Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess

by Phil Foglio; Kaja Foglio

  He gripped her arm tightly. “Shhh! Geisterdamen,” he whispered.

  Agatha slowly turned to look, then froze in shock. Before them were a pair of gigantic, blue-white furred spiders. Eight long legs hoisted each creature’s body easily six meters up into the air. They wore harnesses and saddles, with packs, gear and weapons strapped behind. Astride each of these monsters was a tall, slender young woman. Moving only her eyes, Agatha glanced back and forth between the two and realized that they were identical. Both had extremely pale skin, long flowing white hair, and the same peculiar outfit of folded and draped fabric. Chillingly, both also had the same wide, pupil-less eyes.

  The women were regarding Agatha with interest. Their spiders leaned down until the riders scrutinized her from less than two meters away.

  “Twerlik?” The far one was apparently asking a question21.

  The closer one raised a staff and casually pointed it at Agatha. “Su fig?” She responded. She leaned back. “Klibber meeenak seg ni plostok vedik kliz moc twerlik?”

  The second rider frowned. “Zo—zo flooda vedik.”

  “Botcha hey za vedik moc nodok.”

  “Za nedik eve za gwoon.”

  “Hic mok?”

  The second rider shrugged and indicated the circus’ camp. “Zo—voco cheeb? Kloopa. Obongs. Set ve?” She crossed her arms. “Za ‘actors.’”

  This startled the first rider almost as much as it did Lars and Agatha. “Actors!”

  The second rider made a clicking noise and her spider straightened up and began striding off. The first rider followed suit. Agatha could hear her asking plaintively, “Woge-ze fleepin bo ‘actors,’ bin?”

  This was answered with a derisive, “Yan, do hip za cheeb.”

  “Hif ni!”

  And with that final exchange, the strange women and their giant mounts were swallowed up among the trees.

  Lars abruptly sat down on the ground. He looked ill. “I didn’t even hear them coming,” he moaned.

  “Who were they?” Agatha asked.

  “People call them Geisterdamen. Weißdamen. Spider Riders… all kinds of things. They’ve been around for a long time now. They’re always on the move. Nobody knows anything about them, really.” Lars paused before continuing:

  “Except—you don’t want to fight them. They’re really dangerous when you do that. Farmers say that they cause revenants, steal children, blight crops…” He took a deep breath and then bounced to his feet and grinned. “Of course, they say the same things about traveling shows, so…”

  Agatha was still staring at the opening in the trees where the giant spiders had disappeared. “I’ve never even heard of them.”

  Lars shrugged. “There’re lots of things hiding in the Wastelands that you townies never hear about.” He looked at Agatha appraisingly. “Want us to drop you off at the next town?”

  Agatha looked steadily back at him. “No thanks.”

  Several of the other circus members burst into the clearing. “You two okay?” Abner asked.

  Lars shook his head. “I swear, Ab, I didn’t even hear them coming!” A thought struck him. “Is Balthazar—?”

  Abner waved his hands. “He’s safe.”

  Captain Kadiiski, who had insisted that Agatha call him Otto (“As you are obviously a civilian”), took his hat off and wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. “I hates me those creepy girls,” he confided to Agatha. “You should come with me,” he continued. “A wagon we have now prepared for you.”

  This was welcome news. Agatha appreciated Professor Moonsock’s hospitality, but the animal trainer had clearly grown oblivious to the smells of her performers, and seemed to find nothing off-putting about mimmoths nesting in the bread-box.

  As she followed Captain Kadiiski away, Abner turned to Lars and asked, “So—Just before the White-eyes turned up—did I hear part of West Pole?”

  Lars nodded. “Indeed you did. I think we should roll it out for the next town.”

  Abner sighed the sigh of a manager who has to deal with persnickety talent. “Put it on the list. There’s a bunch I’d like to do, but it’s got a lot of Lucrezia in it, and our Prima Donna hates playing Lucrezia.”

  Lars nodded, and his head turned toward the receding Agatha. “This may no longer be a problem.”

  Abner blinked. “Oh, really? You think she’s that good?” He appraised Agatha’s retreating form with new eyes. “Now I wonder how Pix will react to that?” His evil chuckle was cut off when he realized it would be his job to tell her.

  Lars punched his shoulder in sympathy. “Go get her, Arlecchino.”

  Otto led Agatha through the camp and stopped with an arm grandly outstretched toward a wagon that stood slightly apart from the rest. “So sorry, Agatha, but as you are the new kid, you got to take the old Baba Yaga.”

  Agatha, however, was delighted. The contraption before her had a standard wagon body, approximately three meters wide and six long. It was shaped like a miniature Russian dacha, with the addition of a small onion dome jauntily perched atop the curved, peaked roof. The whole exterior was beautifully carved and then meticulously painted in several dozen garish colors. In this at least, it matched the rest of the circus wagons. What set this wagon apart was that, instead of wheels, it stood high above the ground on an enormous set of beautifully detailed mechanical chicken feet.

  Agatha had admired it from afar. Until she had joined the circus, she had never seen anything like it, which, considering Adam’s “love of a good challenge,” was a pretty high bar to beat. She had wanted to get a better look at it, but had been too busy—and now it would be hers?

  Wonderingly, she reached out and ran her hand over one of the enormous drumsticks. It was covered in individual, gilded metal feathers. Rivet’s head popped out from behind the mechanical claw. She grinned at Agatha. “Oh you’re going to love this.”

  Agatha already did22, but her spirits began to droop as Otto and Rivet continued:

  “Driving her is the bear,” Otto grunted. “She is a double-clutch Belgian overgear snap-piston system. They never really caught on. Smart girl like you should get it in a month or so. Or you will die in embarrassing stick-shift accident.” Agatha surveyed the tangle of open-gear operating levers. This was an all-too-possible scenario.

  “There’s no gyros or shock absorbers to speak of,” Rivet contributed. “She steers like an ox.” She led Agatha toward the back. “She moves well on rough terrain, which means you’ll pull ahead of the rest of the troupe. This is good—” She pointed to a small wood stove set atop the rear bumper, “because you’ll have to stop every twenty minutes to refuel the boiler. If you’re not careful, this will also make you an honorary point rider, which means you’ve got a good possibility of flushing out any beasties that might be lying in wait on the road ahead. So be careful and try not to get too far ahead of the group.”

  Otto nodded. “Plus, the roof, she leaks.” He thought for a moment. “Oh yes, and if you do not park her correctly, the left leg piston will start to lose pressure, and she will fall over sometime in the night.” He clapped his hands together. “Boom,” he said glumly.

  Agatha looked at him from under lowered brows. “Anything else?”

  Otto waved his hand dismissively. “No. I personally am not one of those who believe that it is haunted. That is nonsense, no matter what everyone says.”

  Rivet tried to lighten the mood. “The good news is that you get to bunk solo.”

  Agatha glared at them. “If all that is true, then this thing is a walking disaster area! Why do you even bother to keep it running?”

  Rivet opened a hatch. A double row of jeweled ovals, each meticulously etched with swirling patterns and encrusted with glittering jewels were revealed. She shrugged. “We need the eggs.”

  At dinner, Agatha was again dragooned into helping serve. When she finally had time to eat, the food was filling and delicious. In addition to the promised borscht, there were succulent roast hares and fresh loaves of poppy-seed
bread. Taki, the cook, had kept Agatha busy all afternoon, basting the hares with a spicy yogurt mixture. For dessert, the cook opened a large stone crock and dished out a creamy sweet cheese, which everyone eagerly slathered upon the remaining crusts of bread.

  Thinking of Lilith and her warnings on the subject of strong drink, Agatha contented herself with several cups of the Countess’ specially-brewed sweet tea.

  During the meal, members of the troupe took turns entertaining the rest with music, sleight-of-hand, and assorted soliloquies. Some of these last were touching, some amusing, and one made absolutely no sense to Agatha, although Zeetha had found it hilarious, especially the part about the mad doctor and the impossibly tiny man who played the piano.

  One of the more outré performers, a tall Asiatic fellow who appeared to be covered in luxuriant golden fur, who introduced himself as Yeti, successfully juggled various fruits and vegetables even as Zeetha sliced them into smaller and smaller bits.

  As Agatha helped clear the plates and bowls away, the party split into two groups, one playing musical instruments, the other dancing merrily. Everyone was relaxed and happy, and the conversations were fascinating, but the second time Agatha nodded off, and then jerked awake, she gave up. She said good night to her companions and headed for bed.

  Exhausted, Agatha climbed aboard the Baba Yaga and gently shut the door behind her. She pulled herself up a short ladder to the sleeping compartment, which ran the entire length of the vehicle. The wagon bed was tilted slightly forward, thus Agatha had to pull herself upslope just to reach the back wall. There she managed to fold down the bunk platform. As she was adjusting the heavy support chains so that the bed would lie level, Krosp leapt up from below. He found one of the small windows, and curled up on the deep sill. His tail lashed jerkily.

  “What’s with you?” Agatha asked. She found a built-in cedar chest and exclaimed over the luxurious eiderdown-filled mattress she found inside.

  Krosp peered out the window. Outside, the music continued, along with the occasional burst of laughter and appreciative whistling. He turned away. “There’s something these people aren’t telling us.”

  Agatha opened another chest and pulled out a patchwork quilt that looked as if it had been made from old costumes. She arranged it on the bed. “That’s not surprising,” she said, after a deep yawn. “We’re certainly not telling them everything about us.”

  Krosp waved a paw dismissively. “That’s their problem.”

  Agatha finished tucking in the quilt. “What exactly is bothering you?”

  “These people have no weapons. Well, no weapons worth anything, anyway. There are smells… that make me think they’ve got something, somewhere, but I’ve been looking around—and there’s nothing!”

  Agatha frowned. “Those pointy things most of the guys are wearing are called ‘swords.’ The blunt ones are called ‘guns.’”

  Krosp hissed and began to pace the length of the compartment. “Please. I mean real weapons. When that crab clank attacked, they scattered and ran!”

  Agatha frowned. “Well, of course they did. So? Their guns are just guns. The Baron doesn’t let people have anything too Sparky. So they wouldn’t do much against a clank like that.”

  “That’s just it! I read some of Wulfenbach’s reports about the Wastelands. That clank was nothing compared to some of the stuff that’s supposed to be out here—and yet we’re supposed to believe that these people have been traveling around out here for years—essentially unarmed?” He sat and glared out the window. “They should all be dead!” Agatha climbed aboard the bed and began to undress. Krosp continued musing. “No. They must have something.”

  Agatha frowned. “But then why didn’t they use it against that crab clank?”

  Krosp looked at Agatha. “The only thing that makes sense is that they were hiding it from you.”

  Agatha frowned. “From me?”

  The cat nodded. “That clank attacked right after we left. They couldn’t be sure we’d gone far enough.”

  “But why?”

  Krosp slumped. “I… don’t know. Maybe it’s just that you’re a stranger?” he said unconvincingly.

  Agatha shook her head. “Krosp, that thing picked up Olga and fried her. What could I possibly do that would be worse than that?”

  Krosp pounded his little paw against his forehead. “I don’t know! I’m missing something!”

  He turned and came face-to-face with a little clank that looked like a pocket-watch. It had legs, arms, and a single mechanical eye that peered at him curiously. It waved at him and chimed.

  The cat shot underneath Agatha’s skirt. “Where did that come from?” he yowled, peeking out from underneath the hem.

  Agatha smiled. “It’s one of mine. I found it hiding on the airship.” She paused, “Well, I suppose ‘hiding’ is the wrong word, its spring had run down.”

  Krosp glared at the device. “I don’t like it.”

  Agatha used a foot to push him out from under her skirt. “You don’t have to. Anyway, it’s harmless, I have to wind it every day or it’ll stop.”

  Krosp looked unconvinced. He jumped onto the bed and licked his paw, then settled down in the exact center. “Pity it’s so useless. Now, that gun you built—that we should have kept.”

  Agatha finished getting undressed—leaving her camisole and long pantalettes to serve in place of a nightgown. “We’ve been over that. Leaving it on the grave was supposed to look like a mark of respect for the stranger who saved them from the crab-clank. To make Wulfenbach think I was the one in there, right? Anyway, like I said, the Baron’s people would never have let us keep it.”

  Krosp, still in the center of the bed, kneaded the quilt up into a tidy little nest around him. “Yes, yes…” he muttered, laying his head on his paws and preparing to sleep.

  “Besides,” said Agatha casually, “We don’t really need it.” She reached into her travel bag and pulled out a device made of wood, glass, and what looked like decorative brass tubes pulled off the calliope. “I’ve already built a better one.”

  Krosp jerked upright. “You’re worried too.”

  Agatha nodded as she scooped up the cat and deposited him at the foot of the bed. “Not worried, exactly…” she said, as she slid beneath the quilt, “I just have this… odd feeling. And it’s been getting stronger all day.”

  Several hours later, the last of the musicians yawned and declared themselves too tired to play another note. As the troupe headed off toward the wagons, Master Payne tucked his petite-gaffophone under his arm and frowned. “A bit of a late night for you, isn’t it Lars?”

  Lars waved reassuringly. “I can stand the occasional late night. Besides—” He glanced over at the wagon that he shared with Abner, “Ab’s talking to Pix about Race to the West Pole.” The Countess and Master Payne grimaced. Pix was known for her temper, and she had been the troupe’s unrivaled leading lady ever since she joined. Even if she didn’t like playing Lucrezia, no one was quite sure how she would react to another actress taking what she would see as “her” role. Still, they hadn’t heard any actual shouting…

  Lars continued, “Anyway I figure they’re into the ‘kiss and make up’ part by now, and if I’m any judge, that’ll go on for a while. I thought I’d just take the first watch. I’ll still be good to go in the morning, never fear. Augie and I will be waiting for you slow coaches in the next town.”

  Payne nodded, “Fare thee well then,” and with his arm tucked around the sleepy Countess, he took his leave.

  Lars stood up, stretched, and tossed a few more logs onto the fire. Around him, the circus settled in for the night. The murmur of the last few conversations dwindled away. Otto’s stentorian snoring could faintly be heard, despite the excessive amount of soundproofing André and Rivet had designed for his wagon. Soon the only sounds were the popping and crackling of the fire. Despite his assurances to Master Payne, Lars felt his eyelids drooping.

  A sudden clatter brought him up to a crouch,
his hand on his sword hilt. It sounded like it had come from the makeshift paddock. Slowly a shape materialized against the darkness. Lars stood still, and then blew out a sigh of relief. It was the new horse—the one Abner had ridden back to camp. The animal had somehow broken its tether and was wandering loose.

  Lars held out his hand and slowly moved toward the horse. It watched him for a moment, like a pet pony expecting a carrot. Then it opened its mouth, revealing several rows of sharp, glittering teeth. Lars froze in astonishment. The monster snarled, reared up on its hind legs and leapt at him, easily covering the intervening six meters.

  His reflexes taking over, Lars dropped and rolled toward the creature, yelling as loudly as he could as it landed directly above him. He scrambled for footing as the monster twisted about, feet stamping furiously as it tried to crush him.

  With his feet under him, Lars launched himself sideways and landed near the fire, grabbing a protruding branch as he tumbled past. He heard the creature’s scream of rage as it leapt after him, and, ignoring the pain in his hand, he thrust the burning wood up into the monster’s face. The beast snarled as it lunged forward, jaws snapping over the flames. Lars was showered with burning embers as the branch shattered. He desperately scrabbled backward, staring in horror as the beast swallowed the burning stick. The monster was preparing to lunge, when a voice shouted—“Eyes!”

  The monster whipped its head toward the sound, but Lars slapped his hand over his eyes.

  FOOM! A blue actinic glare lit the entire area. Lars could sense it, even from behind his shielding hand. The horse-creature screamed in rage and pain as it staggered back.

  The next instant, a fusillade of shots struck its side. The firing continued for almost a full minute. The force of the shots knocked the beast to the ground, until finally, Otto lowered his mechanical arm and dug into his pocket for more bullets. “I hit it directly!” he yelled. “Is dead, yes?”