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

Chapter Fourteen

For the second time, Master Hughes heaved Alyn out of the horse trough. He dragged her away and scorned her, and scorned Elliot for leaving the girl still able to stand. Elliot rolled his eyes and took Alyn away from the blacksmith.

They perched on the back of his caravan and he lightly rubbed her aching shoulders and whispered to her, "You'd best not forget to practice those drills, eh? Every day, remember."

Alyn nodded, gasping for breath. Sweat cascaded from her brow. Elliot hadn't gone easy on her, and he praised her for her work. She wasn't fast yet, or accurate, but the Englishman insisted that she would be with practice. Her efforts and improvements were pleasing, and he felt that she could handle herself reasonably well.

Master Hughes threw sand over his forge and removed his gloves. He inspected his tall, simple vase and tucked it under his arm. He slung his coat over his shoulder and looked to the pair. "I'll build the fire tonight. We'll eat early and get on the road."

***

Before the sky's light dulled, the camp was disassembled and packed away. Tim welcomed Alyn into his painted caravan and kindly, without more than a single word, offered her Elliot's bed.

"Sleep," he said.

"Oh," Alyn sighed in relief, "yes, sir."

She clambered onto the mattress and curled under the blankets. She melted into it and closed her heavy eyes. The meerkat and the coyote piled on with her.

Tim climbed out to the steering platform and, moments later, the caravan rattled on its way. Patriot trotted over the dirt just ahead, his reins loosely tied off. He pulled Hughes' caravan without a driver, for his two passengers were involved in discussion inside. Patriot's ears perked at the heavy footsteps within, where Drew Hughes paced by the lantern's light. His silhouette on the canvas provided entertainment for the scientist that drove alongside.

Elliot leaned over a barrel where a map was spread. He held the lantern near, for the light that swung on the ceiling was not enough to define the cartography.

Drew's knuckles sat against his hips as he waited for the Brit to speak, his trench coat pushed back. The boards beneath him creaked as his boots thudded rhythmically on the floor, back and forth along the length of the caravan.

"Stop moving around like that, Drew," Elliot said, looking up. "You're making me nervous."

Drew stilled. He took his flask from a shelf and fiddled with its cap. "You're making me nervous," he argued with a shudder, and downed a mouthful of his drink.

"There is no need to be nervous. Look, your travel plan is very well organized, Drew. Don't worry. As always, you know what you're doing."

"Of course I do," the blacksmith scoffed.

"But..." Elliot leaned over the barrel again.

Drew's brows pinched. He joined the fencer. "What is it?"

Elliot pointed at the map, to a spot in Kentucky. They expected to cross the border from Indiana the next day.

Drew frowned.

"The tree farm ruins," he acknowledged. "What about them?"

Just outside of Ban-Ken—isolated from the roads—the free farm existed as little more than a dump. It had been removed from within the walled city almost a century ago and left to deteriorate in the stale desert gusts. It cowered, mostly forgotten, beneath the overwhelming shadow of the great wall. It was not marked on the map, but Drew knew of the location. His memory of it was foggy, but he knew it was there. He vaguely recalled rumors of a camp.