“Stop it!” Gil leaned over the edge of the grave. His voice was strained. He eyed the charred figure. “That... that could be anybody.”
Captain DuPree slipped on a pair of leather gloves and exposed more of the body. There was a flash of green, as she pulled free a patch of burned clothing. Gil closed his eyes and looked ill.
After a few minutes, DuPree sat back and sorted through the objects before her. “Female. Young adult. Caucasian.” She lifted a half melted twist of wire and glass. “Glasses.” She flourished a swatch of the burned green tweed. “I remember this dress. No shoes. And no jewelry, except for this.” The object in question was tossed up to Gil, who snatched it out of the air and examined it closely. It was a brass gas connector ring, stamped with the Wulfenbach sigil. He had last seen it as he had slipped it onto Agatha’s finger. Even darkened by flame and coated in dirt from the grave, Gil recognized it. It wasn’t even a real ring, just a worthless machine part, but it had a devastating effect on his heart.
He clenched it tightly and turned away. “Yes. It’s hers. That’s her.”
DuPree stood up, stripped the gloves off her hands and tossed them into the pit. “O-kay! Clank! Get me a field coffin!”
Gil spun around. “What? What are you doing?”
DuPree climbed out of the hole. “Well, I’m not carrying her in my lap.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason—”
She poked him in the chest with a finger. “Listen. Your father told me to bring her back. Here she is—back she comes. Argue with him.”
Gil glared at her, then seemed to deflate. With a sigh, he turned away. “Why bother?”
DuPree stared at his back and frowned. This was worrying. Gil was always good for an argument.
Gil strode up to Abner, who stood nervously off to one side of the airship ramp. “Herr de la Scalla, I have seen enough. I’m inclined to believe your story. We’ll take you back once we’re finished here.”
Abner shuffled his feet. “Actually, sir, I’d rather just head back on my own.”
Gil blinked in surprise. “What? Across the Wastelands? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Abner held up his hands placatingly. “This is a main road, I should be fine. It’s relatively well-traveled—” he looked at Gil, “I don’t want people thinking we’re... you know... associated with the Baron.” His eyes flicked toward where Bangladesh was supervising the clank and he dropped his voice. “And Captain DuPree there, I’m sorry, um... I’d really rather keep her away from my people.”
Gil nodded woodenly. “That’s very sensible of you. See the Quartermaster while we’re finishing up here. He’ll give you some travel supplies. And... ah, please convey my apologies to your young lady. I’m afraid I got rather... upset.”
Abner stared. He hadn’t expected that. “Um... I’m so sorry about this, sir.” Gil looked at him blankly. “This girl—it’s obvious she was very... very special to you, sir.”
Gil nodded slowly and made an effort to pull his mind back from thoughts of Agatha—working intently on the flying machine—dancing with him to the music of the mechanical orchestra—fighting beside him during the Slaver Wasp attack—kissing him impulsively in the heady moment when they realized they had won and were not going to die after all. And finally, Agatha laughing at him, as he slipped the connector ring on her finger and completely botched what turned out to be his last chance to tell her what was in his heart.
“Special? Yes, she might have been. It might have been...” He trailed off, and a look of dark anger settled over his features. “But it isn’t. Just go.”
Abner went.
Gil stood alone for a long time, watching as the clank gently replanted the sapling in the newly filled-in hole. He remained alone, looking at the tree, until the last of the clanks marched aboard the dirigible—and Captain DuPree shouted that if he didn’t want to come aboard, she’d happily leave him behind.
The sun was sinking toward the tops of the trees when Master Payne signaled that the caravan could finally stop. The animals were lathered, and the people weren’t much better. Payne had kept them moving through the night and all the next day, but there had been no complaints.
In this part of the Wastelands, the road was hard going—a pale shadow of its former glory. Everyone was exhausted from keeping watch for pursuing villagers, hostile forest denizens, or the return of the Wulfenbach airship.
When the front riders had returned to report that a lakeside glade with sufficient forage lay ahead, Payne had finally decided that they could risk making camp—if only because it would allow him the opportunity to get away from Pix, who had been fretting nonstop beside him throughout the entire trip.
It was charmingly obvious that Pix was worried about Abner. Unfortunately, her concern was vocally expressed in the form of an endlessly varied list of Abner’s unforgivable faults, stupidities and errors. Really, the girl was making Payne seriously consider reviving the old Put-The-Annoying-Person-In-A-Trunk-And-Drop-It-Into-A-Lake trick. But, he had to frequently remind himself, a good magician never performs the same trick twice.
“I can’t believe Abner cut in on my scene so soon! I had a lot more material ready.”
“Frankly, I thought the two of you worked very well together.”
“Well, yes, but if he’d just let me keep going a little longer, they probably wouldn’t have taken him. What was he thinking?”
Payne had already considered several scenarios where Pix had been allowed to continue to talk to the young man from the airship. In the latest one, it ended with him setting her on fire. He briefly allowed himself to savor this image, before dismissing it with a guilty start.
“I’d ask Abner when he gets back.”
The girl stared ahead fiercely. “He’d better get back.”
On another wagon sat Payne’s wife, Countess Marie. She was a regal woman who came by her title honestly. As she had remarked several thousand times since, her life would have been quite different if she had not been attracted to a certain dashing magician who had the ability to pull the most astonishing things out of a lady’s clothing, up to and including the lady herself. If pressed, she would smile and admit that “quite different” did not automatically mean “better.”
The Countess set the wagon’s brake, stretched, and slid down to the ground. She looked up at her companion, who had been sitting silently next to her. The girl was dressed in a billowy low-cut shirt and a tight, gaudy bodice which managed to leave something, if only a very little, to the imagination. Her face was overshadowed by a huge mass of thick, dark curls.
The Countess extended a hand. “Wake up, ‘Madame Olga.’ It’s time to rest.”
Agatha blinked. She had been deep in thought. “Yes, I guess so.” She climbed to the ground stiffly, then looked around, squinting her eyes. The Countess noticed and turned back to the wagon. “Ah, yes. Here.”
She fished a large pair of glasses out of a wooden box near the seat and handed them to Agatha, who took them gratefully and slid the looped wires behind her ears.
All around them, other wagons were stopping. People preparing to make camp shouted to each other as they saw to their animals. Agatha leaned against the wagon. “I still can’t believe that worked. Pix was amazing. A perfect, xenophobic peasant.” Agatha rubbed her forehead and breathed deeply. “But the people they sent. They... it wasn’t what I expected. I’m sorry. I... I hope Abner will be all right.”
The Countess began to unhitch the horses. Agatha automatically began to help from her side. When the Countess saw that Agatha knew what she was doing, she nodded in approval. “Think nothing of it. Abner owes you. We all do. That crab clank that killed Olga damaged several carts before she and André led it off. I have no doubt that it would have come back after it had finished them off.”