It looked for the most part like a normal circus. A sawdust-strewn ring in the center, encircled by a low barrier and surrounded by rows of seats, a couple of trapezes and a high wire overhead.
But there were no normal people in the capacity crowd, no excited children with cotton candy and balloons, no bored dads or chatting mums. Instead the seats were filled with mutants like Kinslow and nightmarish babies.
Cat had expected the mutants–Kinslow had told her outside that there were others like him–but the babies caught her off-guard. They all looked the same and were dressed in similar white gowns. They had large eyes that were entirely white, and sharp little fangs that flashed when they smiled or scowled.
The babies were sitting up like adults, hands on their knees, watching a clown cavort in the ring. They didn’t applaud or laugh at his antics, but made soft cooing noises. If Cat had shut her eyes, she could almost have believed that she was in an aviary.
Kinslow led Cat forward to a throne by the ringside. The throne didn’t belong here. It must have been stolen from a palace. It was huge and ornate, layered in gold, studded with diamonds. It made a big impression on Cat, even in the midst of her terror and confusion, and she wondered how much such an elaborate chair would have cost in the old days.
“It’s not to my taste, but Mr. Dowling loves a bit of bling,” Kinslow grinned.
Cat didn’t reply. She was still staring round the tent at the babies and mutants. Her legs felt weak and she had begun to hope that she was dreaming. She’d become accustomed to the world of zombies but this was a whole new realm. Perhaps it was all nothing more than a freakish nightmare.
“Are you real?” Cat whispered, the question going out not just to Kinslow but to his fellow mutants and the scores of cooing babies.
“As real as anything in this crazy, mixed-up world,” Kinslow laughed. “Do you want me to pinch you to prove it?” He was still holding Cat’s hand, and now he squeezed sharply, causing her to cry out with pain and jerk her fingers free.
“Don’t do that again,” Cat snapped as he reached for her.
“Or what?” Kinslow smirked.
“Or I’ll draw my sword and chop your ugly head off.”
Kinslow pursed his lips, impressed by the threat. “You’d pay for it if you harmed me,” he told her.
“Sure,” she sneered, forgetting her fear for a moment. “But that wouldn’t do you any good, would it? Beheading won’t stop a zombie, but I think it would mean the end of the likes of you.”
Kinslow nodded somberly. Then he smiled again. “You’re a gutsy woman, Miss Ward. That’s why you’re here. Mr. Dowling admires ruthless determination. He wants to give you a chance to shine.”
“Who is this Mr. Dowling?” Cat growled. “Where is he?”
“Why, I thought you already knew,” Kinslow said. “He’s right there.”
Kinslow pointed to the clown in the circus ring, and as Cat’s eyes settled on the strange performer, she quickly realized that the zombies, mutants and babies were small fry on the weirdness scale when compared with the brain-chillingly macabre ringmaster at the heart of the insane show.