by Phil Foglio
The machine’s face swiveled towards him. Her enormous eyes blinked with a click. “I—I—I heard—servants said—Ma—Ma—Master Payne’s circus he—he—here?”
Tarvek nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.”
The clank shuddered. “Would you—would you—I—I—I can—would you like to see me dance?” She jerked away from Tarvek and spun about in a graceful twirl that ended with her slamming into the nearest wall. Tarvek leapt to her and caught her before she fell. She looked up at him. “I—I—I require maintenance. Please please please—” This continued until Tarvek gave her a short smack on her shoulder, at which she stopped in mid-word.
Anevka tilted her head to one side and gently tapped her folded fan against her jaw. “This is very unusual,” she confided to Agatha.
“What, her condition?”
Anevka shook her head. “Oh no, in that she is moving at all.”
Meanwhile Tarvek had waved over a pair of servants, to whom he passed the malfunctioning clank. “Take her back to my lab. Tinka, I’ll be there soon.”
The clank jerked in the servant’s arms. “The circus. I must—”
The servants led her away, still stuttering. Tarvek wearily ran a hand through his hair and turned back to Agatha and his sister. “As I was saying, my father couldn’t resist taking her apart. I’ve done the best I can reassembling her and that is the result.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “She can walk and she can talk. But there is something seriously wrong and I cannot figure it out. I—feel like I owe her. Without her—” He glanced at his sister, who patted his arm before turning away and leading her entourage out through the far door.
“I will repair her.” He glanced at Agatha, and with a small smile, again offered her his arm. “I suppose that sounds foolish. To feel obligated to a... a glorified clank.”
Agatha covered his hand with her own. “Not at all,” she assured him. “I think it’s rather noble. Besides, Master Payne believes they were—are, more than just clanks.”
Tarvek considered this. “Hm. I might want to talk to your Master Payne.” A small bell chimed from the other room. “Ah, dinner.”
With that, they went through the doorway into an elegantly appointed dining hall. Light was supplied by the ubiquitous electric lamps, which were hung in decorative clusters across the frescoed ceiling. The walls were lined with the castle’s now familiar liveried servants, who stood motionless, their hands at their sides. A long table was covered in a snow-white linen cloth and another electrical display merrily buzzed and crackled down the center. Only four place settings were in evidence, each of them bracketed by entirely too many utensils. Agatha examined one, and upon hefting it, guessed that it had been cast from solid electrum.
Anevka was ensconced on one side of the table. Most of her retinue had been dismissed, except for the four men who carried her device. They stood quietly behind her ornate, open backed chair.
Agatha and Tarvek were seated together. Next to Agatha, at the slightly raised head of the table, sat the master of Sturmhalten, Prince Aaronev IV.
He was obviously Tarvek’s sire, with the same blue eyes frankly assessing her from behind an odd set of glasses. These contained several inset lenses, which he used by disconcertingly moving his head about as he studied her. Aaronev and his daughter were in a discussion as Agatha and Tarvek entered.
Anevka was leaning forward, her voice quiet, but intense. “But why can’t you just analyze—”
Her father cut her off. “Enough daughter. This discussion is finished. Our guest is here.”
When they reached the end of the table, Agatha again curtsied. I’m getting good at this, she thought.
Tarvek stepped forward, and made a small formal bow. “Father, may I present Madame Olga, of Master Payne’s Circus of Adventure.”
The Prince waved Agatha forward. “Do be seated, my dear.”
Agatha settled into the chair that a servant held for her. A small swarm of them then descended upon the table, pouring wines and setting out various foodstuffs. Agatha’s wineglass was filled from an elegant green cut-glass carafe. The wine was a deep purple and smelled of spices and green fields. Agatha took a cautious sip.
Agatha had not really had much experience with wine before she left Beetleburg. Her parents had not favored it. Once she had joined the circus, she had been given an instructional course in wine, beer, ale, and cider as well as a wide variety of cordials and homebrewed spirits. Partially, the Countess had explained, because a young lady should be educated about these things, and be able to converse about them knowledgably. Partially, Pix had explained, because a young lady should be aware of the effects of these things upon her and be able to recognize when she was being plied. And partially, Zeetha had explained, because sometimes a warrior needed to get really drunk, and like all worthwhile things, it got easier with practice.
This had lead to some rather amusing nights and some rather awful mornings. On the whole, Agatha had decided that alcohol was something that she could take or leave, and for the most part, left. This particular beverage, however, seemed tasty and of a rather low potency.
A server placed a small bowl of what proved to be a deliciously savory red cabbage and bacon soup before her. The others were similarly served, which precipitated a discreet clattering of spoons.
Anevka ate nothing, but merely sat with folded hands and chatted with her father about a few items of castle management. After a few moments, the Prince cleared his throat and turned to Agatha. “We very much enjoyed your performance this evening.”
Agatha nodded. “Your Highness is most kind.”
Aaronev raised his own glass and looked at her over the rim. “We knew the lady you played, you know.” Agatha choked slightly on a spoonful of soup[46].
“Oh. I... I hope I haven’t given offense,” Agatha stammered. “It’s difficult to remember that we actually portray real people.” She thought for a moment. “Sort of.”
Aaronev laughed. “Nonsense, my dear. Truth be told, you captured her perfectly.”
This gave Agatha a bit of a pause, as she was still reconciling herself to the idea that Lucrezia Mongfish was her actual mother.
Aaronev continued casually. “In fact, it’s remarkable, really, but you sound just like her.”
Agatha smiled gamely and took another sip of wine. The taste was growing on her. “Why, thank you, your Highness.”
Aaronev slowly swirled the wine around in his glass. “Have you known many Sparks?”
Agatha waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh no!” She paused and then felt compelled to add, “Well, I did grow up in Beetleburg, so I saw Dr. Beetle, of course.”
The Prince nodded. “Oh, of course. Did you see him a lot?”
“Almost every day. I assisted in his lab for years.”
Aaronev’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Did you now?”
“Oh yes, I was there when he died.”
Tarvek broke in. “We heard about that. A great shame. We had heard that this mysterious son of the Baron’s killed him.”
Agatha nodded. “Yes, but to be fair, Dr. Beetle did throw a bomb at him.” She smiled. Gil would be happy she remembered that part. That made her happy, too.
Aaronev nodded as if this was a perfectly normal turn of events. “So you’ve seen the Baron and this son of his?”
“Oh yes, I saw the Baron a bit when I was abducted onto Castle Wulfenbach, and his son, Gilgamesh Wulfenbach wanted to marry me.” Tarvek choked on a spoonful of soup at this, and had a small coughing fit. A servant stepped up and thumped him on the back. Tarvek waved him away and grabbed his wineglass.
Anevka leaned forward. “Did he now? But here you are.”
Agatha shrugged. “I had to escape from Castle Wulfenbach when everyone found out I was actually a Heterodyne.”
This time Tarvek actually sprayed his wine across the table.
CHAPTER 8
The fifty families play a game
That all revolves around a name.
To play the game you must be skilled
The Game of Kings can get you killed.
They plot and murder, lie and sin
Determined no one else should win.
They’ll turn Europa upside down
To try to claim the Lightning Crown.
—Anonymous (No, really, we don’t know who wrote it. Honest.)
Over the next several courses, Agatha chatted away, cheerfully answering the occasional question, and recounting her experiences of the last several months.
A small growing voice of alarm from somewhere deep within her head vainly tried to get her attention, but was easily overridden by her mouth, which babbled on.
The only time she paused was when she was talking about Gilgamesh. She was giving the facts of her final encounter in a clear steady voice, but a distant part of her noticed that her eyes were streaming almost nonstop, and there was a discernible huskiness to her voice. How sad.
“I suppose I’ll never see him again. If I’m lucky.” She took a deep breath and smiled at the Prince. “And this is a simply lovely torte.” She then collapsed face forward onto her dessert.
There was a pause, as everyone in the room waited to see if this was the end of the show. After a few moments, Agatha began softly humming some sort of waltz. The Prince impatiently waved over a server, took the decanter that had contained Agatha’s wine, and gave it a sniff.
“Hmm. I think I used a bit too much on her.”
Tarvek had pulled Agatha’s face up and was gently cleaning it with a warm cloth that another servant had handed to him. “You think?”
Agatha’s eyes focused on Tarvek and a wide smile spread over her face. “You’re very cute,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t think I picked out this ugly dress.” Tarvek’s face reddened slightly as he finished up.
“Oh dear,” tittered Anevka, “Here I thought she was telling the truth and now it’s obvious that the poor girl’s been hallucinating.”
“Shut up!” Tarvek felt flushed. Within his head, plans and schemes were shattering and reassembling themselves into new configurations at lightning speed.
The rest of the family stood, and Aaronev ordered a pair of sturdy servants to hoist Agatha to her feet. “I feel very strange,” she confided to one of them. “Zeetha will laugh at me.”
The Prince was ebullient, dancing in place and rubbing his hands together. “Come! Bring her! I have everything prepared!” Tarvek and Anevka glanced at each other. The young man spoke hesitantly. “But father, wait. Shouldn’t we—” he thought frantically for a second. “Shouldn’t we send for some of the others? They’d want to be present for something so momentous.”
Anevka chimed in. “Father, even if you’re sure she is The One, this is a terrible idea. You could kill her.”
Aaronev waved this away. “Bah! The others died because they were not her! It’s as simple as that. I have manipulated every other variable and failed.” He glanced at his daughter, and a brief flicker of remorse flashed across his face. “You should know that better than anyone, Anevka.”
The clank girl’s eyes clicked once. “I do, father.”
They had been hurrying along the corridors of the palace. Servants scurried before them, lighting lamps and opening doors, but at the last set of doors they opened the doors and stood back. The royal party swept through, and Tarvek closed and locked the doors behind them.
The large room they were now in had once been the castle’s chapel. Graceful lines arced upwards for several stories, and one could see where thin, arched windows had lined the walls. These were now bricked over, and the naves were filled with glowing banks of machinery. Dominating the central area was a tall, angular device. It had multiple rods and couplings that joined the ceiling, without regard to the religious pictures that could still be faintly seen there. At the base was a peculiar looking throne. The seat was studded with contacts and a set of ominous-looking straps were attached to the armrests. From a rack overhead, a cluster of vaguely non-Euclidian crystal rods pointed straight down, directly to where the chairs’ hapless occupant would reside.
Aaronev took a moment to examine Agatha. With a few deft movements, he removed the various ornaments and jewelry that had been placed in her hair, along with her glasses. “No, this time—” he muttered, “This time, it will work!” He spoke to the two servants carrying Agatha. “Strap her in!”
The two did so, with a quiet efficiency. Then, at Aaronev’s quick dismissal, they bowed and quickly exited, relocking the doors behind them.
Tarvek moved closer. “Father. Don’t do this.”
Aaronev darted about the throne, checking settings and adjusting dials. “I must! Our family has been given a sacred task! I will complete it! I will prove that I am still worthy to lead The Order!” He made a final adjustment and turned to Tarvek, who was alarmed at the gleam he saw in his father’s eyes. “And I will see her again,” he whispered.
Tarvek tried again. “You can’t be sure—”
Aaronev’s hand whipped out and Tarvek found his coat clutched in an iron grip. When Aaronev spoke it was with the strength and assurance of a powerful Spark in full burn. “Of course I’m sure! The harmonic readings are perfect! The people obeyed her! She confessed to being Lucrezia’s daughter! This is The Child!”
He released Tarvek and made a final adjustment. He turned to his daughter, who had glided up behind him. “Anevka, you know, don’t you? Tell your brother that I am correct.”
Anevka nodded. “I do believe that he is correct, brother. Therefore—” She reached out and clutched her father’s head. Aaronev didn’t even have a chance to register surprise before a bolt of electricity arced through him. He jerked once and his clothes and hair burst into flame. The crackling blue discharge surrounded him for several seconds before it cut off, and he collapsed to the ground, smoldering.
Anevka’s outfit and wig had been burned away. Revealing a grey metal manikin. Various blobs of half-melted jewelry clung at her throat and wrists. She looked down at her carbon-smeared body and tsked. “That,” she announced to no one in particular, “was my favorite dress.”
This broke the spell that had frozen Tarvek. “Anevka, what the hell—!”
Anevka interrupted. “Do you know how many girls father’s destroyed in that machine? Do you?” Tarvek shut his mouth. Anevka stepped closer. “I do! The only thing that could have possibly made it all worse would have been if he had actually succeeded. And make no mistake. He would have. She is the one!”
Agatha, who had been half-heartedly struggling against the chair’s restraints, looked up at this. It was obvious that she was still disorientated. She peered down at the remains of Aaronev and a faintly disturbed look crossed her features. “Did you do that just for me?” She thought about this. “Should I thank you?”
Anevka strode up to her and tilted her head to one side. “Don’t be silly, girl.” She reached up and extended a finger, which she lightly tapped against Agatha’s forehead. A short burst of electricity arced and Agatha collapsed. “I have my own use for you.”
Tarvek felt an unexpected pang of concern. He knelt and lifted Agatha’s head, checked her pulse and gently rolled back an eyelid. “But shouldn’t we—”
Anevka imperiously waved him into silence. “Come along, brother, the clock is ticking now, and we have much to do.”
Several hours later, there was a frantic knocking at the door to Master Payne’s wagon. After the show, the troupe had packed up and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. But Agatha had failed to return, and a growing unease had begun to permeate the group.
Eventually, Payne had insisted that the drivers, and anyone else who could, should try to get some sleep. He had ostensibly done so himself, but despite the fact that he and the Countess had burrowed beneath their comforters several hours ago, the instant the first knock sounded, Payne had bounded to his feet, still dressed, a small pistol magically appearing in his hand. The Countess’ feet had yet to touch the floor
, but the rifle she drew from beneath the covers moved without hesitation.
Payne moved up to the door and listened for a moment, shook himself, and suddenly appeared a lot more rumpled and sleepy. He slowly opened the door, concealing the pistol behind the door. “Yes?”
A few steps below him was a squad of Sturmhalten soldiers. Abner was bracketed by a pair of them. Zeetha stood to one side, next to Yeti. To anyone else, she would have looked merely nervous, but Payne could see that she was a fraction of a second away from drawing her swords. That wasn’t good.
A Captain stood before him. The man stared a bit too long at the hidden hand holding the pistol behind the door. Payne switched mental gears. This required finesse. With a flick of his wrist he slid the pistol out of sight up his sleeve as he slowly—very slowly—brought his hand out from behind the door and scratched at his chin.
The Captain relaxed slightly. “Evening, sir,” he said, while sketching out the half salute that soldiers gave civilians they were supposed to be polite to. “Are you the master of this circus?”
Payne nodded cautiously. “I am.”
The Captain drew a small note from his pocket and scrutinized it in such a way that Payne knew he had it memorized. “You were traveling with one Olga Žiga?”
Oh, this definitely didn’t look good. “Yes, but at the moment she is at the palace—a guest of your Prince.”
The Captain nodded. “Indeed she is, sir.” He paused, and ran an eye over the other circus members who were quietly collecting. “Were you aware that this ‘Madame Olga’ is a fugitive? Wanted by Baron Wulfenbach himself?”
This was unexpected, and Payne was honestly taken aback, which was handy, as it helped with the lying. “No! Of course not!”
The Captain nodded. “Yes, that’s just what the Prince told me you’d say. Well you’ve had a lucky escape, sir. As have we all, I suspect. No telling what she’s capable of if the Baron’s after her, eh?”
Payne felt the jaws of the trap close. Intellectually he had to admire the way it was done.