from the nearest town. You’re not out on any lover’s stroll. You’re a couple bummers, that’s what you are.” The man made a menacing movement with his shotgun. “Now git off my land. I got important business, and this ain’t no carnival ride no more.”
“Couldn’t we just rest in the shade for a little while?” Emily put as much sweet supplication into her voice as she could reasonably muster. “I’m so tired, and it’s so hot.”
The old man frowned at her thoughtfully. Then he looked over at Stanton, stared at him for a long time, up and down. When he saw the blood on Stanton’s hands, his eyes narrowed.
“What about him?” The old man clutched the shotgun more tightly. “Don’t he talk?”
“I talk,” Stanton said. “I do all kinds of things.”
“I’ll bet you do,” the old man said, still looking at Stanton’s hands. He paused. “I heard you talking about this here contraption like you know something about it.”
“As I was telling Miss … Smith,” Stanton began, “it’s a Cecil Carpenter Cockatrice. One of his older models. Looks like it’s been used hard and not particularly well kept. You said it’s yours?”
“Yep,” the old man said. “Bought it off a traveling carnival show.”
“You intend to fly it?”
“’Course I intend to fly it. Matter o’ fact, I’m gonna fly it out of here tomorrow morning.”
“Ah,” Stanton said. He threw Emily a look that was precisely equal in meaning to an index finger twirled alongside his temple. “Well, I guess it’s still every American man’s right to throw away his life if he chooses.” He took Emily’s arm and turned to go. She made small noises in protest, but he squeezed her elbow and she fell silent.
“Wait!” the old man called after them. “What are you talking about? I don’t aim to throw my life away!”
“You fly in that thing and you will,” Stanton called back without turning. “The men who sold it to you are crooks. You might get it up in the air, but you won’t be able to keep it there. Unless …”
“Unless?”
Stanton smiled, turned slowly.
“Unless you put down that shotgun and let Miss Smith sit in the shade for a while,” he said. “And a drink of water would be nice, too.”
“Name’s Hembry,” the old man said, squatting down some distance from them with the shotgun across his knees. “Ebenezer Hembry.”
Emily and Stanton were sitting under the shade of the big oak tree, and Hembry was watching them closely. Unslinging a canteen from around his shoulder, he tossed it over to Emily. After she’d drunk deep of the warm, stale-tasting water, Hembry fixed his gaze on Stanton.
“Now, Mr….”
“… Jones,” Stanton said, and Hembry gave a little chuckle.
“Yeah. Sure. Well, Mr. Jones … what exactly did you mean about my Cockatrice?”
“It’s a death trap,” Stanton said. “Muscles are probably half rotted away by now.”
“Muscles?” Hembry chuckled louder this time, and slapped a knee, too. “Well, that shows what you know, friend. This thing here, it’s a machine. Machines ain’t got muscles.”
“Biomechanical flying machines do,” Stanton said.
He spoke these words in a tone that Emily had learned to associate with an impending lecture, so she leaned her head back against the tree trunk and considered taking a nap. Hembry, on the other hand, leaned forward.
“What the hell does that mean?” he said. “Biomechanical who-what?”
“Carpenter’s contribution to the world of engineering is his ability to interweave living flesh and machine to exploit the unique advantages of each. By using the long muscles of elephants and blue whales to provide motive power, the system can be fueled with a simple glucose solution as opposed to …”
“Glucose? You mean like sugar?” Hembry said. “The carnies told me I had to fill up the tank with sugar water.”
“Sugar water is all wrong.” Stanton sounded aggrieved. “You need a much richer solution. Pure corn syrup for a preference, barley syrup if you’ve got nothing else.”
Hembry clenched his lips, but said nothing.
“But the syrup is really the least of your problems. To get that Cockatrice into the air, you’re going to need a Warlock.”
Emily opened her eyes.
“A Warlock?” Hembry’s bleat made it sound as if Stanton had said he needed sixteen albino pygmies and a mule.
“The muscles on a Cockatrice have been specially treated to keep them in a state of suspended animation, but even so, they have to be fed and tended and kept limber. The muscles on your Cockatrice haven’t been properly cared for in weeks, maybe months. A Warlock could revive them and