Moko Magic: Carnival Chaos: Chapters 24–27

“Don’t furrow your brow so,” her father said.

Mr. Abara’s grizzled eyebrows shot up.

“Songs about magical people and creatures…with unusual abilities,” Mr. Abara said. “Like, supernatural.”

“There? Into the shadows of doom? There’s probably an incubator in there for every kind of horrible creature we need to find.”

Brooke was frustrated that Mr. Abara hadn’t let them into his house, but Misty didn’t have time to dwell on that.

The celebration of the emancipation from slavery would be the perfect distraction from everything that was happening.

“I am David Mitchell, and I will be your emcee tonight.”

As one of the most popular calypsonians in the world, Bunji’s ticket prices could be astronomical.

“Without further ado, please welcome Young Explainer!”

Young Explainer said something, but it was lost in the sounds of the raucous crowd.

“All before this carnival
People really like they bacchanal
But before any of it come
Another festival was the one
They call it canboulay
For when they fire up the sugarcane
The people were slaves watching the light
And saw endless joy despite their woesome plight
Took their opportunity for a little happiness
And danced away to bring themselves bliss
They had nothing all around
But some sticks lying on the ground
They start to play fight and limbo
And is carnival that started so.”

It seemed sedate until Misty realized it was matching her heartbeat, and she felt every thump of the drum deep inside her chest and belly.

The dancers swung their hips and shuffled their feet, never moving very fast or wide, but their movements and the intricate lines of drumming were mesmerizing.

It was part dance, part choreographed battle resembling capoeira with tumbles and backflips.

The ovation was deafening.

It was athletic and exuberant and had every single soul in the place on their feet.

At the end of the Steel Biloko set, the musicians were exhausted and exhilarated.

Then the women lowered the stick even farther, leaving an impossibly thin sliver between the flaming stick and the ground as the men slathered themselves with a protective oil.

The shared good mood vanished as moist, hot, dank wind wrapped around everyone.

The air was foul, like someone had opened a sewer.

Some of it fell in huge slops on the ground, splashing against people as it dropped or bringing them to their knees as it doused them with foul sludge.

A man pulled a woman past Brooke, only for him to slip in a bit of viscous liquid and twist his ankle.

The man stood gingerly, tested his foot, and continued moving.

As bits of trash and detritus blew toward them, Uncle Andrew’s limbs stretched and blocked the hits.

The putrid scent in the air began to dissipate, and everything stilled.