“It iz zo nize, ven married pipple tok to each odder.” He leapt to the ground and slumped back against the wagon and grinned. “Und now, Hy tink hyu should tok to me.” He smiled at the Countess. “But mitout de pan.”
Several minutes later, the three were walking a short way away from the circus. Dimo was silent. Finally the Countess asked, “Will you help us?”
Dimo looked at her and grinned in a way that made her squirm. “Eet soundz like fun. Bot—” He held up a clawed finger, “Hy gots to discuss hit vit Maxim and Oggie.”
“Do you think they’ll agree?”
Dimo laughed and deftly slid his arm around the Countess’ waist and drew her close. “For a nize doll like hyu, ve do all kindz uf tings!”
Marie stiffened. “Do you mind?”
Dimo looked surprised, and then darted a look at Payne, standing next to him. A light dawned. “Ho! Yaz!” He dropped his voice to what he no doubt thought a whisper. “Ve gots to be sobtle in front uv you’s haitch… oh… zee… bee…” A worried look crossed his face, and he gave up. He jerked a thumb in Payne’s direction. “Hyu know, heem.” Payne rolled his eyes.
At that moment, they heard a sound drifting through the air. Marie stopped dead. “What in the world is that?”
Dimo smirked. “Ho! Hy knows dot vun. My family vos musical. Dot—” he pronounced, “Iz music!”
The two humans regarded him blankly for a moment. Then Payne spun about. “No!” A look of shock crossed his face. “No, it can’t be!” He took off at a run and the other two followed.
To Payne’s amazement, the source of the sound was indeed, the Silverodeon.
The original instrument had been a simple steam calliope that had been fitted with some organ pipes salvaged from an old church. For the next twenty years it had been hauled around to various harvest festivals and occasionally used to scare bats out of barns.
The circus had discovered it after it had been smashed by a particularly large and grumpy bat, who had gone on to take down several airships before one of the Empire’s warships had blown it apart.
That rusty collection of cheap iron and old brass bore no resemblance to the glittering contraption that was still unfolding from the wagon bed as the magician approached.
Clusters of pipes and tubes sprouted upwards from the back of the instrument, resembling some sort of art nouveau hedgehog. Along the side, valves and pistons rippled, catching the eye and drawing it to the cockpit, where at least four keyboards, as well as what appeared to be the controls from an ancient locomotive, were being played by Agatha39.
Sweat poured from her as she played, great sweeping arpeggios and surging waves of melody that sent shivers down the spines of her listeners. This was the first time that Agatha had played—really played, since the shackles had been removed from her mind. She found the music triggering feelings and emotions within her that she strove to express, a creative cycle that went on and on and on.
The listeners never were able to determine just how long they stood there, enraptured by the music, but when it ended, when Agatha finally brought her hands down in a final gentle chord and slumped forward, many of them found themselves weeping and cheering simultaneously. Agatha jerked up, amazed that everyone was suddenly there. A sudden pain in her fingers caused her to grimace, and then smile ruefully. She was out of practice.
Rivet awoke to find herself next to André, who was standing stock still, as if he was afraid that when he moved, he would forget everything he had just heard. “But it was junked,” she said to him. “You said it was just to keep her busy.”
André smiled at her. “Never have I been so glad to be wrong.”
Payne plowed his way through the crowd and stopped next to the cockpit. “Miss Clay, I’m…” he gave up. “I’m speechless.”
Agatha blinked. “Is that good?”
The Countess smiled, “It’s practically unheard of.” This earned her a snort from Payne.
Agatha winced apologetically. “Please don’t think it’s done, I just wanted to test the keyboards.” Payne stared at her. Agatha nervously buffed a bit of brass trim, “I’m almost finished with the latest mechanism, that’ll let me add more instruments. Maybe even some little singing automata.” Payne’s eyes had begun to glaze. Oh dear, Agatha thought. I’m boring him.
“I was also thinking, maybe a kind of… a kind of ball, all covered in little mirrors and…”
This particular revolution in popular entertainment was brought to a halt by the sudden ringing of a bell. Agatha looked around in confusion. She knew the signal bells that the actors used for meals, attacks, meetings, and excessive drinking, but this one was unfamiliar. She realized it was coming from a small cupola atop one of the prop wagons. The circus people were looking between the bell and Agatha nervously.
Krosp dropped down next to her. “It’s coming from Moxana’s wagon.”
Payne’s eyebrows rose. “She must have heard the Silverodeon.” He turned to Agatha. “I suspect she wants to meet you, Miss Clay.”
Abner stepped up. “I’m sure Krosp told you about her.”
Agatha nodded. “He told me enough to pique my curiosity, certainly. Unless I miss my guess she’s some sort of autonomous clank construct, apparently with some attribute that resembles prognostication, which no one in the circus can understand, but is doubtless simply utilizing some heretofore undiscovered branch of science, which would explain why you try to keep her out of sight.”
Master Payne looked at her, obviously considered saying something, but in the end, just waved her into the wagon.
It took a bit of maneuvering for all of them to fit into the tight space, so it was Krosp who first noticed—“Hey! The chessboard is gone.”
Suddenly, the seated figure moved. Her eyes snapped open with a soft click. They were a vivid, electric blue. Her gleaming, white porcelain arms came up and swept out over the board, which was now a pad of brushed green baize, embroidered with an intersecting set of lines and circles with a shining silver thread. Her movements were smooth, and gracefully stylized.
She slid her palms together and a deck of large, ornate cards appeared between them.
Payne grunted in surprise. “I haven’t seen her use her cards in ages,” he muttered.
Moxana placed the stack face down and with the tip of a finger, swirled the deck into an elaborate spiral. She then selected the card that lay in the center and flipped it up, exposing the face.
They all craned forward to examine it. Agatha had never seen a card like this before. Adam had occasionally had friends over for a late night game of cards in the back room of the forge. Agatha had been pressed into service bringing them beer and snacks. But this card was not embellished with any of the familiar four suits.
It was a colored picture of a globe hanging in the night sky, part of a mechanism of great brass and crystal gears. A large turn-key was inserted into the heart of Africa. At the top, along the margin was the Roman numeral “XXI” and at the bottom, written in a fine Carolingian miniscule hand, were the words—
“The Device.” Payne adjusted his spectacles. “That’s the card Moxana uses to indicate herself40.”
Moxana nodded, took the card back and unhesitatingly tore it into small bits. As the others gasped in surprise, one of her hands snapped out and clasped Agatha’s right hand and pulled it towards her. Agatha allowed her hand to be turned palm upwards. Moxana then dropped the shredded card into her open hand, reached out to take her other hand and placed it palm down upon the first. She then released both hands, brought both of her arms back to her sides and went still.
Everyone looked at each other, but nothing else happened. Agatha raised her hand. There, upon her upturned palm, was the card, restored and whole.
Agatha stared at this for several seconds, and then looked at Moxana. “You’re broken,” she hazarded, “And you want me to repair you.”
Payne and Abner stared at each other in astonishment. “Could you do that?” Abner asked.
Moxana nodded with a click. As Abner unlatched the front, Agatha reached into a pocket and pulled out her pocket-watch clank. A tap on the back, and the central eye clicked on, sending a bright beam of light across the wagon’s dim interior. She slid to her knees and crawled into the depths of the cabinet. A faint humming could be heard as she poked around. This was cut off suddenly as Agatha’s body jerked in surprise. She pulled herself out again with an amazed look on her face. She turned to the two men.
“Did you know that this is a Van Rijn?” she whispered.
Master Payne gave her an appraising look. “I did. I’m impressed that you do41.”
Agatha reached out and gently took one of the clank’s arms. She peered closely at the mechanisms in the finger joints. “My old Master used to talk about Van Rijn and his work endlessly. They were one of his passions.” She put the hand down. “Beautiful,” she murmured. “You’d never know she was over two hundred years old. There are still things we just don’t know how to duplicate…”
She turned to face Master Payne. “I’d rather not just go poking around inside her. I didn’t see anything obviously wrong. What’s the problem?”
Payne shrugged. “I’m not sure—”
With a ping, Moxana snapped into action. Her hands swept up the cards, except for two, that spun about upon their corners before flopping down together, face up. In addition to The Device, there was a card that showed a spinning top balanced upon an upright wheel that was rolling off the edge of a cliff. It had the number “XV” at the top, and the label at the bottom simply read: Movement.
When Payne saw this, his face sagged and he closed his eyes. “Of course,” he sighed. “Tinka.”
To Agatha’s unspoken question, he explained. “We used to have another clank we displayed along with Moxana. This one was a dancer. Her name was Tinka.” He paused, and then continued. “Both Moxana and Tinka were originally part of a set of nine clanks constructed by the artificer Van Rijn for The Storm King.” He again paused.
“The Muses,” Agatha supplied. Then realization of what she had said penetrated and her eyes went wide. “The Muses? The Muses? Moxana is one of the Storm King’s Muses?”
Payne nodded. “The same42.”
Agatha was overwhelmed, and understandably so.
“But they were lost!”
“They lost themselves. If they had not done so, they were convinced they would have been dismantled by Sparks seeking to understand and duplicate Van Rijn’s work. And so, they hid.”
Agatha looked at Moxana. “But—As part of a traveling show?”
Payne spread his hands. “Actually it was a very perspicacious move. Before shows such as ours became Heterodyne shows, they were usually just traveling wonder shows, with a large collection of freaks and oddities. Some of the most popular items displayed were fake Muses. They were famous, after all.”
He reached out and ran a hand gently over the back of Moxana’s throne. “Moxana and Tinka had stayed together, and disguised as fakes, they survived, and traveled across Europa for over a hundred and fifty years, doing what they were designed to do. Instructing, inspiring and waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
Payne sighed. “For a new Storm King.”
Krosp’s brow furrowed. “But—”
Payne forestalled his objection with an upraised hand. “Don’t even start. They were built to serve The Storm King. Until there’s a new Storm King, they wait. If there never is a new Storm King, then they will wait forever. They are machines. Rational argument will only go so far.”
Agatha nodded. She’d seen her share of otherwise brilliant mechanisms determined to walk through walls or wash pots until they’d been scrubbed into metal foil.
Payne continued. “But travel, especially in the Wastelands, is dangerous, and if you do it long enough, then the odds will turn against you.” He shrugged. “I found Tinka and Moxana in a wrecked wagon amongst the ruins of another show. Whatever attacked didn’t consider them valuable.
“They were happy enough to join my show, and I was able to protect them for almost twenty years.”
Payne stopped and his shoulders slumped. Moxana reached up and gently patted his hand. Payne smiled at her and continued. “And then, three years ago, we were doing our spring traverse of the mountains, just as we’re doing now. In those days, we preferred to go through Balen’s Gap.”
Krosp perked up. “I’ve heard of that. It’s where the coalition of forces under The Storm King actually managed to stop Bludtharst Heterodyne’s armies.” He turned to Agatha. “Very famous battle, that. Until then, it looked like the Heterodynes would sweep all the way to the Danube, but instead, they were forced to overextend themselves and—”
Agatha put a large bucket over the cat. “You get him going on military history and he’s good for several hours. You were saying?”
For some reason, Payne had to reassemble his thoughts. “Balan’s Gap, yes. Big town. Lots of traffic. Lots of loose coin. The local ruling family is the House of Sturmvarous, currently headed by Prince Aaronev the fourth. A strong Spark. He used to be a major player, but when Wulfenbach rolled through, he submitted quietly enough, and he’s been a good little vassal ever since.
“Of course, being the ruler, it’s still within his power to confiscate…well… anything he wants, really. And out of the blue, what he wanted was Tinka, and there was nothing we could do.” Payne removed his spectacles and fastidiously cleaned the spotless lenses. Obviously, the memory still angered him.
“There was still snow on the ground that year. Which is why Moxana had been left in her wagon. I’m guessing that’s why they didn’t take her as well.” He looked at the clank and shook his head. “Perhaps it would have been better for her if they had.”
Payne turned to Agatha. “The Muses were renowned as beautiful, miraculous machines. The common folk always ascribe emotions and actual, self awareness to them, a fallacy that more educated people know better than to fall into.” He hesitated. “But, I think… in this particular case… the common folk might be correct.”
Agatha said nothing, but her mouth twitched. Payne waved his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Anthropomorphism is a danger whenever you deal with any sufficiently sophisticated mechanism. It would certainly be easier to create a mechanism that merely simulates emotion.
“However there is no denying that in the last three years, Moxana has become less and less responsive. Even when she is active, she remains absorbed in her own private games. Recently she has begun shutting down for days at a time. Just before we found you, she’d been quiescent for almost a solid week. Even if her grief is artificial, I think it’s destroying her.
“And that is why we are crossing the mountains as early as we are, this year. I want to get her to Transylvania Polygnostic University.”
Agatha blinked in surprise. “In Beetleburg? But that’s where I came from.”
Payne looked interested. “That could prove useful. We should get there a few weeks after we go through Mechanicsburg. I want to get her to Dr. Tarsus Beetle, the master of the University. No one knows more about The Muses than he does. We’ve corresponded in the past, but he doesn’t know I possess an actual Muse.” Payne shrugged wearily. “He’s not someone I actually trust, but I’ve run out of ideas.”
Agatha sighed. “Doctor Beetle is dead.”
Everyone looked startled at this. “What?”
Agatha carefully picked her words. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I was his student before I was on Castle Wulfenbach43. He can’t help you.”
“Damn.” Payne looked distraught. He looked at Moxana and he looked even worse. “Damn!” He pounded his fist against a nearby chest, denting it with the force of his blow. “We’re committed to Sturmhalten now. We’ve lost too much of the year. And now I see it was for nothing!” He focused back on Agatha. “But you were his student?”
Agatha nodded.
<
br /> “Well you’re certainly a stronger Spark than any of us. Hopefully he taught you well.”
Agatha looked wary. “Why?”
Payne patted Moxana’s chassis. “I think… maybe… what Moxana needs, is a new sister. I’d like you to try to build one for her.”
Agatha was already shaking her head. “Ridiculous. How could I possibly hope to duplicate the work of one of history’s greatest Sparks? Work that no one else has been able to equal in the last two hundred years?”
Payne shrugged. “I have no idea. But you would have an actual functioning Muse to study. And—” He paused and looked at Moxana expectantly. With a faint sound, the seated figure nodded slowly and then placed her hands flat upon the board. There was a soft “click” and the board swung upwards, revealing a shallow, hidden compartment. Nestled within was a large book. It was bound in brown leather that had cracked with age. The pages within were thick hand cut sheets of vellum, with dozens of ribbons, scraps of papers, leaves and other objects serving as impromptu bookmarks. Upon the cover, embossed in gold that still gleamed against the dark leather, was a simple “R.v.R.”
“More importantly, you’d have Van Rijn’s notes.”
Hours later, the opened book before her, reams of scribbled notations littering her wagon, Agatha had one of her little clanks in her hand. Its eye rolled in alarm as she selected a sharp bladed screwdriver. Agatha’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Hold still,” she commanded. “I’ve got six ideas for how to improve things already, and that’s just from chapter one!” The clank squirmed and looked at her beseechingly. “Relax. You should be incapable of feeling pain.”
A sound made her look up. Arrayed next to her door were the three Jägers. They stood quietly, obviously nervous, but there none the less. A part of Agatha’s mind took note of the fact that she had not even heard them enter. “Yes?” she ventured.
Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess Page 25