By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Two: The Pact

The carnival grounds were alive with motion.

Roustabouts shouted as they packed up the rides, wooden crates slammed shut, and performers griped about their costumes and gear. The air was thick with smoke from dying cookfires, the scent of fried food still clinging to the night. The whole place pulsed with the urgency of moving on.

I wove through the chaos, heart pounding. I was afraid I wouldn’t find him in time, that maybe he had already left.

But then I saw him.

At the far edge of the camp, away from the noise, Viktor sat on a wooden bench outside his wagon, which was already packed up and ready to move. A small campfire flickered at his feet, casting shadows over his broad frame. He had a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, the ember glowing as he took a slow drag. When he saw me, he winked.

“Glad you could make it.”

I swallowed hard, stepping closer.

I instinctively knelt down on one knee at his boots.

“Still want me as your wagon boy?”

Viktor exhaled a plume of smoke, watching me through it. Then his eyes flicked to the gold chain still hanging around my neck. A slow grin spread across his face.

“That Chain,” he said, “looks good on you. Makes you look like my Wagon Boy already.”

I felt a flicker of pride at that. I hadn’t taken the chain off since he’d given it to me. Somehow, it had already become part of me.

“I want to be a strongman like you,” I said, my voice steady. I couldn’t believe my mouth was forming those words, but once I had said it, I knew it was true.  “I want you to Train me.”

Viktor tapped the ash off his cigar. “You understand, this won’t be easy. I’ll push you hard. Train you hard. And if you slack off, I’ll punish you hard. You ready for that?”

I nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Sir.”

He studied me for a long moment, then leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on his knees. “You say that now. But words are easy. Strength? Strength is earned.” He reached down beside the bench, pulling up something from the wooden box that he kept there. “If you really want this — if you want to be a strongman like me — then you show me your commitment.”

In his hands was a thick, wide leather collar — the kind a bulldog or mastiff would wear.  Heavy, worn, reinforced with brass studs along its length. It looked like it had been used before, maybe many times.

“This is my Training Collar,” Viktor said. “Each man I’ve trained has worn it. Not just to show that they belong to me, but to remind them of their promise — their vow to this life, to the work, to the pain. You want me to build you into a man, into a Strongman? Then you put this on yourself.”

I reached out with trembling fingers, taking the collar from his hands. The leather was firm but supple, warm from his touch.  I noticed that in addition to the regular buckle closure, the strap had a thick hasp that could protrude through the overlong notches.

Without hesitation, I wrapped the collar around my neck, pulling it not too snug. The weight of it settled against my throat, a solid, unbreakable bond.

Viktor’s grin widened. He reached forward and tightened the buckle one notch more, making sure it fit properly. As he did, his fingers brushed the gold chain against my skin.

“Good,” he murmured. “The chain fits just fine under the collar — and hopefully, eventually under your skin.” His tone was approving, like I had passed some unspoken test.  He then pushed the hasp through an open notch, and produced a small but sturdy brass padlock, looped it through the hasp, and snapped the lock shut.  The key to the padlock was on a neck chain similar to the one he had given me; he slipped it around his own neck and the key glinted in the firelight against his massive chest.  My Collar was now locked on, and only Viktor could remove it.  I was his.

The distant shouts of the roustabouts signaled that the wagons were being hitched. The carnival was ready to move.

Viktor stood, towering over me. “Come on, time to get to work.”

He turned and stepped up into the wagon. I followed without question, stepping inside just as the wheels lurched forward.

The wagon pitched and swayed as it joined the caravan. Viktor glanced back at me, the light fro a lantern catching his broad grin.

“Hope you’re ready for this. Your real life starts now.”

I smiled back, gripping the collar around my neck.

“I’m ready, Strongman.”