upon yer side. It's dark in light and warm in cold and tears of joy and seek and hide." She slowly tore her gaze away from the glow, her mask shimmering in the cold drizzle as the fine details of carved fur funneled rain across a rabbit's cheek. "ey... the Bacchanal's a carnalval that gives dreams place to reside."

She softly cupped his chin with a hand and ran a remarkably warm thumb over his cheek. "an' I think ye have a need uhv a place for dreams te reside."

Blinking in the drizzle, Percy studied the clown in the orange glow of the tents, the first time he'd actually been able to see more than a glimpse of her outfit.

She was tall, towering over him even as she leaned down to speak, and lanky enough to seem too thin. Her clothing was striped in rich purples and greens, mottled with little stripes of brown. Small tufts of feathery fluff resided at her cuffs and ankles and a prodigious bloom of fur erupted from the collar of her suit, creating a pillow-like blossom of constantly moving fluff. He could see a set of brassy baubles tied upon her hip and a thin strap of leather that crossed her, rather unassuming, chest. Despite this, he found his gaze traveling her form and wondering what lay beneath such a disarming costume.

The soft touch of her hand brought him back to the moment again as she ran a thumb over his other cheek. "Up an' lively, hopling. The Bacchanal waits for no one, and no one waits for the Bacchanal. It's there when it's that and gone when it's gone, and tickets and entry are bought, sold, or won." He could almost hear the smile in her voice. "But ye aren't a pincher, an' ye ain't a scamp, so a guest'd be right... so tonight, yer Black Lamp."

Percy blinked as the rabbit masked clown pulled a beautifully crafted mask from a pocket of her outfit, the glinting of silver wire and ebon stain drawing his eyes as surely as the light of the torches.

Deftly, almost reverently, she placed the mask into his palms. A black rabbit with silver inlays with the most curious set of double ears.

Looking up, Percy asked, "four ears, Ma'am?"

And with a laugh, the clown patted his head. "Two ears and two horns, like a beast in the wood. A clever and cautious and still clearly good." She gestured for him to put it on, and continued as he did, "For at the Bacchanal, ye don't want to be you. It's a path wynfade, and a Fadewyn path. A delight, a merry, a wassailing of Night. But never forget your mask must be right."

He smiled slowly, the smooth touch of the mask feeling almost warm in his hands. Considering only a moment more as the clown watched him, he carefully lifted the mask to his face, accepting the help as she tied the ribbon behind his head, lifting his hair to cover the strap.
*****

After a quick adjustment to seat his mask, Percy found himself being pulled at a run through the gates of the Bacchanal. Torches and lanterns seemed to dance and sway, steam rising and twisting in the night as the drizzle threatened to become a proper rain, and yet the cold and the gloom seemed to almost fear the heady glow of the tents and lights.

The rabbit masked clown seemed to dart and bound, tugging him along at a breakneck pace, down paths and around tents and visitors alike. He saw people from the city, some he even recognized, as they streaked through the attractions, but though some were adorned with trinkets and fancies, he found he could spot the true members of the troupe with little effort.

They all wore masks.

From the jugglers to the street magicians, from the vendors to those who wandered to direct visitors... even the handful he saw carrying comically oversized buckets filled with collected trash... those who belonged to the Bacchanal all wore masks.

And, he realized, as he whipped around a corner and was hoisted effortlessly over a lumpy man puking into a trashcan... so was he.

Glancing back for only a moment as his bounding escort continued to race through the lights and sounds of the Bacchanal, he briefly wondered where they were headed. They'd already spun through the crowds of late night visitors and dodged the flaming pins of no less than three jugglers. Daggers and a hatchet had flown past his nose as a snake-masked knife thrower had laughed off their invasion of his act. There'd been a 'magician' in a fox mask that had performed flawlessly even as he'd turned to watch them pass, doves seeming to appear from nowhere as tiny flames danced in the air. And even as a hulking strongman with a gorilla mask had lifted an entire wagon of wine casks before an astonished crowd, they'd swum through unfettered as his rabbit had darted effortlessly on her way.

And through it all, there hadn't been a patch of shadow without a lantern, torch, or candle, merrily dispelling the cold and night.

It seemed almost magical, now that he thought about it, how they'd slipped through. The throngs of visitors, the unexpected ropes of tents, and even the little fences and guide ropes, seemed as ephemeral to his rabbit masked guide as the evening fog was a suitable barrier to a prowler. It seemed that no matter what she happened across, no matter who blocked their path, she knew the precise twist or bend to keep them moving. It was surreal how many torches just happened to flicker a hairs breadth from his face as they passed, or how many visitors seemed genuinely startled as they flew by.

And through it all, entertainers, vendors, the keepers of the flames... the masks of the uncounted inhabitants seemed to pivot and watch as they passed, merrily continuing on but clearly aware of his presence.

Finally, after a whirlwind of twists and turns, a large tent loomed before them, flickering light painting its walls in almost frightful licks of shadow and flame. Towering poles lifted strings of lanterns and no few of the new Edison bulbs from the Yanks. Streamers of ribbon and swaths of heavy canvas fluttered in the foggy night, even as the glow of lanterns and the haze of smoke cast the whole place in a firey light.

And just as he was about to pull free of her grasp, she came to a stop and rocked back on her heels with a laugh.

"ey now! And here's we are! The feastly and freshly for friends of the faergone!" She folded herself down, twisting into a beckoning bow, "A fit place for a hopling with a smile and not frown."

Steadying himself for a moment against his rebelling legs, he did his best to humor her with a bow, and as he rose, so too did the canvas as a gallery of the absurd streamed forth.

Animals and devils, barkers and jacks, dancers and acrobats spilled forth in a maddening spray of color and sound as dozens of people seemed to burst from the tent. Sleeves and pants, cloaks and cowls, flair for the sake of flair, lace and leather and starch pressed gloves that slipped past the throngs to merrily pat him on the shoulders and back.

So overwhelmed was he that it was only when he felt the gentle tug on his hand that he realized he had been ushered inside and was seated between a mountain of a woman and a wisp of a man.

The woman, a towering pile of muscle and fat, perched effortlessly upon a seemingly flimsy bench. Wreathed in pinks and golds, lace covered more of her skin than actual fabric, and zebra-like scars striped the bulging flesh of her body. Upon her face, a tiny mask perched, the delicate features of a cat, grinning for all the world to see.

The man at his other side was so thin that he almost thought him to be a puppet... arms no thicker than his wrists and a waist as waspish as any royal.

Before the man, an extravagant plate with a single pea rested. Before the woman, a pile of potatoes, slabs of roast, scores of baked goods and an entire tureen of thick gravy.

And just as he was about to ask, a plate was settled before him as his rabbity escort sidled up and cheerfully slipped between him and the woman.

A sandwich... but not just any sandwich. A sandwich of thick, warm, bread. Slathered in butter and toasted with something that smelled of spices. Wedges of sizzling cheese traded space with what must have been half a stone of smoked pork and marbled beef dripping with some sort of dark sauce. A single pickle was split to resemble a grinning face and a heavy mug steamed with a sweet smelling cider.

The woman beside him leaned over, the rolls of her arms nudging into his rabbit masked clown as she spoke with a surprisingly cheerful voice.

"Well ain'tcha a cute little morsel our Inle's done found." She giggled, sending her bulk into a fit of wobbles and rolls. "Best eat up now, deary. Dinner's half over and you'll want your belly full. Stamina's key, they say."

Taken aback but still grateful, Percy took a bite and nearly choked on the flavor. Of course, hearing the mountain of a women whisper, "Don't want to fall asleep 30 seconds later," may have contributed.

The wasp of a man next to him chuckled softly, his blank white mask bobbling with the act. "It was the same for all of us..." he explained, gesturing towards his own plate where he carefully cut his pea in half. "Flavor beyond your wildest dreams... portions that leave nothing wanting." Carefully, he lifted the morsel on the tine of his fork, the 'meal' disappearing under his mask.

"Ey! He's a growin hopling! 'E's afforded a bit more'n you, Slip." His guide joked as she patted his shoulders with a friendly care. "And, Pleasure! Ye know guests o' the Bacchanal only get the best of the best of the best, as it were, as it were."

Percy couldn't help it. He swallowed and began to laugh as a whore and a skeleton fought for his smile. And all the while, his rabbit watched with a smile of her own.

That is, right up to the moment a man in a sharp outfit strode through the flap, gestured widely, and ascended a bench and table before walking across the meals arrayed, deftly stepping between plates, mugs, and limbs alike. The laughter stopped instantly and, though they all wore masks, Percy had the distinct impression that every eye was on him.

And the man, the Ringleader if the flashiness of the suit was to be considered, stopped directly above his plate.

"And ~what~ do we have here? Inle... have you a new little hare to scamper along with us?" The man leaned down, a sharp-cheeked mask with jovial, if severe, features tilted this way and that, as if studying Percy. "Mmmmm.... don't answer, just yet. It's time for the hundred... welcome, Black Lamp.... but now, it's time to begin."

The lights went out and the screaming started.
*****

Percy froze.

Where before there had been a merry tent of masked entertainers, there was now a blackness so intense that only the flitting horrors of his imagination were visible. When the torches and lanterns had all simultaneously snuffed themselves out, the only remaining light had been the quickly dimming glow of the handful of electrical bulbs dangling overhead. That, in that second he had sworn the entertainers had all turned to face him, did not settle his nerves.

The panicked screams from outside hadn't helped either.

"Shhhhh, shhhhh, hopling... it's alright, ey?" came the crooning voice of his rabbit-masked clown from beside him. "Just a bit a show to satisfy, see? T'aint no one going to make a mess a you."

Of course, soothing whispers in the dark, surrounded by strangers while screams came from outside did little enough to relax him, either.

"Ma'am... not to be disrespectful..."

"Shhh....shhhh, hopling. Just Pleasure going to have her fun."

He found himself set upon his feet as the sounds of movement continued all around him. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust, shadows and silhouettes twisting and streaking by as faint lights from outside the tent danced upon its canvas walls.

Figures seemed to be racing by, running or flying, sometimes even breaking apart or joining back together as they played over the tent walls. Fickle beacons of light appeared and vanished as matches or sparks flew. The tent flap was lifted by a tall figure as more and more of the entertainers flooded out, only to be met with shouts and screams from outside. And by the brief look beyond the canvas walls, he could understand why.

Smoke and monsters.

Over the teaming sea of masked bodies pouring out into the night, the smoke of countless lanterns being snuffed had merged with the fog and rain to become an oppressive haze cutting the ground from the sky. The dull orange glow of smoldering wicks and the fitful embers of torches illuminated the haze as islands of fading light in a claustrophobic world that only seemed as tall as the nearest booth or stand. Faces... joyous and mournful, innocent and obscene... flickered in and out of that fog, crooning and wailing, taunting and tempting as arms reached and fingers grasped. The plain faced patrons darting in panicked flight or shoring up their courage as they brandished improvised weapons.

"Shhhh.... shhhh... do not fear, little hopling. You're a guest of the Bacchanal... and guests only get the best of the best of the best as it were as it were..." he felt a soft warmth settle upon his shoulders, her hands, he supposed. "It's just the hundred, you see... and the treats are free... a hundred hundreds of terror and glee with nothing but promise for you, you, you, from me."

Swallowing dryly, he watched as a hand desperately grasped the edge of the tent flap, only to be yanked free with an aborted scream. Percy risked a look back and up, only to find himself looking into the beautifully crafted face of his guide's rabbit mask.

"Ma'am... what.... why are they screaming?"

She seemed to watch him for a moment before looking up and over his head where the tent opened to the world outside. Tilting her head, he knew... he absolutely knew he saw the ears of her mask tilt. "A dream is a dream is a dream is a dream, but a promise if taken is too often obscene." She turned to look at him again, glassy ebon eyes unblinking as the mask smiled cheerfully in the dark. "They take and take and take and take and think to hide hide hide. But in the dark of the Bacchanal, all secrets are outside."

Nudging him softly, she made a series of short bounds that brought her to the open flap of the tent, half crouched and still towering over him, she looked back and beckoned him forward with a hand.

Percy, finally able to see somewhat in the dark, stepped over and almost jumped when the flap was helpfully pulled wider by the act of the lanky arm of the man he'd seen lighting lanterns in the park earlier, his mask, a wide grin with two half-moon crescents for eyes. As he held the flap wide, he gestured for Percy to look out.

There were bodies everywhere. Folded or crumpled in heaps, leaning on fences or rails, and even draped over counters and booths. Mask-less people were scattered as the bizarre population of the Bacchanal tittered and seethed in an ever shifting mass.

But... after a moment, he realized that the only blood he could see was smeared upon the scattered people, not coming from them.

Tearing his eyes away, he looked back to his guide calmly crouched above and behind him in the tent. "What happened?" he whispered as distant screams continued to fade.

Instead of the rabbit though, the lanky lamplighter chuckled as he bounced and waved his arms. "It's a trip and a fall and a come and a call and a tidy but messy ensemble, but the dreams are a taste and the whimsy a waste for a innocent sir or a dam." He paused to hop on one foot for a moment before leaning down to whisper only an inch from Percy's face. "For the sins of a man, are a vintage most bland, but the vices do satisfy hunger."

"You... you eat them?!" Percy gasped, stepping away from the man, stumbling out of the tent and into the Bacchanal proper, surrounded by masked figures that bobbed and swayed, looming and shifting in the haze of smoke and fog.

"ey now... Hopling! No. We don't eat them as it were as it were..."

And from within the tent, the sharp-masked figure of the ringleader crouched down and folded out into the night, rising higher and higher until he seemed almost taller than the tent itself. Fine lines and sharp angles stood in sharp contrast as he stepped past Percy, long legs eating up the distance as he went from one body to the next, only pausing to touch each with a long, spindly finger that seemed to have far, far too many knuckles.

"We just end them..." came the ringleader's voice as he continued on... bodies crumbling to dust or rising as smoke in the air.

Percy stood frozen as another scream echoed in the night, a handful of masked faces turning to the sound before fading into the smoke.

"You're monsters..." he whispered, a cold feeling settling into his bones.

"Ain't monsters, hopling.... not a one of the crew."

He spun on her, looking up into that beautiful mask, a mask that he realized, hid a dark and malevolent being that thought killing was no more a sin than making a sandwich.

"You lure them here and kill them!" He pointed off into the night... the same way the ringleader had gone. "They're people! They have families! They have friends and pets and, and.... things! They're people! They're alive! And you just kill them!"

The night was strangely quiet by that point, the screams having died out and the murmurings of the Bacchanal's residents having grown still as he shouted.

The rabbit slunk forward, in the half-light of hazy smoke, she seemed to bend and twist at odd angles as she crouched down to his height. "But we're not not not..." she pointed at a body as it broke to ash. "He had a family, which he sold sold sold for a car and a promise of gold gold gold." Another person went up in smoke, "and she loved up a storm, least 'til her daughter was born, then she gave her away, as she went out to play, so she could sleep with a lawyer and lord." Two more people broke into ashes. "And they're citizens good, pay taxes and blood, for the Queen and her merry old mast. But if an orphan were aflame, they'd not piss to tame that burning until the check passed."

She leaned back, squatting in a strange sit as she pointed at bodies as they vanished. "Hooker. Brute. Liar. Cheat. Abuser. Crook. User. Murderer. Rapist. Preacher."

"That... that's not a crime," Percy forced out.

"He takes from the poorbox and spends it on sheep so his wife won't accuse him of cheating," came the reply from the lanky lamplighter. "He does, of course, but the sheep don't tell and the hungry won't risk complaining."

Percy stared.

"Ey... we're not monsters here... it's them townies... we wear our hearts on our sleeve. It's their secrets they keep." She chuckled a bit, "And the good ones just have a good time. It's only the creeps that play to our games... the ones who hide in plain sight that we take."

Percy frowned under his mask as he shook his head. "I'd... I'd like to go. I can go, right?" he asked as he looked out over the mass of masked figures.

"ey... hopling... you don't.... you..."

"I CAN go? Right? I can leave? I'm a guest, you said... so I can leave when I want, right?" He pressed.

"Hopli—"

A rich voice cut through the night, cutting her off. "Of course you can go, young Black Lamp. A guest is a guest after all after all."

Percy spun to follow the voice and found himself looking up into the haze as the ringleader leaned down, folding at the waste and parting the crowd with a single arm.

"If you wish it, do feel free. We're sad to see you go, but you are, of course, free to do as you will."

Percy swallowed. The grinning face of the ringleader's mask motionless upon his inhumanly tall form. The choice was there... freedom, safety, an escape from this madness.

He blinked again, glanced back at the rabbit-masked clown, oddly still as she sat, hunched over and watching him.

And then a terrified man pushed himself out of the crowd, flailing with a torch as he struggled to break free, knocking Percy over in the process.

As the man passed, Percy shouted with alarm, a searing pain lancing up his arm as the man's torch caught his threadbare jacket alight.

The man glanced back only long enough for Percy to see the light reflected in the man's eyes... before he continued on, screaming as he fled.

Percy burned.
*****

The man's scream ended abruptly.

Percy's own scream ended almost as quickly.

Panting and gasping, Percy looked up from the ground, the flames on his coat extinguished as they simply ceased to be. His heart racing, his eyes flew around and came to rest on the hunched form of his Rabbit-masked clown, perched upon the smoldering body of the fleeing man.

Looking down, his arm was black, charred, and yet somehow no longer in pain. "H-how?"

"... Only the best of the best of the best for a guest," came the soft reply of the rabbit as she took a tentative hop towards him, a tiny puff of smoke rising as she landed. The way she moved was just... it wasn't human, he realized... it was too smooth and too flexible and too.... everything.

Flexing his fingers, the ash crumbled away to reveal a new hand underneath. Black and smooth almost like polished stone or lacquered wood, he swallowed again before rising and saying in as steady a voice as he could, "I'm leaving, then."

As he turned to run, he saw the masks as they turned to follow him.

The man had seen what he'd done... he was sure of it... but even then, he'd just run away, uncaring as Percy'd burned from his torch.

But... the Bacchanal... all those people... gone. Anywhere was better than that. Not when every face was a killer.

Percy ran through the crowd, masked faces watching as they parted to let him pass. He dodged posts and hopped fences and ducked under strings of dark lanterns. He spun around carts and skirted the knife-thrower's block and ran until the masks and the sounds and the tents of the Bacchanal were just dark smears in the fog. As he ran, he threw the mask she'd given him, hurled it into the night. He ran until he collapsed, panting upon the steps of the riven as cold rain fell in fat droplets upon his back, soaking him through.

"Hey there kid, come on in out of the cold and damp," came a rough voice from above.

And looking up, Percy saw the face of one of the bobbies that frequently walked the route by the school, leaning out of the riven with an umbrella and a smile.

Pushing himself to his feet, Percy nodded his thanks and took the offered hand, letting it pull him up the steps and into the old building.

"Ain't no night for a kid like you to be out and about... you out here with your folks? Going to that freakshow of a fair?"

At Percy's headshake, the bobby seemed to pause. "Not up to no good are ya?" At Percy's negative, the bobby looked out into the rain again before patting the bench beside him. "Not for the fair. Not up to no good. I'll wager not out with your Pa and Ma?"

As Percy collapsed on the bench next to the bobby, he shook his head again, but froze when he felt the heavy hand of the officer latch onto his shoulder. "So a runaway then..." his voice was lower and softer, "... and no one knows where you are, I'd bet."

As the officer chuckled, Percy tried to stand up, but found the hand on his shoulder to have a grip like iron.

That is, right up until, with a gasp, the hand burned away to smoke and a more familiar voice asked, almost mournfully, "Will you come? Will you stay? We can take you away? To the Bacchanal free, where innocents flee and the monsters won't manage a day?" In her hands, she held a pristine black mask... his mask... the one she'd given him. She must have found it and brought it back. She gently placed it down on the bench before pulling herself back away.

Percy shuddered, the sick feeling of that heavy hand lingering in his mind. They were monsters... he was sure of it. He'd seen them laugh and dance and entertain just as easily as they killed... and that was what it was, no matter how they dressed it up. But, they were innocent, in their own way... and if what they had said was true, if the 'hundred' as they called it, were murderers and rapists and the horrible people that everyone knew but refused to do anything about... were they really so bad?

They'd helped him... fed him a warm meal and even now... the rabbit clown had helped with that bobby.

He blinked, the night seeming all the more chill for the ash that tumbled from his shoulder and landed upon his one black arm.

If even the coppers weren't good... who were the real monsters?

He shuddered as he reached into his coat and pulled out the dice his grandfather had left him... shaking them a moment before casting them out onto the floor of the riven. Seeing them, he couldn't help but laugh.

"... snake-eyes. Guess I've got nowhere to go but up." He huffed a laugh as he stood again, ash falling from his shoulder as he turned to face the rabbit-masked clown, his eyes slowly rising from his blackened arm. "And it's only the bad ones you take?" At her nod, he glanced back to the door, "Let's go back."

She laughed and bounced to hug him... only freezing a moment before doing so and offering her hand instead. "Inle... Black Lamp."

"Your name ~is~ Inle? I heard them call you that back there."

"We all have a name, but our name is our own. Inle's a fine name for a black hare, I'd say, as it were as it were."

"So, you can choose your name? At the Bacchanal, I mean?"

At her nod, he huffed a laugh as he brushed himself off, the ears of his mask flicking about just a bit and the horns just a little more pointed than before. He didn't notice the ash that seemed to cling and sink into his other arm.

"Then, Ma'am, I'm not Black Lamp."

"ey...oh? Then who?"

With a smile, hidden behind glossy black lips, and with ebon eyes polished with glowing purple die pips, "I'm Lampblack, of the Bacchanal."

She clapped her hands with a theatrical joy.

He chuckled and bowed, a small ebon tail twitching behind him, before he followed her out the door and into the smoke-filled rain. "...And I happen to know a lawyer who might be worth inviting to dinner."
*****

Epilogue
A red ball bounced off the step and sprung into the open door of the riven, followed quickly by the young boy who'd been chasing it. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, he glanced inside and took off at a trot to retrieve his ball.

The floors creaked and the rafters raftered as only old buildings could, but for all the shadow, it was a sunny day out and his ball had come to rest in a small pool of light near one of the weathered old tables.

Bending down, he reached under lip of the table and collected his ball.

As he turned to go, the riven seemed suddenly quiet. He blinked and looked around.

Old copper and wood glowed softly in the sun while deep shadows cast other parts of the place in shades of blue and gray. Tables and chairs lay scattered, though properly set, as if a party had recently been had.

From the looks of things, there had been dancing. He thought dancing was dumb... only dumb people danced. Parties were for cake and presents and puppies with socks stuffed with sausages not dancing.

But despite his best examination, the riven seemed empty and quiet.

Not thinking about it, he raced back through the screen door and let it slam as he darted off back into the park.

A moment later, a nimble masked rabbit stepped down from the loft followed by a much taller, though no less thin, rabbit masked clown.

"I forgot this," he said as he picked up an envelope next to one of the benches. "My grandad left it for me and I never got a chance to see what was inside."

Nodding, the rabbit masked clown waited as he slipped a glossy black finger into the envelope and carefully tore the old paper.

Fumbling a moment, he shook it until a faded lithograph fell free to rest upon his hand.

There, posed before the riven, was his grandfather, smiling and leaning over a trio of boys whose faces were blurred from the impatience of youth.

His father, his uncle, and he supposed another uncle he'd never met... all arrayed before the riven with his grandfather smiling out at the world.

It looked like a happier time.

Sighing, he ran his fingers up his mask and continued on, trailing them over the soft ears that rose a foot further above him.

"He wouldn't even recognize me now," he whispered as he let his hand drop.

"But he would, he would," came the cheerful voice of Inle. "He's a spry old geezer with eyes on his head and a heart that could love what yer own family would not."

He nodded but lowered the picture to one of the tables, letting his fingers slide free as he carefully left a pair of dice to hold it down.

"He's gone now... nothing to stay around here for."

Nodding, Inle followed her Lampblack as he turned for the door, only pausing as he dropped the empty envelope into a wastebasket as he passed. Pausing herself as he stepped out the door, she whispered "The Bacchanal... has a way of finding family..."

She smirked as the door creaked open, her Lampblack stepping out into the sun, and cast one last look into the trash where a weathered old newspaper lined the bin.

Plastered across the front page, letters long and dark, with a picture of clowns and jugglers and animals in cages, read the title. "Join us at the Bacchanal! With feast and fear and fun for all, won't you come now? One and all?"

She hopped out, joining her Lampblack, as he cartwheeled and bounced through a group of children playing, eliciting laughter and cries for more.

Still, she couldn't help but smile at the memory of the picture...

... where in the shadows of the riven, a rabbit-masked clown could just faintly be seen waiving.

"... as it were, as it were."