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The Barren Swamp never really lived up to its name. How could it, with frenzied puppets and gooey monsters in every corner? Maybe they only called it “barren”, because they were trying to deter people from falling into the Green Monster’s lair... that would make sense. Of course the monster was gone now, as were all the puppets and gooey creatures. Pinocchio had made sure of that. The Barren Swamp was barren once more.
‘So... why are we here again, pal?’ Gemini chirped from his lantern— if his dislike for this place wasn’t obvious already, his refusal to leave the safety of Monad’s Lamp made it clear. Pinocchio knew how he felt. Though the swamp was barren and quiet, something about the place unnerved him still. The mountains of dead puppets in every sightline did not help things. This place was a graveyard.
‘We’re here to find butterflies,’ the boy-puppet replied. ‘We missed a few last time; I was hoping you would help me find them, Gemini.’
‘Only ’cause it’s you asking, pal. Let’s not hang around, okay? This place creeps me out.’
Pinocchio nodded. That he could do— it had started to rain. He scanned the horizon. Butterflies were important, but there was someone out here he wanted to visit too. It worried him that his friend wasn’t by the cave-stargazer. How far could a puppet with malfunctioning limbs get by themself? Hugo hadn’t seen them recently, he knew. The swamp and its surrounding area were his current focus for exploration, and the new Alidoro was thorough... at least in spirit. He was very new at the job.
‘Say, where’s that broken puppet gotten to?’ Gemini read his mind as usual, ‘If we do find ’em, we’ve gotta ask what their REAL name is. “Broken Puppet” just sounds sad.’
Pinocchio climbed over a mound of rusting body-parts. ‘I hope they don’t have a sense of smell,’ he paused to upturn his collar against the rainy chill. ‘If they do, they will be...very sad.’
‘I think “disgusted” is the word you’re looking for, pal. I’M disgusted, and I can’t smell a thing—’
Gemini stopped mid-sentence. Monad’s Lamp, previously giving off a soft green glow to help them both see, turned red. ‘Aaaaand that’s our cue,’ the cricket whispered.
Pinocchio dropped into a crouch. Dimensional butterflies were hard enough to catch... unless they never saw you coming. ‘How far, Gemini?’ he whispered back.
‘About twenty yards— straight ahead, down this hill.’
The hunt was on.
One advantage to being more than a normal puppet, Pinocchio had discovered, was his silence. His internal mechanics made a lot less noise than other puppets, and he certainly found his movements reflected this; less clumsy and robotic, more smooth and certain. More human. Humans could sneak up on things.
So sneak he did, noiselessly making his way downhill while Gemini’s red glow grew brighter and brighter. Pinocchio hoped it wouldn’t be too much further; beyond the hill’s base the swamp started properly, blotches of dark mud dotted here and there with short tufts of grass. Not somewhere he wanted to go without longer boots.
Gemini’s chirp took on a higher pitch, like a wind-chime. ‘Get ready pal, that shiny bug should turn up right about... here!’
Just like that the butterfly appeared from thin air. If Pinocchio had more time to think about these things he might wonder where they came from, which dimension had glowing red butterflies in it and how pretty that would be to visit— but he was too busy running. The butterfly took off like a shot.
He was getting better at sprinting too, in recent weeks. Better at timing his breathing, better at coordinating his legs, better at running faster. And a good thing too, because the butterfly flew straight over the swamp. Dead puppets and scraps of metal turned into muddy moss and murky water. The butterfly didn’t slow down, but neither did its pursuer— despite its best efforts, the gap between the two of them was closing. Pinocchio decided this time that he would catch the butterfly; Sophia would love to see one, he was sure of it. Maybe he could convince Gemini to give up his lantern temporarily, as somewhere to put the captive? That might be harder than catching the thing.
It was like a dance, running across the swamp. Dodging tree stumps, hopping between islands, his feet pounding against the sodden tufty grass— until they weren’t.
The ground vanished beneath him.
Pinocchio had no time to react as land became water, Gemini’s shrill cry of panic ringing out through the rain as they both plunged below the surface.
The red glow of Monad’s Lamp sputtered and died.
He couldn’t see which way was up, couldn’t see anything through the murk. Grass and mud slipped uselessly through his fingers. He only felt himself falling, sinking like a stone, weighed down by his gear and his weapons and his own metal frame; Pinocchio suddenly knew why Venigni and the others told him to be so careful around the swamp, how water and boy-puppets didn’t mix.
He couldn’t believe he’d taken breathing for granted. Instincts he didn’t know he had told him to hold his breath, to keep the water OUT— he’d never done that before, never made a conscious effort to stop his internal bellows working. Clockwork gears strained against him.
Numbing fingers reached for the lantern on his belt. If he was too heavy to surface, then a cricket might just make it out, maybe call for help... but the lantern was already open. The latch must have jolted loose in the fall— he hoped that Gemini wasn’t down here with him.
At some point, Pinocchio realised, he had stopped falling. He could feel sharp stones digging into his back, adding to the increasing strain in his chest. The water was so heavy. Clockwork lungs weren’t meant to deal with this kind of pressure. If he could just find something to grab onto, something to drag himself upwards—
Too late. He felt them suddenly give out, the springs holding his bellows still. He couldn’t stop it. All in an instant he saw through the murk, his last breath rushing away in a flurry of bubbles.
The pressure vanished. Water was not supposed to burn.
Burning pain gave way to freezing numbness, cold spreading through every system.
The darkness closed in.
><><
It is not over yet, clever one.
‘...Sophia?’
There she was, a blue butterfly shimmering in the dark.
‘Sophia, I thought you were still at the Abbey...’
I reside there still, I have not moved. Did you forget I could visit you anyway?
The butterfly flapped its graceful wings. It left a trail of stars.
It’s time for you to wake up.
‘At the stargazer? But what about Gemini? He wasn’t with me when I died—’
I told you already, clever one. You are not dead.
The butterfly flew straight for him. Stars scattered.
Now wake up.
><><
Pinocchio awoke to a world of pain. Pain everywhere. His lungs alone had never hurt so much before, every gasping cough felt like a punctured cylinder. But he was on land again. Arduous as it was, he could breathe again. He relished it, the horrible sting of forcing ice-cold air into stressed and wheezing bellows.
The world span as someone rolled him over on one side, slapping him hard on the back. ‘There there, my first friend! Get that water out of your sy-system!’
Muffled though it was by waterlogged ears, Pinocchio knew that static-filled voice. He cracked one eye open.
Using their arms, the broken puppet dragged themself round to sit by him, happy as could be. They couldn’t smile of course; like most of Krat’s puppets their face was stuck in a vaguely blank expression. But the puppet’s exposed heart glowed like Monad’s Lamp, illuminating the small gravelly beach he found himself lying on. It had stopped raining.
‘You should NOT inhale water,’ the broken puppet cheerfully said, ‘Lungs don’t work that way, you know. That was quite silly!’
Pinocchio tried to speak, only for more stinking swamp-water to come up instead. Gemini was right— “disgusted” was the perfect word for this cold and dirty place.
‘Don’t bother talking yet pal, that’s what I’m for— you just focus on NOT dying!’
He forced his eye to focus on the source of the voice.
Gemini perched on the broken puppet’s knee, still very blurry but definitely unharmed. ‘Your systems must have gone into shock down there, pal. It’s why you blacked out. I mean— mine nearly went too, and I don’t even need to breathe!’
The broken puppet’s head twitched back and forth between them. Something sparked, though it didn’t seem to cause them much bother. ‘I don’t think I want to breathe, it looks a very uncomfortable thing to do.’ Their blank gaze settled on Pinocchio. ‘Do you like breathing, m-my first friend?’
The boy-puppet didn’t have the energy to raise his head, let alone try to speak again. So he just lay there; shivering, face half-buried in gravel, sucking in every painfully-delicious breath he could muster. At last he managed to manoeuvre the functioning gears in one hand, to make it give a thumbs-up. Breathing was wonderful.
‘Fascinating!’ The porcelain head tilted. ‘Maybe one day I shall have to find some lungs of my own. Perhaps there could be some around here? I have found many interesting things in this graveyard, especially now the covenant puppets have gone.’
‘Well I never saw them from the air, that’s for sure,’ Gemini chirped from his knee. He rubbed tired wings together. ‘I kid you not, I have NEVER flown so fast in my life. Once I got myself free I found our puppet friend in under a minute— would you believe it, pal? They were just behind the next hill over!’
Pinocchio could definitely believe it. An unfortunate side-effect of his friend’s broken appearance was... they looked just like every other broken puppet out there. Amongst the mountains of broken puppet pieces. Eugénie called this scenario the “needle in a haystack”, for unknown reasons. All Pinocchio knew was that right now, he felt like a broken puppet himself. Every limb was a leaden weight. He couldn’t wait to crawl back to Hotel Krat and sleep for a week, but... someone might have to carry him there first.
Gemini always knew what to say at times like these. ‘Hey, since our mutual friend’s still getting his breath back, I’m gonna go ahead and speak on his behalf. That was SO amazing how you got him out of that hole!’ I never would have thought of using discarded puppet-limbs, it’s ingenious!’
The broken puppet wiggled their fingers in a satisfied fashion. ‘I have fallen into these sinkholes many times myself, on my travels. It’s always a good idea to keep yourself well-armed.’
‘Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Seriously though, is there anything we can do to thank you? You’ve got the whole of Hotel Krat’s resources at your disposal, I guarantee it.’
They thought for a moment, glowing heart flickering. ‘I don’t wish to impose, but considering how difficult it was to pull you out of that watery trap just now, I would very much appreciate it if your hotel could repair my walking functionality.’
‘Hah!’ Gemini’s tuning-fork laugh echoed across the wastes. ‘Buddy, your legs are gonna be the best working legs that Krat has ever seen, once Venigni hears what you did. It is LITERALLY impossible for you to impose on any of us!’
They were suddenly interrupted by another voice, from the top of a nearby rubbish heap. Pinocchio could just about see a large pair of dog-ears silhouetted against the clouds.
‘What are YOU all doing out here?’ Hugo, or Alidoro as he had renamed himself, called over to them. ‘You shouldn’t play around in this swamp, guys! It’s dangerous out here!’