Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (31 page)

Whenever the cart moved, even over the sound of the gongs and chimes, there was an excessively loud clacking sound. Agatha frowned.

Dame Ædith stomped over as Agatha was finishing a test run of the wagon. The bat clung to her hat and appeared to have fallen asleep. It was apparent that she had given up trying to dislodge it, and was now determined to ignore it.

“That’s it,” Dame Ædith said triumphantly. “Ever since thou worked upon it, it hath been doing that, and ’tis beginning to drive me unto the brink of madness.”

Agatha nodded sympathetically. “I think I can fix this.”

Dame Ædith looked relieved. “Praise be!”

“—But,” Agatha continued, I’ll need a screw-down ripple wrench. I think Rivet has one. Could you get that for me while I get started?”

Ædith nodded and ambled off. Agatha started knocking on various wheels with her knuckles, until Ædith was out of sight. She then dropped to the ground, and crawled under the wagon until she reached the front axle. Even the undersides of the wagons were painted and decorated, and the axle was encased inside a garishly decorated box frame. Agatha felt around the back until she found the set of small fasteners.

“Look,” she muttered softly as she worked, “I know you’re just trying to help, and I know this cart was noisy before. But you’re overdoing the noise.” She undid the last fastener and swung up the front of the axle box.

Revealed was a complicated system of gears that had been added to the axle. Their purpose was obviously to power a set of small automatic winding keys for the row of small clanks that were hooked up to them. When they saw Agatha, they waved at her.

“If something is too loud, people will pay attention to it, and we want you to stay hidden, right?” The clanks all began clicking. This was obviously the sound that the cart had been producing. By trial and error, they lowered the volume until the clicking was barely audible. Agatha nodded in satisfaction.

“I have found thy ripple wrench.” Dame Ædith’s voice caught Agatha by surprise, causing her to bang her head on the underside of the wagon.

She slammed the cover down, snapped closed the fasteners and crawled out. She stood up and brushed off her knees. “I think I fixed it without needing it. Sorry I sent you off for nothing.”

Dame Ædith looked pleased. “No apology is needed for excessive competence.” She climbed onto the wagon bench, clucked her tongue and the wagon moved off. The familiar cacophony of various gongs and windmills filled the air, but of the clicking, there was no trace. Dame Ædith looked pleased at first, but as she continued to circle the wagon, a small frown creased her features. She called out. “Thou will think me inconsistent, but now it’s…” she looked embarrassed, “It is
too
quiet. I keep thinking my wheels are fain to fall off.”

Agatha nodded and gave the front wheel a swift kick. Instantly a soft clicking started up.

“That should do it,” she stated confidently.

Dame Ædith looked pleased. “Aye.” She looked at Agatha. “But how didst thou—?”

Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Science.”

A faint snort of amusement from behind her caused her to turn. There was Lars, several script books in hand, shaking his head at her.

“Science? That’s the best you can do?”

Agatha was at a loss for words. “I don’t—”

Lars looked serious. “Look, some of the towns we roll through? If you do something unexpectedly smart, they’ll start screaming ‘Madgirl’ before you’ve taken two steps.”

He waved the scripts. “You’ve got to have a story. You have to make a joke. You have to distract them. Confuse them. Entertain them. Don’t give them time or reason to think about what you’ve done.”

Agatha looked lost. “But… I don’t know how to do that.”

“I’ve noticed.” Lars again hefted the scripts. “So I thought I’d run you through some situations.”

Agatha felt an inexplicable wave of happiness bubble
up through her. “Really?”

Lars nodded. “Sure. You’re smart enough that it shouldn’t take long before you get the idea.”

He turned away slightly, and offered Agatha the crook of his arm. She stared at it in surprise. She’d longingly seen couples walking arm-in-arm, but no one had ever wanted to do so with her.

Correctly interpreting the cause of her hesitancy, Lars gently took her hand and deftly wove it into place.

As they strolled off, Dame Ædith leaned back on her wagon seat and gently rubbed her chin.

In her opinion, as a student of humanity, there would either be a September wedding or massive destruction. She slid down onto the padded floorboard and turned her eyes skyward.

Due to tricky problems with calibration, Dame Ædith had yet to be able to quantify the efficacy of prayer, but as always, she remained convinced that it was better than doing nothing.

Taki tossed another log onto the fire. He lifted the lid of a gently bubbling cauldron of goo and took a sniff. He stirred it with a large iron ladle, and nodded in satisfaction. Guntar, who had been watching the proceedings in respectful silence, handed him a mug of cider and continued the conversation that had been suspended.

“—Then, after I crawl out of the dungheap—that’s when I get hit with the pie!”

Taki frowned at him in disgust. “No, no! It’s too much! You shouldn’t play Punch like a complete idiot!”

Guntar waved a hand dismissively. “This from the man who plays Klaus
³⁸
.”

Taki specialized in playing Klaus, a role many performers considered too dangerous to touch, for obvious reasons. He nodded seriously. “Yes, but Klaus keeps his dignity. Or tries to. He tries to be a hero, and occasionally does some good.
That’s
what makes him funny. You’ve got to have balance.”

Guntar waved a hand dismissively, “I know that. But I’ve researched this character—”

“All of your research is biased, third-hand anecdotal hearsay.”

“So what’s my alternative?”

“Chow!” This cry was from Ognian, who along with Maxim, gave every indication of being pulled towards the cauldron by their noses. They peered over the lip of the pot and took a deed appreciative sniff.

Taki looked worried, “Um… actually, that’s glue. We’re repairing—” Ognian waved aside his objections and, with a flourish, drew forth a bowl from a deep pocket in his coat. He scooped out a large dollop, and slurped it down. He smacked his lips and scooped up another bowlful. “Hoo! Dot’s goot!” He ladled out a helping for Maxim and the two began to down bowls of steaming glue almost as fast as they could scoop them up.

Guntar smiled jovially. “So, you’re part of the show now. We should work out some routines.”

Maxim paused in his eating and cocked an eyebrow. Guntar explained. “I usually play Punch in the Heterodyne show.”

At this Maxim’s face lit up. “Oh jah! Ve see dot in town!”

Guntar nodded. “Yup. Big, slow and stupid, that’s—”

Maxim interrupted, “Hyu iz so lucky ve iz here!”

Guntar blinked. “Lucky?”

Maxim nodded. “Oh jah, hyu gots heem all wronk! Ve kin help hyu dere, ve
knew
heem!”

Taki, who had been watching the level of the cauldron drop with some trepidation, now grinned. “You don’t say!”

Maxim nodded again. “Meester Ponch vas amazink. Strong as an ox!”

Ognian chimed in. “But lots schmarter!”

“Shoo! Very goot at making de plans.”

“He save my life vunce!”

“Oh jah, he vas kind to all sorts uf dumb enimals.”

“End he vas soch a gentlemen!”

“Ho yez! No matter vot happened, alvays mit de dignity!” Maxim scowled. “Hit makes me so mad ven pipple tink he vas schtupid! Just becawze he vas so beeg and couldn’t talk.”

Ognian finished his eighth bowl with a lick and stowed it back into his coat. “Dot vould haff hurt him de most, Hy tink, he vas alvays very concerned about pipple tinking all constructs iz schtupid or evil.”

Guntar looked like he had suffered several body blows. He gave a sickly grin. “But… surely… ah… didn’t he have a… a lighter side?”

Maxim pondered this, and smiled. “Oh, uv cawrze! He vould build these amazink toyz for de orphan cheeldrens!”

Taki tried to laugh, but had decided to taste the glue and now discovered that his mouth was sealed shut.

Master Payne and his wife observed this all from a distance. As the Jägers started pulling on the cook’s jaws, they turned away. Marie had that little line between her eyebrows that Payne had come to dread.

“Payne,” she said. “I’ve seen you convince bandits to contribute to the Actor’s Retirement Fund.”

Payne smiled at the memory, but remained wary. “Your point, my dear?”

“There’s a reason there are no Jägermonsters in the Heterodyne shows. People really hate them.”

Payne shrugged. “Well it’s not like they’re insisting on performing. We hardly see them.”

Marie eyed him closely and continued slowly. “You could have gotten rid them if you’d wanted to, but you haven’t even tried.” A unnerving “crack,” a groan of pain, and a “Hoy!” of victory caused her to glance back. “In fact, you feed them.”

Payne opened his mouth, looked at his wife and closed it again. “Ergo,” she continued, “You are Up To Something. You have
got
a reason, but you did not tell
me
.”

A few beads of sweat appeared upon Payne’s brow. Marie clasped her hands together and looked vulnerable. Payne flinched. “The only time you don’t tell me something is when you think it’s dangerous, because being a fragile, sheltered noblewoman, I might faint at the thought of experiencing physical harm like a common person.”

She sighed, and seemingly from nowhere, produced an enormous cast-iron frying pan easily one hundred centimeters in diameter. “And then,” she said sadly, “I have to damage one of the
good
pans by smacking it against your thick, common skull until you
tell
me—”

“BALAN’S GAP!” Payne screamed, cowering. “We have to go through Balan’s Gap!”

Marie paused, and then lowered the pan. “Oh dear. You’re expecting more trouble from the Prince.” She thoughtfully tapped a finger against her pursed lips. “And you think having them along might help discourage him from…”

Payne looked out from between his fingers. “Yes?”

Marie cocked her head. “That’s very clever for a commoner.”

Payne drew himself up and preened. “Why, thank you, my dear.” The two of them smiled at each other, and then leaned in for a delicate kiss. Just before their lips met, they were startled by a snuffling sound from overhead. They froze, and they swiveled their eyes upwards to see Dimo crouching on the roof of the wagon beside them. A large tear dripped from his bulbous nose.

“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 Agatha
³⁹
.

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
.”