The manor of Count Decaron was placed on the city’s edge, as far away from the Wall as possible. Tall walls surrounded it, painted red, pristinely maintained, and with spikes at the top, while the nearby houses all spoke of riches and authority—despite its relatively low population count, Edge Town had no lack for nobles.

As soon as the Funny Bone had departed from the town square, a procession had already formed behind them. Despite their deep-seated hatred, the people were curious about the undead, and watching such a circus enter the Count’s manor was bound to be an interesting sight.

Many even believed that the Count’s guards would attack on sight!

The people stopped one street behind as the circus cart alone, surrounded by strolling zombies and skeletal animals, proceeded forward. Only Marcus was missing, as he had other business to attend to tonight.

What a building… thought Jerry. The entire town was angular and gray, making the red walls of the Count’s manor stand out like sore thumbs.

“Curious, isn’t it?” he asked Boney, who sat beside him at the cart’s front.

“What is, Master?”

“The leader of a military town is an extravagant person.”

“Ah yes, quite peculiar. Perhaps, the red color represents the blood spilled to guard the Wall, while the Count’s frivolity is just an act to remind the people of what not to become.”

“Very imaginative, Boney, thank you. You’re witty today.”

“Everyday, Master.”

By the side, Axehand took a swig off his brand new flask—an iron one with a wolf’s icon, bought to him by Jerry and Boney the day before. He let out a satisfied grunt as the wine dripped down his ribcage.

The top of a round, circular shape peeked over the building—this was the airship's balloon, that Jerry had already scouted out with the help of Birb. It was impressive, really; he couldn’t wait to take a closer look.

“Halt. Who goes there?”

Four people manned the iron gates, each a hardened veteran of war. They wielded spears, and as the circus cart approached, they gripped them tighter.

“We are the Funny Bone circus,” declared Jerry. “We have been invited by the Count.”

“You may pass.”

The spears were withdrawn, and the cart was let through without any sort of check. After all, who would impersonate an undead circus?

Thanks to Birb’s scouting, Jerry was familiar with the manor’s layout. It was a square-shaped, two-story residence, built around an inner courtyard and surrounded by an outer one, around which stood the red walls. The manor was made entirely of wood, though its roof was covered in orderly red bricks.

It seemed like a tough place to sneak into… but Jerry had a plan, and it was already in motion.

“Do you think your Little Ones will be able to handle this, Master?” asked Boney, looking back at the guards. “The manor looks well-guarded.”

“Of course they will. Don’t worry, nobody will suspect a thing.”

The moment they crossed the manor gates, the circus was assaulted by the sound of music and raucous laughter. A gravel path led to an expansive open space of the outer courtyard, centered around a mermaid-shaped fountain and filled with scantily-clad women weaving their bodies in an alluring dance.

The sight alone would have been entrancing if not for the undead—and, therefore, Jerry—having no sexual urges.

Between carefully trimmed shrubberies, a band of musicians occupied the back of the open space, their fingers plucking the strings like spiders as they recreated some soft, honey-laden melody.

Jerry and his undead entered the courtyard, and immediately, the music faltered as several musicians backed off in terror. The dancers lost their tempo, ruining the entrancing sight, while cries erupted from a long table at the courtyard’s side. It was loaded with so much food and drinks it seemed about to buckle, and was occupied by a dozen people dressed in opulent fashion.

The Funny Bone waited for the chaos to settle.

“Quiet!” a strong, youthful voice rang out as a tall man raised his hands. He sat at the head of the table, two beautiful women at his sides, and the tone of his voice implied an authority that his lackadaisical body stance did not. Short dark hair adorned his temples, framing a set of brown eyes, sharp nose, and thin lips, while the soft robes he wore seemed designed for comfort.

He was also drunk, as was every other person at the table, making them hard to calm down.

Count Decaron stood up and banged his hands on the table. “I told you to be quiet!” he yelled, shaking them all into obedience. “I invited them! They’re a circus!”

“Now, Boney,” Jerry whispered, and the skeleton blew his unfurling red music stick. On cue, the rest of the undead started bashing their own instruments, creating a joyful cacophony that quickly covered the decaying musicians’ ambiance.

Everyone looked over again, eyes struggling to focus.

Perhaps it was Boney’s red party hat or his unfurling music stick. Perhaps it was the undeads’ apparent inability to achieve anything resembling a consistent tempo, or even how they were obviously just doing their best.

In any case, shortly after the circus music began, the musicians, dancers, and guests all seemed to relax—or at least get over the immediate threat to their lives. Some of the guests—completely hammered—even began laughing, quickly lapsing into nervous, unstoppable chuckles.

“Wait until they hear my jokes,” Boney said over the noise.

“I’m sure they’ll be excited,” replied Jerry, momentarily taking the trumpet off his lips. “Maybe they’ll be the first people to actually laugh!”

“Hmm, yes, obviously. These people are drunk to the bone.”

“Is the Count waving at us?” Jerry waved back.

“I think he’s telling us to go over.”

“Oh. Fine then, let’s go.”

Leaving the cart behind and the music playing, they approached, finding a table so stipped in spilled wine that it reeked from ten feet away.

“Come closer.” The Count laughed, not standing up, as he was too busy getting his shoulders massaged by the two dancers. “What are your names?”

Up close and personal, Count Decaron seemed like a man who knew himself. His current visage was a bit unwieldy—clearly drunk and surrounded by dancers—but he didn’t seem to mind as he lounged on his chair—a particularly soft chair, as Jerry noted.

Moreover, there was a certain devious quality to his gaze as if he constantly searched for accomplishes. He was a bad guy who didn’t bother hiding.

“We are Jerry and Tom Boney, sir Count,” Jerry responded.

“You look hilarious!” The man laughed, clearly not paying them any mind. “Come, come, dance for us! Make us laugh!”

“We do not dance, sir Count,” Jerry politely informed him. “We perform.”

“Then do it already.”

Decaron was clearly not a patient man, but they somewhat expected it at this point. They bowed slightly and turned around, heading back to their circus.

“Do you think these women were forced to be here, Boney?” asked Jerry.

“No way, Master. The law applies even here—the Count can get away with some usurping or incompetence, but nothing like that. These girls are probably paid dancers or prostitutes, people who need the money.”

“Oh.”

The dancers still stared fearfully as Jerry and Boney walked through, but Jerry did his best to smile at them—their shaking eyes relaxed somewhat. They were all young girls in their late teens or early twenties—no children, fortunately—and their shaking gazes betrayed their fear as well as their closed postures did.

Jerry could even feel their souls shudder in confusion, all except one—and as he looked at that particular one, he found a blond girl with vivid blue eyes and bruised ankles.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Hi!”

For some reason, she glared back.

“Keep walking, Master,” advised Boney. “If we don’t hurry, the Count might get angry.”

Jerry turned his gaze away. “Even the flower girl is angry at me.” He pouted. “What did I even do?”

“Maybe getting the Count’s attention in any way is bad, Master…”

Jerry’s gaze hardened a bit. “Hmm. I guess you do have a point.”

Following the shouted orders of some guards, the dancers scrambled to the sides, leaving a large empty site at the courtyard’s midst. Jerry took the stage.

“Hello, everyone!” he said. “Give a round of cheers for the Funny Bone circus!”

Between half-hearted claps and cheers, the crowd welcomed Jerry, providing a somewhat passable audience for what was coming.

As always, first came the parade, where the undead stepped into the stage and walked in a circle while offering demonstrations of their later acts. Gradually, the mood began to turn. From stunned silence to disbelieving intrigue, the dancers, musicians, and guards around the square directed their eyes at the circus.

The Count was leaning against the table, watching the performance while receiving a massage on his shoulders.

As for the Count’s guests, the soberest ones watched with morbid curiosity, while the drunkest laughed at the wrong moments and shouted jokes that only they—and their equally drunken friends—found funny.

“Bring us wine!!” shouted the Count, prompting two dancers to rush over and refill his cup right as Boboar jumped through a flaming ring with Foxy dancing on his back. The colorful ribbons finally seemed to catch Decaron’s attention, and with a sound of surprise, he finally stood upright.

After Boboar and Foxy came Headless, juggling his own head along with stones at first and burning torches later. At this, one noble fell off his chair laughing.

“He has no head!” he managed to scream.

“That’s why he’s so stupid!” replied another guest—making no sense—followed by a third one, who commented, “That’s so ridiculous!”

“It’s a circus; what did you expect?” screeched a woman.

They were quite obnoxious—drunkenness and distastefulness were a bad combination. At least the Count still had some reason left.

After Headless came Axehand, who wielded a large trunk through the air—in a more abrupt manner than usual—and then carved a particularly angular wooden horse. The nobles first proclaimed they could use him as a mule, then mocked him for the sculpture’s ugliness.

The crimson balls of fire in Axehand’s eye sockets did not seem to bother them.

The final act was the Billies, who, having no tightrope, did their ground performance. The four of them climbed on each other’s shoulders, showcasing various combinations before culminating in a rhombus-shaped, four-Billy tower, with one being the base, two standing on his shoulders, and a final zombie balancing atop the previous two.

The dancers, musicians, and guards had long been intrigued by the show, all fear forgotten, but only this act made the Count and his guests finally appreciate the effort that went into the circus. Amidst jeers and pointy jokes, they gave an uncoordinated round of claps, and the circus people came on stage once to lightly bow their heads and then retreat.

“I will clap with their bones,” whispered Boney, eyes burning crimson. It wasn’t his own humiliation that infuriated him, of course, but Jerry’s—and the same applied to all of them.

“They are quite unlikeable…” The necromancer shook his head. “But what can you do? Bad manners aren’t a crime—though I really hope a cat will fall on their heads.”

“Let’s find a cat before we steal the airship, Master,” Boney was quick to reply, “so we can throw it at them.”

“Not steal, Boney, as that would make us thieves. We’ll borrow it—and we really should be kind to everyone, even animals.”

“Of course, Master. Now hurry and give them the gifts so we can leave.”

The whole affair had taken only a few minutes, as all undead had unspokenly agreed to speed up their acts as much as possible—but even this much felt like too long.

“Sir Count,” called Jerry, approaching the table again, “our circus has prepared a gift for your children.”

He dropped a large sack on the ground, letting wooden horses spill out from its mouth. One of the nearby dancers grabbed one and handed it to the Count.

“Mmm…” said the man, narrowing his eyes. “What is this?”

“A wooden horse, your Countship. Very well-made.”

“Oh… Fine,” he replied, unimpressed.

Jerry could sense Axehand’s desire to murder the man, but mentally held him back.

“Thank you very much, sir,” he said. “Should we take our leave?”

“Of course, of course!” The Count waved his hands, already losing interest. “You’ll be let past the Wall tomorrow morning… and the entrance guards will pay you for your service.”

Jerry nodded and retreated, quickly retreating to where the undead were already packing their cart. As soon as he arrived, Axehand let out a murderous grunt.

“I know, my friend.” Jerry sighed. “But console yourself. They can only be mean at us, but we’ll borrow their airship… Besides, imagine their reaction when they meet the Little Ones.”

The musicians restarted playing, the dancers got to dancing, and the Funny Bone’s memory had been wiped clean off the slate. It was in that way that they took off, crossing the gates, receiving their hundred taels, and re-entering the town—but this time, without any music. The cart drove to the town square, where they rested beside their large circus tent.

And a few hours later, as the moon had reached its peak… they returned.