With a great tearing and swearing from above, the tent rips open. A bright white light pours down on me, and I hear the actors above scrambling as the support ropes snap and the backstage tips. For a confused second, I and the audience think it's part of the act.

Most Sheikah catch the bundles of props, or the net itself, but some few fall screaming to the ground. It's still not far enough to kill, but sure is far enough to injure. There's no way this is grandmother's plan, and in the sudden brilliance I can't tell whether grandmother clings or falls.

"STAND DOWN," a tinny voice bellows at a volume that puts grandmother's trained voice to shame. "CEASE YOUR DRILLS AND STAND DOWN. PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS AND KNEEL IN THE NAME OF CALATIA. THIS WARNING WILL NOT BE REPEATED."

I bolt. I can't say why. I can't say why any of this is happening. Interestingly, many of the crowd bolt as well. I run along the crowd's shoulders and leap off outside the tent. There's a sound like a roll of thunder from inside, and I look back to see a gigantic metal ship, raised a good eight meters from the ground on a pair of steel legs, peering into the hole in our tent. A second walking ship stands outside the tent's other exit. This time I see the lightning that branches down, multi-armed, into the fleeing crowd. The Midorans are bowled over, electricity crackling across their bodies as they twitch, stunned, on the ground.

Not seeing anything better to do, I run for Alfon's bar. I hear a boom behind me and look around in time to see one of the town's cannon's shot burst against the side of the second walker. It teeters dangerously in it's footing in the swamp outside town, but rights itself. I see the spotlight of a third ship coming through the dark evening mists on the far side of town, towards the source of the shot.

I draw up short in wonder to see my grandmother already in the bar, conversing in a hurried whisper with Alfon. She looks up as I arrive, and beckons me over urgently.

"We haven't much time, love. Give me your pendant and wallet." I may have balked at such a request from anyone else, but grandmother's are worthy recipients of blind trust. I pull the wallet from a pocket and fish out my mother's white gem on its homemade necklace.

Grandmother is a legend of legerdemain in our troupe, and the items seem to vanish as soon as they touch her hand.

"Good. Now listen to me. I wish it weren't so sudden, but you need to know – "

There is a crack of thunder, and blinding light. The pain is intense, as every muscle in my frame seizes against its neighbour.

The first land boat's spotlight peers down at us. Soldiers in black armour block parts of it momentarily as they rappel down from above. Before I can regain use of my muscles they've landed on the turf, on the roof of the bar cart. I manage to turn my head and see one scoop up and bind my limp grandmother; Alfon raises an arm in token resistance as a soldier strikes him with a narrow black club which crackles with electricity. The electricity arcing over his body redoubles and he falls back down.

A soldier flips me over and roughly binds my hands behind my back. My face in the wet turf, I can just see her face. With a shock, I realize that she's not human at all. What I took to be full helms are mechanical heads; smooth glassy fronts that look like visors, with no visible eyes at all. She pulls me roughly to my feet, and I find that I can stand. Her hand, hard and firm as a vise, never leaves my wrists. Her every movement is accompanied by a whirr of clockwork, different speeds at each joint.

With a great whining of gears, the ship settles itself down. The legs bend backwards and the rear of the ship splashes into the bog, while the keel crushes several wagons as it lands heavily on the town. Ramps are lowered onto solid ground, and automata start hustling prisoners aboard.

One or two more cannons have sounded, but they are still now. I can hear my brief friend the tomcat call out in the distance, and then only the ringing of clockwork soldier's boots on the metal gang planks and deck.

My captor pulls me to my feet, and I walk obediently in front of her. The whole operation is eerily efficient. Midorans and Sheikah alike are lined up on a wide parade ground taking up the front half of the ship. Some stand, like me. Others are carried like sacks of potatoes. Grandmother is one such, two soldiers to my left.

Two men and a woman, refreshingly human, walk out from the cabins occupying the stern half of the ship's deck space. They wear crisp red jackets with military insignia, white breeches, and tall black boots. I blink and shake my head to clear it. They look… bored. They walk down the lines of prisoners, inspecting faces. At my grandmother, they request that the automaton turn her around. With one hand around her hips and the other across her shoulders, it pins her to its front. Her head lolls like a rag doll's, and one of the men grabs her chin to inspect her face.

"It's her," the woman says, consulting a clipboard. The other man uncaps a small vial of some red liquid and holds it beneath Grandmother's nose. Her eyes flutter and her body tenses as she returns to consciousness.

"Impa of the Sheikah," the first man says. "You and your troupe are under arrest for conspiracy to produce illegal weapons and illegal militia activity."

"We're performers," she croaks out, disgust hanging off every syllable.

"You were seen conducting and demonstrating organized weapons training," the man replies. Squinting, I recognize his insignia from a rather dull book I read two years ago and have since traded away. He's the ship's captain. The woman is his first mate, and the other man his second.

"It was so witnessed," the first mate says.

"Seconded," the second mate chimes in.

"Just happened to be in the neighbourhood, were you?" my grandmother asks. "Witnessed all this before tearing our tent in half, did you?"

"You will be processed in Calatia Castle Town jail," is the captain's only reply. He turns and strides away. Their party walks past me on their way back to the cabins, and I overhear him add "Honestly, the formalities to this job. The sooner this part is automated the better. It's just a matter of facial recognition…"

Clockwork soldiers pull me away before I can form a question for grandmother Impa. Everyone is taken below decks and shoved into miniscule cells, lit by the dimmest of electrical glows.

The ship stands and walks away in sickening, lurching strides. The journey takes nearly six hours, and the less is said of it, the better.