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

Chapter Eleven

July 27th, 2815

Alyn knelt over Master Hughes as soon as she saw him twitch. There was nothing to do in the cramped wagon. She had already talked the energy out of poor Elliot, who was exhausted from driving the caravan for most of the night. When she tried to speak with him, he would respond with a groggy, dazed, "Eh?"

She traded such stale entertainment for rolling about on the wagon floor and aimlessly poking about.

She prodded Hughes with a finger. His reaction came late. Ten seconds after her finger returned to her lap, he brushed the place that she had poked. His lips twitched and he groaned.

"Good afternoon, Master Hughes," Alyn piped.

Hughes opened his eyes. "Shit." He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Beneath him, the trundling wagon sent uneven jolts up his spine. He was certain he could hear his insides sloshing and his organs jumbling. His gloved hand pressed to his throat and he swallowed. "Shit."

Hughes rolled to his knees, and staggered to his feet. Alyn frowned.

"Master Hughes?"

He grabbed onto a shelf and propelled himself to the wagon's exit. He thrashed at the canvas flap.

"Wait, Master Hughes! We're mov—!"

Hughes tumbled out the back.

"—ing..." She winced and hurried to the steering bench, hooves and haunches free of pants and boots. "Elliot!"

Elliot stirred. "Eh?"

"Stop the wagon!"

"W-What? Why?"

"Master Hughes fell out."

Elliot squinted blankly. He peered into the wagon. Patriot snorted and shook his head. He jerked his reins away from Elliot. The Englishman didn't seem to notice. He laced his fingers over his stomach and settled to sleep again.

Patriot turned the wagon back to find his master. Tim and Elliot's colorful caravan waited by a half of a giant metal wing that jutted up from the parched earth. The frame of the plane that the wing belonged to was barely seen, half-buried at a great distance. Tim sat at the back of his purple, gold, and blue caravan. His crossed legs dangled over the edge, and he watched the wing over a cup of tea.

The teacups, painted with the Union Jack on one half, were Elliot's touch to the decor, as well as the 'Traveling Circus' label neatly scrawled on the caravan's side. It helped to stop questions about their odd collection of animals.

Patriot parked the canvas wagon in place beside the circus caravan. Including their two caravan-pulling horses, Tim and Elliot traveled with nine animals. The horses unhooked themselves from their burden and trotted aimlessly around together. Patriot escaped his wagon to plod after them.

Alyn approached the metal hunk. Master Hughes' white knuckles could be seen clenched at its topside. She heard his gagging and wheezing behind it.

"Master Hughes!"

Tim shook his head from his perch. He watched Master Hughes suffer. "Iye ndi chitsiru." He clicked his tongue. This translated to, "He is a fool."

"What the hell—" Hughes coughed, interrupting himself. He was keeled over. He squinted at her and shielded his eyes with a hand. "What the hell is happening?"

Alyn climbed onto the old structure and sat above him. Her hooves hung. "Elliot thought that you would like to keep moving along, so we went overnight! After you passed out, that is. Gosh, Master Hughes. Ye're an odd drunk." She snickered.