A Carnival of Killing by Glenn Ickler

home parlor, the atmosphere was not nearly as exuberant as our greeting at the daycare center. There were no high-fives, no high-pitched squeals and no little arms locking around our knees like a cowboy wrestling a roped dogie to the ground. Most of our hosts remained seated, many of them in wheelchairs, and at least half of those who stepped up to shake our hands or offer a cheek for marking did so with the aid of walkers.
    The air in the daycare center had been comfortably warm and it smelled of chewing gum, chocolate, and chalk. The air in the nursing home was stifling for people dressed as warmly as we were and it smelled of … well, old people. I was hoping we wouldn’t stay very long. Even the below-zero air outside was preferable to this.
    Al was more selective with his camera work, bypassing patients whose faces remained devoid of expression in favor of those whose countenances glowed with recognition and pleasure.
    “This is a place I never want to be,” Al said sotto voce.
    “You’d better be good to your children then,” I said. “They’re the ones who’ll decide where you end up.”
    “In that case, you’d better get started on your own batch of kids or you’ll be shuffled off to the cheapest place in town by some social worker you’ve never met.”
    My own batch of kids. This was the second time today that this nebulous subject had come up.
    While I was trying to think of a snappy comeback, Vulcanus Rex announced that he was about to conduct “a Knighting Ceremony.” From somewhere under his cloak, he produced a red, black, and gold certificate, held it aloft and called out a name. A stooped, gray-haired woman with a two-wheeled walker and a smile as wide as Alice’s Cheshire cat stepped slowly forward. With great solemnity, the Vulcan leader read the certificate, which proclaimed that the woman was the mother of a previous Fire King, kissed the woman on both cheeks and handed her the certificate. “I dub you Mother of the Perpetual Flame and declare that you are a Fire King Knight forever,” he said.
    The woman thanked him and pressed the certificate to her bosom with one hand while gripping the walker tightly with the other. The room was filled with applause as Vulcanus turned and led us out of the stifling heat and into the stinging but welcome cold fresh air.
    “That was nice,” I said to Vulcanus as I passed him on my way to the rear of the Royal Chariot.
    “You, too, could be knighted if the story you write about your journey with us is deemed suitably constructive,” he said.
    “You wouldn’t be trying to bribe me, would you?” I asked.
    “We hope that no bribe is necessary,” the Fire King said as he climbed into the passenger seat. I wondered if he was using the royal “we” or if he was speaking on behalf of more than one member of the Krewe.
    The ride from the nursing home to the hotel was blessedly short and our recovery from the cold was much quicker than it had been at noon. Al and I were finished with our assignment, but I was eager to talk with the Prince of Soot and to interview Vulcanus Rex. I was less than happy, therefore, when my pursuit of the Sooty Prince was interrupted in the lobby by Ted Carlson, the stiff in the blue blazer and red-and-black tie.
    “Enjoy your day?” he asked as he popped into my path so suddenly that I almost smacked into him head-on.
    “It was great if you like frozen fingers and frosty feet,” I said. I tried to zig past him but he countered with a zag.
    “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have,” Carlson said as I watched all eight members of the Krewe squeeze into an elevator.
    “What I really want to do is get up to the Vulcans’ suite and change back into my own clothes,” I said.
    “Me, too,” Al said as the elevator door was closing.
    “Oh, your clothing has been brought down to a room just off the lobby,” Carlson said. “You can change in there while I answer your questions.”
    “I’d also like to