The Laughing King

Twenty One Minutes

My card said 20:58:11 when Selric's countdown hit zero.

We were two blocks from the clinic, watching from a noodle shop with steamed windows. The fire crews had the street blocked. Nobody was looking for a clown. They were looking for survivors.

Selric stood in the middle of 8th Street with his phone to his ear. He wasn't calling for backup. He was listening. His face went still in the way that means bad news without volume.

"Time," Mirexa said. She was cleaning a cut on her forehead with a napkin. It wasn't working.

Selric dropped the phone. He didn't pick it up. He turned in a slow circle, looking at the buildings, the sky, the people holding phones. Then he ran.

Not toward the fire. Toward Statton.

"He got the call," I said. "Twenty-one minutes."

"To do what?" Mirexa asked.

"To find a key." I stood. "And we're going with him."

"You want to help the cop who tried to arrest you?"

"I want to see what happens when a cop loses." I pulled the mask out of my bag but didn't put it on. Daylight rules still applied. "You don't have to come."

She stood too. "The guy in my clinic said 'welcome back' and exploded. I'm in. I just don't know what I'm in."

"Join the club." 

We moved.

Statton Station at 11:34 AM is different from Statton at 2 AM. More people, more noise, more ways to disappear. The entrance was taped off. Transit cops, not NYPD. A sign said "Signal Malfunction. Use Bus Service."

Selric wasn't at the entrance. He'd gone around.

"Service tunnel," Mirexa said. "There's a maintenance door on the west side. He used to work Transit before he made detective. He knows the bones of this place."

We found the door. It was open. The lock was cut. Not broken. Cut, clean. Like someone knew we were coming.

The tunnel smelled like cold air and old water. Emergency lights only. Every ten feet, a red bulb. It made the place look like it was bleeding.

"Selric!" Mirexa called. Her voice bounced and came back wrong.

No answer.

My card was warm in my pocket. I checked it. 20:41:02. It was ticking down faster. Not real time. Punishment time.

"They're docking me," I said. "For being here."

"Who is?"

"The Carnival. The cards. The people watching." I put it away. "We split up, we lose. We stay together, we're slow. Pick."

"Together," she said. "I'm not dying alone in a tunnel."

We moved. The tunnel sloped down. Water tracked the center. The walls were tile, old, cracked. Names and dates carved into them. People get bored waiting for trains.

A sound came from ahead. Not water. Music. Carousel music. The same warped tune from last night. 

Then a voice. Loudspeaker, but not the station kind. Portable. Close.

"Detective Dorne," it said. "Welcome to your interview. You have twenty-one minutes to find the key. The key opens the door. The door opens the truth. The truth opens you."

Selric's voice, far off. "Where is it?"

"Where you left it," the loudspeaker said. "Six years ago. Case 0713. You remember."

I stopped. Mirexa looked at me. "What's 0713?"

"Don't know," I said. "But he does."

We kept moving. The tunnel opened into a wider space. Abandoned platform. No tracks. It was built and never used. The city has a few of those. Plans change. People forget.

Selric was in the middle of the platform. Alone. Turning in circles. He had his gun out but pointed down. He was looking for something on the ground.

The carousel music got louder. Then it stopped.

"Twenty minutes," the loudspeaker said. "Hint one. You step on it every day."

Selric dropped to his knees. He started pulling up tiles. Old, loose ones. He tossed them aside. Nothing under them but dirt.

"He's looking for a physical key," Mirexa said. "It's not physical. It's not last night. It's a case file."

"He doesn't know that yet," I said. "They want him to panic first."

I stepped out of the tunnel. "Selric."

He spun, gun up, then down when he saw me. "Veyn. You're real."

"As far as I know." I walked to the edge of the platform. "You're looking in the wrong place."

"Then where?" He was sweating. Not from heat. From the clock. "It said I left it here. I've never been here."

"You were," I said. "Six years ago. Case 0713. What was it?"

His face did something complicated. Memory and denial fighting. "Missing person. Teenager. Marcus Hale. Case went cold. No body, no evidence. We closed it."

"Hale," Mirexa said. "Like Nyxorin Hale?"

Selric's head snapped to her. "How do you know that name?"

"She's on the list," I said. "The Carnival list. The one they auctioned. You closed a case. The Carnival opened it."

The loudspeaker laughed. The old voice. "Fifteen minutes. Hint two. The key is not a thing. The key is a name. Say the name and the door opens."

Selric looked at the ceiling. "Marcus Hale," he said. Loud.

Nothing happened.

"Say the right name," the voice said. "The one you buried."

Selric's hands shook. "I didn't bury anything. We had no evidence. The kid ran away. That's what the report said."

"Who wrote the report?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"Fourteen minutes," the voice said. "Hint three. The train you didn't take."

Selric went white. "The 7:02."

The same train from chapter one. The one Drell hijacked. The one I saved.

"You were supposed to be on it," I said. "Six years ago. The day Marcus Hale disappeared."

"I called in sick," Selric said. "Food poisoning. I wasn't on the schedule."

"But you were supposed to be," Mirexa said. "Someone changed the schedule. And Marcus Hale was on that train."

Selric sank to his knees. "No. No, he was listed as a runaway. We checked the cameras. He wasn't at Statton."

"Because the cameras were out," I said. "Just like last night. Just like every time the Carnival needs a blind spot."

The loudspeaker: "Twelve minutes. Final hint. The key is in your pocket."

Selric patted his jacket. Pulled out his card. 00:11:47. Then his wallet. Then a folded paper. Old. Yellow. He opened it.

It was a train ticket. 7:02. Statton to Endline. Date: six years ago. Name: S. Dorne.

"I never bought this," he whispered. "I was sick. I was home."

"Someone wanted you on that train," I said. "Someone wanted you to see something. Or stop something. You didn't. So Marcus Hale vanished. And now you're here to pay for it."

He looked at the ticket. Then at me. "What do I do?"

"You say the name," I said. "The real one. Not the one in the report."

"I don't know the real one."

"Yes you do." I stepped closer. "You just don't want to say it because it makes you guilty. But you're already guilty. The clock says so."

"Ten minutes," the voice said.

Selric closed his eyes. "Marcus Hale was my cousin."

The platform rumbled. Not a train. Something under it.

"Say it," I said. "All of it."

"I covered it up," Selric said. His voice broke. "He told me he was meeting someone. Someone who promised to make him famous. I told him not to go. He went anyway. I found the ticket in his room after. I burned it. I told the department he ran away. Because if I said he was lured, they'd ask who lured him. And I didn't know. I still don't."

The rumble got louder. A section of the platform floor, ten feet by ten feet, started to sink. Dust poured off the edges.

"Nine minutes," the voice said. "The door is open. The key was guilt. Now, detective. Come and see what you buried."

The sinking floor stopped. It was a staircase now. Going down. Into black.

Selric stood. He looked at the stairs. Then at me. "You knew."

"I guessed," I said. "The Carnival doesn't take random people. It takes people with debts."

He went to the stairs. Stopped. "You coming?"

"No," I said. "This is your twenty-one minutes. Not mine."

He nodded. He went down. One step, two, three. Then he was gone. The darkness took him.

The floor started to rise again.

"Eight minutes," the voice said. "Contestant Selric Dorne has entered the game. Contestant Kaelor Veyn, you have a choice. Follow him. Or go home. But choose fast. The station floods in eight minutes."

Water. Again. From the tunnel we came through. Rushing, fast.

"Run," Mirexa said.

We ran. Back the way we came, up the slope, toward the service door. The water was faster. It hit our ankles, then our knees.

The door was ahead. Closed. It had been open.

I hit it with my shoulder. No give. Locked. From the other side.

"Seven minutes," the voice said.

"There's another way," Mirexa said. "Ventilation shaft. Up there." She pointed. A grate, ten feet up the wall.

I boosted her. She grabbed the edge, pulled herself up, kicked the grate. It fell. She went in.

"Come on," she said.

I jumped. Missed. Water at my waist now.

"Six minutes."

I tried again. Got a hand on the edge. Pulled. The metal cut my palm. I didn't care. I got in.

The shaft was tight. We crawled. Water came in behind us. Fast.

"Five minutes."

Light ahead. Another grate. Street level. Mirexa kicked it. It bent. She kicked again. It went. We spilled onto a sidewalk. 

People screamed. Not at us. At the street.

Water was coming up from the storm drains. The whole block was flooding. Cars stalled. Alarms went off.

"Four minutes," the voice said. But it wasn't the loudspeaker. It was in my ear. The dead earpiece. It was live again.

"Kaelor," it said. "You left him."

"I gave him a choice," I said.

"So did we." The line clicked. Dead.

The water stopped. Just stopped. Like someone turned a faucet. It sat there, three feet deep, not moving. Then it drained. Down the drains, down the grates, down into Statton.

In sixty seconds the street was wet but empty.

My card was hot. I pulled it out. 21:00:00.

It went back up. Reward. For what? For letting Selric go down? For not following?

Mirexa's card said 58:39:01. She lost five minutes. For helping me.

Selric was gone. No body, no sound, no signal.

A kid in a red coat stood on the corner. He wasn't wet. The street around him was dry. He held up one finger.

Then he was gone.

Mirexa looked at me. "What now?"

"Now," I said, "we find Nyxorin Hale. Because if Marcus was her brother, she's been waiting six years for this."

I put the mask on. The crack felt cold.

"And if she's waiting," I said, "she's got a list. And I'm on it."