“Hurry up before we miss the show!” a woman in line snapped.
Scowling, Ignacio retrieved his money and slapped it onto the tall counter above his head.
“Hold out your palm,” the ticket agent commanded. “And try to smile, for king’s sake. You’re entering an enchanted wonderland full of magical mysteries. What’s to be so blue about?”
Ignacio’s scowl only deepened. “I’m not the smiling type.”
“Then you have come to the right place because Carnival Fantástico always turns bitter frowns upside down.”
She spit her gum into her hand. Ignacio knew he made a face, but he didn’t care. That was absolutely foul. Quick as a viper, she bent over the booth and smashed the gum into Ignacio’s awaiting palm.
His jaw dropped. “What are you doing?!”
The young woman pulled her arm back. The bubble gum was gone. In its place lay a gleaming ticket with bell-shaped flowers drawn around the words.
Admit One: Welcome to Carnival Fantástico!
“Have fun.” She winked, chewing on something new, before yelling, “Next!”
Wiping his hand of germs, he stepped into the chaos. Music blared around him, thumping so loudly, he felt it in his solar plexus.
The air smelled of sugar and cinnamon. Bells clattered. People twirled and laughed with unbridled joy. In the distance, a wooden roller coaster shot people into the sky like a catapult. There were no ropes or cords attached to the carts the guests were in, and he wondered where they’d end up as their screams and laughter faded into the night.
How in the world was his father linked to this sort of place? Ignacio didn’t think Father evencouldconsort with anyone from the carnival. Because King Amadeo cut trade and supply chains between Costa Mayor and Dos Palos, the railroad tycoons were losing a hefty profit. To reward their loyalty, the king turned a blind eye to all their other dealings. Thus, Carnival Fantástico was free to move along the tracks of Costa Mayor and continue to propagate magic and mayhem.
So, what would Father have to do with anyone here?
Ignacio glared at the costumed people flittering around.
Who could the author of those notes possibly be? How did they know my father well enough to call him by his first name? How did they get that ink? Could it be her?
Fingers wrapped around Ignacio’s bicep and yanked him to the side.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Let me go!”
“Not until I’ve done my job,” a slight man sporting a goat mask said.
He thrust Ignacio into a dull-yellow tent. Masks of all shapesand sizes hung from the canvas walls, along with fluffy tails, feathered jumpsuits, and two bottom halves of what appeared to be a donkey’s ass.
“Didn’t Rosita tell you the rules?” the man asked.
Ignacio shrugged him off. “The ticket agent? She only told me I had to pay to get in.”
“There’s that, yes, of course. But you cannot go any further without donning a disguise. It’s the rules! Lucky for you, you’ve come to the right place.”
“I had little choice in the matter.”
The man waved him off. He cleared his throat and raised his arms. “Welcome to the prodigious tailor virtuoso!” He cupped his mouth as if telling a secret and whispered, “That’s me.” He raised his arms once more. “Everyone must wear a disguise while on these unsanctimonious grounds. That is the second and most important rule, in my not-so-humble opinion.”
“Why?”
The tailor blinked. “Why not?”
Ignacio’s already frayed nerves were starting to split. “I have no more money to give.”
“What of that ring on your pinky?” the tailor asked.
Ignacio’s fingers instinctively traveled to the ring in question. Protecting it from the man’s greed-filled eyes. “Absolutely not. It was my mother’s.”
