by Phil Foglio
Balthazar considered the uneven path they’d recently trod. “Maybe not. But he can still carry stuff out himself. He won’t care how many trips it takes.”
Agatha nodded. “Please ask your father if I can use him then.” Balthazar gave her a crisp salute and bounded back towards the camp.
Alone, Agatha picked her way the foot of the colossus. She examined the surface of the great clank, and scowled at the condition of the metal. She pulled a small pry bar from a loop on her belt, and with a quick jab and snap, pulled up a section of plate. She examined the mechanisms underneath, and what she saw pleased her quite a bit. She began to hum to herself. From a pouch, she pulled a small monocular, and scrutinized the front of the clank. She found what she wanted up near the head. She gave a satisfied smile and put the viewing device back in its pouch.
She then pulled out a fat metal disc and attached a long, silken rope to it. Still humming, she whirled it around her head several times and threw it towards the top of the clank. With a “THUNK” the disc stuck to the clank, revealing itself to be a magnet. As it turned out, a very strong magnet, as Agatha used the attached rope to haul herself upwards along the face of the recumbent giant.
Once she reached where she wanted to go, she looped the rope around her seat and clipped it to an attached “D” ring. She examined the surface before her and then scraped away a thick layer of moss. A small service panel was revealed. She perfunctorily examined the lock and then took a large hammer from her belt and smacked it squarely. The surrounding metal crumbled into a spray of rust, while the steel lock briefly hung in place, and then tumbled to the ground. Again the pry bar came out and with a tooth gritting squeal, the panel swung open.
Agatha took a cloth and wiped several glass surfaces. To her surprise, a dim light flickered behind one or two of them. She grasped a large control lever, and with some difficulty, spun the dial to “AKTIV.”
A shudder ran through the giant figure. Sparks erupted from various joints and extremities. The single great eye in its head flared red, and with a terrible slowness, swiveled down and observed the small girl hanging from its chest.
The great arms jerked, ripping loose from a cluster of small trees and slowly swung towards her.
At this, the hidden watchers broke from cover and ran towards the giant. “Hang on, Agatha,” Lars yelled, “We’ll distract it!”
Surprised at their appearance, Agatha held up a hand and shouted back over the roaring and squealing of the awakening clank. “What? Just a minute.”
She then pushed away from the control panel, and as she swung back, lashed out with the heel of her boot, shattering the control lever housing. The lights flicked and died, and great figure shuddered once, then collapsed back onto its bed of smashed trees.
Agatha calmly unhooked herself and then slid down to the base of the now motionless figure. “Now what was that?”
Yeti and Lars stared at her. After a second Lars stepped forward. “Are you all right?”
Agatha looked back at the supine clank. “What? This? Sure! I helped my father with old stuff like this all the time. People were always finding dead clanks in the woods.” She patted a metal leg. “It’s always best to disable them permanently before you start trying to take them apart.”
Yeti looked at Lars. “That sounds safe enough.”
Agatha looked confused. “Well, of course. Didn’t Balthazar send you to help?”
Lars nodded. “Oh, yeah—”
Yeti interrupted. “No. Lars was worried about you poking about in the woods all alone.”
Agatha looked at Lars, who gave an embarrassed shrug. Agatha smiled. “Well you don’t know how much it means to me to have the two of you here.”
When Balthazar arrived with Smilin’ Stev, he was surprised to find Lars and Yeti straining to hold up one of the great clank’s arms, as Agatha squatted underneath and pulled out various components. Sweat was pouring down Lars face, and his face was set in a determined scowl.
Yeti looked over at him and smiled. “You did say it might be dangerous.” He shifted his feet. “Happy?”
Lars rolled his eyes and grunted. “Shut... up!”
Several hours later, after the useable parts of the great clank had been stripped and transported back to the circus, Lars gratefully sipped a beer and watched the Sparks sort through the scavenged material. Since Balthazar had discovered it, and Agatha had harvested it, they were the people to bargain with, and the trading of parts and future favors was in full swing.
Agatha’s foster-mother had tried for years to teach her how to dicker in the marketplace. Sadly, Agatha had never had the knack. But now that the locket that had suppressed her mind was off, lessons and techniques that had been patiently drummed into her head long ago were resurfacing. Admittedly, she was bargaining against actors, mountebanks and thieves who had no scruples about using their skills against each other (it was how one stayed sharp, after all), but she was holding her own, and Lars, who was an interested observer to the whole proceeding, realized that her skills were improving from one transaction to the next.
He frowned. He was feeling unusually conflicted when it came to Agatha. He tried to analyze this. Physically, there was no question. Agatha was ripe and round in all the right places. The final onstage kiss should have been something he looked forward to.
He had certainly planned on getting to know her better, but every time he saw an opportunity, he found himself holding back. There was something that was keeping him from pursuing the girl, and it was starting to bother him. He was beginning to fret that he was actually falling in love with her.
The very thought made him twitch.
When the haggling was done, and people were sorting through their prizes, Agatha came up to Lars, and knelt next to him.
She looked nervous. “This is for you,” she said. She handed Lars a small device. “I noticed you still used a tinderbox.”
Lars examined the device. He twisted the knob and a small flame puffed into being. He twisted it back and it disappeared.
“It’s to thank you for helping me move stuff back to camp.” Agatha said quickly. Lars noted that her face was quite red.
“Thank you, Agatha. That’s mighty nice of you.” Lars sighed to himself. He’d been given numerous devices such as this by helpful circus members over the years. He continued to use the more primitive methods because some of the towns he scouted looked suspiciously at anyone who wielded a device more complicated than a knife.
But with the eye of a man who’s hobby was women, Lars could see that Agatha was... interested in him. This made his hesitation even more inexplicable.
He made a show of putting the firestarter into his belt pouch. Agatha smiled. “So,” Lars said, “while I have you here, may I ask an impertinent question?”
Agatha looked wary. “I suppose...” she said uncertainly.
Lars leaned in and talked quietly. “Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you in Mechanicsburg?”
This had clearly not been on the mental list of questions that Agatha had been anticipating. “Oh, no,” she replied. “I was told that I have family there.”
Lars nodded. “Any boyfriends anywhere?”
Agatha looked away. “No, I... No. Not anywhere. Not ever,” she whispered.
Lars leaned back. “Really. Because, that madboy from the airship that came to get you? He seemed awfully upset when we told him that you were dead.” Lars looked away, but continued to watch her from the corner of his eyes. “And I’d heard—”
“I don’t care what you heard—” Agatha snapped, “But we weren’t... we weren’t anything!” She looked away. “He was probably just disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to drag me back to the Baron in chains.” She glared at Lars. He noted that her eyes glistened. “And what business is it of yours, anyway?”
Lars crossed his arms and gave her a leering grin. “Well, when I’m up on stage kissing you—” He was pleased to see a flush of color bloom upon her face, “It’ll b
e good to know that I don’t have to keep one eye out for some jealous guy jumping up onstage and causing trouble—and yes, it has happened.” He smiled at a memory. “Now that was one heck of an onstage pie fight.”
Agatha looked contrite. “I see.” She shook her head and smiled. “No, you won’t have to worry about that.”
Lars clapped his hands together and stood up. “Great! Then I can start acting less, and enjoy myself more!” And with that, he strode off towards his wagon.
Later that night, in her wagon, Agatha sat hugging a large pillow, as Zeetha slowly brushed out her long golden hair. For what, by Zeetha’s estimate, was the thousandth time, Agatha asked her, “But what did he mean by that?”
Zeetha rolled her eyes and grinned “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” she lied.
CHAPTER 6
Lucrezia: You, sir, should remove your pants.
Stranger: Indeed?
Judy: Indeed, it’s time. We have all laid aside modesty but you.
Stranger: I... wear no pants.
Lucrezia: (Terrified, aside to Judy.) No pants? No pants!
—The Heterodyne Boys and The Socket Wench of Prague (Act 1. Scene 2d)
What it meant was that the Heterodyne shows became a lot more... interesting. There was a tension between Lars and Agatha now that was quite evident to the audience, and the final onstage kiss usually produced a cathartic eruption of applause and cheering that could last for minutes.
Agatha’s nights were full of peculiar dreams, and she actually found herself welcoming Zeetha’s morning exercises.
The frustrating thing was that off stage, her relationship with Lars seemed like it was being directed by two different people. One day he would be friendly and attentive, and the next, strangely distant.
Agatha kept trying to figure out if she was doing something wrong, but was unable to discern any pattern to Lars’ behavior.
Finally, in desperation, she mentioned her predicament to Zeetha. The green-haired girl pondered for a moment and then nodded. “An excellent choice. He’s experienced enough that he’ll be able to show you a good time, nice enough that he’ll be gentle, and independent enough that there should be no hard feelings when you move on.”
Agatha, red-faced, seized upon the one part of this analysis that seemed conversationally safe. “What do you mean ‘Move on?’ Why should I—”
Zeetha interrupted. “You’re the one who said that you were only with us until Mechanicsburg. That’s just a little over a month from now.”
Agatha opened her mouth in surprise. “But... but I thought...” She paused. What was she thinking?
Zeetha had been polishing her swords. She stopped now and leaned in, putting a firm hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “Hey. This—” she gestured vaguely at the surrounding circus—“This is not where you belong.”
Agatha frowned. “What do you mean?”
Zeetha looked troubled. “Explaining things other than fighting isn’t really what I’m good at. But I’m your Kolee. I know you.” She waved away any potential objection. “Not story stuff, like your favorite color or how you shaved the cat when you were six years old or... or crap like that. But I know you, Agatha Clay... if that’s your real name—” Agatha started. Zeetha made a calming motion with her hand.
“No, no. That stuff isn’t important. See, I know what kind of a person you are. Better than anyone here.” She paused, “Except maybe for the Countess and Master Payne. They’re even sharper than they look.
“But you, you’re not like these people. Sure, they’re Sparks, but you... you’re a whole different level. You just haven’t had a reason to show it yet.” She sat back and cocked her head to the side. “When you do, you won’t fit here anymore.”
“But...” Agatha looked around. “But they like me here. I like acting. I like traveling. I...” she looked down shyly. “I am honored to be your zumil.”
Zeetha leaned in and gently beeped her nose. “You will always be my zumil, silly girl.” She stood up and stretched. “But a warrior must learn that nothing ever stays the same, which is why the things we want in life must be grabbed before they slip away. In this case, the thing you want to grab is Lars.”
“But I’m not really sure that I want to grab his—” Agatha realized what she was saying, and put her head in her hands, profoundly grateful that Zeetha was the only one listening.
Zeetha laughed and tousled Agatha’s hair. “Relax, no one’s expecting you to marry him.” She frowned slightly. “But he is acting uncharacteristically shy.”
Things got odder. Onstage, Lars took every opportunity to get close to her. To touch her arm, to run his hand along her jaw. His eyes smoldered, and their climactic kiss was beginning to dominate Agatha’s dreams, as well as some of her daytime musings.
But off stage, Lars remained formally polite, when he could be found at all. Increasingly, he took every opportunity to leave the troupe, for any number of perfectly plausible reasons. It was evident that he was utilizing the tricks he’d learned to avoid confrontations in a half a hundred towns. It was only obvious because he was using them all for the same audience.
Agatha tried to dismiss her feelings and distract herself by working. After all, aside from this irrational infatuation, she enjoyed her day-to-day life quite a bit, and there was always something to keep her busy.
Great strides were made on the Silverodian. One quiet, foggy morning, Agatha actually managed to produce a tortured set of hoots and squeals from the pipes, which caused everyone to run out, weapons in hand. But this, along with the work the various troupe members piled upon her, was not enough, and the Sparks around her began to feel the result.
Almost all of the Sparks in the show found themselves being questioned by Agatha about their work. These sometimes turned into marathon sessions that left them feeling, as Augie put it later, “As if she turned me upside down, poured all my theories out onto the ground, examined them, kept the good stuff, and pointed out the rubbish.”
Indeed, there was a bit of a Renaissance amongst the lesser Sparks, as a number of theories and concepts were aired out and scrutinized. There were also, it has to be said, some hard feelings, as a few cherished ideas were thoroughly disproved, sometimes in embarrassing detail[36].
The result was a quietly rising tide of chaos and small disruptions. Small, but to those who knew to watch for such things, quite noticeable.
And thus it was that one evening, in a small village with an insatiable appetite for candied mimmoths, after the show had ended and the troupe had bedded down for the evening, Lars found himself strongly invited to have a drink with Master Payne and The Countess.
The inside of their wagon was done in a tasteful blend of dark inlaid woods, rich fabrics and stained glass. Within the compact space, souvenirs and trophies gleaned from decades of travel caught the eye, and everywhere, there were cards.
Playing cards from throughout history and hundreds of cultures were carefully mounted upon every flat space large enough to accommodate it. Elegant cards made from starched silk, impossibly thin slices of wood, decorated with gilt and crushed gems, alongside a thousand different varieties of paper and parchment adorned with everything from crudely drawn symbols to excruciatingly detailed miniature oil paintings.
As they made small talk and settled into place, Payne nonchalantly pulled a series of cords and levers. It quickly became evident that the wagon was a marvel of compact engineering. It seemed that almost every surface swiveled, unfolded or slid out to become or to reveal something else. By the time the old magician was done, a table, complete with tablecloth and settings, had appeared, as had several plates of snacks, along with a bottle of wine and three glasses. As Payne leaned back and adjusted his cuffs, a small arm swung down and a tiny music-box-like mechanism played a jolly tune as it deftly removed the cork from the bottle before swinging back up and out of sight.
The Countess offered Lars a savory egg-cream tart as Payne carefully poured him a glass of deep red wine. “A li
ttle something the Countess put up a year or two ago. Do let me know what you think.”
Lars sipped. He was suddenly reminded of a Spring Festival. The air was cool and fresh, the sun—clear, but not too bright. The music, the laughter, the first kiss of a shy girl—
He shook himself, and examined the drink in his hand. He slowly nodded in appreciation. “That’s mighty good stuff, m’lady.” Marie looked pleased.
Payne steepled his fingers together. “So Lars, perhaps you’ve noticed that things around here have been a bit...” He looked at his wife.
“Higgelty-piggelty,” she said promptly.
Payne frowned. “...Chaotic,” he suggested.
Lars shifted uneasily. “I have, sir. But that doesn’t have anything to do with me...” He looked at the two of them. “Does it?”
“The direct cause appears to be Miss Clay.” Lars looked to the side. Marie continued. “She seems to be...” She looked at Payne.
“Agitated?” He said.
“Frustrated,” she corrected. The two of them swung their gazes upon Lars. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“I didn’t touch her,” Lars said defensively.
Again the two glanced at each other. Payne harrumphed awkwardly, and tried to assume his best man-of-the-world demeanor. He opened his mouth—
“Why in Heaven’s name not?” Marie asked. Payne rolled his eyes.
Lars saw that the Countess was looking at him expectantly. This was when he fully realized just how difficult it would be to extract himself from the encircling furniture. He blew out a breath, took a deep drink, and sat back.
“It... It’s not that I don’t want to,” he found that this discussion was easier if he kept his eyes focused on the wineglass in his hand. “I’d... kind of planned on it. But... do you remember Doktor Spün and his Cylinder of Touch[37]?”
Payne nodded. Hiring Doktor Spün had been one of his rare personnel mistakes. His firing had been cathartic however, even if it had taken awhile to put out.
