Mr. Dowling was wearing a pinstriped suit inlaid with colorful patches. A severed face dangled from either shoulder. Guts were wrapped around his arms like snakes, while ears were pinned to the legs of his trousers. He wore large red shoes and a tiny skull was attached to the end of each. Cat wasn’t sure if the skulls had come from babies like those in the audience or from human infants.
The clown’s wild hair was a collection of strands that had been harvested from the heads of various people and stapled into his scalp. He had painted his face white and his lips a dark blue color. The flesh had been carved away around his eyes and filled in with soot, while v-shaped channels had been cut out of his cheeks and the bone beneath dyed pink.
In a final surreal touch, an eyeball had been stuck to the end of his nose and decorated with small red stars.
Mr. Dowling’s eyes swiveled madly from one side of his sockets to the other as he made his way towards the petrified Cat. His skin rippled and his lips twitched. A button with his name on it was pinned to the lapel of his coat.
Cat tried to pull away as Mr. Dowling reached out to stroke her cheek, but Kinslow held her in place. The clown’s fingers were cold and Cat could see that much of the flesh had been sliced away from them, exposing bones, veins and arteries.
Mr. Dowling made a curious choking noise, then opened his mouth. A Death’s-head moth was relaxing on his tongue. As Cat gaped, the moth spread its wings and took flight. It fluttered around in front of her eyes and she thought for a moment that it would land on her nose. But then it started to rise into the air above her.
Before the moth could get clear, the clown clapped his hands and smashed it to a pulp. He smeared the remains of the moth over his lips, then leaned forward and kissed Cat quickly.
Cat squealed and pushed Mr. Dowling away, then spat out bits of moth and wiped her tongue with the palm of her hand, trying to get rid of the horrible taste.
“How beautiful,” Kinslow sighed. “He’s a poet and a lover.”
“What sort of a freak is he?” Cat moaned.
“He’s the emperor here,” Kinslow said stiffly, “and you’d do well to pay him the respect he’s due, or he’ll toss you to the zombies and give them the all-clear to cut loose on you.”
Cat shivered but said nothing. Mr. Dowling looked her up and down. At least she thought that’s what he was doing. It was hard to tell, because of the way his eyes danced so much.
Mr. Dowling hopped up on to the throne and made a shrill noise. Kinslow said, “He wants you to sit on his lap.”
“You’re joking,” Cat said weakly.
“I’m not a clown,” Kinslow sniffed. “I don’t bother with jokes.”
“But… how can you be sure?” she asked.
“He speaks to me,” Kinslow said, tapping the side of his head. “Up here.”
“He’s telepathic?” Cat was skeptical. “I don’t believe in telepathy.”
“Mr. Dowling doesn’t care about your beliefs,” Kinslow said harshly. “Hop up on his lap before he loses patience.”
Cat cringed but forced herself to slide forward into the clown’s lap. He made another odd noise and wrapped his bony arms around her.
“He says you’re a perfect fit,” Kinslow laughed.
“What now?” Cat asked nervously.
“Now…” Kinslow said dramatically and clicked his fingers. The lights around the tent snapped off, plunging everything into darkness. “It’s showtime!”