I heard the entertainment district before I saw it. There was a riot of sounds that could be heard from a couple streets over. It was a mash up dozens of different instruments mixed with the sounds of crowds talking about or cheering for various performances. As we walked closer, there were more restaurants and bars, each with signs depicting whether or not they had performers scheduled along with who and what they were doing.

  The variety of performances was just as wild. I stopped in front of one bar that proclaimed it was having a drunken poetry contest with the winner receiving a rather impressive 5,000 PEC. I knew there were classes that revolved around pretty much everything, but the idea seemed silly. It seemed less so when not even a few buildings down another place was offering 20,000 PEC to the winner of an impromptu singing contest.

  There were plazas occasionally where I saw performers dancing, juggling, and just making a spectacle. There were a few people who had games setup, but Deacon held me back from participating. He did let me watch a few, and I understood why after catching sight of one guy swapping the dice out after a guy won a few times.

  “You’re worried I’d beat his ass, aren’t you?” I asked as we started off again.

  “I’m worried you’d kill him.” Deacon admitted. He looked back let out a curious sound, “Though I think I know him. His gimmick is all about sleight of hand and catching him in the middle of it.”

  “So… he wants to get caught cheating?” It was weird, but oddly could be a good workout for Perception.

  “More or less.” Deacon shrugged and started guiding me down a long road that lead to a rather large amphitheatre. “Want to browse around, or head straight for the Funerary Theater?”

  “Is that what that large building is?” I nodded down the street we were walking.

  “Yep. It’s mostly used for performances by the Circus. They host regular performances and anyone who made it to a high level will usually be honored in the main shows. Often with a performance based on whatever their unique achievements were.” He motioned to either side of the building with one hand, “There are smaller places for more personal shows. Every week, there’s a large performance for those who die without anyone to mourn them, or those whose bodies can’t be recovered.”

  “How often are those kinds of performances?” I asked, my feelings mixed about the whole affair. Making a spectacle of someone who died didn’t seem like a great idea.

  Deacon shook his head, “It’s less common than you’d think. People are more eager to celebrate with booze than cartwheels, and that’s why there’s a very large tavern presence in the area next to the theater.”

  “That… seems more my speed, if I’m being honest.” I admitted, “How do they know what to put if people die without a way to identify them?”

  “There’s a log.” Deacon said, without missing a beat.

  “A log?” I asked, confused.

  “The Ringmaster has access to a book that updates with deaths that happen within a hundred kilometers of wherever they’re posted up. Anyone can look through it, but the names are only removed if someone is honoring the dead, and they’ve been properly cared for.”

  We stepped onto the street with the theater, and rather than go to the front, we headed for the side of the massive building. There, we found an unlocked door that Deacon just walked through, with me following right behind him. Inside, it was… different than I expected.

  The room beyond the door was plain stone that had hallways leading away from it. There were some racks full of colorful outfits, but what I noticed first was a small crate with some rolled up paper on it, with an open box full of matches next to it. Deacon motioned for me to follow him and started down a path like he owned the place.

  I followed, and couldn’t help but peak into the various rooms we passed. Most of the ones I could see into were full of mirrors with lit up stones surrounding the reflective surface. There were people in most of them in various stages of makeup and dress. The people were talkative, discussing parts of their performances or where they wanted to go after, and a few even waved to us as we passed.

  “Uh, should we be back here?” I asked Deacon.

  “Hm?” He said, turning to look over his shoulder. “There’s no rules against it. The staff only rooms are deeper into the building and there are actual guards there. I’m just taking you to an office to talk with Show.”

  “Who’s Show?” I asked.

  “A former teammate and someone who should be back in town. If we can’t find him, I’ll try and find Ophelia. She’s one of the Masters of Ceremonies and shouldn’t mind answering some questions.” Deacon stopped and poked his head into room. Inside was a woman dressed in a leotard and wearing some kind of fluffy, and flashy, scarf. “Hi Twil. Is Show in his office?”

  “Deacon! I thought you’d left!” She came over and hugged him. “No, he’s still out. With those nasty bugs flying around, he wanted to practice all those gruesome spells he likes.”

  “Right, what about Ophelia?” He asked her after they parted, “Or is she on vacation still?”

  “Oh, no she’s back. Kind of wish she stayed out a bit longer, since her attitude has been horrid.” The flashy woman leaned in, “I think she got scammed by her last boy toy.”

  “No!” Deacon said, putting a hand to his chest. “The guy everyone specifically told her not to give money to? Or is it someone new?”

  “A new one. He took off with her religious symbol. Which makes it the third one she’s lost this year.” Twil shook her head, and then seemed to notice me. “Oh, whose this cutie?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Twil, Dani. Dani, this is Twil, one of the best acrobats and contortionists in the country.” He motioned to me, “This is Dani. She’s the daughter of Herald Rosecrest. I got hired as her bodyguard.”

  “Oh my!” Twil put a hand to her face, “Such a prestigious name. You must get tired of people making a big deal of it.”

  I thought about it and shrugged, “Not really. It hasn’t happened too much, at least not to my face. More people just seem to be afraid of pissing off my father.” Calling the man I’d never met father still felt weird, but I was getting better at it.

  “Ha! A daddy’s girl, so cute.” She waved her hand at me before turning back to Deacon, “It was nice seeing you again. Don’t be a stranger, dear.”

  She headed further down the hall and took a turn that lead to a set of double doors. When it opened, a wave of sound seemed to crash through the halls with the sounds of a crowd cheering. It was abruptly cut off as the doors closed again. Deacon then guided us towards a set of stairs.

  “Those doors are good at stopping sound from leaking out.” I said before starting to climb. “Is that magical or mundane?”

  Deacon turned to look back at the doors, “You know, I’m not sure. I never thought about it.”

  “Didn’t you used to work here?” I asked, walking up the stairs past him.

  “Kind of? I mostly stopped in here, got my gig, then left. Sometimes I’d be with a team, sometimes by myself.” He shrugged and took the lead again, leading me up two flights and along a hall where I could hear faint music coming through doors leading towards the center of the building. I couldn’t help but stare at the walls, though.

  The walls were covered in painted murals that seemed to blend into each other. What started from the stairs was a band playing some kind of horns as a crowd cheered. In the direction that we went, musical notes from one of the players expanded until they formed a stage where two people were fighting each other with large wooden bats over a pool of some red liquid. I thought I saw a grinning skull in the corner of the pool, but was already past before I could get a second look.

  Things actually continued, with the performances being displayed being rather mundane. Depictions of jesters telling jokes or musicians playing to a tavern all seemed to hid sinister details, now that I was looking at them. I had to actually stop, because one caught me off guard, “Does that guy have… fangs?”

  I had stopped in front of a section where a clown was juggling torches while his fellows brandished whips and blades to the crowds with cheerful grins. But the crowds looked… sinister. The eyes weren’t right, and many had sharpened teeth or nails. I could have mistaken them for cheering, but as I stepped closer, I noticed the man at the front of the crowd had blood all the way down the front of his shirt.

  “Oh, good. They painted over the last one.” Deacon said, stepping up next to me. “I had told the former Ringmaster that a guillotine didn’t count as a ‘celebratory’ event.”

  “Some people have to die, why not make it a party?” I asked, not really paying attention to him. “What’s wrong with the people in the crowd?”

  There was a pause, but after a brief clearing of his throat, he spoke. “That, is a depiction of one of the Carnival teams putting down an undead surge. Some people have been using the magic they’ve given to puppet the bodies of the dead, or to summon such things from wherever they come from. It’s one of the things the Fools in Black are adamant we put down.”

  “The who?” I ask, turning to look at him.

  “Clergy for Carrion. The Masters of Ceremonies run the theaters. The Ringmasters run the local organizations, with the Grand Ringmasters in charge of regional or country operations. The Fools…” He shuddered, “They’re the truly faithful. Everyone else? Just making a living, usually.”

  I furrowed my brow, looking at him. “So… they worship Carrion? Death itself?”

  “Hardly.” A feminine voice came from further down the hall. She was a woman shorter than me, though clearly older from the lines on her face and the grey in her hair. As she came closer, she was dressed in a black jacket many of the performers could be seen wearing as we’d passed the dressing rooms downstairs. Beneath was a yellow shirt over red pants and black dress shoes. What hair wasn’t grey was a dull blue, and it was all pulled into a bun.

  “Ophelia!” Deacon said, letting out a loud greeting. He walked over and knelt down in front of the older woman so he was at eye level. “How’d the bottle I send taste?”

  “Like you bought it from a drunk who’d finished pissing in it.” She said, stepping up to him. “I’ve told you a dozen times, if you’re going to get me booze as a gift, the fruitier the better.”

  “That’s why I got you a rum…” Deacon explained lamely.

  “Which had so many spices it gave me heartburn.” Despite the harsh words, I got the impression from the way she was standing and the faint twinkle in her eye that she wasn’t actually mad at him. “Well, are you going to kneel there all night? Or are you going to give me a hug and tell me why you’re here so I can get back to work?”

  Barking out a laugh, Deacon pulled the old woman into a hug, which she returned, “It’s good to see you.”

  After the brief exchange of hugs, they separated and the old woman looked me up and down. “And who is this?”

  I looked over at Deacon and then down to Ophelia, “I’m… Danielle Rosecrest.” I said hesitantly.

  “Why does that name sound familiar…” Ophelia said, tapping her chin. “Come on, let’s take this to my office. It’ll give me a chance to think.”

  The smaller woman turned and started towards a door I hadn’t noticed that was covered by part of the mural next to the one we’d been looking at. It just had a depiction of a tent, but the door opened where the ticket seller’s booth was. The scene itself was rather empty, and felt more like a transition than a work of it’s own.

  Inside Ophelia’s office it was… rather boring. A desk with a comfortable looking lifted seat behind one side, and an empty space in front with a number of foldable chairs leaned up in the corner. There were shelves full of books that looked more like ledgers than fiction, and there were rows of them. Also visible was an overflowing wastebin next to the desk that held disposable cotton containers that were used for the various street foods around town.

  Ophelia went and climbed up into her seat and pulled a large book on her desk over to be in front of her. Cracking it open, a screen popped up, and Ophelia began to scroll through it while I stared in confusion. “Is that a system menu?”

  “Hm?” Ophelia looked at me through the semi transparent screen. “Yes, I’m checking something be with you in a moment. Grab a chair.”

  I looked at Deacon, who had already grabbed one and set it up for himself. I shrugged and did the same and waited.

  “Ah! There it is. Little over month back.” She poked at a line on the screen. I saw it expand and she nodded in satisfaction. “Marked you down as a potential danger. Surprised to see you walk in here yourself.”

  “I… wanted to know why?” I asked, hesitant as I looked over at Deacon for help. He just shrugged and nodded.

  “Ah! This talk. It’s been a while. Last person got a little aggressive about it and tried to jump the desk.” She smiled kindly at me, “I don’t suspect we’ll have the same issue, will we?”

  I shook my head slowly, “Not… planning to.”

  “Good!” She closed the book and laced her fingers over it. “Now, let’s discuss fees.”