by Phil Foglio
Gil stared at the girl. His mind processed what he had just heard over and over again, trying to find a different meaning to the words. A red haze filled his vision. DuPree looked up at his face and her eyes widened. She stepped back for a better view, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. This could be entertaining.
All at once, Gilgamesh was looming over Pix, her vacuous, imbecilic face the sole focus of his mounting fury. When he spoke, several people in the crowd jerked to attention. Anyone who had ever heard those harmonics in a madboy’s voice never forgot the experience. “You say she drove a clank straight at you. That was a pretty rotten thing to do.”
Pix nodded. If parts of her brain were screaming at her to shut up, the rest of it was apparently too stupid to listen. “Oh, yeah. Well, we’re just lucky our plan worked so well. Who knows what she would have done if we’d let her stay, ya know? Just can’t trust that kind, I always say.” She seemed to realize that she was talking to “that kind” right now. A touch of worry crossed her face, but was quickly wiped away as a sly look took its place. “So... was there a reward?”
No one—not even DuPree, saw Gil’s hand move, but suddenly there was a vicious-looking pistol jammed against Pix’s face. It began to hum as a wheel on the side slowly gathered speed.
“A reward? For sending her to her death? And you’re telling me that she purposefully set some kind of monster on a group of helpless people? You’re lying! She would never have done that! Where is she?”
Pix looked up into Gil’s face and saw death staring back. She dropped to her knees in fear, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. The pupils of Gil’s eyes almost vanished in his madness. His thumb flicked a toggle on the gun and—
Abner grabbed Gil and tried to swing him about. It was like trying to move an iron statue, but it did have the desired effect of dragging Gil’s attention away from Pix, and fixing it on himself. “Stop!” Abner yelled. “Listen to me! That isn’t what happened!”
DuPree pouted. Things had just been getting interesting. “Hey!” She barked. “Who gave you permission to—”
“Shut up!” Abner didn’t even look at her. He stood glaring at Gil. “Listen!” He insisted.
Without taking his eyes off Abner, Gil shot out his hand and plucked a knife from the air—just before it hit the man’s back. In the same motion, he snapped the knife back at DuPree, where it buried itself in her hat.
“Talk.” Gil’s voice shook.
“These are the Wastelands!” Abner explained. “We have to be wary or we’d be dead! Yes, we met this girl, and yes, she wanted to travel with us, and yes, we sent her away. She scared the hell out of us! But the attack—that clank—it had nothing to do with her. She went off to the east. It came from the north. It just ripped into us, but she came back and stopped it with that damn big gun of hers. She died saving us. Pix here is trying to take credit for something that just happened, because she knows you’re looking for this person and she’s dumb and scared and hoping for a reward!”
DuPree sneered. “Pretty cold, after the girl saved you.”
Abner shrugged. “Yeah? Well, so we’re circus people,” he said flatly. “Grifting is one of the ways we survive. But she did save us, and we buried her like she was one of our own.”
Gil stared. His face was still terrible to look at, but the madness had receded. Now, he was just terribly quiet, but his voice was still dangerous. “I don’t want to believe either of you.” He took a deep breath and studied Abner’s face. “But your story—that—it’s what she would have done. You will show me the place where you say this happened.”
Abner looked worried. “But I... I can’t. It’s way back—” A large set of steel hands closed upon his arms and lifted him from the ground. Gil leaned into his terrified face.
“...and if you’re playing me false, if you people did do something to her, I’ll give you to Captain DuPree. Along with everyone else here.”
A small gasp of wonder and delight came from Bangladesh. “Really?” she breathed, “Honest?”
Gil surveyed the crowd. “Every single one of them.” He turned back to Abner. “Unless you tell me otherwise right now.”
Abner looked like a man caught in a trap. “She’s there,” he whispered.
Gil nodded and turned around. At his signal, the clanks snapped to attention, and began to march back to the dirigible.
DuPree sighed and turned to Pix, who stood stupefied, gaping first at the retreating Gil, then at the captive Abner, then back again. She punched the girl’s arm. “Well, you heard the cranky man, we gotta go. Don’t worry, girlie, if your boyfriend here is telling the truth, he’ll be back.”
This seemed to shake Abner free of his shock. “Um... I’m not actually her—” he began.
“Abner!” Pix growled as she grabbed him by the lapels. “Shut up!” She kissed him fiercely before spinning away. She only took two steps before she spun about again. Tears were in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “You’d better come back in one piece,” she threatened, “Or I’ll find you, you idiot! Don’t forget!”
Abner blinked in astonishment, but he shut up. Less then two minutes later, the airship was moving off, its engines roaring. The audience members were vanishing fast—casting nervous glances at the circus and the sky as they went.
Payne grabbed the closest of the performers—a handsome, dark-haired young man in his mid-twenties. “Lars, pass the word—quietly. I want us packed and on the road in ten minutes.”
Lars looked shocked. “But it’s dark! And we’re paid up here for the next two days!”
Others who had heard this exchange started to join in, but Payne cut them off. “I want us gone before the townies realize that we brought that airship here.”
The implications of this sank in. Herr Rasmussin[14] nodded briskly, reached into his coat, and with a snap, unfolded his dance-master’s cane. “Jig time!” he called out urgently. Everyone groaned.
The old campsite by the river was quiet now. The heaps of clank parts had cooled where they fell. The places where the earth had been torn showed raw, the grass still trampled. Where trees had snapped, the wounds were still bright yellow and oozing sap.
The main body of the crab clank was recognizable, but the interior had been almost completely burned and fused. The legs of the clank had managed to fall in an almost artistic pattern, so the modest mound of the grave lay within an encircling corral of red enameled metal. A small sapling had been planted on the mound, and leaning against it was a strange-looking gun, obviously broken. Gil stood silently for several minutes, fingering one of the tree’s bright green leaves.
Abner fretted. Finally, he could take it no longer. He had to say something. “That’s... the tree is something... One of the girls... that’s what they do in her village when someone dies. We didn’t know what your... um, what she would have liked.”
Gil nodded. “Dig it up.”
Abner looked shocked. “What?”
Captain DuPree smiled evilly at him as the Wulfenbach clank that stood nearby reached around and unsnapped a long shovel from the rack on its back. “What’s the matter, pal? Didn’t think we’d do that, did you? Say, maybe I’ll get to kill you after all!”
The clank dug quickly and efficiently, and it was only a few minutes before DuPree called a halt.
She hopped directly into the grave, and pulled aside the canvas winding sheet the clank had uncovered. A horrifically strong odor of burnt meat burst forth. Abner backed away, his hand over his lower face.
DuPree chortled and slipped the collar of her sweater over her nose and mouth. “Whoo! Damn! You can’t beat home cooking!”
“Stop it!” Gil leaned over the edge of the grave. His voice was strained. He eyed the charred figure. “That... that could be anybody.”
Captain DuPree slipped on a pair of leather gloves and exposed more of the body. There was a flash of green, as she pulled free a patch of burned clothing. Gil closed his eyes and looked ill.
; After a few minutes, DuPree sat back and sorted through the objects before her. “Female. Young adult. Caucasian.” She lifted a half melted twist of wire and glass. “Glasses.” She flourished a swatch of the burned green tweed. “I remember this dress. No shoes. And no jewelry, except for this.” The object in question was tossed up to Gil, who snatched it out of the air and examined it closely. It was a brass gas connector ring, stamped with the Wulfenbach sigil. He had last seen it as he had slipped it onto Agatha’s finger. Even darkened by flame and coated in dirt from the grave, Gil recognized it. It wasn’t even a real ring, just a worthless machine part, but it had a devastating effect on his heart.
He clenched it tightly and turned away. “Yes. It’s hers. That’s her.”
DuPree stood up, stripped the gloves off her hands and tossed them into the pit. “O-kay! Clank! Get me a field coffin!”
Gil spun around. “What? What are you doing?”
DuPree climbed out of the hole. “Well, I’m not carrying her in my lap.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason—”
She poked him in the chest with a finger. “Listen. Your father told me to bring her back. Here she is—back she comes. Argue with him.”
Gil glared at her, then seemed to deflate. With a sigh, he turned away. “Why bother?”
DuPree stared at his back and frowned. This was worrying. Gil was always good for an argument.
Gil strode up to Abner, who stood nervously off to one side of the airship ramp. “Herr de la Scalla, I have seen enough. I’m inclined to believe your story. We’ll take you back once we’re finished here.”
Abner shuffled his feet. “Actually, sir, I’d rather just head back on my own.”
Gil blinked in surprise. “What? Across the Wastelands? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Abner held up his hands placatingly. “This is a main road, I should be fine. It’s relatively well-traveled—” he looked at Gil, “I don’t want people thinking we’re... you know... associated with the Baron.” His eyes flicked toward where Bangladesh was supervising the clank and he dropped his voice. “And Captain DuPree there, I’m sorry, um... I’d really rather keep her away from my people.”
Gil nodded woodenly. “That’s very sensible of you. See the Quartermaster while we’re finishing up here. He’ll give you some travel supplies. And... ah, please convey my apologies to your young lady. I’m afraid I got rather... upset.”
Abner stared. He hadn’t expected that. “Um... I’m so sorry about this, sir.” Gil looked at him blankly. “This girl—it’s obvious she was very... very special to you, sir.”
Gil nodded slowly and made an effort to pull his mind back from thoughts of Agatha—working intently on the flying machine—dancing with him to the music of the mechanical orchestra—fighting beside him during the Slaver Wasp attack—kissing him impulsively in the heady moment when they realized they had won and were not going to die after all. And finally, Agatha laughing at him, as he slipped the connector ring on her finger and completely botched what turned out to be his last chance to tell her what was in his heart.
“Special? Yes, she might have been. It might have been...” He trailed off, and a look of dark anger settled over his features. “But it isn’t. Just go.”
Abner went.
Gil stood alone for a long time, watching as the clank gently replanted the sapling in the newly filled-in hole. He remained alone, looking at the tree, until the last of the clanks marched aboard the dirigible—and Captain DuPree shouted that if he didn’t want to come aboard, she’d happily leave him behind.
The sun was sinking toward the tops of the trees when Master Payne signaled that the caravan could finally stop. The animals were lathered, and the people weren’t much better. Payne had kept them moving through the night and all the next day, but there had been no complaints.
In this part of the Wastelands, the road was hard going—a pale shadow of its former glory. Everyone was exhausted from keeping watch for pursuing villagers, hostile forest denizens, or the return of the Wulfenbach airship.
When the front riders had returned to report that a lakeside glade with sufficient forage lay ahead, Payne had finally decided that they could risk making camp—if only because it would allow him the opportunity to get away from Pix, who had been fretting nonstop beside him throughout the entire trip.
It was charmingly obvious that Pix was worried about Abner. Unfortunately, her concern was vocally expressed in the form of an endlessly varied list of Abner’s unforgivable faults, stupidities and errors. Really, the girl was making Payne seriously consider reviving the old Put-The-Annoying-Person-In-A-Trunk-And-Drop-It-Into-A-Lake trick. But, he had to frequently remind himself, a good magician never performs the same trick twice.
“I can’t believe Abner cut in on my scene so soon! I had a lot more material ready.”
“Frankly, I thought the two of you worked very well together.”
“Well, yes, but if he’d just let me keep going a little longer, they probably wouldn’t have taken him. What was he thinking?”
Payne had already considered several scenarios where Pix had been allowed to continue to talk to the young man from the airship. In the latest one, it ended with him setting her on fire. He briefly allowed himself to savor this image, before dismissing it with a guilty start.
“I’d ask Abner when he gets back.”
The girl stared ahead fiercely. “He’d better get back.”
On another wagon sat Payne’s wife, Countess Marie. She was a regal woman who came by her title honestly. As she had remarked several thousand times since, her life would have been quite different if she had not been attracted to a certain dashing magician who had the ability to pull the most astonishing things out of a lady’s clothing, up to and including the lady herself. If pressed, she would smile and admit that “quite different” did not automatically mean “better.”
The Countess set the wagon’s brake, stretched, and slid down to the ground. She looked up at her companion, who had been sitting silently next to her. The girl was dressed in a billowy low-cut shirt and a tight, gaudy bodice which managed to leave something, if only a very little, to the imagination. Her face was overshadowed by a huge mass of thick, dark curls.
The Countess extended a hand. “Wake up, ‘Madame Olga.’ It’s time to rest.”
Agatha blinked. She had been deep in thought. “Yes, I guess so.” She climbed to the ground stiffly, then looked around, squinting her eyes. The Countess noticed and turned back to the wagon. “Ah, yes. Here.”
She fished a large pair of glasses out of a wooden box near the seat and handed them to Agatha, who took them gratefully and slid the looped wires behind her ears.
All around them, other wagons were stopping. People preparing to make camp shouted to each other as they saw to their animals. Agatha leaned against the wagon. “I still can’t believe that worked. Pix was amazing. A perfect, xenophobic peasant.” Agatha rubbed her forehead and breathed deeply. “But the people they sent. They... it wasn’t what I expected. I’m sorry. I... I hope Abner will be all right.”
The Countess began to unhitch the horses. Agatha automatically began to help from her side. When the Countess saw that Agatha knew what she was doing, she nodded in approval. “Think nothing of it. Abner owes you. We all do. That crab clank that killed Olga damaged several carts before she and André led it off. I have no doubt that it would have come back after it had finished them off.”
She grabbed the horse bridles and tethered them to a nearby tree. She tossed Agatha a curry comb as Balthazar bustled up with two large leather buckets of water. The horses immediately lowered their heads and began to drink.
The Countess continued as she began to rub her horse down. “You saved our lives. And you tried to save Olga’s, too, even after we sent you away. We had to do this.” She gave Agatha a reassuring smile. “Anyway, Abner is no fool. He’ll be fine. He’s a fast talker—he’s probably got them convinced you never even existed by
now.”
Agatha smiled back, then tentatively fingered the blouse she wore. “Hm. Still... dressing her in my things. Doctoring the body. And—um—especially taking her place. Even her name. It’s not that I want to be caught, I know it’s practical. It just feels so strange. Disrespectful.” She looked contrite. “Sorry.”
The Countess patted Agatha on the shoulder. “Olga was with us for over five years. She was a good friend, and I knew her very well. The life—traveling and performing—it was everything to her. She was never happier than when she’d pulled a really clever scam—convinced some rube that she was a runaway construct, or a grand duchess who had been swindled out of her fortune, or a lost explorer from the moon. She loved that sort of thing.” She smiled at some private memory.
“And now? Now she gets to fool not just some gullible townie, but Baron Klaus Wulfenbach himself! If she weren’t dead, she’d have killed herself to play this part.”
Agatha digested this. “Show people are very strange.”
She hadn’t quite meant it as a compliment, but the Countess looked pleased. “You’ll get used to it.”
“That’s what worries me.”
The Countess laughed. Professor Moonsock strode up, a roustabout carrying a stack of horse blankets following along behind her. She shooed The Countess and Agatha away and began to examine their horses’ feet.
The two women walked back to Professor Moonsock’s wagon, where Agatha had been temporarily assigned a tiny fold-down bunk. The Countess patted a wheel. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here again, but tomorrow we should have something more permanent sorted out.”
“Really,” Agatha protested, “You’ve already done so much—”