Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess gg-2

by Phil Foglio

The monster soldier looked pleased, and graciously inclined his head. “Eet vas only fair. Vun of hyuor pipples help us, so ve tink ve shood help hyu beck, jah?”

  The Jäger with the triple bladed pole arm unfolded himself from under the wagon. Both Payne and Abner would have sworn there was nothing there.

  He looked smug. “End ve did eet mitowt killink ennybody hyu know! Pretty sveet, hey?” The grin he gave the two men was so alarming that they involuntarily took a step back, directly into the arms of the purple Jäger who had materialized behind them. He slapped an affable hand upon each of their shoulders. This elicited a small scream from Abner.

  Payne rallied and grinned back. The Jägers mentally gave him an “A” for effort. “Pretty sweet indeed. As a token of our esteem, if you need any supplies—”

  The purple Jäger interrupted. “Dere iz sumting dot ve vant.”

  Payne nodded. “Excellent! We can certainly—”

  The green Jäger spread his hands. “Ve vants to join de circus.” “

  WHAT?”

  The Jäger with the pole-axe nodded in agreement. “Jah. Ve vant to be circus guyz.”

  Payne and Abner looked at each other in amazement. Payne scratched his shaggy head. “But...but what can you do? What could we do with you?”

  Abner shook his head. “The audience—”

  The green Jäger waved his hands dismissively. “Jah, jah, dey hate us. But dots joost ven vees valkin’ around being us. Pipple expect to see strange tings in a show like dis.”

  The purple Jäger puffed his chest up proudly. “End dey dun get much stranger den us,” he declared.

  An odd look came into Master Payne’s eyes. “But what could we do with them,” he murmured.

  The younger man looked at him askance. “You can’t seriously be considering this. Them? Onstage?”

  The purple Jäger swept a hand through his long luxurious hair. “Ve vould be perfect. Hy em Maxim,” so saying he gave a sketchy, but serviceable, cavalier’s salute. “Hy tink Hy iz de leadink man type.”

  Payne and Abner stared at him blankly.

  The pole axe wielding Jäger leaned in. “Vot’s ‘leadink man’ mean?” he asked sotto voce.

  Maxim waggled his eyebrows. “Hit mean hyu gets to kees de gurl,” he explained.

  “Hoy!” The horned Jäger turned to Abner and grinned engagingly. “Hy vants to be a leadink man too!” Abner’s eyes were staring to glaze. The Jäger stuck out a clawed hand. “I’m Ognian.” Reflexively, Abner gingerly took Ognian’s hand and was given a quick, seismic rattle.

  Maxim smacked the back of Ognian’s head. “Eediot! Hyu kent be a leadink man.”

  Ognian pouted. An alarming sight on a person with a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Vy not?”

  Maxim shrugged. “Dere’s only vun leadink man.”

  “Sez who?”

  “Iz hobvious! Eef hyu gots two, deys gunna lead in different directions.”

  Ognian thought about this. “So vy hyu?”

  “I tink ov hit first.”

  “But dere vas two Heterodyne Boyz.”

  Maxim’s eyebrows shot up. “Say—hyu iz right!”

  Ognian grinned. “But dot’s hokay! Dis vay ve both gets a gurl!”

  A flicker of worry passed over Maxim’s face. “Hy dunno. Some uf the gurls de Heterodynes keesed vos pretty scary.”

  “Bot dot’s de best part,” exclaimed Ognian gleefully, “Ve’d be keesink actresses!” He smirked, “End hyu know vot dey say about actresses!”

  Maxim looked at him expectantly. “Um... No Hy dun’t.”

  Ognian shrugged. “Hy dun neither.” He grinned again. “Bot Hy bet ve’s gunna find out!!”

  The third Jägermonster smacked Ognian on the back of the head. “Qviet, hyu eediots! Eef deys find out how irresistible ve iz to de vemmins, dey neffer gunna let us join.” The other two realized the sensibility of this advice and arranged their faces into a semblance of innocence before facing the two men again.

  “Zo,” the green Jäger said. “I’m Dimo. Vat doz hyu tink?”

  Abner and Payne stared at the three and then looked at each other and nodded. “Clowns.”

  Dimo, Maxim and Ognian grinned. Perfect.

  Lars blinked. The familiar, early morning sounds of the circus drifted through an open window. The clink and rattle of cookware. The unnerving clucking of Professor Moonsock’s syncopated chickens. The gasping and panting of Agatha as she ran past his window, pursued by Zeetha.

  He snuffled back into the comforting goose down mattress, as his mind idly went over yesterday’s events—

  Which brought him bolt upright, every muscle poised for flight. Gasping, he looked around, and realized that he was safely in his own wagon, and not in fact, being eaten by monsters. He slumped in relief, and then a new memory surfaced. Hadn’t there been... Jägers?

  “Goot mornink, sveethot.”

  The cheerful voice from right behind him sent Lars bolting from his bed. When he landed with his hunting knife clenched in his fist, he was astonished to see one of the Jägers sitting at his table with his feet up, gnawing on a dried sausage. He was appreciatively flipping through Lars’ supposedly well-hidden collection of British “artistic” postcards.

  After a long frozen moment when nothing happened, Lars gestured with the knife. “Put those down! And what are you doing here?”

  The Jäger glanced at him and then deliberately picked up the next card. He whistled appreciatively. The girl pictured was riding some sort of velocipede. Ognian thought she looked a bit chilly.

  Lars began to feel rather ridiculous. He waved his knife around a bit more in a half-hearted manner.

  “Oh, schtop dot befaw hyu hurts hyuself.” Ognian looked at the next card. This girl was obviously a soldier. She had a rifle and everything. In the Jäger’s opinion, she was wearing a mighty fine looking hat. He casually tucked the card into his coat pocket. “Hy’m supposed to make shure hyu vos okay after hyu voke up.” He looked at Lars directly. “So how iz hyu?”

  Lars lowered the knife. “Wait... Did I pass out? I’ve never done that before.” He then realized that the back of his head throbbed with a dull ache.

  The Jäger looked away furtively. “Oh, dot. Hyu gots smecked by a piece ov der bridge.” He handed a chunk of stone over to Lars. “See?”

  Lars examined it. It was indeed a piece of the bridge. He turned it over. Scratched into the stone was the message: I HITT MR LARZ. (SYNED) A BRIK.

  Lars stared at it for a moment and then slowly put it down on the table. “I see.”

  The Jäger let out a gust of breath and gave him a sharp toothed grin. “Hyu gots to vatch owt for dem leedle devils,” he confided.

  Lars nodded slowly. “Right. So...” He briefly considered a plethora of questions and settled for, “How long are you staying?”

  Ognian grinned again. “Forever! Ve joined hyu circus!”

  Thousands of negotiations with suspicious, armed, or downright insane townspeople kept Lars from doing anything other than raising his eyebrows. “No kidding?”

  The Jäger looked at him with a quick flash of approval. “No keedink. Dey pracktically insisted after we’s gets hyu off dot bridge.”

  Lars reviewed that particular memory and then unhesitatingly stuck out a hand. “Thank you for that.”

  Ognian gave it a quick shake. “Dun tank us. Tank dot gurl vat told us to go get chu. Ve thought hyu vas haffing fun.”

  Lars paused. “Which girl?”

  “Dot Agatha Clay? She vas vorried about hyu. Go figure.”

  “You do what she says?”

  The Jäger shrugged. “Vouldn’t hyu?”

  Before Lars could answer, a liquid sound drew his gaze out the window. There stood Agatha, a smiling Zeetha handing her a second bucket. The first had been tipped over her head, and the abbreviated training outfit clung to her like a second skin. The second bucketful only served to enhance the effect. Lars’ breath caught, and he swallowed. Casually he turned back to the Jäger and s
hrugged. “... Maybe,” he conceded.

  The door opened and Abner stuck his head in. “Knocking,” he called out cheerfully. “Is he awake?”

  Lars waved. “Hey, Bunkie.”

  Ognian clapped Lars on the shoulder proudly. “See he’s avake and talking and no more schtupid den he vas before!”

  Abner nodded. “So I see.”

  Lars let this pass without comment. The Jäger scooped a few more postcards into his coat pocket, carefully placed his fez upon his head and swiped another string of sausages. “Hokay,” he announced. “Hy iz gunna go look for breakfast!” So saying, he casually slouched through doorway, eliciting several small screams from passing circus members.

  Lars slumped onto his bunk. “Payne is really letting them stay?”

  Abner nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He didn’t even try to argue with them too much. I dunno how everyone else will like it...”

  Lars laced his hands behind his head and relaxed.” Well, they saved my bacon, so I’ve got no—” A frown crossed his face. “What the heck—?” He felt under the coverlet and pulled out a pair of lacy pink undergarments.

  He stared at them in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his features. “Well, well! I wonder whom these belong to? Guess I’d better bring them to lost and found—”

  A red-faced de la Scalla snatched them from his fingers. “Shut up!”

  Lars looked at him slyly. “Must be mighty convenient, sharing a cart with someone who’s gone so often.”

  Lars hadn’t thought it was possible for his friend’s face to get any redder. He was wrong. “...Maybe,” Abner admitted.

  Lars leapt up and grabbed Abner’s shoulders and gave him a good shake. “Ahh! Finally! My little pal is all grown up!”

  Abner swung at him, but Lars easily avoided it. “Relax, I have no doubt you surrendered your honor only after putting up every resistance. Did she at least promise to make an honest man out of you?” A business-like throwing knife smacked into the shelf next to Lars’ head. He ignored it. A thought struck him and he looked serious. “Am I going to have to move out?”

  Abner paused, and thoughtfully tucked a second knife back within his vest. He shrugged. “Naw. Well... yeah... maybe.”

  Lars nodded. “Thanks, that about covers it.”

  “Well, it’s a big step.”

  “It sure is. All my stuff is here.”

  Abner smiled. “But you know? It feels right.”

  Lars smiled back conspiratorially. “With Pix? I’ll bet it does.”

  Abner blushed yet again. Lars was impressed that he hadn’t passed out. “Hey—I’m trying to be serious here.”

  Lars swept in and got the smaller man in a headlock. “I know! That is why you need me more than ever, you poor, doomed fool!”

  “All right! All right!” Abner broke away and grinned. “I can’t wait until it happens to you.”

  Lars laughed and grabbed two glasses and a wine bottle. To his surprise, it was empty, as were the remaining six. He remembered the Jäger and shrugged. “A sentiment expressed by the enraged fathers of a thousand towns!”

  Abner smirked. “You laugh. But one day someone will ask you, ‘Who’s your girl?’ and a face will flash through your mind and it’s going to sandbag you completely.”

  Lars was indeed caught by surprise, as the image of Agatha, smiling at him, filled his head. He felt his heart skip a beat and a sick realization filled him, even as Abner was saying, “It’s going to be hilarious to watch.” It would have been. It was a pity he missed it.

  A gentle knock at the door, along with a melodic “Morning,” interrupted him. Abner turned to find Pix on the stoop. The two exchanged a relatively chaste kiss. “So how is Lars?”

  “He seems okay.”

  A shaky voice from within the wagon called out, “Actually I think I want to lie down.”

  Pix nodded. “Have you eaten yet?” Abner shook his head.

  “Good. We’re staying here for the day while Master Payne figures out what to do. So I found us a nice spot in the woods. Here’s a blanket—” She handed Abner a thick rolled pad, “that we can spread out, and a lovely meal we can eat together—” she hefted a large wicker basket. Then she stepped close and whispered softly into Abner’s ear, “...eventually.”

  The two moved off through the camp, followed by amused and knowing glances. Pix looked thoughtful. “So with Passholdt gone...”

  Abner nodded. “I’m afraid we’ll have to go through Balan’s Gap this year. Master Payne says we’ll discuss it tonight, but I don’t see any alternative.”

  “Doesn’t Moxana—” Abner silenced her with a finger to her lips. Swiftly he reached into a nearby barrel and pulled out a squirming and spitting Krosp.

  “I thought so,” Abner declared. “Can I help you with something? Before—” he glanced at Pix, “I’m eating?”

  “Moxana!” The cat squalled. “You said that you’d introduce me to Moxana!”

  The showman hesitated and then sighing, lowered Krosp to the ground. “So I did. Let’s go.”

  Krosp looked surprised. “Really?”

  Pix looked annoyed. “NOW?”

  Abner answered them both. “It won’t take long.”

  They left Pix with the food and made their way to one of the baggage wagons. This one was richly adorned with an astronomical motif. Stars and comets swirled along the sides, interspaced with astrological signs and sigils. A small cupola sprouted from the roof.

  Krosp frowned. “I didn’t think anyone lived in these.”

  Abner smiled. “No one does.” He selected a large ornate key from the ring at his waist and operated the lock. The door swung open with a groan and Abner waved the cat inside. “Krosp, meet Moxana.”

  The inside of the wagon was stuffed with various props and stage mechanisms. In a cleared space in the center was a small, fancifully carved and decorated wheeled throne. A closer examination revealed the seated figure of a women, dressed in an exotic outfit and adorned with extravagant golden jewelry from several different cultures.

  The cabinet before her was richly ornamented with various inlaid woods and gilded finials. Within easy reach of the seated figure were brightly painted wooden boxes held shut by intricate golden clasps. Directly before her was a game board, almost a meter square.

  However, the nature of the game itself was not easy to discern. Looked at one way, it was a chess board. A slight shift in perception, and it could be for the East Indian game, Pachisi.

  At this point, an astute observer would realize that there were easily a dozen different possibilities, depending upon the pieces employed. At the moment, the board was littered with pieces from a half a dozen different games haphazardly arranged in an unrecognizable pattern.

  Krosp stared and then turned to Abner. “Moxana is a clank?”

  Abner smiled. “Of a sort.” He reached over and released a set of clasps upon the front of the cart. The front lowered upon hinges, revealing a large empty section, except for the axle of the cart, and an intricate arrangement of rods and wires connected to various spots on the underside of the game board. “She’s actually a puppet. Run from down here.”

  Krosp peered at the area and frowned. “Seems a bit small.”

  Abner swung the panel closed and refastened the clasps. He then twisted a few bits of decoration, and the clasps were hidden from casual observation. “Indeed it is. That’s why we don’t put her out these days. Originally, she was run from the inside by a dwarf named Kurtz. He was killed three years ago by some bad clams.”

  Krosp looked surprised. “Bad clams?”

  Abner nodded, “Yes, they had axes. Anyway, no one else could fit inside.”

  Krosp looked at the cart again. “Embi. Or Balthazar.”

  Abner pulled a rag off a nearby chest and ran it over the figure as he talked. “Yes, I have high hopes for Balthazar, but at the moment his endgame is terrible.”

  Krosp blinked. “Endgame?”

  Abner nodded. “Moxana
is supposed to be a clank that can play chess.”

  Krosp studied the top of the board with a skeptical eye. “This doesn’t look like any chess set-up I’ve ever seen.”

  Abner shrugged. “Chess is what we used her for. But yeah, Master Payne says that the board can be used for almost twenty different games that he’s familiar with, and probably a bunch more that he isn’t. But in these parts, if you want to impress someone, you play them at chess.” He sighed. “I’ve taught Embi the basics, but chess just isn’t his game. Can’t really wrap his head around it. The man’s a demon at Omweso, though. That’s a game he brought with him from Africa. There’s this board, with a bunch of little indentations—”

  Krosp interrupted. “But I’ve heard people talk about her—it—like it was alive!” He leapt up to the board and gingerly poked at the seated figure. It remained motionless. He noticed that although it had fully articulated eyelids with long full eyelashes, which were closed, as well as a small perfectly sculpted nose and ears, the figure had no mouth. He batted at it again.

  Abner looked embarrassed. “Well we all tend to talk like she is. Kurtz was a really good puppeteer. Before you knew it, you’d ignore him and be talking to the puppet. The audience always loved it, so we did it a lot. Got into the habit of telling her our problems, asking advice, you know...”

  Krosp folded his arms. “No, not really. She’s got no mouth. How did she offer this advice?”

  Abner looked at Krosp and frowned. When he spoke, it was carefully. “She... can do more than play games. When we thought the populace wouldn’t get too spooked by it, she did oracular readings. Tarot cards, pendulum divination, there’s this ‘Ching’ thing from the orient that uses sticks—Kurtz was pretty good at the woo-woo stuff, but—” Abner looked like he’d said too much.

  “But—” Krosp prompted.

  The man sighed. “It was Kurtz who started it. He said that sometimes... Moxana made her own moves, and that they always... meant something. Something more than he could see.”

  Krosp studied the figure again. “And you buy this?”

  Abner shook his head. “I don’t know. I was a lot greener in those days, and Kurtz always loved to spin a good story, but...these days, whenever things get a little strange, we say ‘Moxana’s rearranging her board.’” He blew out a breath and grinned. “I guess that’s pretty silly, eh? Kurtz loved messing with people.”