by Phil Foglio
The Captain continued. “Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, eh?” He ostentatiously fished about in a courier’s pouch at his belt and hauled out a leather pouch adorned with the seal of the royal family. It clinked as he tossed it from hand to hand. “Prince Aaronev has sent you this reward! Mighty generous says I, but ‘no bless obli cheese,’ says he.”
Payne blinked. “...Does he?”
The Captain nodded as he handed the money over. “All the time.” As Payne took the money, the Captain’s hand tightened. Their eyes locked. When the Captain spoke again, the easy-going tone he had effected had vanished from his voice. “He also says that, for everyone’s safety, he thinks it best if you and your good people leave town.”
Payne licked his lips. “But it’s—”
In his best parade ground voice, the Captain merely said, “Now.” The rest of the soldiers present straightened and presented arms with a snap. “Your escort is waiting.”
Payne knew when to cut his losses. “We’re moving out,” he roared to the half a hundred hidden ears he knew were listening. A part of his mind noted without surprise that Zeetha had vanished.
In a surprisingly short time, the circus was on the move. The streets of the town were empty. A mist had drifted down from the surrounding mountains, giving the electric streetlights a glowing blue halo. Along the route, soldiers stood quietly, watching the train of wagons as it rumbled towards the gates. In the lead wagon, Abner, Lars and Krosp sat glumly.
“Well, that could have gone worse,” muttered Abner.
“Something’s not right,” said Lars, eyeing the soldiers.
“Of course not,” snapped Krosp, his ears flattened. “That story about a reward is hokum. The Baron thinks Agatha is dead. If he thought otherwise, he’d come and get her. The Prince just wants us to leave, and this way, we daren’t complain.”
Lars looked lost. “But what will we do?”
Abner looked at him levelly. “We go down this road about fifteen kilometers and turn left at Mulverschtag. That’ll get us on the road to Mechanicsburg.”
“No! I meant—”
“Oh wait,” Abner interrupted snidely. “Are you seriously thinking we should go back—into a hostile town full of armed soldiers—to try to rescue a girl from a madboy’s fortress?”
Lars examined this statement. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes I am!”
Abner sighed. “There’re a million reasons why that isn’t going to work.”
“Dun vorry,” a low voice chuckled from above. The three whipped their eyes upwards. Dimo, Ognian and Maxim were lounging on the roof of the wagon. Dimo was staring down at them and indicated himself and the others. “Dere’s three reasonz it iz.”
Agatha blinked. Her mouth tasted terrible, her head was throbbing, and she felt like she was shackled to a table. This last realization snapped her awake. She was shackled to a table. Some sort of lab bench, and by straining her head, she could see that she was wearing remarkably little. This didn’t look good.
She was in some sort of laboratory, racks of electronic devices surrounded her, and there was a pervasive smell of ozone and burnt insulation.
Suddenly a figure loomed up from her right. It was Anevka. She had been cleaned and polished. Her wig was black and glossy, cut short in front and tied back with several gold chains. She was dressed in a red velvet lab coat and violet work apron with matching gold piping[47].
By rolling her eyes, Agatha could just see her retainers, with the ever-present device resting upon their shoulders. They stood motionless, eyes half closed.
“Oh good,” Anevka said. “You’re finally awake!” She glanced behind Agatha’s line of sight and made a small adjustment to an unseen device. “Happy?”
That was an easy one. “Certainly not!”
Anevka nodded. “Very good!”
“No—Not good! How dare you people do this to me? Get me some clothes!”
Anevka actually rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. A lovely strong command wave.” She looked back at Agatha. “Do you have any questions?”
Agatha had a great number of questions, as well as several strong opinions about Anevka, her situation, her lack of clothing and Anevka’s preoccupation with whatever it was that was keeping her from setting Agatha free. After about a half an hour of this, Agatha began to wind down. “Are you even listening to me?”
Anevka made a final adjustment to the oscilloscope she’d been monitoring and nodded in satisfaction. “Oh yes, and you’ve been just perfect! I quite think you’re done.”
She shut down the device and then turned to a small cloth covered ceramic tray. A delicate flip of the fabric revealed an array of gleaming steel surgical instruments. Anevka ran her hand above them, and then selected a simple scalpel.
“And now, let’s hear you beg for your life.”
Agatha’s eyes bugged out. “What?”
Anevka twirled the scalpel around her fingers. “I’ve got my readings. Now I get to have a little fun.”
A squawk from behind Agatha revealed that someone else was here. Tarvek strode into sight, flinging down a set of tools and grabbing Anevka’s wrist. “Stop!” Agatha realized that she didn’t know whether to be more relieved at his intercession or scandalized at her state of undress before him. Another glimpse of the scalpel in Anevka’s hand helped prioritize things nicely.
Anevka rolled her eyes at Tarvek. “But why? We have all the readings that we need.”
“Don’t be a fool. We should test it first.”
Anevka considered this. With a deft flick of her wrist, she tossed the scalpel back into the tray with a clatter. “You’re right, of course,” she said regretfully. “It would be unforgivably stupid to kill her before we’re sure.”
Suddenly a commotion filled the air and several people burst into the room. A cluster of brawny castle servants were restraining a lone Geiesterdamen. She was wearing an elegantly cut robe that had been thrown over little else. Her white hair was disheveled and chopped short, and her pearly white eyes glared furiously. The four men holding her had obviously had a rough time of it, as all of them suffered from bruises, scratches, and torn clothing.
When she saw Tarvek and Anevka, the captive woman roared furiously, in what, Agatha realized in astonishment, was perfectly good Romanian[48].
“What is the meaning of this? Where is your father, the Prince?” She saw Agatha for the first time and paused. “What are you children playing at?”
Tarvek stepped forward. “Good evening, Lady Vrin. There are things you should be made aware of—”
Vrin lunged at him, almost throwing her captors off balance. “Release me, you insignificant worm!”
Anevka crossed her arms. “Oh, I really don’t want to listen to any more of this. Tarvek?”
Her brother stepped behind her and was making some adjustments to a control panel on her back. “I’ve made the adjustments to your voice box. Try it now.”
Anevka stepped forward. “Release her.” The servants stepped back. Vrin launched herself towards the mechanical girl, who again spoke. “Lady Vrin? Kneel!”
The voice that boomed out, artificially amplified, sounded remarkably like Agatha’s. The effect upon the Geisterdamen was electric. She froze, and then dropped to her knees. “Lady?” she whispered.
Instantly she grabbed her head and screamed. The servants again grabbed her arms. She glared up at Anevka. “You are not her,” she hissed in fury.
Anevka put her head to one side. “Tch. It appears you were right, brother. We are not there yet.”
Tarvek nodded slowly. He pulled a pad of paper from a coat pocket and began to scribble some notes. “Hmm. I suspect your speaker needs more bass. Maybe what I need to do is isolate the command harmonics, and then amplify them...”
Anevka patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, yes. You do that.” She turned back and with a few twists, released Agatha.
Stiffly she slowly climbed down from the bench. At a sign from Anevka,
two more servants took hold of her wrists. Anevka continued. “Take these two troublesome girls and put them in the cell with the others.”
As they were being led away, Vrin rallied and called out, “You will pay for this! When your father and The Order—”
Anevka interrupted her. “My father is dead. And this pathetic girl?” She indicated Agatha. “She is your ‘holy lost child,’ for all the good it will do you.”
This information struck Vrin like a physical blow, and she stared at Agatha in astonishment as they were led away.
As they moved through the deserted corridors, Agatha shivered. She realized that she was still in her underwear and turned to the nearest servant. “I want some clothes.” All of the men chuckled at this.
“I’m sure you do,” the one she addressed replied. Agatha glared at him and spoke again. This time her voice was loud and insistent. “I’m cold and I want some clothes. Now!” All of the servants blinked. And without a word, the man she’d addressed turned and left. They kept walking, but several minutes later, as they came to a thick armored door, he returned at a trot, holding a bundle that Agatha recognized as her outfit. As the lead servant unlocked the door with a complicated looking key, he handed it over. Agatha took it, and then she and a thoughtful Lady Vrin were shoved through the door, which could be heard locking behind them.
Agatha had been a tremendous fan of the Heterodyne Boys novels. On a fairly regular basis, one or the other of the heroic duo had been tossed into cells by cackling villains. Thus, the room before her was oddly familiar. Bare stone walls, a small slit of a window, several bunks covered with mounded blankets, and a plain wooden table were before her.
Agatha looked at the outfit in her hands. “I didn’t expect them to actually get me my clothes,” she remarked. A frown crossed her features.
Her train of thought was interrupted by Vrin coming close and staring into her face. Agatha tried not to flinch. “The Anevka-clank claims that you are The Holy Child. Why?”
Agatha found it difficult to look into the odd eyes of the woman before her. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what all this Holy Child nonsense is about. I’m not even a child. I’m eighteen, thank you very much.”
Vrin blinked. “Eighteen...”
“Klazma? Klazma Vrin?” Both Vrin and Agatha turned in surprise. In the rear of the cell were several bunks, mounded with blankets. One of these mounds moved, and revealed two more Geisterdamen, sleepily rubbing their faintly glowing eyes. With quick movements, they slid from the bunk and began eagerly questioning the Lady Vrin in their own language.
Agatha was obviously the subject of a great deal of the discussion. Vrin’s declaration, “Na fig seg unat plin,” was greeted with exclamations of dubious surprise. Agatha tried to listen to the conversation as she set about stripping her dress of the ruffles and lace that inhibited her movements. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she suspected she would want to be able to move fast.
As she slipped her glasses back on over her ears, one of the Geisterdamen, who had been looking at her intently suddenly started and declared, “Zoy!” along with a lot of other words, the only one of which that Agatha could understand was “actors!”
This started a brief argument between the two, which only ended when Vrin slammed her hand down on the table. She took a deep breath and turned towards Agatha. Agatha could tell that Vrin was unsure about how to deal with her.
Vrin studied her for a moment, and then spoke slowly. “The Geisterdamen have long sought a child who was stolen from us.”
Agatha shrugged apologetically. “I’ve never seen, or even heard of a Geisterdamen child.”
Vrin nodded. “This was a pink child. It was the offspring of the persons you would know of as Lucrezia Mongfish and the Bill Heterodyne.”
Agatha’s felt an odd sensation in her stomach and face went blank. “Really.”
Vrin’s eyes never wavered “A female child. She would indeed be eighteen years old.” Agatha bit her lip. Vrin continued slowly. “And it was said that she would have the Spark.”
Agatha smiled brightly. “Well. That’s fascinating. A lot of people have wondered what your people were doing for all those years. You were searching. For a Heterodyne heir. A lot of people were doing that.”
Vrin continued to study her. Agatha felt compelled to continue. “Well my father was a blacksmith, and I think I would have noticed if he was some sort of legendary hero.”
These were familiar lies, and Agatha felt herself relax as she told them. “As for me being a Spark, well that’s just ridiculous!” She noticed about this time that Vrin was no longer looking directly at her, but instead, slightly to the left of her face. A quick shift of her eyes revealed her faithful little clank, which had crawled from her pocket, and was waving hello at the fascinated Geisterdamen.
Vrin nodded slowly and leaned back against the table. “A blacksmith, you say.”
Agatha sighed. “A really good blacksmith.” She put the little clank on the table and tried to change the subject. “So what happened back there? What’s going on?”
Vrin took a final glance at the pocket-watch clank and then ignored it. The other two Geisters openly stared at it, and one of them actually poked it with her fingers and started making adorable cooing noises at it.
Vrin spoke seriously. “It appears that the royal children have staged a coup. They claim that our liaison, Prince Aaronev is dead.”
Agatha interrupted. “That’s true, I’m afraid. I saw it. The princess, Anevka, electrocuted him.” She paused, and then added, out of a sense of fairness, “Prince Tarvek seemed surprised and rather annoyed about that.”
Vrin raised her eyebrows at this, and then rubbed her brow. “Znug!” she swore.
She looked at Agatha and seemed to come to a decision. “We—” she indicated herself and the other two Geisterdamen, “—Are the priestesses of our Lady, our Goddess. Thus, we are able to command our Lady’s... lesser servants. As you no doubt heard, the Royal Children appear to be trying to recreate the true voice of our Lady, which could compel not only these lesser servants, but us as well.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” Agatha asked. “She was analyzing my voice. Do I really sound like that? Like your god—like your Lady?” She paused as the implications struck her. “What if I told you to kneel?”
Vrin actually smiled. “Why, I’d probably laugh so hard, I’d only slap you twice.”
Agatha stepped back. “What?”
“The voice they seek is... very much like yours.” She considered. “Especially when you are angry, I think. But even if you are the child we seek, a child is never exactly the same as her mother. Even with us—” Vrin stopped as she realized that she was getting off the subject. “But we can discuss this later. Now, we must escape this place.” She looked over at the table. Eotain had the little clank dancing on the palm of her hand. “Can your little device open doors?”
Agatha shook her head. “Not without tools, but—” Suddenly she remembered Lars’ gift, and slid the ring off of her finger. She fiddled with it a moment, and suddenly, with a satisfying “pung,” it unfolded. “—We do have a lock pick.”
Vrin looked at Agatha with a new respect. “Impressive.”
Agatha smiled. “Okay, now let’s get out of here!” With that she knelt down and proceeded to tinker with the lock mechanism. After a few terse instructions from Vrin, all three of the Geisterdamen prepared to deal with the outside guards.
Ten minutes later, they were leaning against the table, arms folded, as Agatha continued to work at the lock. Vrin leaned in. “You have no idea how to use that thing, do you?”
Agatha sat back on her heels and blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Yes, well, they didn’t cover this in holy rug rat school.”
Vrin grabbed Agatha’s shoulder and jerked her to her feet. “Speak with respect! I do not care who you are, you will not mock our quest. It is all to us.”
Agatha bit back a retort,
paused, and then said quietly, “Maybe you should explain it to me.”
Vrin looked surprised, then nodded slowly. She sat Agatha down on one of the cell’s beds, and then sat opposite her. She thought for a minute, and then started speaking. Her voice took on a storyteller’s cadence.
“Since the beginning of all things, we have served our eternal lady. No matter how long her absence from our presence, we knew she would always return to us.
“From when I was a novice, she visited us frequently, always in the same lovely aspect. She helped us increase our crops. Helped us make stronger children. Those were happy days in the City of Silver Light.” Vrin paused.
“But then the Day of Reckoning occurred, as we knew it must. As the Lady herself had foretold. She came to us in high distress. The Gods were at war, and as had been foretold, she carried within her own body the Holy Child.
“It was the Time of the Final Prophecy, beyond which even Our Lady could not see. We were to prepare for The Great Battle, even though we knew she would be taken from us.
“But still we had hope. For we had been given a task. Our only task, the reason we had been created. We were to protect the Holy Child. Protect her from those whom we knew would try to steal her away from us.
“We knew when they would come. We knew what they would do. We knew their powers and abilities—”
Vrin paused. Agatha could see that she was shaken by these memories. The two Geisterdamen reached out and touched her shoulders in support. She took a deep breath and continued.
“And yet, knowing all that, we still failed. We failed utterly. The enemies of our Lady were too strong. Our Lady was taken from us and the Child had been stolen. There were no more prophecies. It was The End of History. The end of our world.”
Vrin stared bleakly at Agatha in silence. Then, astonishingly, she smiled. “But when your world ends, apparently a new one glides in to take its place. The sun rose. The stars wheeled across the sky. Sisters realized they were getting hungry. So... we sat down and ate. It was the last meal and the first.