by Phil Foglio
“That damned thing was beautiful. You wanted to touch it. To feel it. I wanted to. But I knew—I knew that it was a bad idea. I had that walking into a bad town feeling. I told you at the time, remember?”
He took another sip of wine, and finally raised his eyes to Payne’s. “I... I get the same feeling from Agatha. I want to touch her. Red fire, I want to... but, then I get the feeling that if I get too close, there’s going to be trouble.”
Payne slowly sat back, and thoughtfully poured the young man another glass of wine. He then turned to the Countess. “I’ve seen Moxana’s game. I can’t argue with that.”
Marie regarded Lars and slowly tapped her chin. “You’ve never... dallied with a girl possessed of the Spark, have you?”
Lars looked surprised. “No, m’lady. All the town girls I...” he paused, “—talk to, are regular folk. There’s never been any available ma—uh—gifted ladies with the show.” He thought about this. “You think that’s it?”
Payne shrugged. “Only an idiot would think about knowingly involving himself with a woman with the Spark, —if he planned to take advantage of her.”
“I wasn’t—!”
Payne held up a hand. “Neither one of us thinks you’re that foolish, my boy. But wooing even a normal lady is not something a fellow should do lightly. You have a finely tuned sense of danger. I think it only natural that this would be a situation that would cause it to sit up and start screaming.”
Lars thoughtfully took a drink. “I think I see what you mean, sir.”
Payne nodded. “Now, both the Countess and I think you an honorable person.” Marie cleared her throat. Payne continued smoothly “—In your own way. Which is why, at the very least, you should stop giving her these mixed signals. It’s not fair to Agatha. Settle it one way or the other before she gets so wound up that she dismantles half my circus.”
Lars sat back, and slowly sipped his wine. What he was afraid of was the unknown. The mysterious thing that reached out from behind your back and grabbed you.
When he knew what a particular danger was, Lars was surprisingly good at dealing with it. There was the screaming afterwards, of course, but no one is perfect.
Another thing Lars was good at, was talking to women. Now in this case, he was dealing with an infatuated, naïve, and inexperienced woman who could literally warp the laws of nature and probably turn him into a carrot if he did her wrong.
But when he thought of it that way, it began to seem like an interesting challenge...
There had been a thunderstorm the night before, leaving the air cool and crisp, and putting a sparkle on the leaves of all the trees.
The circus was currently parked next to the map dot that was known to the locals as the village of Borlax. The local solstice stock fair was winding up, tonight would be the last show and tomorrow the circus would be back on the road. Today, however, the locals were engaged in a final frenzy of deal making that involved more histrionics and high drama than the actors dished out in a month. Thus, the troupe was enjoying a little extra free time.
Many were critiquing the locals’ use of hyperbole and invective. Rivet and Captain Kadiiski were replacing a broken wheel on one of the caravan wagons. Agatha was examining a small device she had discovered hidden in the back of her wagon. It was a complicated little hand-cranked thing of gears and spheres within spheres. It looked like it should produce music of some kind, but she couldn’t figure out how it worked.
Suddenly she released a catch, there was a small click, and a gear slid into place. She gave a satisfied grin and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes.
At that moment, Dame Ædith strolled over. “Good day to you, Miss Clay. If I may take a moment of your time?”
Agatha nodded. “Is everything satisfactory?” The vampyre hunter had asked Agatha to do some minor repairs upon her wagon.
The older woman paused, and marveled at the small device in Agatha’s hand. Agatha graciously passed it over and wiped her hands on a square of rag. “Ah, that is the thing,” Ædith continued. “It rides right smoothly, and the brakes are now most effective...” Absent-mindedly, she spun the crank on the device and gave a small delighted smile as a number of spheres spun and twisted about each other, accompanied by a barely heard high-pitched twittering.
“...But?” Agatha interjected.
Dame Ædith kept spinning the crank, but frowned. “But now the accursed thing doth make this most vexatious clicking noise.”
Agatha looked surprised. “Clicking noise?”
“Aye, and a right loud one too. I thought—” What she thought was never to be revealed, as at that moment, a large brown bat cannoned into her hat, and with a great deal of flapping and squeaking, tried to climb under it. Dame Ædith shrieked and batted ineffectually at the creature, in the process throwing the device into the air. Agatha caught it before it crashed to the ground. As she did so, she saw that there was a faded paper label stuck to the bottom, which she had neglected to examine. It read “Bat Summoning Engine.” Under this, in a crabbed hand, someone had added the notation; “excessively effective.”
She looked up. The bat was clinging to Dame Ædith’s hat, even though the woman was now waving it about frantically trying to dislodge the creature. Agatha surreptitiously slipped the device into a tool bag and said brightly, “I’ll just go take a look, shall I?”
Dame Ædith’s wagon was as garishly decorated as any of the others, but when you got close enough, it became evident that the décor consisted of holy symbols. Hundreds of them, fitted together chock-a-block, forming an intricate pattern that drew spiritual comfort from hundreds of different faiths and belief systems, in no evident order of precedence.
The roof bristled with totems, icons, spirit flags and ætheric antennae constructed of everything from precious metals to bones and seashells. Signs covered the sides, promising cures for anemia, sleepwalking and a “fear of garlic.” Agatha had noted that the exact nature of the “cure” was never specified.
Whenever the wagon moved, an ingenious gear system automatically rotated a plethora of prayer wheels and played simple melodies upon several gongs and chimes. There was also a fat copper chain that dragged along behind, because, Agatha had been informed, Dame Ædith’s cart was struck by lightning on an average of once a month. A fact the vampyre hunter found “statistically inconvenient.” Privately, Agatha attributed this to the excessive amount of metal used in the decorations.
Whenever the cart moved, even over the sound of the gongs and chimes, there was an excessively loud clacking sound. Agatha frowned.
Dame Ædith stomped over as Agatha was finishing a test run of the wagon. The bat clung to her hat and appeared to have fallen asleep. It was apparent that she had given up trying to dislodge it, and was now determined to ignore it.
“That’s it,” Dame Ædith said triumphantly. “Ever since thou worked upon it, it hath been doing that, and ’tis beginning to drive me unto the brink of madness.”
Agatha nodded sympathetically. “I think I can fix this.”
Dame Ædith looked relieved. “Praise be!”
“—But,” Agatha continued, I’ll need a screw-down ripple wrench. I think Rivet has one. Could you get that for me while I get started?”
Ædith nodded and ambled off. Agatha started knocking on various wheels with her knuckles, until Ædith was out of sight. She then dropped to the ground, and crawled under the wagon until she reached the front axle. Even the undersides of the wagons were painted and decorated, and the axle was encased inside a garishly decorated box frame. Agatha felt around the back until she found the set of small fasteners.
“Look,” she muttered softly as she worked, “I know you’re just trying to help, and I know this cart was noisy before. But you’re overdoing the noise.” She undid the last fastener and swung up the front of the axle box.
Revealed was a complicated system of gears that had been added to the axle. Their purpose was obviously to power a set of small automatic winding
keys for the row of small clanks that were hooked up to them. When they saw Agatha, they waved at her.
“If something is too loud, people will pay attention to it, and we want you to stay hidden, right?” The clanks all began clicking. This was obviously the sound that the cart had been producing. By trial and error, they lowered the volume until the clicking was barely audible. Agatha nodded in satisfaction.
“I have found thy ripple wrench.” Dame Ædith’s voice caught Agatha by surprise, causing her to bang her head on the underside of the wagon.
She slammed the cover down, snapped closed the fasteners and crawled out. She stood up and brushed off her knees. “I think I fixed it without needing it. Sorry I sent you off for nothing.”
Dame Ædith looked pleased. “No apology is needed for excessive competence.” She climbed onto the wagon bench, clucked her tongue and the wagon moved off. The familiar cacophony of various gongs and windmills filled the air, but of the clicking, there was no trace. Dame Ædith looked pleased at first, but as she continued to circle the wagon, a small frown creased her features. She called out. “Thou will think me inconsistent, but now it’s...” she looked embarrassed, “It is too quiet. I keep thinking my wheels are fain to fall off.”
Agatha nodded and gave the front wheel a swift kick. Instantly a soft clicking started up.
“That should do it,” she stated confidently.
Dame Ædith looked pleased. “Aye.” She looked at Agatha. “But how didst thou—?”
Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Science.”
A faint snort of amusement from behind her caused her to turn. There was Lars, several script books in hand, shaking his head at her.
“Science? That’s the best you can do?”
Agatha was at a loss for words. “I don’t—”
Lars looked serious. “Look, some of the towns we roll through? If you do something unexpectedly smart, they’ll start screaming ‘Madgirl’ before you’ve taken two steps.”
He waved the scripts. “You’ve got to have a story. You have to make a joke. You have to distract them. Confuse them. Entertain them. Don’t give them time or reason to think about what you’ve done.”
Agatha looked lost. “But... I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’ve noticed.” Lars again hefted the scripts. “So I thought I’d run you through some situations.”
Agatha felt an inexplicable wave of happiness bubble up through her. “Really?”
Lars nodded. “Sure. You’re smart enough that it shouldn’t take long before you get the idea.”
He turned away slightly, and offered Agatha the crook of his arm. She stared at it in surprise. She’d longingly seen couples walking arm-in-arm, but no one had ever wanted to do so with her.
Correctly interpreting the cause of her hesitancy, Lars gently took her hand and deftly wove it into place.
As they strolled off, Dame Ædith leaned back on her wagon seat and gently rubbed her chin.
In her opinion, as a student of humanity, there would either be a September wedding or massive destruction. She slid down onto the padded floorboard and turned her eyes skyward.
Due to tricky problems with calibration, Dame Ædith had yet to be able to quantify the efficacy of prayer, but as always, she remained convinced that it was better than doing nothing.
Taki tossed another log onto the fire. He lifted the lid of a gently bubbling cauldron of goo and took a sniff. He stirred it with a large iron ladle, and nodded in satisfaction. Guntar, who had been watching the proceedings in respectful silence, handed him a mug of cider and continued the conversation that had been suspended.
“—Then, after I crawl out of the dungheap—that’s when I get hit with the pie!”
Taki frowned at him in disgust. “No, no! It’s too much! You shouldn’t play Punch like a complete idiot!”
Guntar waved a hand dismissively. “This from the man who plays Klaus[38].”
Taki specialized in playing Klaus, a role many performers considered too dangerous to touch, for obvious reasons. He nodded seriously. “Yes, but Klaus keeps his dignity. Or tries to. He tries to be a hero, and occasionally does some good. That’s what makes him funny. You’ve got to have balance.”
Guntar waved a hand dismissively, “I know that. But I’ve researched this character—”
“All of your research is biased, third-hand anecdotal hearsay.”
“So what’s my alternative?”
“Chow!” This cry was from Ognian, who along with Maxim, gave every indication of being pulled towards the cauldron by their noses. They peered over the lip of the pot and took a deed appreciative sniff.
Taki looked worried, “Um... actually, that’s glue. We’re repairing—” Ognian waved aside his objections and, with a flourish, drew forth a bowl from a deep pocket in his coat. He scooped out a large dollop, and slurped it down. He smacked his lips and scooped up another bowlful. “Hoo! Dot’s goot!” He ladled out a helping for Maxim and the two began to down bowls of steaming glue almost as fast as they could scoop them up.
Guntar smiled jovially. “So, you’re part of the show now. We should work out some routines.”
Maxim paused in his eating and cocked an eyebrow. Guntar explained. “I usually play Punch in the Heterodyne show.”
At this Maxim’s face lit up. “Oh jah! Ve see dot in town!”
Guntar nodded. “Yup. Big, slow and stupid, that’s—”
Maxim interrupted, “Hyu iz so lucky ve iz here!”
Guntar blinked. “Lucky?”
Maxim nodded. “Oh jah, hyu gots heem all wronk! Ve kin help hyu dere, ve knew heem!”
Taki, who had been watching the level of the cauldron drop with some trepidation, now grinned. “You don’t say!”
Maxim nodded again. “Meester Ponch vas amazink. Strong as an ox!”
Ognian chimed in. “But lots schmarter!”
“Shoo! Very goot at making de plans.”
“He save my life vunce!”
“Oh jah, he vas kind to all sorts uf dumb enimals.”
“End he vas soch a gentlemen!”
“Ho yez! No matter vot happened, alvays mit de dignity!” Maxim scowled. “Hit makes me so mad ven pipple tink he vas schtupid! Just becawze he vas so beeg and couldn’t talk.”
Ognian finished his eighth bowl with a lick and stowed it back into his coat. “Dot vould haff hurt him de most, Hy tink, he vas alvays very concerned about pipple tinking all constructs iz schtupid or evil.”
Guntar looked like he had suffered several body blows. He gave a sickly grin. “But... surely... ah... didn’t he have a... a lighter side?”
Maxim pondered this, and smiled. “Oh, uv cawrze! He vould build these amazink toyz for de orphan cheeldrens!”
Taki tried to laugh, but had decided to taste the glue and now discovered that his mouth was sealed shut.
Master Payne and his wife observed this all from a distance. As the Jägers started pulling on the cook’s jaws, they turned away. Marie had that little line between her eyebrows that Payne had come to dread.
“Payne,” she said. “I’ve seen you convince bandits to contribute to the Actor’s Retirement Fund.”
Payne smiled at the memory, but remained wary. “Your point, my dear?”
“There’s a reason there are no Jägermonsters in the Heterodyne shows. People really hate them.”
Payne shrugged. “Well it’s not like they’re insisting on performing. We hardly see them.”
Marie eyed him closely and continued slowly. “You could have gotten rid them if you’d wanted to, but you haven’t even tried.” A unnerving “crack,” a groan of pain, and a “Hoy!” of victory caused her to glance back. “In fact, you feed them.”
Payne opened his mouth, looked at his wife and closed it again. “Ergo,” she continued, “You are Up To Something. You have got a reason, but you did not tell me.”
A few beads of sweat appeared upon Payne’s brow. Marie clasped her hands together and looked vulnerab
le. Payne flinched. “The only time you don’t tell me something is when you think it’s dangerous, because being a fragile, sheltered noblewoman, I might faint at the thought of experiencing physical harm like a common person.”
She sighed, and seemingly from nowhere, produced an enormous cast-iron frying pan easily one hundred centimeters in diameter. “And then,” she said sadly, “I have to damage one of the good pans by smacking it against your thick, common skull until you tell me—”
“BALAN’S GAP!” Payne screamed, cowering. “We have to go through Balan’s Gap!”
Marie paused, and then lowered the pan. “Oh dear. You’re expecting more trouble from the Prince.” She thoughtfully tapped a finger against her pursed lips. “And you think having them along might help discourage him from...”
Payne looked out from between his fingers. “Yes?”
Marie cocked her head. “That’s very clever for a commoner.”
Payne drew himself up and preened. “Why, thank you, my dear.” The two of them smiled at each other, and then leaned in for a delicate kiss. Just before their lips met, they were startled by a snuffling sound from overhead. They froze, and they swiveled their eyes upwards to see Dimo crouching on the roof of the wagon beside them. A large tear dripped from his bulbous nose.
“It iz zo nize, ven married pipple tok to each odder.” He leapt to the ground and slumped back against the wagon and grinned. “Und now, Hy tink hyu should tok to me.” He smiled at the Countess. “But mitout de pan.”
Several minutes later, the three were walking a short way away from the circus. Dimo was silent. Finally the Countess asked, “Will you help us?”
Dimo looked at her and grinned in a way that made her squirm. “Eet soundz like fun. Bot—” He held up a clawed finger, “Hy gots to discuss hit vit Maxim and Oggie.”
“Do you think they’ll agree?”
Dimo laughed and deftly slid his arm around the Countess’ waist and drew her close. “For a nize doll like hyu, ve do all kindz uf tings!”
