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  Dawn was arriving in milky hues on the horizon by the time she reached the sign: Staplefield fifty furrows to go. Prue paused there; she was exhausted to the bone, but she brushed herself down, snatched up her pack and ran along the path. When she rounded the next corner, Staplefield was nestled into the hollow of the valley. One lane coming in and one going out, like connecting wires to a moto-heart. She jogged towards it.

  Staplefield was a market town and was already bustling with street stalls. As she hurried between the stands, she tried not to think about Mum and Dad waking up and finding her note. Her stomach groaned at the smell of rye rolls and fruit buns as she passed the baker’s stall, but there was no time for breakfast. She ran into Driffold Lane and knocked on the door of the Hawk’s Head.

  A red-faced man holding a broom opened the door.

  “Excuse me. I’m looking for a Craftsman Charles Primrose.”

  “Ah, from Medlock, yes.”

  “Yes, I’m here to see him,” Prue said eagerly. She took a breath; this was it.

  “He left at daybreak.”

  “Daybreak?”

  “Said he was catching a morning mechanicart to Batterthwaite in time for the Gigantrak.”

  “Batterthwaite?”

  “I’ve got no time for you repeating what I say. Now on your way unless you’re wanting lodgings.” The man narrowed his eyes. “Wait, aren’t you Rosamund and Fayard’s girl from Haywood Farm?

  “Yes, I’m just delivering a special order to Craftsman Primrose. When’s the next cart to Batterthwaite?”

  “On the hour dot, every hour dot, outside Flocking’s Yard.”

  “Thank you!” Prue called over her shoulder.

  As she reached Flocking’s Yard it was almost on the hour. An old man sat with his feet up on the wheel of a mechanicart. It was a standard cart, much like you’d see pulled by a horse in times past, but with a metal automaton man attached to the front, about the height of a normal person plus a third again. He was dressed in steel plates made to look like formal clothes; a long coat, a bit like those worn by wealthy city people, and a metal top hat.

  “How much to Batterthwaite?” Prue asked the old man.

  “Sixpence.”

  Prue looked at the solitary silver sixpence in her hand. She had no idea it would be so much. “But I’m not exactly a full fare.”

  “You wouldn’t be travelling alone if that were the case, and it looks like you’re the only one; it won’t be worth sending out a mechanicart with only one passenger if I take less. Sixpence, or on your way.” The conductor waved his hand dismissively.

  Prue approached him and pressed the sixpence begrudgingly into his palm.

  “Busy this morning. There was a city man, wanting a mechanicart early – heading for the Gigantrak.” The conductor shrugged. “Great gobbling hulk of metal if you ask me, don’t see what the fuss is about. See, the real elegance is in these mechanicarts.”

  Prue glanced towards the clock tower. “Yes, but is it fast?”

  “Why is everyone obsessed with speed these days? Things get there when they get there. On you hop, then.”

  Prue stepped into the enclosed cart while the conductor adjusted some settings on the automaton. Smoke started pouring out of its hat.

  “All set for Batterthwaite,” the conductor said. Prue coughed and shut the window.

  With a jolt, the automaton started jogging out of Flocking’s Yard, pulling the cart behind it. It turned left into the main street then out of the town on the lane south to Batterthwaite.

  The mechanicart was hardly the cutting edge of technology and after an hour of bone-shaking bumps and knocks as it rattled along the road south, Prue had a feeling that she’d been well and truly rooked out of her sixpence. She was certain she could run faster. After another half an hour, they began heading up a steep hill and the mechanicart slowed to a walking pace. Prue leaned out of the window. The wind suddenly changed, and thick black smoke chugged into her face. She coughed and went to the other side. Mechanicarts usually had some basic reciprocal technology where the mechanism could register basic instruction – stop, go, that sort of thing. She opened the door, leaned out and called, “Speed up!”

  “The mechanical cart requests you stay inside the vehicle.”

  She tutted. “Go faster!”

  “The mechanical cart requests…”

  Then, above the crunch of wheels grinding on gravel, a low deep horn came from the east. It was a proud noise that declared itself unapologetically across the land.

  “Can’t you go up a gear?” she called.

  “Gear change activated.”

  There was a whirr and clunk. The legs moved faster for three seconds, then it slowed back down again. Prue huffed.

  “Engage turbo!” she ordered, hoping it had a similar mechanism to the mechanimal farm dogs.

  “The turbo drive is deactivated during intertown leisure travel for your safety.”

  As the distant horn sounded once more, Prue couldn’t help herself. She opened the door and climbed on to the step, then edged along the rim of the cart. Reaching out, she flipped back the main cavity door of the automaton’s torso and peered across as best as she could. The internal mechanism was similar to the mechanimal horses. A restrainer had been fitted to save on fuel. She unclipped it then twisted two disconnected wires together. With a sudden grind and whirr, the legs of the automaton suddenly doubled in speed. “There, who’s deactivated now!” she said.

  They hurtled upwards and were soon at the brow of the hill where the ground levelled. A great town spread in the valley below – large brickwork buildings with orderly windows, mills with tall smoking chimneys, the dome of a town hall. To the east, an inconceivably large steam locomotive chugged great clouds, leaving a storm-grey streak melding into the air as far as the eye could see. It was the Gigantrak arriving in town. Right on schedule.

  With a bolt to her chest, Prue realized that the gradient of the landscape had suddenly changed – they were pointing down at an alarming angle, with the turbo now in full motion. Wind rushed through her hair as her hands clutched the edges of the mechanicart with all her strength.

  They zoomed down the path, her teeth rattling in her jaw. At this rate, there was no way she could risk climbing back in; all she could do was grip as tightly as she could. The Gigantrak was slowing as it approached Batterthwaite, but the mechanicart kept gaining speed and was out of control. Trees whizzed past as it reached the bridge that crossed the river to the north of the town. The mechanicart clanked and battered across the wooden planks.

  Prue yelped and pressed her body against the side of the cart as they narrowly missed another cart travelling in the opposite direction.

  As they neared the first buildings, Prue shouted to a group of people to get out of the way, but they were facing the other direction, unaware. She had to stop this thing before it rammed straight into them, but if she let go, she was bound to fall, and the cart would hit them anyway. Before she could act, there was a sudden jerk, and the cart took a turn where the main road into town intersected. It wobbled horribly and for a heart-stopping moment veered on to two wheels, so that Prue soared into the air, holding on for dear life with one hand. It crashed back to four wheels – a man carrying a bundle of fabric yelped and leapt out of the way, sending plumes of material into the air. She fumbled to open the flap again, but she was rattling around so much her eyes couldn’t focus. She began yanking at anything she could as they bolted onwards.

  Then she spotted a stack of hay beside a house. With all her strength she pitched back so that her weight pulled the cart to the right, then with a sudden pop and whoosh of air, the automaton’s legs froze mid run, and the cart lurched into a spin, sending everything plummeting. Prue was thrown into the hay as the cart crashed beside her in a tumult of clattering metal.

  She lay there for a moment, bumped and bruised but unbroken, looking sideways into the face of the automaton, smoke from the top of its crumpled metal hat wafting upward
s.

  “The turbo drive is deactivated on all mechanicarts for your safe—”

  “Oh, shut up!” she said.

  A crowd of people rushed towards her.

  “Are you all right, Miss?”

  After a moment, she pushed herself up and slowly brushed as much hay and dust from her dungarees as possible. “Must’ve been a faulty combustor.” She coughed.

  “You ought to have words with the owner. It could’ve killed you!”

  “Honestly, I’m fine.” Out of the corner of her eye, she became aware of something enormous casting a huge shadow. The Gigantrak locomotive had come to a standstill not far away.

  “All aboard for Medlock!” someone called.

  GIGANTRAK

  Prue retrieved her bag from the battered innards of the twisted mechanicart and ran towards the locomotive. The Gigantrak was an enormous metal hulk as tall as three houses, its great pipes, cylinders and panels were like a huge insect’s exoskeleton. Steam poured from the frontal spout while mechanics busily checked wheels as high as an oak tree. Passengers were boarding midway on a metal stairway; perhaps she could blend in and pass along with one of the groups? She adapted her run to a nonchalant amble, trying to look invisible, but as she approached, her smoke-smudged face and dishevelled appearance after the crash drew stares from the crowd. She turned as if walking northwards, then did her best to tuck everything in and tame her hair, her dad’s voice in her head telling her it was no use trying to fight those curls into place; they had a will of their own.

  Her parents would have found her note and would probably have gone after her to North Owlcot by now, although she doubted they would go further than Batterthwaite; they had barely been beyond the farm since Francis … she pushed the thought away and swallowed. She had to get on the Gigantrak. When she got to Medlock, she would send another note to tell them she was all right, and that they shouldn’t worry.

  She saw a large family with five children joining the back of the line.

  “Yes, I’ve got the tickets, you all concentrate on not getting lost!” said a man, who she presumed was the dad. He was brown-skinned with a round, smiley face like her own dad’s, and the children’s hair was deep brown with dense curls similar to hers – she might pass as one of them.

  She slotted in behind them. The smallest turned and looked at her for a moment, but when Prue made no eye contact, he started twisting in his sister’s skirt again. It wasn’t long before there were others behind her in the queue and she began to feel more invisible. The line was moving fast.

  “All aboard, hurry along now, we depart in five minutes. Gigantrak is never late!” the conductor called. She had ink-black, shiny hair and a neat green uniform; her appearance matching the efficiency with which she was whizzing people onto the locomotive.

  The family Prue was behind started up the metal steps.

  “Tickets, please,” the woman said, and with a practised snippety snip of her marking tool, she’d checked the man’s tickets and was hurrying them inside. Prue tucked in tight so that the youngest was hidden and six children would look to be five.

  Then, the young child suddenly yelled, “My boot!”

  Prue had been trying so hard to keep close that she’d caught the child’s boot with hers and it had been pulled off. She crouched and hurried to find it for him, but as the child had not been heard by the dad the first time, he exploded with tears, repeatedly sobbing, “My boot!”

  All eyes were suddenly in their direction, including the conductor’s.

  “She did it!” the boy shouted, pointing at Prue.

  Prue had found the boot and was holding it out to the dad, with pleading eyes. He frowned. But it was too late.

  “Hey! There were five children on your ticket, you’ve got six there, sir.”

  “No, five it is, Madame, you can count them again.”

  “If you’re trying to get away with—”

  He began patting his children on the head and counting as though to illustrate the point. Prue was frozen, hemmed in by people on either side, her heart rushing like a rotavator.

  The youngest had stopped crying. He was still pointing at Prue.

  Everyone within ten deep of the queue stared. The conductor’s lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed. She held out her hand to Prue. “Ticket, please.”

  “I … I lost it.”

  “No ticket, no ride.” The conductor pulled Prue back to the steps.

  “What’s all the commotion about?” came a voice.

  The conductor paused, and Prue looked up at the kind face of the man who had visited the farm and left the card: Craftsman Primrose. She took a swift deep breath; in that moment she knew what she had to do. “I’m Frances Haywood,” she said to him.

  Craftsman Primrose tilted his head, then his face broke into a smile. “This young lady is with me.” He presented two tickets to the conductor.

  “Seems mighty strange that she was trying to…” The conductor’s eyes flicked to a pin which Primrose wore on his lapel. It was the same silver symbol as the card: three interlaced arcs enclosed in a circle. “Do pardon me, sir. I didn’t realize.”

  With a congenial nod, Craftsman Primrose indicated to Prue to follow him on to the Gigantrak. “Come along, let’s find our compartment; it says thirty-two on my ticket.”

  Prue tried to say thank you, but it was as though her jaw had seized. She’d just told the biggest lie of her life, and she could hear her mum’s voice in her head telling her how dishonesty shows on your face, like a big smudge of oil. But was it really a lie if it was necessary to achieve something so important?

  They hurried back through the locomotive, past booths bustling with excited passengers stowing luggage above and beneath their seats, until they reached a large compartment with plush fringed armchairs, patterned rugs, red velvet curtains and, to Prue’s astonishment, a crystal chandelier.

  “Here we are,” Craftsman Primrose said. “Do take a seat.”

  Prue put her bag beneath one of the armchairs.

  “I must admit you threw me for a moment there. I wasn’t expecting a girl. I was told there was a talented boy on the farm called Francis Haywood, so I didn’t realize.”

  “I’m afraid you must have been told incorrect information,” Prue stammered, crossing her fingers by her side.

  “Well, Frances, I’m so glad you decided to join me. Clever new apprentices are hard to come by. But you do seem to have attracted rather a lot of attention already.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about that.”

  Craftsman Primrose smiled. “There is one thing I do need to confirm before we proceed. Do your parents know you’ve left?”

  Her cheeks burned. “Yes.”

  He tilted his head. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  Craftsman Primrose frowned. “By Medlock law you are old enough to enroll without permission, but perhaps if you send them a note the moment we reach Medlock, they’ll know you’re quite safe and we can take it from there. How does that sound?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  A loud clunk reverberated around them. Prue clutched the sides of her chair.

  “Did you know that the Gigantrak can get you to all the great cities of the country in just one day?”

  “Really?” Prue said.

  “Have you ever been on the Gigantrak before?”

  Prue shook her head. She looked up at the curved iron ceiling and felt like she’d shrunk and been placed in the belly of metal giant. There was another great clunk, then a shudder. The crystal lights clinked, the table vibrated, the seat juddered, and everything outside began moving. They travelled slowly at first and then, with an abrupt pull that glued Prue back in her seat, they were propelled forwards like a stone from a catapult. A yelp escaped from Prue’s mouth.

  Craftsman Primrose laughed. “Don’t worry, it soon smooths out.”

  After the initial rush, a calm settled inside and although the landscape was flashing past at an
alarming rate, Prue felt as though she was suddenly enclosed within a serene bubble.

  Craftsman Primrose leaned forward and held out his hand. “I believe proper introductions are in order. I’m Charles Primrose, craftsman by appointment of Master Hannah Woolstenbury of the Imperial Personifate Guild of Medlock.”

  It sounded so grand. Prue shook his hand, suddenly hoping her hand wasn’t covered in grease from the mechanicart.

  “And you, I already know, are Frances Haywood.”

  Prue nodded and bit the inside of her lip to contain the truth.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you. To be honest, I was giving up hope of finding an apprentice, then I heard about your farm. Your mother seemed rather resistant. Does your being here leave them awfully short-handed on the farm? I could send a personifate to help, you see? Although strictly speaking, the personifates are owned by the Sovereign Chancellery of Medlock so they stay within the city, but I’m sure we could bend the rules just a little, between you and me.”

  “The farm pretty much runs itself and my parents are good enough with the machinery. They’ve just been through a lot in the last year.” A rush of guilt hit Prue. Had she really left her parents? She knew they could manage the farm work – they did when she was at school – but she was their last child; she didn’t want to cause them more pain.

  But it would all be made better when she found a way to bring Francis back to them.

  “I just had a feeling that I shouldn’t go without leaving the card, so you at least had a choice. Tell me more about what you do on the farm – its machinery is the best I’ve seen north of Medlock.”

  “Really?” Her cheeks flushed with pride. “The farm has been in the family for years. Grandma Haywood was great at inventing machines to make the farm work easier and Mum built from there. My first working machine was the mechanimal sheep dog.” Prue had to stop herself mentioning her brother; it seemed wrong to talk about these things when they had developed them together.