Chapter 31: Coward
They moved between the tents, careful not to be spotted by circus security.
"Your wounds…" said Bonnie, noticing that Evelyn no longer had her bandages on.
She had been so distracted since waking up that she hadn't noticed at all until Thieving Cat put her hands around Bonnie's waist. The grip from the woman's left hand was firm — but the other hand was different. Bonnie could feel it trembling as it strained to hold on.
Evelyn, scanning the surroundings for any clues, answered:
"I haven't fully healed yet, but I can manage without the bandages now. It's not like they cut my arm off, you know? And my organs are fine. They can take a couple more bullets."
"You saying that is concerning…"
"Nothing to worry about. I've been like this plenty of times before. You get used to it eventually — though it's rough at first, like most things rough-around-the-edges people like me try for the first time."
Bonnie stayed quiet at that. She couldn't tell if Evelyn was being serious or just joking around. She always talked about dangerous things like they were some kind of game, which made it hard to tell the difference.
'After everything I told her earlier, I guess I'm just as rough-around-the-edges, trying to get something right that, surprise, surprise, I'm doing for the first time. And… God… I'm not some prodigy. I'm not exempt from feeling things the way everyone else does. I'm not like the protagonists in books who face every kind of danger with the confidence that, at the very least, they won't die trying. Just remembering the people I've killed is enough to terrify me…'
She tightened her grip on the reins and frowned.
'Just imagining what else I'll have to do to keep moving forward…'
That was exactly why she didn't let herself dwell on what terrified her for too long. She felt like she could give up at any moment, and that was the worst thing that could happen to her — because without a purpose, what was left except running for the rest of her life?
People say outlaws are the ones who chose freedom — but that's only half true. Everyone lives inside their own prison; it's just that the one who becomes an outlaw chooses a bigger one.
You get more room to move, you can do more things — but at the end of the day, you're still just another prisoner…
Clearing the heavy thoughts that had taken shape in her mind, the two of them kept moving between the tents, staying sure no one was watching them. Soon, they stopped near the area where the performers' wagons, clown carts, and animal cages — lions, elephants, and everything else that made up the circus's spectacle — were kept.
Set a little apart from all of it stood Scaramuccia's small wagon, with no horse attached. His name was painted across the varnished black wood, decorated in the same colors as his jester outfit. This was the place.
Bonnie rode behind the other wooden carts to stay out of sight and stopped right behind it.
"You think he's in there?"
"Yeah. Unlike us, nobody's looking for him. He should be resting inside."
A frightened whisper confirmed the wagon wasn't empty and that someone was hiding inside. Evelyn smiled with confidence and dismounted. She walked up to the wagon door and knocked twice.
"Hey, clown, you in there? I've got a couple of questions for you, so if you'd be so kind as to come out for a minute…"
Inside, a few desperate thuds rang out, followed by Scaramuccia's voice muttering insults under his breath — he'd clearly run into something. A second later, the door cracked open just slightly, revealing one purple-irised eye lit by the faint glow of an oil lamp inside the wagon.
"It's you…" said the jester. "How did you get here? Who let you in? This area is only for circus staff!"
"Relax a little, man. Security around here is a joke. A child could sneak in without anyone noticing."
"Damn it, I knew it… I told that idiot announcer he needed to spend less on the act and double up on security instead. Anyway, what the hell do you want? If you risked coming all the way out here, I'm guessing you want something from me, and my services aren't exactly cheap."
"Sure, sure. I'm here with my friend — the crazy one. We're looking for some answers about the Devil's Cult's presence around here."
"The Devil's Cult…?" His voice — confident and arrogant moments ago, in sharp contrast to his stage persona — twisted into something confused and afraid. "I don't know what you're talking about, woman. If you're going to waste my time, you'd better leave. Wait… you mentioned…"
He opened the door a little further, and the moment he saw Bonnie sitting on her horse, Scaramuccia's eyes went wide with horror. He let out a shriek, falling backward into his wagon. Then he scrambled back, fumbling for a knife in his clothes. He raised it and pointed it at Bonnie.
"Why would you bring her here?! Do you want us all to die, woman?!"
Thieving Cat sighed, exhausted. She pressed a hand to her forehead and said:
"Ugh… Everything's fine. She's not going to do anything."
"No! That's a lie! Do you have any idea how dangerous a Wendigo is without the Church's intervention?! It doesn't matter that she's calm right now — she could still lose control!"
Bonnie lowered her gaze. Those words brought back everything Evelyn had already told her — but once again, she couldn't let herself do anything that would make her back down. Shaking her head, she dismounted, drew her revolver, and aimed it straight at Scaramuccia's head.
"I'm not going to waste time on your fears," she said. "I'm here because you clearly know something about what's happening with the Devil's Cult. Two of them kidnapped two girls and mentioned this place. What does the circus have to do with the Devil's Cult? Talk!"
She held her authority, instilling fear into the already frightened Scaramuccia, who flinched in terror when the barrel of the golden revolver touched his forehead. Even so, he noticed Bonnie's hand was trembling — with the exact same fear he himself was feeling in that moment.
The jester swallowed and smiled. This girl didn't seem capable of pulling the trigger on someone defenseless. Though, well, the knife in his own hand said something different about him.
Filled with renewed confidence, Scaramuccia said:
"You wouldn't be able to do it, and I have nothing to tell you. Go back where you came from, you disgusting monster, and leave me and the people of this circus in peace."
Bonnie tightened her grip on the gun. Acting like the bad cop wasn't enough. She needed to be more aggressive.
'The more time I waste, the more dangerous this gets for everyone. I can't keep going like this. Even if my nerves try to betray me…'
She drew the hammer back with her thumb. Scaramuccia's eyes widened. His confident smile vanished.
Bonnie shifted the gun slightly and fired. The bullet grazed the jester's ear, leaving a small burn against his skin. At the same moment, frightened screams echoed from the people nearby.
"Talk," said Bonnie.
"Wait, wait, hold on! I swear I don't know anything! I'm just an actor. I like making people laugh, and I've never done anything wrong. I wouldn't get tangled up in the Devil's Cult's business even if you paid me every coin in the world."
Bonnie shifted her aim toward Scaramuccia's groin.
The jester shrieked, dropping the knife and scrambling backward deeper into the wagon. Bonnie followed, taking two steps inside.
"I need you to talk. I won't actually hurt you unless you tell me what's going on. I… need to save those girls from the claws of the real monsters here. If you know something, now's the time to say it — or I'll be forced to keep shooting until I reach your brain."
Evelyn crossed her arms and stepped into the wagon alongside Bonnie. She closed the door behind them so no one outside could see. Out there, two men built like walking mountains raised their shotguns, searching for the source of the noise.
Meanwhile, inside, the jester clenched his fists in frustration.
"It's always the same…" he muttered, slamming his hand against the wooden floor. He looked at Bonnie with a deep, simmering anger, the fear from before completely gone. "Wherever I go, it's always the same. Doesn't matter the country or the city — you damn lunatics with your supernatural powers, all you know how to do is kill each other, and the rest of us, normal people, are the ones left to suffer for your selfishness."
Those words made Bonnie hesitate. Scaramuccia pulled himself up, leaning against the wall as though he felt his life slipping away.
"Outlaw's Ballad this, Devil's Ballad that, Hanged Man's Ballad… It's all a load of crap! All you do is change the name you slap on those demonic powers, isn't that right? Because everywhere I go, it's exactly the same damn garbage!"
"The clown has a point, Bonnie," Evelyn added.
Scaramuccia let out a sigh.
"Thank you… Finally, someone's on my side."
"I'm not on your side, clown. I just said you had a point — that doesn't change the fact that you know something. You know that people who follow a Ballad can lose control and turn into monsters, and you're still refusing to tell us anything about the Devil's Cult."
"It's obvious you know exactly what's going on," Bonnie added.
"Even if I know, I don't want to get tangled up in any of it ever again. I left my own country hoping to get away from lunatics chasing divinity through their stupid rituals, and here it's the exact same thing. If I say anything, my life is over… I won't be able to run anymore."
Bonnie recognized fear when she saw it. Scaramuccia wasn't afraid of her — he was afraid of the consequences of talking about what he knew. She had no idea what this jester had lived through to leave him this traumatized, but it didn't matter much.
This clown only had one life — and possibly more than just the two girls that blonde-haired girl had seen were now in danger.
Evelyn cut through all of it with a single question.
"I don't think that's true. What's your Ballad?"
Scaramuccia froze solid. Evelyn smiled; that was exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.
Looking at Thieving Cat with genuine confusion, Bonnie whispered:
"His Ballad…?"
"That's right. You may have already seen it before, Bonnie. I'm talking about my shadow," said Evelyn, picking up the small oil lamp hanging to one side and holding it in front of Scaramuccia.
The jester's shadow trembled, detached from the world, like a glitch in reality itself.
Evelyn continued:
"Only those of us who follow the Ballads can notice it. You have one, clown. Which is it?"
Scaramuccia's eyes shook. He dug his nails into the wall, his stage makeup running from sweat. He tried with everything he had not to speak — but with a gun pointed at him and the evidence stacked against him, he closed his eyes and said, quietly:
"I follow the Coward's Path."
The moment he said it, his body exploded into red smoke that filled the wagon. Bonnie and Evelyn coughed, choking on it, but recovered quickly. By the time they looked toward the wall, Scaramuccia was gone. In his place was a small note on a torn scrap of paper.
Bonnie holstered her gun, her eyes wide with shock.
"This is…"
"I knew it. He had it in him after all," Evelyn murmured, looking at the paper.
***
In my hands rest the young souls that flicker out like a flame caught in a tornado. Their blood spills across the stone altar, carved by the claws of abominations, feeding the blasphemy the Devil so dearly loves.
All of them vanished — taken beneath the tallest flag, the one that flies freely in the cold wind above our circus. But none of them will ever have their freedom back, for the Devil has marked them as the ritual that gave birth to his legend.
Oh God, who watches my cowardice, I hope you can forgive my selfishness, for I repent with my whole heart. And still, I cannot stop it — not alone.
No matter how far I run, I will always return to the same place, because that is what a Coward does, every time he feels lost.
***
A kind of poem on a torn scrap of paper — but it was more than that.
"The tallest flag."
She looked at Evelyn, hoping she understood too.