by Phil Foglio
Othar laughed genially. “So! Madame Olga!” he boomed, “You are, I’m told, a sayer of sooths and a teller of fortunes, yes?”
Agatha was taken aback. He couldn’t possibly have forgotten her already, could he? Lars leaned in and answered for her. “Indeed she is, sir!”
“Excellent!” Othar looped a muscular arm around her shoulders and began to walk her away. “I would like my fortune told! Now, if you please!”
Agatha was so stunned that she allowed him to gently steer her toward her tent. Less than a minute later, Othar was dropping onto a cushioned chair—leaning his elbows on the ornate little table that stood before Madame Olga’s skull-draped throne. Agatha took her time at lighting the vast collection of candles and lanterns that hung around the tent, trying to collect her thoughts.
“A fine performance!” Othar said as he leaned forward, peering at the dials and meters set into the huge brass-bound crystal orb that rested on the table.
“Thank you.” Agatha was confused. Othar’s body language conveyed no sense of menace whatsoever. Somehow, this only made the tall, jolly man even more frightening.
Othar idly scratched his beard. “You seem a bit on edge.”
Agatha spun about to face him directly. “The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me!”
“Oh, that.” Othar waved a hand in dismissal. “That was before I knew that you were a Heterodyne.”
Agatha started. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Why, not long after we—” he coughed politely into his fist, “—parted ways, I ran into a young man who I believe to be your cousin: a Master Theopholous DuMedd?
“You didn’t do anything horrible to him, did you?”
Othar paused, and a frown flitted across his features. “Ah, I see. No, I was unaware that he was a Spark.” He sighed. “What a pity. At any rate, he was traveling with a small group of the Baron’s hostages who had snatched the opportunity presented by my rather dramatic departure to affect their own escape from Castle Wulfenbach. All very nice young people, and all fans of mine, as it happens!
Young DuMedd told me everything. He was very glad to hear that you were in good hands as my spunky girl assistant!”
Agatha glowered. “I am not your assistant. You tried to kill me.”
Othar waggled an admonitory finger at her. “See? That’s why friends shouldn’t keep secrets from one another.”
“I don’t keep secrets! Not from my real friends.” Agatha was digging through a small chest to one side of her throne. Who knows what the previous Madame Olga had kept in it? Maybe she could poison his tea.
Othar sat back and folded his arms. “Ah. So these traveling players know who you really are?”
This brought her up short. “No,” she admitted, after a deep breath. “No, they don’t.”
Sergeant Zulli stood atop the city wall, watching the moon rise from behind the eastern mountains. He had just spent a half-hour instructing one of the new recruits in the correct use of the town’s prized night scope—and was hoping the boy would prove himself a fast learner. The instrument was huge, an ornate, cumbersome affair full of mirrors, lenses and strange, colored filters, bristling with switches, knobs and gauges all up and down the sides. It had been a gift to the town long ago, built by the local lord—a Spark who occasionally had trouble containing his monsters. Even Zulli had to admit he had no idea how it actually worked, but work it did, and very well, too. A competent operator could view all three roads leading up to the town as clear as day, even on a moonless night[28].
Tonight, Zulli could hear the crowd below—roaring with laughter at the circus’ antics. Things were going smoothly, and he was beginning to think he would soon be able to join the fun, when the boy suddenly started back from the scope’s eyepiece with a yell of alarm, nearly falling from his perch.
Zulli was at his elbow instantly, steadying him with one hand. “Anybody you know?”
“No sir! There’s something coming up the East Road.”
Zulli frowned. “Some thing—”
“I don’t know what it is, but it’s big and it’s fast.”
“That’s never a good combination.” Zulli removed his helmet and fitted his eye to the scope.
“It should be coming up on the five lengths mark,” the boy said.
Zulli spun an engraved wheel and pointed the instrument at a distant road sign—the large white V newly repainted and shining in the dark. He brought the sign into focus just in time to see a blur rush past. He snapped upright, eyes wide. “That’s damn fast!” The old guard took off at a run, shouting back over his shoulder: “Ring the bell—and get some archers to the East Gate! That’s an order!”
Zulli dashed along darkening streets, lit by only the occasional lantern. Now, he could hear the alarm bell tolling from the central watchtower. He cast his eyes about frantically for someone—anyone—he could commandeer to help spread the word, but the streets were empty, the shops dark and locked tight. Everyone in town must be at the damn circus, he realized. He hoped that his fellow guards would hear the bell and respond, but the music of the circus and the noise of the crowd drowned out everything else. They might not hear the bell, or they might be too drunk to care.
He skidded around the final corner and swore in dismay. There before him was the East Gate, portcullis up, the great oak and iron doors still wide open. This staggering bit of incompetence was explained by one look at the men on duty. It was Smek and Bodine, a pair of the Mayor’s otherwise unemployable relatives. Zulli promised himself he’d break whoever had assigned them to the same shift.
“Red fire!” he shouted as he ran up, “Are you Sparksons deaf? Close the damn gate!”
The two guards gaped at him. Bodine was in a state of flustered confusion, but managed to squeak: “But... but Assia Velichou and Pavel Dakar are still outside!”
“They’re hunting mushrooms,” Smek drawled helpfully.
Zulli delivered a resounding smack to both of their helmets as he tore past them. “You cretins! They’ve got thirty seconds to get dressed and back inside before we close the gate! Do you hear me out there?” he addressed the darkness beyond the gate in a voice like thunder: “Something’s coming! We’re closing the gate! Get in here NOW!”
Smek was the smarter of the two. He dashed off and began tugging at the great iron hook that locked the left gate open. Zulli tugged at the right, while counting under his breath.
Bodine dithered beside him. “We can’t just leave them out there—it’s dark!”
“Thirty seconds!” Zulli roared as he pulled the hook free.
Smek was already tugging his half of the gate closed. “What’s coming?” he gasped.
“I don’t know,” Zulli admitted, “but you’d better hope it kills you, or Assia’s father will!”
“S-s-sir!” Bodine whispered. His voice was strangled, terrified.
Another voice spoke. “Hy vish to enter dis town.”
The tones were rich and sweet, but the accent froze Sergeant Zulli fast. We should have killed those Jägers, he thought.
There was a gust of warm air behind him. He turned slowly, and found himself face to face with the largest brown bear he had ever seen. Deep brown eyes watched him steadily. Avoiding the bear’s gaze, he found himself staring at the huge pair of gold rings in its left ear, then at the matching pair in its right. A delicate cough dragged his attention upward. The bear’s rider was a Jägermonster, that much was obvious. Its deep blue cloak hung aside slightly, revealing an oddly distorted breastplate. Startled, Zulli realized that the rider was female. Old military man that he was, Zulli had of course heard rumors, jokes, and all kinds of lascivious stories, but he had only half believed them. He had never seen a female Jägermonster before. Now, with one gazing down at him from atop her gigantic bear, the light of the huge gate lanterns throwing vast shadows behind them, the sergeant felt a small flicker of curiosity through his pall of terror.
Her long hair was a fine silvery grey, and
her skin—what little could be seen of it—was a deep olive green. The lower half of her face was muffled under a soft scarf, and her wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over her face. The eyes that showed between were large and expressive. She gazed at him calmly—she wasn’t angry... yet.
Zulli opened his mouth and found it had gone dry. He swallowed with difficulty and tried again. “The... the town is closed. Until dawn.”
The Jäger sat back and made a pretense of examining the gate. “But de gate iz not yet closed. Hy merely seek—”
A “tung” sounding from the wall overhead was Zulli’s only hint that his fellow guards had finally arrived. The rider had already noticed them, of course, and moved her hand before the sound even came, calmly plucking a crossbow bolt out of the air. She examined it briefly, and then casually snapped the shaft in half with her thumb.
“Hy forgiff.” She announced to the air. “Vunce.” She leaned down towards the shivering watchmen. “Hy em lookink for my boyz.”
Thank the Blessed Zenobia they’re still alive, Zulli thought. He was just beginning to form a polite answer, when Smek, unable to contain his terror any longer, proved just how stupid he really was by screaming: “FIRE!”
Agatha sank into the fortuneteller’s throne and leaned forward with one arm on the little table—positioning herself to fling the telluricomnivisualization ball at Othar’s head if he made any sudden moves. “Look” she said. “I’m only going to explain this once. The Baron thinks I’m dead. Gil... thinks I’m dead. That’s good. That’s what I want. I don’t want to be a Heterodyne. I don’t even want to be a Spark. Not if people like you are going to show up trying to kill me. So I won’t. I’ll stay here. I’m done with all of that. Finished. And I am certainly not going to go off hero-ing with you. Understand?”
Othar leaned back so far that his chair rested on only its two back legs. He crossed his arms behind his head and his mouth twitched upwards in a small, infuriating smile. “Really?” It was more a statement than a question.
At that moment, a great roar erupted outside the tent, followed by screams and a clash of weapons.
Agatha leapt to her feet, knocking over the table and sending the scrying ball whizzing past Othar’s ear. The lightning gun that she had been quietly holding under the table was now in full view, but she didn’t care about secrecy any more. Ignoring Othar, who had fallen backward off his chair, she swept aside the curtains and took in the scene outside.
Through the blaze of the circus lanterns she could see an enormous bear, towering high as it reared back and gave another tremendous roar. A dozen members of the town watch, and easily twice as many townsmen, were swarming around its feet in desperate battle. Things were not going well for them.
The bear lashed out, its wide paws knocking men about with terrible ease. Astride the creature rode a woman swathed in a midnight-blue cloak, silver hair flying. She deflected arrows and sliced the tops off pikes with a sword that was easily two meters long. It wasn’t so much a battle as it was a rout.
“Hy em rapidly loozink my patience,” the woman shouted. Agatha paused as she realized that the rider was a Jäger and, as far as Agatha could tell, hadn’t actually killed anyone.
Just then, the rider noticed Agatha. She took one look at the lightning gun in Agatha’s hands and snarled in fury. Turning her great bear, she faced Agatha directly, and charged.
Agatha desperately pointed the gun and fired. A sharp crack rang out as a burst of dazzling blue light filled the square. When her eyes cleared, Agatha saw that one of the wagons was burning, but the bear and its rider were nowhere to be seen. It was only when the bear crashed back to earth that Agatha realized it must have leapt straight up to avoid the blast. I didn’t know they could do that, she thought in a daze, just before the bear’s rider slammed into her.
The Jäger dashed the weapon from Agatha’s hand and stomped it with a booted heel, smashing the center flat with a crackle of blue sparks.
She grabbed Agatha’s wrist and leaned in close. “Und now,” she hissed, “Ve see vat happens to clever leedle fingers vat play vit nasty leedle toyz—” As the Jäger spoke, she pushed Agatha’s index finger backward toward her wrist.
Agatha thrashed backward and screamed in pain. Suddenly, Othar swung in, delivering a solid boot to the side of the Jäger’s head, so that she went spinning away from Agatha.
“That’s my Spunky Girl Sidekick, I’ll have you know!” He boomed cheerfully.
Agatha scrambled to her feet. “I am not—”
“Agatha! RUN!” screamed Krosp, who had followed her out of the fortuneteller’s tent. Agatha turned, only to find herself staring into the gaping jaws of the bear—its hot breath on her face. Krosp was already in mid-leap, claws extended. As he landed, he buried them in the bear’s sensitive nose. The huge animal shrieked in agony and flinched backward, furiously swiping at its face with its paws as the cat ran up its back and launched himself up and away.
Agatha spun about and ran. She passed Sergeant Zulli clutching his limp and bloody arm. He was kicking at the prone watchmen and yelling. “—Guns, damn you! Get up! Open the armory and get the guns! Shoot all four of them!”
Without thinking, she changed her direction until she found herself standing in front of the gallows, and its three Jägers. In the flickering light the three grinning faces took on a demonic quality that sent a shiver down her spine.
The green one spoke. “Problems... Mistress?”
Agatha took a deep breath. “Someone—another Jäger—is attacking the town. The guards are going to shoot you. All of you. I’ll cut you down, and you’ll get her out of here when you escape.”
The purple one nodded. “Oh, yes?”
She paused, “And you’ll leave the townspeople alone.”
The horned one smiled lazily. “Oh, uv cawze.”
Agatha grit her teeth and glowered up at them. “Swear. Swear that’s all you’ll do. Swear... on your loyalty to the House of Heterodyne!”
Their eyes went wide at this, and this time their grins were honest ones.
“Good vun!”
“Schmot gurl!”
“Ve all so svear, Mistress!”
Agatha dashed away and returned with the smaller chair from Madame Olga’s tent. She climbed up next to the closest Jäger, and began hacking at the rope with the folding knife she kept in her boot. It wasn’t the best tool for the job, but it was sharp. “I’d better be right about you,” she panted.
The rope parted, and the green Jäger landed heavily on his feet. He scraped the ropes binding his wrists against a stone wall—so brutally that they parted. Hands free, he grinned up at her. “Too late to vorry about dot now, sveethot!” he called as he bounded away.
The Jäger woman held Othar aloft by his hair as she prepared to slice his head off. “Hyu fights pretty goot,” she panted, “But hyu iz too demmed annoyink to be any fun.” She raised her sword.
“Schtop! Hyu horr’ble monster-y ting uf evil!” The voice was loud and strong, and a hush fell over the square.
The Jäger blinked in surprise and lowered her sword. “Vot?”
Ranged before her, striking theatrically heroic poses, were the three Jägers from the gallows. They had found weapons, and, inexplicably, hats.
The green Jäger stepped forward and brandished a fist full of gleaming throwing knives held in a very professional-looking grip. “Ve iz Jägerkin,” he announced in a ringing voice. “Charged by de ancient contract, vit der job uv savin’ all dese pipple!”
The watching crowd of townspeople looked at each other. This was news to them.
The purple one flourished a sword that shone red in the firelight. “Yah, and ve gets to do it by gettin’ hyu outta here!”
The horned one twirled an immense three-bladed halberd with an effortless twitch of his fingers. “Now—iz hyu gunna run, or iz hyu gunna die?”
The female Jäger stared at them for a moment, snorted in amusement, and then, with one flowing move of her arm, tossed
Othar high into the air. “Ha-ho! Dis vill slow hyu down!” She shouted, and then turned with a swirl of her long blue cape and dashed away. Othar described an elegant parabola high into the air and then crashed to the ground. The Jäger woman stopped, turned, and stared in surprise at the crumpled hero.
The three other Jägers looked at each other uncertainly.
“Sorry,” the horned one called. “Vas ve supposed to ketch him?”
The purple one shrugged and grumbled: “Dunno vhy, Hy dun like hm.”
The green Jäger leapt forward. “Vhatever! Come on, brodders! Ve gots a monster hunt!”
At this, the other two brightened up. With a shout of “Ve HUNT!” the three brandished their weapons in one last showman-like flourish, and raced off after the bear and rider—through the streets and out into the dark night beyond the town gates.
The amazed crowd stared after them, wondering whether to applaud. It was only when Master Payne bellowed, “Fire!” that the spell was broken and a crew assembled to douse the burning circus wagon.
With the fire out, the monsters gone, and the gates firmly bolted shut, it was time for a party. The tavernmaster whose house bordered the square had stood everyone a large mug of cider, and the townspeople, as a whole, were feeling extremely accomplished. A pack of monsters run off, a fire put out, and a rather good stage show, all in one night! Why, Zumzum would be the next Paris[29]!
Only the Mayor did not share the festive mood. He huffed up to Sergeant Zulli, his face red and angry. Thanks to the sling on his arm, the old soldier was accepting his latest free drink with his left hand.
The Mayor clutched a severed rope in one fist, and shook it in Zulli’s face. “Look! See? This rope was cut! That’s how those Jägerscum got free! One of those show people, I’ll be bound!”
Zulli sipped his drink. “A good thing, eh?” He flicked his eyes around the crowded taproom, then gazed back at the Mayor with a significant look.
