The sun was already up by the time Petra’s small wagon crawled through the city gates to the Fells, its route toward said gates having been somewhat less than strictly straightforward. This was due, in large part, to Petra’s choice of draft animal: Mr Bones’ pet pig, Petunia.
“We would have been there by now if you had a proper mule to pull this cart.” complained Cyrus from the seat beside Petra, huddled in an overcoat with his derby pulled down to his nose. His breath was almost as white as his face, even in the cold.
Petra sat at the reins, clutching a long fishing rod, at the end of which dangled a greasy cooked sausage. “I don’t trust an animal that ain’t at least a bit ornery.” she said. “And Petunia is plenty of that.”
“You do know that’s a pork sausage.” Cyrus pointed out.
“Shhh,” said Petra, elbowing the lad. “She’ll hear you.”
The sow grunted as it stopped to root at the side of the road. “Well, shoot.” said Petra. “She’s all distracted again.”
“At least there are no trams out here for her to challenge.” said Cyrus.
Petra relit her pipe. “Think she learned that from Mr Bones’ pop.”
Cyrus jumped down from the wagon and watched the hog root in the cold dirt at the side of the road. Tightening his scarf he turned and squinted back at the city wall through his smoked spectacles. “This will take all day at this rate.” he said. “Some has to feed Poppy.”
“What about your aunt?”
“She is … sedentary.”
“I keep a pretty tight ship myself.” Petra responded, then she pulled the fishing rod around so it swung nearer to Petunia’s face. The hog squealed briefly, then trotted after the sausage. The wagon pulled away slowly without Cyrus.
“Wait.” he called softly. “Come back.”
“Jump in!” Petra shouted back to him.
“Oh, I couldn’t.” he said simply, and turned back to the gate.
“Quitter.” Petra huffed as she turned back around toward the Fells. Looking back had already thrown her off course again. “Petunia!” she called out. “Keep straight!”
Petunia grunted.
Two hours later Petra came across the the first signs of the meteorite trail burned in to the grass of the Fells. She followed the trail closely and finally found the source smoking in a large black crater. She hung the sausage from a tree, which kept Petunia mostly busy while she grabbed a tree branch and approached the smoking crater. A pulsating green glow emanated from the hole, bathing her features in soft luminescence. “Lookit that thing.” she mumbled, then whistled to herself. “Don’t look like no star I never seen.” Even still, this would fetch a hefty price from one of them Natural History Museum type goons, she figured.
Leaning forward, she poked at the meteorite with a stick. With a sharp crack, it split in two.
TO BE CONTINUED
You dummy! No one wants a broken meteor!