The ringmasters heir, p.1
The Ringmaster's Heir, page 1
part #1 of Dark Carnival Series
The Ringmaster’s Heir
The Dark Carnival, Book 1
Trudi Jaye
www.trudijayewrites.com
Contents
Story summary
Trudi Jaye’s Readers Group
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Epilogue
Note from Trudi Jaye
Excerpt from The Gift, Book 2 of the Dark Carnival series
Readers Group
About the Author
Other books by Trudi Jaye
Dreams really do come true in the carnival…
Rilla Jolly has lived her whole life under the bright lights of the big top, using her natural showmanship to help create the magic of the circus for the thousands of people who flock to their travelling show every week.
However, what no one outside the carnival realizes is that the Jolly Carnival really does have magic, and at every stop, they grant a wish to one lucky punter.
But now something dark and evil is threatening their charmed existence and no one other than Rilla seems to realize how deep the problems go, or how much it will take to fix them.
Rilla must uncover the truth—whatever it takes—before the magic runs out and the carnival is destroyed.
Will she find the strength to do what needs to be done? Or will they be cursed forever?
Hi, my name’s Trudi Jaye and I’m the author of this book. I know that if you enjoy The Ringmaster’s Heir, you’ll enjoy reading my other books too. That’s why you should join my Readers Group.
If you’re the kind of person who likes to get in early and grab a bargain before anyone else does, you might like to click the link below, right now.
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The Ringmaster’s Heir (previously published as Ringmaster) is published by Star Media Ltd
Copyright © 2014 by Star Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Ringmaster’s Heir is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents, except those clearly in the public domain, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to names, places or incidents is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: www.ravven.com
Created with Vellum
For My Dad
Chapter 1
Rilla took a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears.
Above her head, the massive red-and-white tent shuddered in the wind and rain of the unexpected late summer storm. Ropes and canvas flapped noisily, as if the big top itself were objecting to her father’s final resting place.
“He wouldn’t want you to be sad, little one,” said Christoph carefully as he gave Rilla a squeeze with his massive arm.
Rilla looked up at Christoph’s lined face, taking strength from his familiar features. “I know. But it doesn’t help.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She swallowed hard around the lump that had been stuck in her throat since she’d been told of her father’s death. It was so unfair. It didn’t feel real.
Gathered around her in the big top were Carnival folk—all shapes and sizes, some dressed in their finest performance outfits, others as if they were about to break down the tents.
But they all had their heads tilted upward, tears streaming down their faces.
Everyone had loved their Ringmaster.
Rilla clenched her fist. No one had loved her larger-than-life father more than she had. In her mind, he was limitless, unbeatable.
Certainly not meant to die in a stupid car crash.
Over their heads Missy, one of the Carnival’s high-wire artists, crawled along the rigging toward the top of the massive tent.
The silver of her leotard sparkled under the lights, and her long legs clung to the ropes with an elegance that hid powerful muscles. Every pair of eyes in the tent watched as she completed the tradition that had been started three hundred years before, by the nine original families.
The ashes of almost every member of the Jolly Carnival who’d passed on were contained in one of the two huge round tent poles. They literally held the very essence of the Carnival. And now her bright and brilliant father was another collection of ash in the Carnival tradition.
Rubbing at the hot tears now running freely down her face, Rilla felt her anger flare again. She’d been keeping it at bay, but every so often it burned its way up her throat. She wanted to shout at someone, hit them, cry out at the injustice.
It wasn’t right. Her father shouldn’t be dead. They shouldn’t be here, having his funeral. It was a mistake. She shifted restlessly where she sat, and considered just running away from everything, everyone. At least it might hurt less.
From Rilla’s other side, Christoph’s wife Barb squeezed her hand and leaned a little closer. “Stay strong, Rilla,” she whispered.
Rilla glanced in her direction, taking comfort in the older woman’s graceful features, the grey of her long hair down her back and the beautiful gold-sequined leotard she was wearing in honor of the Ringmaster, Abba.
“I’m trying,” she whispered. Her gaze shifted upward again. “I’m glad it’s Missy up there.”
Missy was Barb’s daughter; they’d grown up together, run riot through the Carnival together, learned about the carnival traditions from Abba together. Rilla was glad the person performing the final ceremony loved her father almost as much as she did.
Looking around the tent from her perch at the top of the wooden audience bleachers, Rilla tried to memorize the faces. Everyone was there, from the newest greenhorn to the oldest showhand, crowded into the massive space. She took a breath. She wasn’t just the Ringmaster’s daughter and heir any more. She was their leader now, the next Jolly to step into the family tradition of Ringmasters.
The weight of the responsibility pushed down on her shoulders, even in the midst of her grief.
From somewhere in the tent, a violin began to play a slow, haunting melody. The tune hit the chorus and she recognized it. She tried to smile, but her face felt frozen.
Christoph’s muscular arm tightened around her shoulders, and she listened silently to the rest of the ABBA song being played in slow time.
The song was a lovely idea, but her father would have hated the slowness. He loved the speed of the tunes by the Swedish band. He’d always said the tents went up faster to the beat of “Mama Mia.” And he’d always preferred the nickname Abba to his full name Abacus.
Christoph glanced down at her. “Come, we should go now.”
He pulled Rilla to her feet, and the crowd parted silently as he led her down the steps. His mustache twitched, and she knew he was trying not to cry at the loss of his long-time friend.
As they walked toward the closest exit in the massive tent, a flash of blue hair caught her eye. A man stood near another side entrance, his expression a strange mix of anger and excitement.
His shock of blue hair stood at attention on his head, a bright contrast to his black shirt and pants. A ripple of unease washed through Rilla. The stranger caught and held her gaze. Then he turned and disappeared out into the storm.
Rilla frowned. She opened her mouth to question the man’s presence and then closed it again. Her father knew literally thousands of people. He’d been a big, charismatic personality who’d lived his entire life on the circuit.
There could be any number of people she’d never met who could claim a relationship w
The blue-haired man might have seemed out of place, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be there at her father’s funeral. She was just paranoid—she’d been jumping at shadows lately and it wasn’t helping anyone.
Rilla glanced up at Christoph again and for the first time noticed the grey hair mixed with the black on his head. Her father and Christoph had grown up together, lived their lives together. The big man and his wife Barb had helped Abacus raise Rilla when her mother had left. He was going to feel the gap left by Abacus just as much she did.
A hand pulling on her elbow interrupted Rilla’s thoughts.
“Rilla, there’s a problem.”
“Pardon?” Rilla turned, trying to focus on the scruffy, brown-haired teenager who’d stopped her. She blinked and recognized Joey, one of the younger runners. Around them, people had started talking again and the noise was echoing through the tent.
“There’s a man. He wants…” Joey trailed off as an older man strode past him, straight up to Christoph and Rilla.
He held a black cane in one hand and an old-fashioned bowler hat in the other, and pushed out his white-bearded chin toward Rilla. “My name’s Blago Knight and I demand a meeting of the Nine. I’m here to claim the title of Ringmaster.”
Rilla blinked again. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“I’m here to challenge you for the title of Ringmaster. As is my right,” he said again, louder this time. The people standing nearby stopped talking and looked over. A hush settled across the whole room.
“You can’t—” Rilla started to speak, and then remembered all the stories her father had told of the competitions for leadership in the Carnival. Anyone was allowed to contest the title of Ringmaster, as long as they were part of the Carnival in some way.
The world swayed for a second, and Rilla was glad of Christoph’s comforting arm around her. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She just needed a moment to clear her head, time to think without this grief filling her up until she was ready to burst with the agony.
But then anger swirled in its wake. Just who the hell did he think he was?
Her gaze narrowed. “You do realize this is my father’s funeral?” she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and pulled herself together.
She was the Carnival leader now.
“Of course I realize, young lady. But it doesn’t change the fact that I demand to speak to the Nine. You must convene an emergency session.”
“This isn’t the time, Blago. You’ll have to wait.” Christoph’s voice boomed unnaturally loud. Every eye in the crowded tent was now focused on Rilla and the stranger.
A whisper of unease settled across Rilla’s shoulders. Christoph had used this man’s first name casually, almost like he knew him.
“I know the rules as well as anyone, Christoph. I have to announce my intentions to the Nine immediately or it’s too late.” The stranger glared at Rilla. “If you stand in my way, you forfeit your rights to the Ringmaster claim.”
Goosebumps appeared along Rilla’s skin as she stared at the old man in front of her. Bushy eyebrows covered bloodshot eyes, dark and fierce at their center. The lined face was surrounded by a seething mass of white, frizzy hair.
“I’ve never seen you before,” she said, her forehead creased. “Or even heard of you. How could you possibly have a legitimate claim to be the Ringmaster’s heir?”
“I grew up in the Carnival, just like you,” said the stranger. His eyes darkened with some emotion that might have been anger, but it was gone again so quickly, Rilla wasn’t sure.
She took a deep breath, then another. A headache was crashing around inside her skull like a bowling ball on a tennis court. All she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and try to forget the last few days. “Come with me. It’ll be informal but enough to judge whether your claim is valid.”
The stranger grinned, showing off a row of perfect teeth. “‘Course I’m valid. Just ask ol’ Christoph here. He’ll vouch for me.” He nodded toward Christoph, his white hair bobbing wildly with the movement.
Rilla stared, trying to make sense of his words. She looked up at her father’s oldest friend.
Christoph nodded, a slight flush on his face. He’d used the stranger’s first name a moment ago. Of course he knew him.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“It was a long time ago,” Christoph said softly.
Blago made an impatient sound. “The point is that I’m back, and it’s your duty to convene a meeting of the Nine. So let’s get on with it, missy.”
Chapter 2
Jack stood in the shadows of the tent, trying to avoid the worst of the rain. Jerking the collar of his coat up around his neck against the cold, he glared at the entrance where his father had disappeared.
Another gust of wind blew his hair over his eyes, and with an irritated growl he crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t believe he was actually here.
At the Jolly Carnival.
After all these years.
“Terrible weather, isn’t it?” said a smooth voice.
He jumped slightly and turned to see a blue-haired man smirking at him. Jack sighed. What was wrong with ordinary old brown hair?
Typical circus freak.
“Sure is,” he said warily.
“Did you know Abacus?”
Jack shook his head. “Old friend of my father’s,” he said curtly.
“He was a big influence in my life,” said the blue-haired man.
Jack struggled for something to say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The man laughed with a strange manic energy. “Those people in there wouldn’t agree,” he said with a dismissive gesture toward the tent. “But I thank you for your words.” He bowed mockingly. The canvas behind them gave a particularly rough snap as if to emphasise the man’s words.
“Are you part of the Carnival?” asked Jack. The blue-haired man was staring at him with the kind of intense expression that tended to halt conversation.
Jack was determined to not let it bother him.
“Oh no. I have my own act in Vegas. Nothing like this place.” He waved his hand around disdainfully.
Strong emotions were sliding off the man. Jack couldn’t tell if it was just grief over the Ringmaster’s death, or something more. There was something weird about this blue-haired freak in front of him.
Aside from the obvious.
“You don’t like it here?”
“It’s a cheap traveling circus. Tricksters and con artists. Shysters and swindlers.” His sneer was worth a thousand words.
Jack looked closely at the tent next to them, and for the first time noticed the repairs on the canvas and the thin, worn patches. “They’re not exactly a high-end act,” he said.
The blue-haired man laughed like he’d just told the best joke in the world. “To say the least. I respected Abba, but the Carnival itself is a tumble-down, no-good waste of space.” The words were punctuated by a rumble of thunder overhead.
The wind howled down the tunnel between the tents, and Jack shivered, trying to pull the collar of his coat further up around his neck. This conversation had confirmed his every fear about the Jolly Carnival. The sooner they were gone from here, the better.
