Science, Eternal Life, and a Traveling Circus |1|

Chapter Six

July 24th, 2815

When morning rolled around, Master Hughes woke to find Alyn nestled by the remains of the fire. His lip curled and he left her be. He found it challenging to tolerate her company, accustomed to spending much of his time alone. A part of him had hoped, with cynic optimism, that she would have gone in the night. Alas, her burden remained. He dragged his hand over his face and pulled the the bag of coals nearer.

He idly arranged a pile to his satisfaction. With a slosh of alcohol and a spark from his flint and steel, he stoked the fire. All the while, he watched the girl through narrowed eyes. He willed her to remain asleep so that he could eat a meal without her pestilent interference. He willed her to remain asleep so that he could drink his morning coffee and potion in peace and leave her behind.

No such luck.

She woke some time after the blacksmith had put out the fire and covered the pit with sand. He fed hay to Patriot, steaming tin mug in hand.

"Sorry," she mumbled, first thing. She rubbed the dirt off her cheeks.

He peered at her out of the corner of his eye. Alyn couldn't tell if he was angry with her, or if it was a permanently fixed expression. He didn't speak. But, he didn't usually.

"Did I sleep too late?" Was there was reason for him to be angry?

Patriot prodded the master's boot with his hoof and Hughes returned his attention to the horse. He continued to feed him.

Alyn looked to where she had last seen Hughes sitting. The belt of knives was gone. The outer metal of the train had been stripped in areas.

"Were you about to leave?"

Hughes wiped his hay-feeding hand on his trench coat. With sullen gaze, he found her eyes. "Go home."

"Ye're funny, Master Hughes, sir," Alyn snickered. She crossed her legs; a simple task she could never quite get right. Her homemade braces, a contraption made of splintering rulers and frayed duct tape, dug into her hocks. Hidden beneath breeches, her legs were a deformity, like her ears, that she had spent her life concealing. "I'm getting in that wagon with you, Master Hughes. You're s'pposed to teach me blacksmithing, and I'm s'pposed to help you bring down the bad guys. That's how it's s'pposed to go."

Hughes grunted. "Optimistic."

"And look, I swear I won't say a word all day, and I'll drive. Like I said I would. No tricks. Kindness for a kindness."

Hughes scratched his whiskers and sipped his coffee. He frowned back at his horse, who whinnied. "Good. One word and you will be walking back to West Haven without complaint."

Alyn nodded vigorously and tripped to standing. She stilled. "Wait... that ain't fair, sir! That ain't...!"

Hughes shook his head and motioned to the wagon. "Addinburgh isn't getting any closer, girl. You're not getting breakfast, and I won't wait around for you. When my coffee is finished, I will be off, with or without you. And you had better be dead silent, either way."

She scowled and blew loose curls away from her eyes. She muttered a bitter comment and trudged past the blacksmith to the wagon's steering bench. She took hold of the reins, paused, and frowned.

"Wait, but, sir, I don't know how to drive."

"Just hold the reins, stupid girl. Patriot will do the work." He knocked back his coffee, ran his sleeve across his lips, and gave Patriot a pat. He pointed to the near distance. "The road is there. Follow it."

Hughes hoisted himself into the back of the wagon, and Alyn squinted into the dust. The road was packed dirt. It was the very same dirt that stretched for miles, only compacted and slightly darker. It slit through the rippling dry dunes like a cut.