“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!”