They passed a stable full of clockwork horses. One didn’t have a head, and a disgusted looking artificer had an arm jammed down the stump of the neck, rummaging around inside. “I confess,” said Learned Edmund, “I find such things…disturbing. They seem to contradict the natural order. At least with mules, one knows where one stands.” “Usually in mule droppings.” “Well, yes. Still.”
