Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess

by Phil Foglio; Kaja Foglio

  “I don’t know!” Agatha shouted. “He disappeared years ago!”

  Zeetha staggered back, her eyes wide. “No!” she whispered. With a shimmer of steel, her swords appeared in her hands. “No, No, NO! NOOOO!” she screamed like an animal as the swords wove a glittering arc around them. Suddenly, Zeetha seemed to catch herself. Eyes still wild, she slammed her swords back into their scabbards and ran off, howling.

  All around Agatha, objects began to fall apart. The people nearby slowly unfroze and turned to stare at Agatha.

  The old man with the vest remarked, “Huh. She’s never done that before.”

  A tall girl with a great mass of dark curly hair and an astonishing amount of exposed cleavage burst from the nearest caravan. “Smoke and the devil! What was that all about?”

  An intense young woman in a grey leather uniform shrugged. “I have no idea. The two of them were just talking—and then Zeetha went nuts.”

  The tall girl turned to Agatha, who was still stunned. “What happened?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know!” Agatha wailed. “We were talking about Skifander and—”

  The girl interrupted. “Wait—You’ve heard of Skifander? Really?”

  Agatha looked at her. “Yes. Really.” The look on the girl’s face prompted her to ask, “Why is that so surprising?”

  The tall girl slowly sat down. She studied Agatha intently for a minute and then nodded to herself. “Sorry. I’m one of the few friends Zeetha has.” Agatha thought, rather uncharitably, that she was surprised Zeetha had any friends at all.

  The girl introduced herself. “I’m Olga Žiga. Listen. Zeetha was—is—from this Skifander place. Apparently it’s some ancient lost city in the jungle or a cavern or something.”

  Agatha nodded. She could believe it. “Lost” civilizations were surprisingly common, even outside of the Wastelands. Two years ago, a group of students had discovered one under old Rudolf’s Delicatessen back in Beetleburg.

  “Well a few years ago, this Skifander got itself ‘discovered’ by some Spark’s expedition. When the explorers were ready to head back to civilization, the Queen decided to send one of her warriors out with them, an explorer of her own to go see what the rest of the world was getting up to. Zeetha was chosen. It was a big honor. She’s actually a member the Royal Family, though she doesn’t go on about it.

  “On the journey here, she got really sick. Feverish. She doesn’t remember anything about the trip—except the hallucinations, and from her description, they were pretty awful. Floating around, furniture on the ceiling—wild stuff. Then, just as she was getting back on her feet, their airship was attacked by pirates.”

  “They killed everyone else on board, but decided to spare her. Personally, I think it was her hair. It’s really naturally green, you know, and really pretty when she treats it well. They probably thought they could sell an exotic like her for a nice sum8. Plus, by then, she must’ve looked pretty helpless.

  “Anyway, they took reasonably good care of her. That meant that by the time they got back to their fortress and let her out of her cell, she was nice and healthy. Oh, and in case I hadn’t mentioned it before, Skifander is apparently some sort of city of warriors, and Zeetha had to earn her spot on the trip by beating everyone one else who wanted to go. So, as you might guess, she’s a really good warrior.

  “Well, she took them all on. All the pirates in the fortress. All of them. And she won. She killed them all. Again… All of them.”

  Olga paused, and Agatha thought she looked a little embarrassed. “Like I said, a good fighter, but… thinking really isn’t her strong suit. So it wasn’t until she’d finished them all off and burned down the fortress that she realized that she’d just killed anyone who might’ve had a clue about where she’d originally come from.”

  Olga sat back and sighed, smoothing her hair with a clash of bracelets. “Since then she’s been wandering all over Europa looking for a way home. She joined up with us almost two years ago.” She looked Agatha in the eye. “And you’re the first person, anywhere, who’s even heard of this Skifander.”

  Agatha puffed a lock of hair up out of her face. “I see. That explains her reaction.” Agatha thought a moment. “I wish I knew more, but my uncle never said where Skifander was. He just told stories about it.”

  Olga stood. “But at least you’ve heard of it. Most of the others—” she glanced around. “Well, I think at least some of the others think she was just making it all up. And… Zeetha can tell. That really wears on her. You see how she is.”

  At this moment, Pix rounded the corner of a wagon. “Agatha!” she called out. “Master Payne is ready to see you!”

  Olga stood. “Ah, I’ve got to pack. Nice meeting you.” She took Agatha’s hand. “I’m so glad you’ve heard of Skifander. It’s been bothering her so much. Even if you don’t know anything else…well… thank you for that.” Olga turned with a wave and vanished back into her wagon.

  Agatha turned to Pix, and the two set off together. Pix looked sideways at her curiously. “You’ve really heard about Zeetha’s Skifander?”

  “It was years ago,” Agatha admitted, “But my uncle traveled all over. He talked about it like it was a real place.”

  Pix digested this. “And where are you heading?”

  “Mechanicsburg.” Agatha replied.

  “Ah. The home of the Heterodynes. That’s quite a way. You have family there?”

  Agatha considered this. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  Pix nodded. “Your best bet is to head west.” She gestured over the trees. “Do you have a compass?” Agatha shook her head. “Oh, well, I’ll bet we can find one for you to take with you easily enough. I’ll ask around before you go.”

  Agatha nodded. A sinking feeling began to grow inside her chest. It didn’t sound like they were going to let her stay.

  A shrill mechanical squeal filled the air. Next to them, a wagon covered in garish gear designs rocked to a halt, wobbling slightly as it balanced upon a single, central wheel.

  A diminutive woman with dark skin and a grimy leather mechanic’s coverall swore and threw a large wrench to the ground. “What the hell is it now?” she screamed.

  Agatha stepped up and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but that noise means that your gyro gear needs repacking.” The woman gave her long, blank, stare, but an older man, seated at the wagon’s controls, slapped his thigh and laughed heartily. “Aha! See? It is as I told you!”

  The woman frowned and turned away from Agatha in irritation. “Ah, what does she know?”

  Agatha bristled. “I know that it’s a Duchy of Blenshaf Gyro Wheel,” she said frostily. “Your wobble plate is loose, and it also sounds like you’ve neglected to replace the sponge dampers. Probably because you can’t find new ones. They’re hard to get these days. You can make an acceptable replacement out of horse dung and straw. And from the way your wheel is spalling, it’s obvious that that you don’t have the correct formula for tread gunk.”

  The short woman turned back, all traces of annoyance gone. She regarded Agatha with interest. “You know Gyro Wheels,” she stated.

  Agatha nodded, slightly mollified. “My dad was a mechanic. We saw these all the time.”

  The man in the driver’s seat was grinning. He had fair skin, bleached yellow hair, and a wide jaw. When he grinned, it covered a fair amount of his face. He also had a mechanical forearm and hand which he raised, pushing back his cap. He leaned forward. “Say, if you are going to being sticking around, would you want a working job?”

  Agatha blinked. “What?” Behind her, Pix grimaced in exasperation and covered her eyes with one hand.

  “I am Captain Kadiiski. Me and Rivet—” He indicated the woman, who gave her a friendly nod, “We have the dubious honor of being the poor, put-upon mechanics for this noisy collection of divas and geeks. But I must admit, with some small embarrassment, that the Lady Rivet and myself are what you would call piston-leg men. This miserable whe
el has got us smoked.”

  Rivet nodded. “We could use another competent mechanic around here anyway.”

  Pix spoke up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Reluctantly, Agatha agreed. “Yes, I’ve got to get to Mechanicsburg.”

  Rivet once again looked at her blankly. “So what’s the problem? We’ll be performing at Mechanicsburg in a month or two. Big cheese festival.”

  Agatha turned to look at Pix. “Really.” Pix rolled her eyes.

  Rivet continued, “Oh yeah. And in the meantime, you’ll actually earn—”

  “Rivet! Shut! Up!”

  All three of them stared at Pix. Kadiiski frowned. “What is your problem of the sudden?”

  “The problem,” a voice boomed from behind them, “Is that this Miss Clay cannot travel with us.”

  Agatha turned and stared. Before her stood one of the largest men she had ever seen, followed by several other members of the troupe. A quick reassessment and she realized that while he was tall, he wasn’t exceptionally tall, and while he was heavy, he wasn’t excessively fat, it was just that he… loomed large. This, she realized, was a man who filled the space he was in, whatever that space happened to be. He had a broad face framed by a mane of wild reddish brown hair, as well as a full beard and moustache. His eyes were magnified in a mesmerizing way by his small, thick spectacles.

  He wore layer upon layer of waistcoats, each adorned with pockets, piping, buttons and chains, none of which matched. The whole ensemble was enveloped by a huge, elaborate coat covered with embroidered stars, moons and comets. At his throat was a family sigil badge, which, strikingly, was completely blank.

  The man’s voice matched the rest of him. It was solid and booming, and in this instance, grim. It was a voice which allowed no argument.

  He addressed Agatha: “Miss Clay, I am Master Payne. I am sorry I must be so blunt. You did us a favor by returning young Balthazar, and we are grateful. But this is my circus, and I am responsible for the safety of the people in it. For that reason, our roads must diverge here.”

  Captain Kadiiski looked at Agatha, puzzled, then turned back to Master Payne. “What is wrong with her?” he asked.

  The circus master made a chopping motion with his hand, signaling an end to any discussion. “She is on the run from Baron Wulfenbach. Her reasons are her own, and I do not wish to know them. But even ordinary townsfolk might be punished simply for aiding her.” He fixed an eye on the mechanic, “And we have our own concerns, as you well know.”

  The Captain stepped back unhappily, and several of the other circus members glanced at each other nervously. Payne turned back to Agatha. His face was sympathetic, but his voice remained firm. “We don’t want any trouble from The Baron, Miss Clay. We will forget that we ever saw you, but that, and wishing you luck, is the best that we can do.”

  They all looked at her. Agatha took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I do understand,” she said quietly. “I’d better leave right away. Krosp?”

  She looked around. The cat was not to be found. Suddenly, they heard a great yowling intermixed with swearing, and the intense young woman in grey leathers came around the corner, holding a thrashing Krosp by the scruff of his neck. She was furious.

  “It ate them!” she screamed. “It ate my entire herd of mimmoths!” Every word was punctuated by a serious shake. “It took me a month just to get them to wear their little costumes! Mr. Honk had just learned to do the peanut trick! And this flea-riddled thing ATE them!”

  “Sorry!” the beleaguered cat wailed.

  The trainer froze. She stared at Krosp. “Did you just talk?”

  The cat’s eyes swiveled to Agatha and then back to his captor. “Yes?” he ventured.

  She briefly considered this, and shook him again. “Not good enough!” She declared. “But when I’m done with you—”

  Master Payne stepped in. “Professor Moonsock! Release the cat! They are leaving us.”

  The Professor glared at the large man, but she instantly let go. Krosp landed on his feet, then dashed behind Agatha’s skirt. “We’re leaving?” he asked.

  Agatha nodded. “I… I’m sorry about your mimmoths, Professor. Um… Goodbye, Herr de la Scala. And, um,” she looked back at the two mechanics, “thank you for the offer.”

  She then turned to the Pix, who was looking away with her jaw set hard. The girl had been rude and unfriendly, and yet, Agatha felt an odd sense of disappointment. She found didn’t want to go without saying something. “Goodbye Pix. You… you really are a good actress.”

  She turned towards the woods and blinked hard. “Let’s go, Krosp.” Without a look back, she marched off into the surrounding forest, Krosp trailing behind.

  The others watched them go. Guilt showed on many faces, but not Pix’s. She stared at the ground woodenly as the pair departed.

  Abner kicked a stone at his feet. “That was cold. The least you could’ve done was given her a kind word,” he said to her back.

  Pix whirled on him and Abner stepped back as he saw the tears flowing from her eyes. “Oh? Why?” she snarled, “She’s doomed! Didn’t you hear? She’s in the Wastelands alone! I… I liked her! She seemed… I don’t know, like someone I could have talked to! But I don’t care! I don’t want to get near Wulfenbach or anybody like him! No matter how nice, or smart, or, or interesting she is, she’d bring him and his monsters right down on our heads. You know she would! So she can’t stay here and now she’ll die. Well I’ve seen lots of people die and friendship and kindness never helped them.”

  Abner looked sick, “But that’s so—couldn’t we—”

  Pix punched him in the chest. “You are such an idiot!” she screamed and stamped off.

  Abner stared after her, holding his hand to his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite his attempts at conversation, Pix had never said much about her life before the Circus. He had already suspected it hadn’t been a happy one—Pix had been alone when she joined, with no friends or family to leave behind. Now, he wondered what had happened to her, that her reaction to Agatha had been so fearful, and so vehement.

  Payne also watched her go. He patted his apprentice on the back. “The Countess will give me hell about this,” he rumbled. “But Pix is right, if a bit overdramatic. Now, let’s move out.” When next he spoke, his voice boomed out over the entire camp. “And we move On Stage!”

  All across the camp, people exchanged worried looks. Many glanced nervously at the sky. Traveling “On Stage” was dangerous.

  Agatha realized that she had to stop moving, at least for a little while. She had come to the edge of the woods, and the ground ahead of her was a wide field of broken stone. She had marched over the previous hill on automatic-pilot, but this rough ground would require more attention than she currently felt capable of mustering. With a deep sigh, she sat on a boulder and contemplated the rocks ahead. They looked sharp.

  Krosp gingerly settled next to her. Agatha realized that he’d been trying to talk to her, but she had been walking in a fog, and nothing had registered. He tried again. “Well. That could have gone better.”

  Agatha gazed blankly up at the sky and sighed again. “I know you said that people would look after their own, but I never thought we could harm people just by talking to them.”

  Krosp frowned. “They did seem a bit jumpy…” he waved it away. “But we were planning on avoiding people anyway.”

  Agatha nodded. “I know, but the way they were talking about the Wastelands… and they’re people who actually know their way around out here… Krosp, I don’t know if we can do this alone.”

  Krosp twisted in place to gaze back the way they had come. Even in the midday sun, the forest behind them looked dark. He slumped slightly. “I don’t see that we have a lot of choice.”

  Agatha stood up. “No. No choice at all, really.”

  At that moment, a hellish noise rolled through the woods. Loud mechanical grinding and thumping sounds were mixed by the wild,
thin shrieks of horses and the confused shouts of people.

  Leaping to her feet, Agatha ran back through the woods. Krosp ran behind her, shouting at her to wait. They quickly arrived at the crest of the hill and stopped, brought up short by what they saw. Master Payne’s circus was on the move at last, but it had definitely chosen the wrong direction.

  A large, crab-like clank was breaking noisily through a last bit of forest and lumbering towards the wagons. Agatha had heard of such things—machines of war abandoned or lost in the Wastelands. This one had most likely been lying dormant for years. Its metal surface was rusted and pitted. Lichen and small bushes grew from cracks in its carapace. One of its mechanical fore-claws had been torn off some time in the past, but this did not stop the clank from wrecking havoc with the remaining stump of jagged metal. Exposed and damaged wiring crackled at the torn joint.

  The wagon drivers had seen it approaching, and were attempting to disperse, but between the spring-swollen river and the walls of the valley, there simply wasn’t enough space for them to turn easily en masse.

  To make matters worse, the clank’s rusty mechanism ground against itself painfully, producing ear-splitting grinding and shrieking noises. The noise was driving the horses into a frenzy. Drivers were yelling and swearing, cracking their whips furiously. Others risked being trampled as they hung onto bridles and tried to physically drag the horses about. Two wagons had already tipped over, and as Agatha watched, another went down, dragging its horses onto their sides, where they thrashed and screamed trying to break free.

  As the old contraption cleared the trees, a great cracked lens, set into the face of the clank, began to glow. With a flare, a focused stream of green flame shot out and set a trapped horse aflame. The panic increased, and the wagons trying to escape rammed themselves into an impenetrable tangle.

  The clank lurched toward the terrified people. “Wow.” Observed Krosp. “That’s not good.” He frowned. “Wait. Don’t they have any defenses? They’re scattering like geese!”

  Suddenly, a lone cart drove wildly away from the group, straight along the road toward the attacker. The clank, apparently attracted by whatever moving object was closest to it, paused as the cart swept past it and away down the road. It then swiveled about on its six legs, shot out a billow of smoke, and began to pursue the escaping wagon. Agatha realized that the road would lead both cart and clank directly beneath the ridge where she and Krosp stood.