The Laughing King

The Woman Who Shouldn't Exist

The countdown on my card said 71:39:00 when I got back to my apartment. It had gone up. That was new. Cards don't give you time back. Clocks don't run backward unless someone wants you to notice.

I didn't notice. I documented. I took a photo of the card, the time stamp, the wax smile. Then I burned the card anyway. Ash doesn't tick.

The earpiece I took from the pipe man was dead. Crushed. No signal, no serial number, nothing to trace. Professional. Expensive. The kind of thing governments buy and lose.

I slept two hours. That's enough when you're counting exits.

Mirexa Sol's clinic was on 8th, between a pawn shop and a noodle place that never closed. No sign. Just a red door and a buzzer that didn't work. You knocked. If she liked your face, she opened. If she didn't, you bled somewhere else.

I knocked at 9:17 AM. The countdown in my head said 62:22:43. 

The door opened before my hand came down. Mirexa looked at me like I was a symptom. "You're not bleeding."

"Disappointed?" I said.

"Confused." She stepped back. "Come in. Quick."

The clinic smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. One room, one bed, one desk, too many cabinets. A man was on the bed. Mid thirties. Gut wound, fresh stitches. Out cold.

"Friend of yours?" I asked.

"Was," she said. "He came in at three AM. Didn't say his name. Didn't say who shot him. I patched him. He left this."

She held up a playing card. Joker. Same as the one in Statton. Red ink under the smile. Don't trust the Carnival.

"Same handwriting?" I asked.

"Same warning." She put the card down. "He was gone when I turned around. Bed empty. Door still locked. No windows."

"You check for trapdoors?"

"I check for patients." She nodded to the man on the bed. "This one's different. He didn't vanish. But he's not waking up."

I looked at him. No ID, no phone, no wallet. Just a tattoo on his wrist. A circle with a line through it. Like a cancel symbol. Or a target.

"You called me here for a dead man?" I said.

"He's not dead. His pulse is fine. He's just... not here." She pulled back his eyelid. The pupil didn't react to light. "Like someone left the body running but took the driver."

"That's a new trick."

"That's why you're here." She leaned on the desk. "You pulled a key code out of a hunter's ear. You walked out of a station that was supposed to drown. You're either lucky or you know something."

"I know I don't like cameras," I said. "You got any in here?"

"No."

"Good." I pulled out my phone. Showed her the photo of my card. "Mine went up. Time added. Yours?"

She checked her pocket. Pulled out her card. 59:11:02. "Down," she said. "I lost nine hours since last night."

"So they're not on the same clock." I put the phone away. "They're on ours. Reward and punishment."

"For what?"

"For playing." I looked at the man on the bed again. "Or for not playing."

The door buzzed. It wasn't supposed to work.

Mirexa and I both went still. The man on the bed didn't move.

"Expecting someone?" I asked.

"No." She moved to a cabinet. Came back with a scalpel. Not the first time she'd done that.

The buzz came again. Then a knock. Three times. Slow. Polite.

I went to the door. Looked through the peephole. 

A kid. Maybe twelve. Red coat, hood up, hands in pockets. He was looking right at the peephole. Like he knew I was there.

I opened the door. 

He didn't step in. He just said, "You're late."

"I'm not late," I said. "I'm early. Ask my card."

"You're late for him." He nodded past me, to the man on the bed. "He was supposed to warn you. He didn't make it."

Mirexa stepped up beside me. "Who are you?"

The kid looked at her. "You treated him. You were supposed to ask him about the door. You didn't. Now he can't answer."

Ice went down my back. "What door?"

"The one under the city," the kid said. "The Emperor's Door. You'll find it soon. When you do, don't knock."

"Why not?"

"Because it opens from the inside." He stepped back. "You have forty-one minutes."

"For what?"

"For the police." He pointed down the street. 

Sirens. Far off, but coming.

I looked back at the kid. He was gone. No footsteps, no door closing, no alley he could've ducked into. Just gone. Red coat, gone.

"Did you see that?" I asked Mirexa.

"I saw it," she said. "I don't believe it."

"Belief's optional." I checked the street. Two cruisers, lights on, no sirens yet. They'd be here in two minutes. "You got a back way?"

"Roof." She was already moving, pulling a bag from under the desk. "Can he move?" She nodded to the bed.

"No," I said. "And we can't carry him."

"He's evidence if they find him."

"He's a person if they don't." I looked at the man. His chest rose and fell. That was all. "We leave him. We come back."

"You don't leave patients."

"You do if you want to be alive to treat them." I grabbed her arm. "Roof. Now."

We went up. The access was a ladder in the bathroom. Mirexa went first. I followed. The roof was tar and gravel and old satellite dishes. The sirens were louder.

"They're not here for us," Mirexa said. "They're here for him."

"How do you know?"

"Because I didn't call them. And you didn't. But someone knew he was here." She pointed. 

Across the street, on a building with a good view of the clinic, a man with binoculars. He saw us see him. He didn't run. He raised a hand. Like a wave. Or a salute.

Then he was gone from the window.

"Forty-one minutes," I said. "Kid was right."

The roof door opened behind us. Not the one we came through. The other side. 

A man in a suit stepped out. No gun. No mask. Just a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dr. Sol," he said. "Mr. Veyn. You're hard to schedule."

"Selric Dorne," I said. Detective. The one from the news. The one who thought I was a murderer.

"You know me," he said. "Good. Saves time." He looked at Mirexa. "You're harboring a fugitive."

"She's not," I said. "I'm a consultant."

"On what? Subway crime?" He stepped closer. Gravel crunched. "Three people died in Statton last night. Two hunters, one civilian. You were there."

"So were fifty cameras," I said. "Check them."

"We did. They went dark for twenty-one minutes. Just like the train did when you showed up." He looked at the door behind him. "Wanna tell me why?"

"Because the Carnival likes theater," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "What's the Carnival?"

"You're late," I said. The kid's words tasted weird in my mouth. "You should've asked sooner."

Selric's hand went to his jacket. Not for a gun. For a card. He pulled it out. Black. Red wax smile. 

12:04:33

"You too?" Mirexa said.

"They sent it to my desk," Selric said. "No note. Just a time. I thought it was a threat. Then I saw you on the news. Then I saw you here." He looked at me. "You're the common thread, Veyn. Everywhere you go, people disappear."

"People disappear everywhere," I said. "I just notice."

Sirens stopped. Downstairs, doors opened. Boots on stairs.

"That's my partner," Selric said. "He's going to find a man in your clinic with a gunshot wound and no ID. That's evidence. That's arrest."

"He's not a fugitive," Mirexa said. "He's a patient."

"He's a John Doe with a military tattoo and a bullet from a gun that was used in a hijacking three days ago." Selric's smile was gone now. "The same hijacking you stopped, Veyn. Funny how that works."

The circle tattoo. Military. Cancel. Target.

"He didn't shoot the train," I said. "He was shot."

"Maybe. Maybe he was cleaning up." Selric shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I need a win. The city needs one. You're it."

"You want to arrest the clown," I said. "Not the Carnival."

"I don't know what the Carnival is."

"You will." I looked at the door. Boots were on the roof landing now. "You got twelve hours on your card. Use them. Find the door."

"What door?"

"The one under the city." I stepped back. The roof edge was five feet away. "And Selric? Don't trust the seventh key."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're already in the game." I went over the edge.

It wasn't a long drop. One floor to a fire escape. I'd checked it on the way in. Always check. I hit the metal, rolled, came up running. 

I heard Selric yell. I didn't hear shots. He wasn't that kind of cop yet.

Mirexa didn't follow. She couldn't. She had a clinic and a patient and a badge in her future. I had a mask and a countdown and a kid who knew the future.

I hit the alley at a sprint. The card in my pocket felt heavier. I pulled it out.

71:39:00

It hadn't changed. 

Then ink bled through from the back. New words, same silver.

She's next. Don't be late.

I stopped running. 

She. Mirexa. 

I turned around. 

The clinic's red door was open. Selric stood in it. He had his gun out now. Pointing down. At the floor. At the man on the bed.

The man was sitting up. Eyes open. Pupils normal. He looked at Selric. He looked at me.

He smiled. It was the wax smile. Wide. Carved.

He said, "Welcome back."

Then the clinic blew up.

Not a fire. Not a gas leak. A real one. Pressure and light and bricks going sideways. I hit the ground. The world went white. Then black.

I woke up in an alley. No blood. No burns. Just dust. My ears rang. The countdown in my head was quiet.

I checked my pocket. The card was still there. 

71:39:00

No change. 

I stood. The clinic was gone. Just a hole and smoke and people screaming. Fire trucks already coming. Selric was on the ground, moving. Alive. He'd been outside the blast. 

Mirexa. 

I ran to the hole. Heat pushed me back. No way she was alive in that. No way anyone was.

"Kaelor!" 

I turned. 

She was across the street. Coat torn, face cut, but standing. She had the bag from the clinic. She had the playing card. The Joker.

"You're alive," I said.

"Roof," she said. "I went back up when you jumped. Felt stupid. Got lucky." She looked at the fire. "He's gone."

"The patient?"

"Yeah. He said that thing. Then the walls got hot." She held up the Joker card. The ink had changed. 

Don't trust the Carnival.

Under it, new writing. He was the seventh.

Seventh what?

Selric was on his feet now. He saw us. He didn't reach for his gun. He just watched.

"He saw it too," Mirexa said. "The man. The smile. The words."

"He's in now," I said. "Whether he likes it or not."

The card in my pocket burned. Not real heat. Just weight. I pulled it out.

71:39:00

Then the numbers flickered. And changed.

21:00:00

Twenty-one hours. I'd lost fifty. 

Penalty. For what? For leaving? For not dying?

Mirexa showed me hers. 58:44:12. She'd lost minutes. Not hours.

The game was grading us. Differently.

Selric walked over. He didn't stop ten feet away like cops do. He stopped close. Like he was done with distance.

"What was that?" he asked. His voice was flat. Shock or focus. 

"A warning," I said.

"To who?"

"To you." I nodded at his pocket. "Check your time."

He did. He pulled the card. His face went white. 00:21:33.

Twenty-one minutes.

"The station," Mirexa said. "Statton. That's what you get. Twenty-one minutes."

Selric looked at me. "What happens in twenty-one minutes?"

"You find a key," I said. "Or you don't."

Sirens were everywhere now. People were filming. The news would say gas leak. The news was wrong.

The kid in the red coat was on the corner. He wasn't looking at the fire. He was looking at me. 

He held up five fingers. Then four. Then three.

Counting down.

I put the mask on. The crack down the left eye caught the firelight.

Selric didn't stop me. He just said, "If I live, I'm finding you."

"If you live," I said, "you're finding the door."

I walked away. Mirexa followed. She didn't ask where. She just walked.

The kid was gone by the time we hit the corner.

My card said 20:59:42.

The joke wasn't over.