Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess gg-2

by Phil Foglio

  Khrizhan open his mouth and then froze. He stared at Klaus for several seconds. General Goomblast smoothly stepped into the conversational void. “We did not get a chance to... properly know de yong lady but Hy em sure dot de spirits uv her ancestors vould—”

  “THE HETERODYNE IS DEAD!” Khrizhan’s scream was no doubt heard through half of Castle Wulfenbach. The other two generals stared at him in astonishment. Then their heads snapped back towards the open coffin. Klaus could see the mental connections being made inside their ancient heads, they both then stared at him—

  Klaus stepped back. This set the monsters off and with a great roaring and screaming, they proceeded to try to tear the hangar apart. In a blind rage, Zog came at the Baron with claws extended. It was a glorious fight, lasting almost half an hour, and afterwards, the Baron joined them in a bout of drinking that quite erased any doubts before they were even formed.

  Ironically, it was the subsequent hangover that inspired Klaus to take the next step...

  The bed was hard. It was really only a flat linen sack—stuffed with horsehair and laid out on a wooden shelf—but Agatha slept peacefully, Krosp curled snugly against her back.

  Suddenly, a finger pressed lightly against her nose, and a soft voice whispered, “Beep!” Agatha snapped awake and saw Zeetha grinning at her in the predawn light. The green-haired girl set down a small pile of clothing, pointed at it with a significant look, and stepped out of the wagon, closing the door behind her.

  A few minutes later, Agatha reluctantly crept out into the cold morning air. What Zeetha had left was a brown, toga-like shift. Agatha had spent several frantic minutes looking for the rest of the outfit. Her clothing from the day before was nowhere to be found. Scandalous stories she’d heard about actors began to sound worryingly plausible.

  It looked like no one else was awake except for a couple of roustabouts, who were standing watch around the central fire. They perked up when they saw Agatha’s costume, but a growl from Zeetha caused them to speedily avert their eyes.

  Without a word, the green-haired girl took Agatha’s hand and pulled her into the forest. She was carrying a stick about two meters long—its sharp, fresh smell proclaimed it a newly-trimmed sapling. Soon they stepped into a small glade, and Zeetha released her hand and turned to face her. The look she gave Agatha was serious.

  Agatha crossed her arms against the morning chill. “Zeetha? What is going on? This outfit—?”

  Zeetha smiled. “Remember? You start your warrior training today. That is a close approximation of traditional Skifandrian novice garb.”

  Agatha shivered. “Skifander must be in the tropics, then.” She rubbed her arms and looked at the sky. Birds began to call in the trees overhead. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

  Zeetha shook her head. “My concern is that I may be too late.” She stepped closer. “Know, Agatha Clay, that the warrior tradition of the royal house of Skifander is old, proud, and jealously guarded.

  “In this life, I am allowed to train one other besides my own daughters. I have chosen you. The bond between us will be stronger than that of friends. Of family. Of lovers. As of now, we are ‘Koleedok-zumil.’”

  Agatha looked hard at Zeetha and thought a moment. This sounded serious—what was she getting into? “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Zeetha paused. “Ah—it’s kind of hard to translate. Sort of like ‘teacher and student.’ Sort of like ‘cause and effect.’” With a sudden, fluid movement, she brought the stick around and knocked Agatha to her knees. “Mostly like ‘grindstone and knife.’”

  Agatha was stunned. “What are you doing?”

  Zeetha twirled the stick about her fingers. “Testing your reflexes. You’re supposed to try to stop me. Try again!” She swung her stick.

  About an hour later, Zeetha sighed deeply and sat on her heels next to Agatha, who had resorted to huddling on the ground with her hands over her head. “Pathetic,” she pronounced. “No stamina. You can’t dodge. You can’t block. You allow anger to drive your attacks, and you can’t even run away properly.” She stood back up. “The good news is that you’ve got fast reflexes, and I’m greatly encouraged by the fact that I haven’t been able to hit you exactly the same way twice.”

  Agatha stirred slightly. “So... this death thing that training is supposed to prevent... why is it bad?”

  This earned her another smack across the rump. “And a poor attitude.” Zeetha stretched her arms toward the sky, then squared her shoulders. “Lucky for you, I like a challenge!”

  “This is lucky?” Agatha’s voice was barely there.

  “Sure! Nothing’s broken, is it?” Zeetha turned to go. “That makes it a good first day. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

  As Zeetha left, Krosp, who had been watching for some time, hopped from the wagon and sauntered up to Agatha. He gave her a sniff and then nudged her with his foot. “How’d it go?” he asked.

  Agatha raised her face and her eyes were despairing. “Krosp,” she wailed. “Help! She’s going to kill me.”

  Krosp’s whiskers twitched disapprovingly. “It sounds like she’s going to toughen you up. Good! These are the Wastelands! You’ve got to be strong! You’ve got to be quick! If you want to stay alive, you’ve got to make sacrifices.”

  Agatha slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. “Gosh. I—”

  “And tomorrow, be a little more careful when you leave, okay? You almost woke me up.”

  Agatha told herself later that she probably wouldn’t have actually hit him with it... she had just grabbed the rock without thinking. A good-sized rock, actually. It wasn’t until she had raised it high over her head with a vengeful roar that Zeetha voice sounded behind her. “Hey! You’re moving!” Zeetha set down a dish of oatmeal and looked pleased. “I’m really impressed!”

  Agatha flinched, and dropped the rock onto her foot. As she clutched her foot in pain, Zeetha explained. “The point of the first day of training is to drive you to your absolute limit. To see just how far I can force you.” She gestured to the rock. “You’re not as weak as I thought.”

  The ramifications of what Zeetha was saying began to sink in. “No!” Agatha whimpered. “I am weak.”

  Zeetha laughed merrily, and swung the stick up with a flourish. “And you’re sneaky! I admire that!” Down came the stick. “But you won’t fool me again!”

  Agatha, squealing, gamely tried to defend herself from the fresh volley of blows. Krosp looked on with detached interest as she staggered off—Zeetha trotting happily behind to deliver the occasional smack.

  The cat stretched, then picked up Agatha’s cereal. He ventured a taste, nodded in approval, and began to eat. “Mm! Delicious. She’ll be sorry she missed this!”

  Some time later, a large, shaggy raven crouched on the edge of Professor Moonsock’s wagon, peering hopefully at the prone figure of Agatha on the grass below. She hadn’t moved for a long time, which looked promising. Perhaps she was dead. The raven swooped down to land on her thigh. No reaction. Good. It took a peck at her. Still no reaction. Very good. Encouraged, the bird prepared to dig in—when a pebble whizzed out from under the nearest tree and caught it hard just above its tail. The raven gave an outraged “squark” as it flapped hastily into the air, circling around to settle back onto the roof of the cart. It could wait. Countess Marie strode forward. She rolled her eyes at the comatose girl before her and shook her head. “Come along, Agatha. I know you’re not dead.”

  A muffled voice escaped the moss. “You cannot prove that by any verifiable method.”

  Zeetha had let it be known that she had taken Agatha under her wing, and would be working her hard. There were no objections. In fact, this fit neatly with the order Master Payne had quietly given his troupe the night before. Grateful as the circus members were for Agatha’s help, she was nevertheless a stranger. Until they bid her fare-thee-well at Mechanicsburg, she was to be kept busy and worked hard, hard enough that she would have neither time nor energy
to get into trouble, or ask too many questions.

  Marie was used to dealing with actors who had over-indulged the night before, and was infamous for her ability to get them on their feet and on stage without mercy. Agatha’s condition, while not self-imposed, was familiar enough. She reached down with one hand, and effortlessly hauled the girl to her feet. “Let’s get you moving.”

  Clean, dressed, and with a decent meal inside her, Agatha was soon willing to admit the possibility that life might be worth living.

  Marie smiled. “We’ll have you help out with a little of everything. That will give us a chance to see where you’ll be the most use. To start with, I believe Embi could use an assistant.”

  Agatha swallowed the last of her oat bread and honey, then wiped her hands. “Who is Embi?” she asked.

  The Countess smiled. “Ah! With all the excitement we’ve had the last few days, you haven’t had a chance to meet everyone. Now, it’s high time you experienced the true glamour and excitement of show business!”

  Several minutes later, a man no taller than Balthazar—with skin so dark it was almost black—plopped a second huge basket of beets at her feet as he sang out “Aaaand this batch of glamour here!” He then sat down beside her and pulled a paring knife out of his astonishingly tall hat.

  Agatha was all-too-familiar with the job before her[17]. She sighed, and set to work with a will. She was soon surprised to find the task more pleasant than usual, for Embi had a friendly air about him and the conversation flowed comfortably.

  “That’s a fine hat,” Agatha said. “I’ve never really seen one like it. Is it from Paris[18]?”

  “Ho! A common mistake!” Embi smiled. “But it is a style that was common in my youth, in a village in Africa that you’ll never have heard of.”

  Agatha sat back and looked at the little man with surprise. “Then you really are a long way from home.”

  Embi sighed as he picked up another beet and stripped the peel off all in one long strip. “It is true. I am an explorer. I travel these savage lands in search of the rare and exotic.” He saw the direction of Agatha’s glance and hefted the beet in his hand defensively. “We don’t have these back home.”

  Agatha laughed. “But then, why are you with the circus?”

  “The same as yourself. It is an excellent way to travel through these inhospitable lands.”

  “Inhospitable?” Agatha glanced at the surrounding forest. “Well, the Wastelands, certainly... but I never thought of Europa as savage or exotic.”

  Embi raised an eyebrow. “You know, that’s what I always said to visitors to my land.”

  Agatha considered this. “I see. What’s your act?”

  “Oh, some storytelling, exotic music, slight-of-hand...” Embi shrugged. “Mostly, I am short.”

  Embi was obviously an adult, but even for a short man, he seemed impossibly tiny. “Is everyone short where you come from?”

  “Indeed!” Embi reached into the basket. “Why, when I left home, my newest nephew was the size of this beet.” He held the vegetable a moment, and a far-away look came into his eyes. “He’ll be a great-great-grandfather now, I trust.” He sighed.

  Agatha blinked as she ran the math in her head. “Wait a minute. You don’t look—how old are you?”

  The little man studiously began to peel his beet. He didn’t look at Agatha. “I am... no longer sure,” he said quietly. “But one hundred and thirty, at least.”

  Agatha sat back and considered this. “Is that normal for your people?”

  “Ha!” Embi laughed, “No! When I was young and rash, I asked a boon of the Great Devil Goddess. In return, I took a sacred vow to see the wide world. I am to return to tell her all about it before I die.” He slumped a bit and looked at Agatha with one eyebrow raised. “To be honest, I don’t think either one of us knew just how wide the world is.”

  Agatha thought about this. “But what has that got to do with your long life?”

  Embi fixed her with a stern glare, and Agatha suddenly felt like a naughty six year old. “Humph! One of the problems with people in these lands is that they do not take sacred vows at all seriously!”

  From the shadows between two wagons, Master Payne and Countess Marie watched as Agatha laughed, chatted, and relieved beets of their skins. After a few minutes of eavesdropping, they drew back farther behind the wagons, and the circus master turned to his wife.

  “And so, my dear, what do you think?”

  Marie bit lightly on a knuckle and frowned. “It’s too soon to tell. She seems very nice. Brave and good-hearted, but then that’s not the question, is it?” She studied Payne. “You’re worried about something.”

  Payne gave a snort of annoyance. Among his players, he had a certain reputation for imperturbability, which he took pains to cultivate. His wife, on the other hand, was never fooled. He felt like he was onstage, attempting a conjuring trick that he hadn’t quite mastered. “Moxana has started a new game,” he said.

  Marie exclaimed in surprise. “Started over? This far into the season? For Agatha? Why didn’t she just add her, like she has for everyone else?”

  Payne shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Marie was intrigued. “But which piece—”

  Payne interrupted her. “Not just a new piece. Not just started over—this is a completely new game. A different game, with different rules.” He shook his head. “I’m still working it out, but this Miss Clay is the center of the whole thing.”

  Marie’s eyes widened. “What is she?” she whispered. “What have we done?”

  Payne looked at her and gave a single, mirthless bark of laughter. “We did what we had to do. You said it yourself. We couldn’t leave her. That may have been... truer than you’d meant.”

  “But we couldn’t... ah.” Marie absorbed this. “I find Determinism a very lazy philosophical viewpoint,” she groused, “But... a new game...”

  Payne gently slid his hand around her shoulders. “If we hurry, we’ll be in Mechanicsburg in a little over two months. She plans to leave us there. With luck, and a bit of care on our part, she may never notice anything.”

  Marie nodded, but her voice was skeptical. “Two months. With this lot?” The couple shared a significant look and shrugged in unison.

  From the peaked roof of one of the wagons, Krosp watched them walk off, arm-in-arm. Well, that was interesting, he thought.

  As Agatha finished peeling her basket of beets, a stout, bipedal clank carrying an enormous load of logs emerged from the forest and strutted toward them. Perched atop the large domed head was Balthazar, who waved excitedly when he saw them. “I brought wood!” he sang out. “Where do you want it, Herr Embi?”

  The little man nodded approvingly and pointed to the beginnings of a fire circle that lay nearby. “One more load and you’re done for the day, lad.” He looked at Agatha’s basket and smiled. “And it looks like you are done as well, Miss Clay. Good job! There’ll be borscht tonight!”

  Agatha needed no more prompting. She darted off after the clank. There was something about it that had seemed odd, and she wanted a better look at it.

  The device moved slowly, and she easily caught up to it. Agatha examined it as she walked alongside. Balthazar smiled down at her from his perch. “Pretty neat clank, hey?” he said with pride.

  Agatha nodded. “Indeed it is. Where did your family get it?”

  “He.” Balthazar corrected her. “This is Smilin’ Stev. My dad used to be a smith for the Porcelain Count of Niktalten. He’s the guy who used to take down airships with his clockwork falcons. When the Baron beat him, Dad took Stev here as his back pay.” The boy affectionately patted the clank on the head. “He’s nothing fancy, so none of the bad people we run into think he’s worth stealing. He just pulls our cart and fetches wood and water.”

  A light dawned. “Ah—That’s what confused me.”

  Balthazar suddenly looked wary. “What?”

  Agatha pointed at the mechanical troll’s limbs as
they pistoned along. “Has your father ever opened Stev up? These joints are really complicated. And look at the way these plates overlap. I think this clank may be a bit more sophisticated than you think.”

  “Dad says Stev is slow and stupid, just like Mama likes ’em.”

  This pronouncement effectively broke Agatha’s chain of thought. “Wait... what?”

  Balthazar smiled at her innocently. “Dad plays Punch in the Heterodyne plays[19].”

  “But—”

  Suddenly, Agatha realized that while she had been intent on the clank, she had been flanked by Rivet the mechanic, and André, the troupe’s music master. Rivet was assuring André that Agatha was a decent mechanic—or at least talked like one. She turned and smiled cheerfully. “Hello, Agatha!” she chirped. “Feeling bored?”

  Agatha saw that escape was impossible. “This doesn’t involve root vegetables, does it?”

  Rivet considered this. “No.”

  “Or hitting me with sticks?”

  André frowned. “Hardly. If I remember correctly, you told Master Payne that you could play anything with a keyboard?”

  Agatha perked up. “Yes! He was asking me if I had any performance experience[20]. Lilith gave me lessons—ballroom dancing and piano, mostly. Sometimes, I got to play the big organ at Transylvania Polygnostic, too. And there was that accordion Doctor Vogel had hidden in his lab. He didn’t know we knew about it, but one time...”

  André interrupted her. “And you’re a mechanic! It’s too perfect!”

  They led her to the baggage wagons. “You’ll like this—we have a repair job for you! When that clank attacked, it completely smashed our calliope.” André untied a rope holding down a canvas cover and whipped it aside with a showman’s flourish. “Behold! The Silverodeon! Once the finest steam-powered music machine this side of the Carpathians.”

  Revealed was a carved and painted cart that held an accumulation of scrap metal and twisted piping. Agatha could tell that this was the wreckage of some sort of musical instrument, but the damage looked like it had been caused as much by sheer neglect as by the clank attack.