brought illegally on the ride—it was impossible to see the drops themselves beyond the perimeter of pink and white lights that surrounded the ride, or to hear any sound above the shrill roar of four huge speakers that blared out soulless versions of tunes that had been popular five years before—but before long it was raining more seriously.
The operator tugged at the long red control lever and brought the Trabant to a halt before the passengers got entirely soaked.
“Let’s go somewhere dry—fast,” cried Liz, wiping a strand of sodden red hair out of her face.
David pulled up the hood of his light nylon windbreaker and pointed toward a dull green tent that was marked outside by a hand-painted sign depicting a crystal ball beneath an upraised open palm. “There’s a fortuneteller; maybe we could go in there. It doesn’t look too busy.”
They hesitated indecisively for a moment.
“Always wanted to get my fortune told,” Alec said finally.
“I always wanted to see if they were as fake as they’re supposed to be,” put in Liz.
“I predict, then,” said David, hunching over as the rain fell harder still and people began to gravitate toward overhanging awnings, “that we will soon meet a tall, dark fortuneteller. In fact, I think we’ll do it— now!”
He grabbed Liz’s hand and they sprinted the five or so yards, deftly sidestepping people and leaping half-submerged power cables as they went, leaving Alec to follow with his customary deliberation.
They were a little surprised by the sudden cessation of sound and water under the edge of the awning, though they could still see out into a world now largely masked by the silver-lit curtain of water cascading off the scalloped edge.
David thought it a little strange that there was no one taking tickets, but even as he was about to give voice to his thought, a vertical slit opened in the curtain almost immediately beside the open-palmed sign, and a very short, very fat woman with frizzy red hair and heavily made-up eyes came out and stood imperiously before them. She folded her arms and looked them up and down.
“Come in, my children,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. The accent was thick but not entirely convincing—something between Bela Lugosi and the Bronx, New York.
The three friends looked at each other and shrugged in unison.
“How much?” Alec asked pragmatically. “It doesn’t say out here.”
The woman shrugged in turn, jingling a good ten pounds of silver-and-turquoise jewelry on her arms. “That depends on your fortune: no more than five dollars, no less than one.”
Alec hesitated, shot a troubled look at David. “You got an extra five?”
“If I need to, yes.”
Alec sighed and nodded.
“Okay,” David said finally. “We’ll all come, then.”
“Yes, you will,” the fortuneteller agreed. She turned and led the way into her tent.
“So much for a tall, dark fortuneteller,” Alec muttered into David’s ear.
They found themselves in a small, square waiting room whose walls were hung with faded and stained red velvet drapes probably pirated from some defunct theater. A cheap fake-Persian carpet covered the canvas floor, and there were several low couches upholstered in red plush and heavily scarred with cigarette burns.
The fortuneteller gestured for them to sit down, and studied each of them for a long time, one hand cupping her chin, index finger extended along her jawline. She looked longest at David, then sighed and pointed at Alec. “You first.”
Alec held back. “Can’t we all go together?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I don’t want to confuse the spirits. Now come—or not. Will you know your fate, or hide from it?”
Alec rose reluctantly and the woman motioned him through a slit in the back wall of the room.
David scratched his ring hand unconsciously; it was itching even though the ring now hung upon a cheap silver-colored chain around his neck.
“Well, she’s
The operator tugged at the long red control lever and brought the Trabant to a halt before the passengers got entirely soaked.
“Let’s go somewhere dry—fast,” cried Liz, wiping a strand of sodden red hair out of her face.
David pulled up the hood of his light nylon windbreaker and pointed toward a dull green tent that was marked outside by a hand-painted sign depicting a crystal ball beneath an upraised open palm. “There’s a fortuneteller; maybe we could go in there. It doesn’t look too busy.”
They hesitated indecisively for a moment.
“Always wanted to get my fortune told,” Alec said finally.
“I always wanted to see if they were as fake as they’re supposed to be,” put in Liz.
“I predict, then,” said David, hunching over as the rain fell harder still and people began to gravitate toward overhanging awnings, “that we will soon meet a tall, dark fortuneteller. In fact, I think we’ll do it— now!”
He grabbed Liz’s hand and they sprinted the five or so yards, deftly sidestepping people and leaping half-submerged power cables as they went, leaving Alec to follow with his customary deliberation.
They were a little surprised by the sudden cessation of sound and water under the edge of the awning, though they could still see out into a world now largely masked by the silver-lit curtain of water cascading off the scalloped edge.
David thought it a little strange that there was no one taking tickets, but even as he was about to give voice to his thought, a vertical slit opened in the curtain almost immediately beside the open-palmed sign, and a very short, very fat woman with frizzy red hair and heavily made-up eyes came out and stood imperiously before them. She folded her arms and looked them up and down.
“Come in, my children,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. The accent was thick but not entirely convincing—something between Bela Lugosi and the Bronx, New York.
The three friends looked at each other and shrugged in unison.
“How much?” Alec asked pragmatically. “It doesn’t say out here.”
The woman shrugged in turn, jingling a good ten pounds of silver-and-turquoise jewelry on her arms. “That depends on your fortune: no more than five dollars, no less than one.”
Alec hesitated, shot a troubled look at David. “You got an extra five?”
“If I need to, yes.”
Alec sighed and nodded.
“Okay,” David said finally. “We’ll all come, then.”
“Yes, you will,” the fortuneteller agreed. She turned and led the way into her tent.
“So much for a tall, dark fortuneteller,” Alec muttered into David’s ear.
They found themselves in a small, square waiting room whose walls were hung with faded and stained red velvet drapes probably pirated from some defunct theater. A cheap fake-Persian carpet covered the canvas floor, and there were several low couches upholstered in red plush and heavily scarred with cigarette burns.
The fortuneteller gestured for them to sit down, and studied each of them for a long time, one hand cupping her chin, index finger extended along her jawline. She looked longest at David, then sighed and pointed at Alec. “You first.”
Alec held back. “Can’t we all go together?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I don’t want to confuse the spirits. Now come—or not. Will you know your fate, or hide from it?”
Alec rose reluctantly and the woman motioned him through a slit in the back wall of the room.
David scratched his ring hand unconsciously; it was itching even though the ring now hung upon a cheap silver-colored chain around his neck.
“Well, she’s
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