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Chapter 41: The Art of Borrowing
🕑 Added 2025-01-03 09:16:00 +0000 UTC“What do you think about this, Boney?” Jerry pointed to a length of rope. “Can’t we use it?”
“We already have rope, Master.”
“We have rope, yes…but what about a second rope?”
Under his hood, Boney’s jaw clacked.
With the sun high in the sky and today’s performance planned for the late afternoon, Jerry’s team was left with plenty of free time. They decided to spend it efficiently, acquiring all sorts of supplies for their upcoming expedition into the Dead Lands.
“Oh, oh! What about this?” This time, Jerry pointed at a ball of goat hide. “I’ve been running low on shoe materials!”
“Do you plan to dress the Dead Lands into submission, Master?”
“Shoes are important!”
Boney took a long, trembling breath, then placed the hide into the sack they used to shop.
“Hey, you, with the cloak!” The shop owner, a little old woman, pointed at Boney. “I’m watching you.”
“I’ll pay, of course,” the skeleton said, then grumbled under his breath, “so give us a fucking break.”
Boney was dressed in a full-body cloak with a deep hood that hid his features. Discretion was best, even if it screamed ‘thief’ at shopkeepers.
The store they’d entered was called ‘Sally’s Goods,’ manned by a kind-looking old lady whose sharp eyes watched them from a stall by the door. It was placed there on purpose so the shopkeeper could stop potential thieves, though the old lady’s ability to stop anyone seemed questionable at best.
At the depths of the store, Tom and Jerry were surrounded by empty shelves and half-filled crates. Some held fruits, some vegetables, some tools, while others had clothes, but everything that could rot was in very small quantities. This store didn’t see many customers.
“Look at this, Boney!”
Boney groaned. “What is it this time, Master? A table for the Dead Lands?”
“No, a flask for Axehand.”
“Oh?”
A steel flask was placed on a shelf. It was plain, with only the crude image of a wolf decorating its clean, gray exterior, and when Jerry twisted its top open to take a whiff, it smelled clean.
“Since he enjoys wine so much, we should get him a flask! What do you think, would he like this?” he asked Boney.
“Hmm…” The skeleton hesitantly looked the flask over. “Steel is expensive, Master…and our funds are limited as is. Maybe we could buy him something of lesser quality?”
He pointed at a row of wooden flasks, but Jerry shook his head. “Axehand is a great person and a loyal friend. He never asks for anything. How could we settle for anything that’s not the best?”
“I’m sure Axehand would prefer something that enhances our survival chances over a flask, Master.”
“Nonsense. If we don’t take care of our friends, what are we even doing? Let’s get the flask.”
Boney relented. “As you wish.”
One more item was placed in their sack, which was, by now, overflowing. Ropes, tools, trinkets, even a few sheathed weapons had been picked up by the two of them.
“Can our funds even cover this?” Jerry asked as they headed for the stall.
“I believe so,” replied Boney. “If not, we’ll just leave the least useful stuff behind.”
The sharp-eyed older lady took their sack and emptied it, her eyes scanning the items and mentally adding the costs up. Jerry was impressed.
Only a minute later, the lady—Susan, going by the shop’s name—looked up and declared, “Eighty-nine taels, sirs.”
Boney’s jaw clacked. “With pleasure.”
In the Kingdom of Escarbot, and in the three Kingdoms in general, bartering was not common practice—you paid the stated price or took your leave. In this case, the stated price was a comfortable eleven taels below their limit.
The mission funds had recovered to a hundred taels after the profit of last night, with the surplus lining Jerry’s pockets. Which, of course, were Boney’s pockets.
“Thank you very much, Susan.” Jerry smiled as Boney handed over the coins, and the older woman smiled back.
“You’re welcome, love. Good luck at the Dead Lands, though you shouldn’t go there at all.”
Their previous conversation hadn’t been hushed—why would it?
“Thank you, but it’s okay.” Jerry’s smile didn’t falter. “Soon, they won’t be so dangerous anymore.”
The older lady nodded but didn’t comment further. She didn’t understand Jerry’s words, of course, but needlessly antagonizing strangers was the sign of a tragically inexperienced merchant.
With the sound of a door opening and closing, Tom and Jerry were in the open again, letting the familiar ruckus of the market wash over them. There were peddlers and merchants, stalls full of fruit, and crude carpets covered in trinkets; there were passers-by, customers, beggars, and pickpockets aplenty—yet none would dare challenge the fully-cloaked figure of Boney.
Amongst pickpockets, survival instincts were sharp.
However, though Edge Town was well-populated, and the market street outside had plenty of people scuttling back and forth, it remained despondently poor. The stores had barricaded windows and doors, only showcasing a paltry amount of goods, while most people were simply crossing this street to get somewhere, not to buy things.
Of course, even though Boney was dressed in a cloak, Jerry wasn’t, and many people recognized him from last night. They stepped back or stared in disbelief; murmurs spread, and the crowd parted wherever the two walked, but they didn’t mind.
“What else do we need, Boney?” Jerry asked, looking up at the bright, cloudless sky.
“Lots of luck, Master,” replied the skeleton. “Besides that, we have everything in my list already. We can go back and wait.”
“We have eleven spare taels—that means we got good trades, right? Shouldn’t we reward ourselves?”
Boney looked over—Jerry could feel his blank stare under the hood. “Reward ourselves, Master?”
“Exactly. With a juicy apple, perhaps—it’s such a nice day—or maybe a stroll through the town. Oh, I wish the others could be here too…but that’s okay, we’ll stroll together through the Dead Lands.”
“We can spare an apple’s expense, Master. Feel free.”
“Thanks, Boney!” Jerry smiled, rushing over to a nearby stall and ridding himself of one tael.
“Say,” he asked, taking a bite off his self-gift, “we should buy something for you, too. Some milk, perhaps? I know you like it.”
“It’s fine, Master. I don’t need anything.”
“Come on, you’re working so hard to manage the Funny Bone. We must reward you with something .”
“Your well-being is my reward, Master. Speaking of rewards, did you perhaps forget to charge some people yesterday? Our earnings were terribly lower than they should be.”
Jerry hadn’t charged the beggars at all, but Boney didn’t need to know that. He laughed, ignored the skeleton’s pointy stare, and dodged the question. “Come on, don’t be like that. We can get you something small.” He looked around. “A jug of milk, perhaps, or a pin to go with your nice gray cap, or—”
“A flower, sirs?”
They halted. A girl had stepped before them, carrying a colorful bouquet in each hand and smiling sweetly. Spring was at its height, making nature don its prettiest dresses, so the flowers were all lush and vibrant.
As for the girl herself, Jerry recognized her; she was the same one he’d seen yesterday in the square, as well as the very second customer of their circus. Going by her fearless approach, she either didn’t recognize them or wasn’t scared at all—probably the latter, as, from this distance, she could see into Boney’s hood.
Jerry took a closer look.
Vivid blue eyes framed by frizzled blond hair, a soft gaze which oddly felt as if reaching all the way to your soul, and a slim body hugged by a blue, knee-height dress. Her only other accessory was the flask hanging by her waist—probably to water the flowers. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five.
This was a plain-looking girl, going strictly by her features, but there was something about her that made the eye linger. She was beautiful in a very earthly, natural way.
Of course Jerry, being undead himself, had no untoward considerations.
He nodded, turning to the skeleton. “Or maybe a flower, yes. How are your senses, Boney? Can you smell?”
“Faintly, Master. But this is very much an unnecessary expen—”
Before he could finish his words, the girl had stuck a bouquet inside his hood, letting him sniff it. “Isn’t this wonderful, sir?” she asked. “My parents died a month ago, so I’m alone in the world, but flowers still give me some joy!”
Boney cluckled and gently pushed the bouquet away. “I wish you the best of luck, girl, but we are out of taels.”
“No, we aren’t,” Jerry said, gazing over questioningly. “Weren’t we just saying we have ten left?”
Boney’s stare was scalding. The girl smiled, spring arriving to her face as well.
“I am not a beggar, sirs, but a merchant. Consider buying from me—no matter what you’re doing, there is always room for a little beauty in your life.”
“I like that saying!” Jerry smiled back. “Give me a bouquet, then.”
“Master…”
“Come on, Boney, she’s right. Life is meant to be beautiful—if not, you’re doing it wrong!”
“That would be three taels, sir,” the girl said, handing the bouquet over, and Boney reluctantly paid the price. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t be such a cheapskate, Boney… Taels are to be spent. We made more than enough yesterday, and the count should give us even more tonight.”
As soon as he said that, the girl’s face visibly scrunched into a scowl.
“Oh right, everybody seems to hate him,” Jerry said. “Say, girl, we’re not from around here. Can you tell us about the count? I’ll give you another three taels if you tell us everything.”
Surprise coloring her gaze, she considered it. “Of course, sir,” she replied, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible over the market’s din. “Count Decaron is not a good man. He lets us starve and uses the kingdom’s funding to host grand parties for himself and other aristocrats. People say he’s a devil.”
“What?!” Jerry’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Absolutely! He forces young women to dance for him and his friends, enjoys rich meals while we starve, and doesn’t even bother ruling this town, relying on the Wall’s status to keep everything in order. Unfortunately, his family has ruled over Edge Town since its founding, and with the heavy military power around here, their iron fist is absolute.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Everything I said is the truth and only the truth, sir.” The girl’s eyes trembled. “We all hate him.”
The necromancer threw an astonished glance at Boney. “Boney, this count is a bad guy! We can’t perform for him!”
Now, it was Boney’s turn to be astonished. “What? Master, that’s not—”
“You heard her! He mistreats all these people; how could we possibly entertain him and be paid by dirty money?”
“But, Master, if we don’t perform, we’ll be in big trouble. How will we get past the Wall?”
“Can’t we find another way?”
“Maybe, but it will take time. Did you forget”—Boney glanced at the girl—“that we are in a hurry?”
Jerry frowned. Right. That Herald guy is after us.
“Well,” he said, “that’s an issue.”
“Exactly.” Boney nodded, lowering his voice further. “This is not our problem, Master. I understand that it makes you feel weird, but sometimes, we have to make concessions. There is nothing else we can do.”
Jerry pursed his lips. “Well, I suddenly don’t like this plan. There must be something.”
“We can return to the tent, Master, and see if Marcus has any ideas.”
“Yeah, I guess we could… Anyway”—he turned back to the flower girl—“thank you very much. Boney, if you’d please.”
The skeleton handed her the money, and the girl, smiling widely, took off. “Have a nice day, sirs!”
“You, too, random flower girl I’ll never see again.”
Gazing at her receding back, Jerry’s eyes naturally flickered to her shoes, finding the worn-down clogs that most everyone wore around here. Her ankles were bruised, however, as if unused to them…
How strange. Is it because her parents died?
Using shoes to glimpse into someone’s life was intriguing, but at the end of the day, Jerry decided that a random girl’s ankles were bound to be unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
Tom and Jerry were left walking through the market, both trying to come up with ways past their current moral predicament. Faces and places zoomed by, and soon, the street widened into the relatively empty town square, save for the circus tent and the towering Manna temple behind it.
A bunch of undead lounged by the circus, most pedestrians giving them a wide berth, while Marcus himself sat on Jerry’s soft chair.
“Oh, hey,” he said as he saw them, standing up, “you’re back early. I was, uh, keeping this warm.”
“Did things go well on your side?” Boney asked, throwing back his hood. Marcus smiled widely.
“Just well? It was perfect! With the count’s permission, we can depart tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
“That’s great.”
Marcus noticed their neutral looks. “Is everything alright?”
“Well…” Boney glanced at Jerry’s thoughtful face. “We have a small problem to solve. You see—”
“I got it!” Jerry suddenly slammed a fist into his open palm, surprising the both of them.
“What did you find, Jerry?”
“A change of plans,” the necromancer said, smiling widely. “Screw the performance. We’re borrowing the count’s airship.”
They froze. Boney spoke first. “…Oh no.”
