After three days of brainstorming, Owen and Jacks had turned up with nothing. There were no lightning strikes of revelation or epiphany. Just a black wall of broiling clouds threatening to rain down the ashes of speculations they couldn't even form into full ideas. They bounced thoughts off each other as they shoveled hay and manure in the barn, keeping their voices low, but each one seemed more of a stretch than the last.
"Maybe the carousel can time travel. If it can go back and forth between worlds it must be able to do that too," suggested Jacks.
Owen shook his head as he set the empty wheel barrow down with a clang and picked up a shovel. "The riddle says 'in' the carousel. That has to mean a clue is hidden in the ride itself. Even if can time-travel, I don't think Zabaria wants us messing around with the space-time continuum."
Jacks' forehead pinched. He picked up a pail of water and dumped it into an empty trough, the metal singing. "What if it means in the way it was made. How it was built. Genzel didn't have any ideas?" he asked.
Asking Genzel had crossed Owen's mind, of course, but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was residual suspicion from Lira getting the best of him, or maybe he was trying to keep the old man out of hot water with his daughter, but something was holding his tongue. His face must've been easy to read because Jacks said in a voice sheened with disbelief, "You mean you haven't even asked the guy who made the thing?"
Owen hadn't told Jacks everything Genzel had revealed that night by the lake and he wasn't about to go into the complicated family history, so he just shrugged his shoulders. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to involve him anymore."
The tines of the pitchfork rang against the stone floor as Jacks leaned on the handle. "In case you haven't noticed, we've hit a big, fat wall. I'm over here suggesting time travel and you haven't asked one question of the guy who literally made the carousel from scratch. He could probably tell you in five seconds what that riddle means."
"I'll bring it up tomorrow," conceded Owen. He picked up the full wheel barrow and lumbered away.
As luck would have it, the next time Owen went to work with Genzel it was on the carousel. The old man had finally taken his sling off the day before and, though he guarded his shoulder and was slow in his movements, he was able to use both his arms and his temperament had improved considerably.
Which isn't saying much, thought Owen. Genzel still barked like an old dog suffering from fleas and arthritis, but at least his whole focus wasn't concentrated on Owen anymore.
"Be exceedingly careful," warned Genzel as Owen set the ladder on the ground in front of the ride. "This wood is very old. Very hard to work with. And the paint is made from ingredients that'er tricky to find. Move slow and try not to ruin anything."
"I'll just move like you," Owen joked, making a show of moving like a stooped old man, arms and legs stiff. Genzel squinted darkly, his bearded chin jutting out in disapproval. He thrusted a screwdriver at Owen.
"Just for that, you're going to be doing all the heavy manual labor."
"Wasn't I going to be doing that anyway?" asked Owen. He hoisted the ladder up onto the wooden platform.
"Yes," said Genzel. "Good to see yer learning"
Owen rolled his eyes and propped open the ladder where Genzel instructed. They were attaching new harness chains to the ceiling so that they could add the two new carousel horses. Now that the outer row had reached its maximum of seven mounts, they were to begin a second row on the inner circle of the ride.
As Genzel held the ladder steady, Owen climbed up to the top and began laboriously hand-drilling a bridle-ring screw into the ceiling of the carousel. "How long did it take to build this thing anyway?" he asked.
"Jus' shy of two years," said Genzel. "Make sure that screw goes in straight."
"Two years?" said Owen. He readjusted his grip on the screwdriver. "That long?"
"Long?" Genzel said. "Don't know if you noticed but there ain't much for an old man to do in a place like this. And Bebinn wanted up 'n running soon as possible."
"Did your first carousel look like this? The one you made for your daughters?" asked Owen. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea that Bebinn and Genzel were blood. The apparition of the little girl he had seen in the forest and the very real adult witch who ran the carnival occupied very different corners of his mind. They didn't even overlap. It was as though someone had ripped out the middle of a flipbook that would show the transition from the past to the present.
"No," sighed Genzel. He handed Owen another screw. "Space them about four inches apart. A little more...there. The old one was much smaller than this. And rough around the edges. I could only get my hands on so many tools and supplies back then. And the better stuff went to the horses first. They were the big draw."
"So, did Bebinn tell you how to make this one?" Owen blinked as a small wood shaving dropped into his eye. It was watering as he climbed down from the ladder and they moved it to the right about a foot and a half.
Genzel snorted, holding the ladder steady again. "Bebinn doesn't know the first thing about wood-working. She used words like 'grand' and 'picturesque' and 'animated' and I went from there. I knew what she wanted. The same thing she wanted as a little girl. She wanted something magical."
The two men were silent as Owen finished the last screw. He took the chains Genzel handed up to him, the excess clacking against the ladder, and fixed one to each hook. The four chains hung down about shoulder height when they were finished. The metal glinted in the light from the ride.
Genzel surveyed the ride as if he hadn't seen it for a long time. Maybe he hadn't—Owen had only ever seen the carver in his workshop and only very rarely did he say he ventured into the carnival itself. Genzel wrapped a long-fingered hand spotted with age around one of the outer poles and took a deep breath.
"This is the greatest and worst thing I've ever made," the old man said quietly. "And it will die here with me."
Owen's head jerked around at the word 'die'. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Genzel walked stiffly to stand in front of one of the mirrors. There was a faint, filmy sort of fog outlining his frame in the glass. It moved with him, shimmering like an aura. His wrinkled, pock-marked skin suddenly seemed translucent, the tiny blue veins at the tip of his nose thrown into relief. In the mirror, under the lights, Genzel suddenly looked much older. Owen's head hovered just above his shoulder in the reflection. They locked eyes.
"When all of this is over, I intend to destroy this thing. And if for some reason I can't, I want you to do it."
"But...why?" asked Owen. "If we stop Bebinn, it won't be used for kidnapping anymore. It'll just be...a carousel." He couldn't explain why, but the thought of destroying the carousel filled him with a terrible sense of wrongness. It was like pulling the wings off a butterfly, or drowning a puppy, or never telling the person you loved how you really felt. The carousel, even empty of horses, was magic incarnate. It was love and hope borne of anger and grief and desire, preserved in wood, transcending worlds and dreams and possibilities. Destroying it felt like a crime against time itself. "You can't destroy it," he said. Because even after all the wrong it had been used for, it didn't feel right.
Genzel's expression darkened and for once he didn't look like an old bullfrog, but a man who had lived too long and seen too much for someone like Owen to tell him no.
"I made this thing from nothing," said Genzel. His voice was still low, but it was hard as stone. "The wood was hand-cut, hand-sanded and stained. The nails and screws were hand-drilled. Every design hand-carved and painted and sealed. Every piece passed through my hands before it was put together. My blood and sweat are in this carousel. My very soul is in this carousel. You don't get to tell me whether or not I can destroy it."
Owen swallowed hard and nodded. Genzel turned from the mirror and went to collect the extra screws and tools on the floor. "Let's go," he said.
Despite his promise to Jacks, Owen didn't push the conversation as he and Genzel made their slow way back to the carver's house. Genzel was silent and brooding and Owen was mulling over everything he had said while trying to carry the ladder without running into everything. When they arrived at the porch, Genzel finally spoke. But it was only to say, "You can put the ladder around back. We'll place the horses tomorrow." And Owen knew he had been dismissed.
He was hoping to get back to his room without seeing Jacks so he could have a chance to contemplate Genzel's words alone. But as he started the walk back through the carnival, he heard the telltale sound of Jacks' bare feet scraping through the dust. He walked on Owen's left side as he always did, but over the last few months the gap he usually left between them had slowly closed.
"What did he say?"
Owen rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his own bare feet. When he had first gotten here and had his shoes taken away, it had taken weeks of blisters that had cracked and bled and re-blistered until they finally formed thick, ropy calluses that showed how and where he placed his weight when he walked for him to get used to walking barefoot. Now it seemed natural, comfortable even. The walk back to the funhouse with Jacks a routine.
"You didn't ask him," guessed the horse-keeper. He crossed his arm over the back of his head and pulled on his elbow, stretching. "Why didn't you ask him?"
"It's complicated." Before Jacks could object at the vague reply, Owen angled their course to walk along the back of the carnival and quickly relayed the conversation between him and Genzel.
"What was the last part again?" asked Jacks. He peered between the gaps of each tent while they walked.
"I can't tell him whether or not he can destroy it."
"No, before that."
The conversation reeled through Owen's mind again. "He said 'my very soul is in this carousel.'" As the words left his mouth, it hit him. He stopped walking. "His soul."
Jacks turned to face him, his expression grim. "Well, at least now we know how Bebinn keeps him here."
Owen rubbed his palms together as a sudden chill swept through him. "It could be just an expression. 'My blood and sweat' is an expression. He might not mean that—"
"I think it's exactly what he means," said Jacks.
Owen began to pace. "So Genzel's soul or at least part of his soul is in the carousel. Zabaria said 'the answer to the past lies within the carousel."
"Genzel is the carousel," said Jacks. "The answer to the past is him."
"There is no secret hidden in the ride," realized Owen. "There isn't anything we need to, or can, find."
"Except for what Genzel knows about Bebinn," interceded Jacks.
Owen stopped and looked at his fellow prisoner. The boy stared back at him, the eye with the blue mark around it hidden by his dreadlocks. For once, there was no whip in his hands.
Jacks had been here much longer than Owen—had known Genzel much longer. He respected him, trusted him, knew his habits and his distastes. He knew what he liked to read, what he liked to eat, how he liked to take his pipe. He knew what strings to pull and what strength to pull them with. But he didn't know anything about his past or where he came from or how he got here. And Owen didn't feel right being the one to tell him. This wasn't the same as keeping Zabaria's riddle a secret. Genzel's story wasn't his secret to tell. Owen's hand went to the back if his neck again.
Jacks' eyes narrowed. "You know something."
Owen let out a breath. "Yes," he admitted.
"About what Genzel knows about Bebinn."
"Yes."
Jacks titled his head expectantly. His fingers twitched by his side.
Owen's head spun as he tried to sort through everything he knew and everything he still didn't know as well as weigh what he could and could not tell Jacks. His jaw tightened. "Jacks, do you trust me?"
Jacks didn't move; his fingers will still, his face a mask. The silence between them stretched taut as a rubber band. "Yes," he finally said.
"Then give me a day to think over everything."
Jacks held his glare but gave a tiny nod. Owen nodded back and turned to continue to the funhouse. He needed to get Genzel to tell him the rest of the story.
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Trying to get back to a regular updating schedule for you guys! Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you think things are developing too slowly and thanks, as always, for reading :D