The Siege That Asked for Directions

How it begins

The siege engine asked Edith whether this was the capital.

She looked up from her market stall.

"No."

A wooden tower taller than the church shifted on its enormous wheels.

"Are you certain?"

"I drew the map."

"Oh."

Its voice came from somewhere behind the battering ram.

Edith had spent the morning selling pocket atlases to people who refused to believe north was where she put it. The machine seemed unusually willing to accept correction.

"What address do you need?"

It unfolded a banner.

The banner showed a city that had been renamed seventy years earlier.

"You're late."

"I was stored."

"For seventy years?"

"Budget constraints."

From the church tower, the alarm bell began.

Edith looked at the machine's cannon.

Then at the children gathering beneath its wheels.

"Are you planning to attack anything?"

"Not before lunch."

"After lunch?"

"I'd prefer an apology."

A small window opened halfway up the tower.

An old woman leaned out holding a saucepan.

"Tell him the bridge is gone."

Edith stared.

"People live in you?"

"Rent is reasonable," the engine said.

The woman shook her saucepan.

"Water isn't."

At the end of the street, soldiers appeared.

Their captain recognized an opportunity to give a confident order.

"Stand aside!"

Edith looked at the old map.

A border had been drawn through three villages that no longer appeared on the official version.

She knew those villages.

She delivered their atlases every spring.

Someone had not sent the engine to the wrong place by accident.

She rolled up her maps.

"Can you reverse?"

"Slowly."

"Good. We're taking the long road."

The captain shouted again.

Bastion lowered a wooden handrail.

Edith climbed aboard.

Behind the little window, the old woman moved her saucepan aside.

"Tea?"

"Please."

The engine began backing carefully away from the army.

It was the most considerate invasion Edith had ever seen.