“Watch the Funny Bone, the circus of undead! Don’t be afraid, they’re friendly!”

  “An undead circus is rarer than flying whales! Don’t miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

  Ten children dressed in rags darted through the streets of Edge, preparing the ground for Jerry’s circus. People turned to look, and as they heard the funny music approach, their eyes widened, and they dropped everything they were doing to ogle.

  When the undead showed up, most people stepped back or glared. A minority didn’t, and it was this minority that the Funny Bone set their sights on.

  “I can’t believe you spent ten taels for that,” Boney said.

  “Twenty, actually,” Marcus replied. “They’ll each get another tael when they’re done.”

  “What?!”

  Marcus laughed. “Relax, Boney. I like money as much as the next treasure hunter, but this is an investment! It’s how real money is made! By the time you guys are ready to perform, everyone will know what’s happening by word of mouth—and, if only ten people show up, at three taels a head, we’ve made a profit!”

  “We need ten people just to cover our show expenses,” Boney said. “All those flaming rings and torches work on pig fat, which isn’t cheap. We also need fabric for confetti, ropes for the Billies, bribes to ensure everything runs smoothly… Frankly, in this town, I’ll be glad if we can even break even.”

  “Believe in curiosity, Boney. These people have been fighting undead their whole lives—this is a rare opportunity to see the other side of it. Many will come, you’ll see.”

  “I suppose the shouting children inspire good faith.” The skeleton cupped his chin. “You’re good at exploiting people, aren’t you?”

  “I would never!” Marcus acted hurt. “The best deals are win-win ones. Those children will eat well tonight because they helped us. If you were in charge, we’d already be labeled villains.”

  Jerry absent-mindedly listened to the conversation from where he sat on his heavenly soft chair at the wagon’s front, holding the reins to Boboar which he never pulled. He wasn’t really paying attention. It was the first time in his life he visited a town, and the sights had swept him.

  Over the street, ropes stretched between windows, where a woman with long, dark hair hung her clothes to dry. A man sat behind a stall, selling the hot bread he cooked on a small stove. Heat poured out of a blacksmith’s workshop. Doors and windows opened and closed. People talked and shouted, letting an ever-present din float lightly over the town—Jerry couldn’t hear it due to the circus music, but that’s what he imagined.

  “What a lively place…” he said in awe. “Don’t you think so, Headless?”

  The zombie, walking next to the wagon, moved his head up and down to nod. On the other side, Axehand suddenly grunted in surprise.

  “Hmm?” Jerry turned to look.

  Axehand made another grunt, this one intrigued, drawing Jerry’s attention to a street carpet filled with wooden sculptures. They were cruder than the skeleton’s works but sported a series of diverse shapes.

  “Oh wow,” Jerry said, suddenly interested—to the terror of their owner. “Look at that. A dog, a bird, a tree, a…a…what’s that?”

  The street peddler—a middle-aged, slim, tanned man with bare feet—opened and closed his mouth without sound. Jerry’s object of curiosity was a ship-like sculpture with an oblong shape placed over it, supported by small wooden columns.

  “Hey, Marcus,” Jerry turned to the treasure hunter, “I saw one of these on the town’s emblem, right above the gate. What is it?”

  “It’s an airship,” Marcus said. “During the Red Week, Escarbot had one of these—the Eye of the Sky—patrol and bombard the border to make sure no one got past. After the Wall was built, the airship was stationed here, in Edge, as a reminder of the kingdom’s abilities. It should still be here, but now it’s just a relic.”

  “Actually,” Boney chimed in, “it’s regularly maintained and kept in good condition. If the Wall ever falls, the town officials are to ride the airship back to the capital.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “How do you know that?”

  “I come from an upper-class family. These things are common knowledge.”

  “What’s an airship?” Jerry asked again, welcoming the pair of astounded gazes. Boney’s sound clacked as he chuckled, producing the distinct sound known as a ‘cluckle.’

  “It’s a flying ship, Master,” he replied, “but don’t worry, that’s not a dumb question at all. How could you possibly imagine what an airship does?”

  “But how can a ship fly?”

  “Something about hot air and light materials…” Marcus said. “I’m not too sure myself, but I helped fly one of these in the Sea of Sands. Handy little toys.”

  “Oh, wow…” Jerry’s mouth was gaping. “Do you think we could buy one? I want to fly as well.”

  “They’re not for sale!” The treasure hunter laughed. “Can you imagine the chaos? That said, if you had enough taels…”

  “How many is enough?”

  “Maybe a hundred thousand.”

  “Oh.” Jerry deflated. He sighed, then turned to Axehand. “Anyway… What do you think, buddy? Want a sculpture for inspiration?”

  The double-skeleton gazed at the wooden sculptures again, inspecting their crude makings. He then grunted disdainfully and kept walking.

  “Sorry, my friend,” Jerry told the merchant, laughing. “He’s a picky one. If it’s any consolation, I liked them!”

  The peddler could only hiccup.

  The circus continued through the city, spreading chaos and attracting all sorts of glances. Jerry himself wasn’t shy either; as this was his first time in a town, he opened his eyes wide to take in the sights and didn’t even realize they’d reached the town square until the street opened wide. He looked ahead.

  A wide plaza stretched as large as the entire village of Pilpen. Houses and shops lined its sides, some of them painted in various colors, while skinny pigeons walked through the plaza, bobbing their heads up and down as they looked for breadcrumbs to eat—frankly, it was a miracle the pigeons hadn’t been eaten themselves.

  Across from them, a blonde girl sold flowers before a small house full of greenery, and right next to that house was a towering temple with a golden ball—probably wood and yellow paint—on its very top. A large clock adorned the front of the temple, with its complicated network of hands pointing at several numbers in several rings around the center, and Jerry could now see a large flock of pigeons nesting atop the temple’s roof.

  The wagon immediately came to a halt, as did the music, all undead sensing his sentiment.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Wow,” Jerry spoke from his heart. “It’s beautiful.”

  In that one moment, Jerry was glad he’d left Pilpen, and for every decision that had led him to here and now. His horizons had been irreparably broadened.

  “Boney, look! That’s amazing!”

  “I know, Master. It’s a temple to Manna, the Goddess of Light, and a clock tower along with it.”

  “But that’s taller than my tower! How did they make it so big?”

  “By placing one stone over the other,” Marcus stepped in. “Impressive, isn’t it? There’s one of those in every town.”

  “Really? That’s amazing!”

  “The church of Manna is very particular about her worship.” Marcus laughed. “In any case, I think the center of this plaza would be a good place to set up shop.”

  “That can’t be legal,” Boney said.

  “We have bribe money and the count’s name behind us. We can try.”

  “Let’s give it a shot,” Jerry agreed, giggling. “I want to host a show under that tall tower.”

  “Very well, Master. Shall we get started, then?”

  “Let’s.”

  With practiced movements, the undead started unloading the tower of colorful cloth from the wagon. There were iron stakes in there, as well as a lot of fabric, and the people around the square could only watch in shock as the undead got to work.

  Slowly, a red shape took form. As the Billies hammered iron stakes into the stone, the tip of the fabric rose, and rose, and rose, until the center of the plaza housed a large, multi-colored tent. People gawked. Eventually, a short half-hour after construction had begun, the circus tent had been fully erected. A small red flag waved over its tip.

  Marcus gawked, too. “That’s a big tent,” he said.

  “Of course,” Boney said. “Only the people who pay get to watch. What are we, amateurs?”

  “All right, everyone!” Jerry clapped once. “Let’s get to work. Night will fall soon, and we need to be ready before that!”

  With excited cries, the undead rushed inside the tent, followed by sounds of things unfolding and clanking against each other. Only Jerry remained outside, using the empty cart as a scaffold to stand high above the crowd and shout for customers. They’d already been a circus for a month, and by now, everyone more or less knew their job.

  “Come, everyone, come! Only three taels a head, two for the children!” Jerry shouted.

  Of course, most people stared as if he’d told them to eat shit, but a few curious ones approached. “What is this?” they asked.

  “This, my friends, is the Funny Bone, the one and only circus of undead! Prepare to see skeletal animals perform tricks, zombies juggling their heads and balancing on each other, and skeletons lifting groups of people as if they weigh nothing!”

  Soon, a small crowd had formed around Jerry, and whispers were breaking out left and right. Nobody had volunteered for a ticket yet, struck as they were by hard glares from all around the square, but they clearly considered it.

  “The first ten people get a one-tael discount!” Marcus shouted, stepping up beside Jerry. A few more whispers later, two people stepped forth—one was the flower-selling girl from before, and the other a child beggar that Marcus had paid to spread the word. Curiosity was painted on its little face.

  “Come, come!” Jerry shouted, smiling and accepting their taels—but secretly refused the child’s, winking and returning it. He didn’t want to take money from people who needed it.

  Marcus didn’t see that, already golden-eyed from the prospective profit, and his shouts grew increasingly passionate. After the ball had gotten rolling, more people joined in the fun, and even more people trickled from the square’s edges into the hesitant crowd in front of the circus entrance.

  Marcus looked at them and saw walking taels.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” a voice thundered from the side as ten armored guards stepped forth, and Marcus, smiling, quickly walked off to meet them. A few short moments later, the guards left quietly, their pockets slightly heavier.

  “But remove those stakes!” they shouted as they left. “You’re ruining the square!”

  Boney took over this task, having the Billies replace the iron stakes they’d already nailed into the square with heavy rocks and debris they scoured from around the city. Beggars—especially the child ones—were happy to source rocks in exchange for free entry.

  More and more people trickled into the circus, surpassing a few dozen now, and Jerry was beyond himself with joy. Beggars or poor-looking people were still accepted for free, of course, and not a single one of them spilled the beans. A few more guards showed up, but Marcus easily took care of them, already dreaming of the torrential profit they’d make. Soon, the circus tent was so packed that Jerry had to consider taking the performance out in the open.

  A quick scolding from Boney later, they simply removed the benches and had the people crowd together. A few complained, but most didn’t seem to mind.

  By now, the entirety of Edge Town was in an uproar, and the judgmental glares increased as rapidly as the circus’s customers. Nobody tried anything, fortunately for them, and as the sun disappeared behind the far-off mountains, the performance was ready to begin.

  Suddenly, a deep horn call came from atop the Wall, capturing people’s attention for a few seconds before they returned to glaring at the circus. Jerry looked up.

  “What’s that?” he asked a person that was paying up.

  “It’s the war horn,” they replied. “It means there’s a horde incoming, but don’t worry. The soldiers on the Wall will handle it.”

  Jerry wasn’t worried. On the contrary, he was intrigued.

  “Marcus, can you take over?” he asked, already mentally commanding the ever-scouting Birb to fly over the Wall.

  “Sure, why?”

  “There’s something I need to do.”

  Jerry entered the tent, pushing through the crowd and through the stage to reach the small part of the tent where the undead prepared their acts, separated from the crowd area by a tall wall of cloth.

  “I will borrow Birb’s senses for a while,” Jerry said. “Handle yourselves, okay?”

  “We will protect your body with our lives, Master,” Boney said, eyes hinting at crimson. “And we’ll give these people a great show as well.”

  “Great. I trust you completely.”

  He sat on his heavenly soft chair— oh, the softness —and closed his eyes, sending his senses into Birb. A blue sky appeared before him, and as the bird zombie looked down, a long gray line split the terrain, green on one side and black on the other.

  On the Wall stood a row of soldiers, humans armed with bows and crossbows and lances and swords. Why swords? Jerry wondered, but his attention was instantly drawn away as he noticed the colored feathers.

  There were wizards, too! Pyromancers, hydromancers, biomancers, and photomancers—besides necromancers, all schools of magic were present, and the feathers on their shoulders were anything but discreet. There was even a two-feather biomancer commanding them; it was the first time Jerry ever saw an elite wizard!

  Through Birb’s sharp eyes, Jerry could see everything, which included the horde of undead stampeding toward the Wall.

  They were thousands. Most were zombies or skeletons. Some were odd and misshapen, some looked like zombies but felt different—even from this distance—and a few were clusters of sewn-together corpses. There were also undead animals, as well as birds, which the Wall itself could do nothing against.

  Ah. That’s why they have swords!

  As Jerry watched, with shrieks from one side and roars from the other, the undead clashed against the Wall.