Yumi and the Nightmare Painter(88)

Finally, wonderfully, he stepped forward. “I could never,” he said softly. “I guess…there is that carnival running to celebrate the trip to the star.”

“Great. We’ll go there.”

“You don’t know what a carnival is.”

“Are you coming with me?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Then,” she said, “I don’t particularly care what it is.”





There is something universal about a carnival. You’ll find them almost everywhere. On planets where the most advanced form of power is a hitch that can hold six horses. And on planets that are literally illuminated by free-flowing lines of light in the sky. Because carnivals don’t need electricity, Investiture, or other forms of power. The people are the energy of a carnival.

Excitement bleeds. It flows like rivers. Ask any carnie, and they’ll agree that there is a frantic current to a carnival. Yes, it’s completely fabricated. So is the electricity that powers a light bulb. Being artificial doesn’t mean it isn’t real—it only means it has a purpose.

It’s this power of excitement that carnivals tap, feed upon, exploit. And for all that people call carnivals a scam or a con, they’re nothing of the sort. We go to them to be exploited. That’s part of the charm. While you’re there—among the dizzying overload of lights, chatter, excitement, sticky ground, and thronging people—you feel that there must be more than enough energy to go around.

Human exhilaration is a renewable resource. And you can generate it with cheap stuffed animals and fried foods.

Painter was surprised at how busy the place was. But they’d left patrol early, and the night was young yet. People packed the carnival, heady with the knowledge that within a short time, news would come back with finality. They were not alone in the cosmere. It’s an important revelation for a society, second only to realizing that the rest of us have been visiting for quite some time now but never got around to explaining. That sort of thing tends to cause a lot of unfortunate paperwork. Sometimes also panic.

It’s true that Painter’s planet isn’t among the most cosmopolitan or relevant to the cosmere’s political or economic landscape. I still recommend you visit. Trust a guy who spent a couple years there as a statue. Few can throw a party like a planet confined to an eternal night.

(In his language, by the way, they obviously didn’t use the actual word “carnival.” Like with everything else, these are my words to describe their world. You might be interested to know that the word they do use roughly translates, in your language, to “place of a million lights.” Their term for the workers there? “Light keepers.”)

Painter strolled alongside Yumi, trying to keep from being walked through by members of the crowd, since he found that unnerving. Yumi took in the sights, her eyes reflecting the spinning hion of rides and the twinkling rhythms of the large bulbs on the fronts of stalls—like on a runway, trying to guide a person in to land in their particular trap. Was the gaudy mess nauseating to her?

“It’s wonderful,” she whispered. “It’s like someone broke the sun itself into a million pieces and threw it in the air like confetti. This has been here all along?”

“Well, it usually only runs on festival and rest days,” he said.

“We could have come and seen it? Why don’t you come every time it’s open?”

He shrugged, enjoying her wonder.

“What are all of these?” she asked, pointing to the stalls.

“Games.”

She cocked her head.

“Games?” he said. “You play them?”

“Like an instrument?”

He stopped in place, staring at her. “Your (lowly) life was so ridiculous, Yumi. You’ve never played a game before?”

She shook her head, so he waved for her to walk up to one of the stalls with a line. That way the carnie would be focused on the customers, not a random gawker. Yumi watched with fascination as people tried to knock down boxes by throwing a large ball.

“So…” she said at his explanation, “it’s…a challenge? Like trying to stack a pile higher than you’ve ever done?”

“Yes!” he said, pointing. “Yes, that’s it. Games are fun challenges.”

“These people are having fun?” she asked, as a man at the front of the line cried out after getting all the boxes down but one.

“Well…it’s fun when you win…” Painter said.

Someone in the next stall walked away with a large stuffed creature. Yumi watched that with even more consternation.

“So…” she said, “you knock the boxes down, and you get one of those beasts.”

“Yes.”

“And they’re extremely valuable?”

“Um…well, no. They’re pretty cheap, actually. We could go to a store and buy a dozen of them for the price of a nice pair of shoes.”

“I am so confused.”

“It’s not about the prize,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him as the carnies started eyeing her. “It’s about winning. The prize is proof. A memento? To remember the day? It becomes more valuable because of the good feelings it evokes. Beyond that, people just like to have things sometimes.”