“I’ll bet ten.”
“Double.”
“Three muses.”
“Four sparks.”
“Damnation!”
“Pay up.”
Master Payne leaned back in his chair and reached inside his waistcoat. A look of surprise slid across his features as his hand felt around inside an obviously empty pocket. “My purse is gone.”
Opposite him, a hard-bitten Captain of the Prince’s Guard lowered his brows and deliberately removed his cigar from his mouth. A severe look came into his eye.
“Are you telling me…” he paused, “Sir—That you cannot pay your gambling debt?”
Payne looked at him owlishly for a frozen moment, and then chuckled appreciatively. “Nasty touch.”
The Captain grinned and took a sip from the drink beside his elbow and smacked his lips. “Aye, we get a passel of new recruits with that one.”
Payne picked up the cards and examined them with professional interest. “Always said you can learn more about cheating from an old soldier…”
The Captain blew a plume of smoke. “Well, we get shot if we’re caught,” he said philosophically. “That sharpens the mind right quick.” He saw Payne counting the cards, grinned, and pulled one out from his cuff. “Must say, I thought you’d do better than just stuffin’ muses up your sleeve.”
Payne paused slightly and a small expression of embarrassment flitted through his beard.
“Sir!” He said with offended gravitas, “You wrong me! I am but a simple entertainer. But wait—” His hand came up from underneath the table clutching a battered military wallet. “What is this, tucked into this wallet that you have so obviously dropped?”
The soldier’s drink slammed onto the table and he frantically patted himself down in vain. “You devil! When did you—”
Payne ignored him and studied the documents he’d extracted from the wallet. “Oooh, a love letter from your commander’s wife! Mighty spicy, I must say, sir! And this—my goodness! It’s a layout of Sturmhalten’s defenses! And look at this! It seems that somebody’s been selling off army stores to the black market!” He tutted disapprovingly.
His last comment had caused the old soldier’s face to go white. “That’s a hanging offense! I’d never—!”
He saw Payne’s slow grin and caught himself in mid-babble. The two men assessed each other for a moment, and then the soldier raised his glass and saluted the caravan master with a grin. “T’cha! That’s another one to you, you damn thimble rigger.”
Payne was reaching for the cards, when the door to the wagon opened. Abner stuck his head in.
“Master Payne. Sorry to interrupt, sir, but it’s dawn, and we have a visitor.”
He was then pushed aside by a tall, determined looking man in a leather and fleece flying jacket. His hair was tousled and his face was coated with a layer of oil and dirt, except for two pale rings around his eyes, which had been shielded by the aviator goggles hanging around his neck.
“Good morning, sir.” His accent marked him as English, and upper class English at that. “I’m looking for a girl.”
While this was not at all what Payne had expected him to say, it was not entirely unprecedented. Many traveling shows were popular not because of the quality of their acts, but because of the quality of their actresses72.
While Master Payne and the Countess turned a blind eye to the occasional sporting liaison various members of their troupe engaged in, they discouraged commercial prostitution per se, if only because the Baron taxed and licensed it, and mandated periodic medical exams for the entire caravan. This was a level of scrutiny they felt was best avoided.
“This is a respectable show, sir,” Payne rumbled. “The girls here are not for sale.”
The Captain leaned back and shrugged. “Astonishing, but true, sir! Me and the lads have tried.” He brought his chair down with a thump and he looked serious. “Now, sir, might I ask your business in Balan’s Gap?”
Wooster rubbed his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. There have been too many delays as it is.”
He leaned on the table and addressed Master Payne. “I think you will know the girl I mean. Agatha Clay.” Both Payne and Abner blinked at this, but gave no other indication. “You tricked the Baron into thinking she was dead.”
Surreptitiously, Abner began sliding a leather cosh out from behind his belt.
Wooster continued. “But he’s not fooled any more. He’s coming for her.” He tapped the table. “Here. Soon. I’ve been charged with getting her to safety. Where is she?”
The Captain blew out another plume of smoke. “And what does the Baron want with some girl?”
Wooster paused and then nodded. “Her real name is Agatha Heterodyne. She is the long lost daughter of Bill and Lucrezia. Raised in secret by the constructs Punch and Judy.” They all stared at him in stunned silence. “At the very least you must have noticed that she’s a strong Spark.”
At this the Captain burst out with a guffaw that almost dislodged his hat. “A lost Heterodyne heir? You came to these people for a—” Again he laughed. Not noticing that in this, he was alone. “You daft fool! These people are actors! They do Heterodyne stories! They play Sparks! And you thought—”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the Countess appearing at the doorway, breathing hard. “Payne! Get out here! The Baron is invading! His airships just appeared out of nowhere! They’re sealing the town!”
“What!” Instantly the old soldier was all business. He glared at Wooster. “You mean to tell me this fairy story is—”
With an elegant move that brought a look of approval from Wooster, Payne and the Countess, Abner leaned over and smacked the back of the soldier’s head, sending him senseless to the floor.
Payne looked at Wooster. “Prince Sturmvarous took her. She’s not here.”
Ardsley frowned. In the town? In the castle? In the middle of an infestation sweep? This was going to be a tricky one.
A spinning metal disk bounced down a winding set of stone stairs, finally impacting upon the wall at the bottom before clattering to the ground. For several seconds, nothing happened, and then a small set of arms and legs unfolded from the main disk. With a snap, the small clank leapt to its feet, and then staggered slightly before its balancing mechanisms finally reset themselves.
It then set off at a run, dashing down several corridors and passing through a small courtyard, which was filled with anxious people staring upwards at the looming airships.
Up another set of stairs. Finally, it reached the door of Tarvek’s laboratory. Executing a perfect third-base slide, it slid under the door. When it stood, it was confronted by a pile of deactivated clanks scattered about the room. Even more distressing was the Mistress’ machine, standing in the middle of the room.
Frantically, the small clank spent almost a minute trying to move the heavy device by itself before it conceded the futility of trying.
There was nothing else to do. With the mechanical equivalent of a shrug, it reached up and activated the machine. Then it ran away. Very fast.
“Captain! Explosion in Sturmhalten Castle!”
Bangladesh was on her feet instantly. “Are they shooting at us?”
One of the other spotters lowered his scope. “No, Captain,” he reported. “It appears that something actually exploded within the south tower keep of Sturmhalten Castle itself. A lot of the roof is gone.”
The rest of the bridge crew continued to work, but Bangladesh knew they were waiting to see what she would do.
She frowned. No signals had come in from the other ships, and Klaus certainly hadn’t ordered any of them to begin shelling. She scribbled a quick note and passed it to a messenger. “Get this to the Baron. He’ll be with the marines.”
The messenger hopped aboard his unicycle and sped off down the corridor. If the Baron wanted to—
“MISSLES!” screamed the spotter.
“Evasive action!” Bangladesh ordered even as she gra
bbed her own telescope and stared at the castle. The airship hove to one side, and began to rise.
“Belay that!” Bangladesh yelled. There were indeed missiles pouring from the ruined tower. Dozens of them. But they were travelling straight up for several hundred meters, and then detonating harmlessly.
The spotter confirmed this. “It… they look like… fireworks, Captain. It’s too high for shrapnel. All it’s producing is smoke.”
There certainly was a lot of that. Before long it hung in a tall white pillar over the castle. He turned towards the Captain. “Maybe they’re just happy we’re here.”
That snapped Bangladesh out of her momentary confusion. If there was one thing she was positive of, it was that no one was ever happy to see her. “It’s some kind of Spark nonsense,” she declared. “All hands, keep a weather eye out for anything unusual!”
In a small courtyard, Tarvek, Lucrezia and Vrin picked themselves up from the ground where they’d been thrown by the explosion. A few bits of rubble hit the ground around them. Tarvek stared upward in horror. “My castle!”
“Wasn’t that your laboratory up on that top floor?” Vrin asked innocently.
“My lab!”
Missiles began shooting upward. Tarvek looked at Lucrezia, and his face went pale. “Uh-oh,” he muttered.
“Tarvek!” Lucrezia grabbed him by the shirt and shook him until several buttons flew free. “The ‘useless machine’ that fool of a daughter of mine was building—What does it DO?”
Within the shattered room at the top of the tower, the last missile fired. From within the machine, a hidden array of lenses rotated into place and speaker vents opened. Lights flared.
Above Sturmhalten there was a sudden glow, a swell of unearthly music and there stood Agatha. She was easily recognized by those who knew her, and was clad in the revealing festival outfit Tarvek had supplied. This would have drawn every eye towards her under any circumstance. At the moment, however, it was but a minor detail, as she was easily fifty meters tall, glowing, and slightly translucent.
The figure moved, and opened its mouth. “I am Agatha Heterodyne.” The boom of sound blew out most of the remaining windows within the castle, and caused the stonework itself to vibrate.
“Daughter of Bill Heterodyne and Lucrezia Mongfish.” There was a small hiss of static, and the figure jumped before continuing. “I have discovered that Baron Wulfenbach was—is The Other. Tell Everyone. I can’ fight h—” More static, which increased as the message progressed. “—off much longer.”
Static again. “—Servants have captured me. Done something to me.” Zzzt. “—The castle at Sturmhalten. Prince Tarvek is helping me. Someone needs to stop—Hzzzkpop—Baron Wulfenbach. Bzrt—is taking over. Kzzrrt—Please. I need help.”
The figure looked out, pleadingly, and then vibrated slightly, and the message began to repeat. “I am Agatha Heterodyne.”
And everyone saw it.
On the town’s caravan grounds, the circus members stared upwards in amazement.
“Sweet lightning,” Abner whispered.
“Unbelievable,” Payne breathed.
Wooster rubbed his head.
“Is going be devil tricky to pull off on stage,” Otto muttered.
“What in the world is she wearing?” The Countess declared, scandalized.
The others stared at her. “Oh don’t look at me like that,” she said crossly, “You were all thinking it.”
Payne clapped his hands and broke the spell. “Get everyone moving,” he roared. “We’re leaving! Now!”
Wooster watched the circus members scatter. “Aren’t you being guarded and detained by the Prince’s troops?” he asked.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” the Countess said as she reached into the nearest wagon and pulled out a large cast-iron fry pan.
“That’s interesting.”
“Oh yes.” Marie turned and regarded the British agent closely. “And now, I want you to convince me you’re not out to hurt Agatha.”
Ardsley regarded her with a supercilious smile. “…Or you hit me with a frying pan?”
On a rooftop, the group of people who had ostensibly snuck into Sturmhalten to rescue Agatha, stared up at her image.
“She’s a Heterodyne?” Lars asked in astonishment. Everyone else nodded.
“Glad you could join us, Lars,” Krosp remarked.
Lars looked at them in bewilderment. “You all knew this?”
“The grown-ups knew,” said Krosp.
“I just figured it out,” Zeetha said defensively.
Lars stared upwards. “We have to help her!”
“Isn’t that what we’re already doing?” asked Kalikoff.
“Is there anything else I should know?” Lars demanded.
Maxim looked down. “I haff never luffed,” he whispered.
Everyone looked at him in silence.
Krosp cleared his throat. “We really should get off of this roof.”
As they headed for the door, Ognian glanced at the spot where the Professor had been, and gleefully nudged Dimo. “Hy em goink to be a great-great-great grandpapa,” he chuckled.
Dimo rolled his eyes. He knit decorative socks, but he didn’t go around bragging about it.
Somewhere below them, Tarvek was again picking himself up off the ground. The initial soundwaves were so powerful that they had knocked them all down. He stared up at the endlessly repeating apparition in horror. “That wasn’t supposed to go off now!”
“You’re responsible for that?” Vrin screamed next to his ear.
Tarvek looked at her. “What?”
Vrin stared back at him. “What?”
“I can’t hear you,” Tarvek yelled back. “This damned music is too—” He did a double-take. The music? He whipped around, and indeed, there was Agatha, fleeing from the two of them as fast as she could.
Tarvek grabbed Vrin’s shoulder and dragged her along. “The music!” He yelled. “It’s freed her from the Lady’s control!” Vrin nodded in understanding and raced along beside him.
Agatha frantically looked for an exit. She realized, however, that as this was supposed to be a hidden courtyard, it probably didn’t have any easily identifiable entrances. She lunged around a likely looking corner and found herself in a dead end, used to store various shovels and brooms.
Tarvek appeared around the corner and stopped. He held out a placating hand. “Agatha! You’ve got to trust me!”
Agatha found herself pressed back against the cool stone of the wall. Her fingers frantically felt along the wall behind her, futilely looking for some sort of mechanism. “Don’t be insulting. You’re using me as much as… as she is!”
Tarvek looked at her steadily as he inched closer. He dropped his voice. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get us both out of here alive?”
Vrin stepped out from around the corner and laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Even if the copy within the clank Anevka is destroyed, my sisters have safely removed the Summoning Engine. Thus, I received permission to kill you both, if it became necessary.” She jauntily flipped her sword into the air where it spun several times before she effortlessly caught it. “I was so worried it wouldn’t become necessary.”
Her blade lazily flicked out. Tarvek had already been moving to grab a broom, and thus didn’t dodge in time to prevent the Geister’s blade from slicing across his chest.
He slammed backwards against the wall. A line of bright red welled up under his hand and began to ooze down his chest. “That really hurts,” he gasped.
Vrin ignored him and facing Agatha, she smiled, and extended a friendly hand. “Now, girl—I don’t have to kill you. You can still be useful. Come with me and I will kill this pig.” Her sword flicked out, easily avoiding the broom handle Tarvek held defensively, and carving a slice across Tarvek’s arm. “—Or spare him, if that’s what you wish.”
The new wound seemed to focus Tarvek’s shocked senses. He stood straighter, and the broom, while s
till pathetic, was held with more authority. “No!” Tarvek interjected. “Agatha, just run!” He leapt towards Vrin. “You don’t want to be trapped with them if I’m not there!”
With a satisfied smirk, Vrin batted away the broom handle, knocking it from Tarvek’s hands. “Wonderful! I do get to kill you!”
She stabbed Tarvek in the arm. Holding him fast. Tarvek turned to Agatha. “Go! I tried to get you out! Don’t—AAGH!” He screamed as Vrin twisted her sword free.
“Oh I do wish I had the time to do this slowly.” The Geisterdamen spun about and slammed Tarvek’s jaw with her foot, sending the wounded man crashing against a wall. He slid to the ground. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Tarvek made a supreme effort, and managed to roll over onto his back. Vrin placed her sword at his throat. “But before you die, I want you to admit that your machinations have failed. You thought you could betray my Lady! Use her for your own petty ambitions! Admit your defeat.”
“Absolutely,” Tarvek mumbled. “You’re right. I failed, okay?”
Vrin glared at him. “You take all the honor out of everything!” she screamed as she raised her blade—
“VRIN, STOP!” Agatha yelled.
Vrin froze, and staggered back. “Your voice! You’re not the Lady! I won’t—”
The broom handle hit her on the forehead with such force that it drove the Geisterdamen to her knees.
“No. I’m not your Lady,” Agatha agreed, “But it’s hard to resist my voice, isn’t it? NOW PUT DOWN YOUR SWORD!”
Involuntarily, Vrin’s hand flew open and the sword clattered to the ground. Instantly, she snatched it up again. “You filthy changeling,” she snarled. “That won’t work on me! I’ll kill you both no matter what you say—”
“VRIN, STOP!”
This time the handle smashed into Vrin’s jaw, snapping her head to the side. Vrin fell over.
“Maybe it won’t work on you. Not completely. After all, you know I’m not really her. But there’s a part of you that doesn’t know that. And that’s the part that slows you down. So just give up, okay?”
Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess Page 44
