Clockwork Angels: The Novel by Kevin J. & Peart Anderson

which rolled down the empty streets. His retreat from Crown City was not at all like his arrival. In daylight, these streets were filled with vendors, performers, and pedestrians. But now Owen was no tourist, and the shadows seemed dark and frightening.
    The Regulators were very efficient. Before 11:00 p.m., according to the clock faces he could see on the buildings as the vehicle rumbled along, they had evicted him from the city. They stopped the vehicle on the outskirts of Crown City, unlocked the back compartment to let him out. Disoriented, he had no idea where he was or how he could make his way to his village. Without answering further questions, the Blue Watch climbed aboard their chugging vehicle again, reversed the wheels, and rushed back into the city, eager to catch up with their rounds. They had a schedule to keep.
    Owen stood blinking, hungry and lost. His father would have said that he had gotten exactly what he deserved. He never should have left Barrel Arbor, never should have broken with his past and ventured to the city where he didn’t belong. The barren outskirts felt primitive, barbaric. This was the way people had lived before the Stability, and he remembered the horrific images and stories from the pedlar’s book. How could a simple person survive alone out here? Where would he go?
    Sooner or later, he would have to find a steamliner to take him back home; he had learned his lesson and would put away thoughts of such “foolishness,” as his father insisted, although he would secretly revel in his memories of adventure for a long time to come. At the moment, however, the experience did not feel particularly enjoyable.
    Many steamlines radiated in all directions from the city, and the Blue Watch had dumped him far from where he’d first arrived. In order to identify the correct rail line to take him back to Barrel Arbor, he would have to go back to the central station in Crown City. What if the Regulators drove him out again?
    He had always been taught that the universe had a plan, but Owen didn’t like the plan much right now.
    He struck out away from the city in search of a friendly, well-lit home, even though everyone should be asleep by now. His muscles ached, and his stomach growled, and he wandered along. It was nearly midnight when he saw a glow up ahead, he didn’t wonder whether it might be solace or threat. He climbed the grassy hill and gazed down at a sprawling camp where the carnival had set up, lit up and full of activity even at this improbable hour of the night.
    Owen blinked, then smiled. After all the surprises he had experienced, he did not question what he saw. He hurried down the hillside and out of the night shadows until he was bathed in the glow of carnival lights.
    The Magnusson Carnival Extravaganza was not set up for a performance, but merely camped on the open field in between destinations. Even so, the carnies seemed as exuberant as they had been before an audience. They had set up bright pavilions, game tents, the fortune teller’s booth, even a practice wire for the trapeze and tightrope, as well as homey trailers and sleeping tents. Coldfire lanterns dangled from posts, but much of the light and warmth came from actual campfires, flames that burned real wood. The cheery orange glow and scent of smoke warmed Owen’s heart.
    He ventured into the camp, waiting to be noticed, but no one challenged him. The carnies played their own games, throwing balls to knock down the stacked but reinforced beakers, which had caused such consternation to the customers. At the spinning clock wheel with colored prize sections, a gamer threw sharpened daggers instead of darts; each knife whistled through the air and thunked into the spinning wheel with a meaty sound, a prize every time.
    The three carnival clowns hunched on the ground, dressed in vests and bright pantaloons; they passed a cup around in which they rattled lumpy, odd-shaped dice, each face marked with a tiny alchemical