CHAPTER 3

The ladies pale go riding, riding—

On their spiders striding, striding.

stealing girls asleep in bed—

drinking all their blood so red—

...

When pretty maidens die of fright,

Their ghosts go riding through the night.

—Traditional Walpurgis Night song


The Baron stood in one of the vast hangar bays of Castle Wulfenbach, an all-too-familiar weariness settling upon his shoulders.

On the ground before him was an open field coffin. Within lay a charred corpse, clad in the remnants of a green tweed dress. He stared down at it silently. It had been a long time since he had so keenly felt the loss of his old friends—and his old life. The faces of the Heterodynes flashed through his mind, and for the thousandth time, he wondered what had happened to them. Where had they gone? Why was he alone left to keep the Sparks of Europa in line—when half the time it ended so damned badly?

A loud crunch made him look around. Bangladesh DuPree stood beside him, cheerfully munching on a pear.

“Ah. DuPree,” he said carefully, his eyes returning to the body before him, “When I say the words ‘alive and unharmed,’ do any neurons actually fire in that brain of yours?”

The crunching stopped dead. Despite himself, Klaus counted under his breath until DuPree finally answered. “No sir!”

He nodded. “I thought not.”

Encouraged, Captain DuPree continued. “But I can’t take credit for this one. Some old crab clank burned her down before we got to her. I saved you the sigil plate.” She handed over a large enameled metal oval—cracked and blackened by fire. Sparks were notorious for “signing” their work, often decorating creations with heraldic colors or family sigils. The Baron encouraged this—it made it so much easier to assign blame.

In this case, the design was familiar. “Ah, yes, one of Von Bodé’s[15] little toys.” He tossed the plate aside. “Was my son... upset?”

Bangladesh snorted. “Oh, him? Sure was. Here he was all set to be a hero and rescue his girl, then he finds out he’d need fireplace tongs to get her undressed? Yeah—upset is one word for it.”

Klaus rubbed his forehead. “Thank you, DuPree, for that... vivid imagery. You may go.”

DuPree looked around, and then casually tossed her pear core into the coffin. “Let me know when you’ve got something else for me.” She sauntered out of the room, calling after her: “And try to make it a fun one!”

Klaus leaned down and fished out the core. Allowing himself a rare display of temper, he fired it hard into a distant trash barrel, where it struck with a tremendous clang and sent the barrel toppling backwards. His secretary and second-in-command, Boris, was entering the hangar at that moment, and coolly caught it in two of his four arms setting it back upright without ever taking his eyes off the paperwork he carried[16].

“Herr Baron?” he said quietly, “The Jäger Generals are here.”

Klaus nodded. “Show them in.” Boris walked back and called to someone just out of sight. There was a rumble of reply, and the Baron turned to greet the three creatures who entered—the largest bending his head to get through the tall doorway.

These were the oldest of the Jägermonsters, constructs created to ride with the mad Heterodynes who had plagued Europa generations before Bill and Barry’s heroics had redeemed the family name. Long ago, these had been ordinary barbarian raiders, but through some process that Klaus had never been able to uncover, they were now nightmarish monsters—inhumanly strong, fast, and long-lived. All the Jägers were toothy, clawed and hairy to some degree. Some even sported horns or tails. Still, these three oldest stood apart from their brethren as much as the younger Jägers did from the rest of Humanity. Klaus wondered if the Generals had been the prototypes, with the procedure then refined for the other Jägers, or if the physical changes the creatures experienced became more pronounced the older they got. If so, the three who approached him now were very old Jägers indeed.

When they reached him, the generals paused smartly “at attention” before the Baron. The three wore uniforms from completely different armies. This was another peculiarity of the Jägers, who loved the idea of uniforms, but never quite understood the concept behind making everyone wear the same one.

General Zog, the most traditional, wore mostly his own luxurious fur—shining white under a leather and brass warrior’s harness that, although old, had been meticulously cared for. Zog was forever poised to sweep across Europa laying waste to all in his path—by himself, if necessary.

General Khirzhan was modern and cultured. He wore a bright red military uniform with huge epaulettes, all covered in shiny bullion, but no shoes. The general’s clawed green feet were bare, and tough as old leather. Tusks curled upward from his great mouth. These were capped with gold that had been engraved to match the pattern of the rings in his pointed ears.

General Goomblast towered above the other two, a shaggy behemoth with a brass dome screwed directly onto his cranium. He wore soft clothing with an eastern look to it, and a huge pair of goggles over his eyes.

After holding their pose dramatically for thirty seconds, the Generals seemed to feel that they had done their duty by military protocol. They relaxed, eyeing the Baron curiously.

“Generals.” Klaus began. “I want to thank you for your recent efforts.” The creatures acknowledged this compliment with serious nods. Without the Jägermonsters, the Slaver Wasps might actually have overwhelmed Castle Wulfenbach. Three of the monster soldiers had actually died, an extraordinarily high number.

General Khirzhan spoke up. “Yaz, Herr Baron. Ov course ve help vit de bogz, hey? Nasty tings. But... surely dere vos something else hyu vished to talk to us about?”

Khirzhan was the shrewdest of the old Generals—the one who remembered best what it had been to be human. It made him easier to talk to, but also more dangerous. This would be tricky, Klaus thought. Well, their reaction would be interesting...

“You have been enquiring after a...” The Baron pretended to think, “ah, yes, a Miss Clay?”

Zog blinked first. “Ah, vell, ve vas just—”

Khirzhan smoothly stepped on his foot. “Yas,” he rumbled. “Ve did. Vy?”

The Baron moved back and indicated the coffin on the floor. “I am sorry, but she is dead. She ran afoul of an old clank while she was traveling in the Wastelands.” The Jägers crowded in around the coffin and stared down at it.

Klaus paused. This was the dangerous part. The Jägers’ loyalty to the House of Heterodyne was unshakeable. To have a genuine heir appear suddenly after all of these years, only to be killed... Anything could happen. He continued. “I am not happy about this... it... is not what I wanted.”

The Jägers looked at him for a long moment. Even with their distorted features, Klaus could see their confusion.

Zog glanced back at the burned corpse. “But...”

Goomblast shook his head. “Dis iz—”

Khrizhan pushed forward. “Uv course hyu deed not vish for diz poor gurlz death. Who vould vant soch a ting?”

The other two Generals looked at each other, but kept silent. Khrizhan continued, “She vos a very nize gurl. Ve... ve are very sad. Poor ting. Thenk hyu for letting us know, yah?”

Klaus nodded. This was going better than he had dared hoped. It was a bit odd, actually. “If you would like some kind of service held... ah, discreetly, of course?”

Khrizhan open his mouth and then froze. He stared at Klaus for several seconds. General Goomblast smoothly stepped into the conversational void. “We did not get a chance to... properly know de yong lady but Hy em sure dot de spirits uv her ancestors vould—”

“THE HETERODYNE IS DEAD!” Khrizhan’s scream was no doubt heard through half of Castle Wulfenbach. The other two generals stared at him in astonishment. Then their heads snapped back towards the open coffin. Klaus could see the mental connections being made inside their ancient heads, they both then stared at him—

Klaus stepped back. This set the monsters off and with a great roaring and screaming, they proceeded to try to tear the hangar apart. In a blind rage, Zog came at the Baron with claws extended. It was a glorious fight, lasting almost half an hour, and afterwards, the Baron joined them in a bout of drinking that quite erased any doubts before they were even formed.

Ironically, it was the subsequent hangover that inspired Klaus to take the next step...


The bed was hard. It was really only a flat linen sack—stuffed with horsehair and laid out on a wooden shelf—but Agatha slept peacefully, Krosp curled snugly against her back.

Suddenly, a finger pressed lightly against her nose, and a soft voice whispered, “Beep!” Agatha snapped awake and saw Zeetha grinning at her in the predawn light. The green-haired girl set down a small pile of clothing, pointed at it with a significant look, and stepped out of the wagon, closing the door behind her.

A few minutes later, Agatha reluctantly crept out into the cold morning air. What Zeetha had left was a brown, toga-like shift. Agatha had spent several frantic minutes looking for the rest of the outfit. Her clothing from the day before was nowhere to be found. Scandalous stories she’d heard about actors began to sound worryingly plausible.

It looked like no one else was awake except for a couple of roustabouts, who were standing watch around the central fire. They perked up when they saw Agatha’s costume, but a growl from Zeetha caused them to speedily avert their eyes.

Without a word, the green-haired girl took Agatha’s hand and pulled her into the forest. She was carrying a stick about two meters long—its sharp, fresh smell proclaimed it a newly-trimmed sapling. Soon they stepped into a small glade, and Zeetha released her hand and turned to face her. The look she gave Agatha was serious.

Agatha crossed her arms against the morning chill. “Zeetha? What is going on? This outfit—?”

Zeetha smiled. “Remember? You start your warrior training today. That is a close approximation of traditional Skifandrian novice garb.”

Agatha shivered. “Skifander must be in the tropics, then.” She rubbed her arms and looked at the sky. Birds began to call in the trees overhead. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

Zeetha shook her head. “My concern is that I may be too late.” She stepped closer. “Know, Agatha Clay, that the warrior tradition of the royal house of Skifander is old, proud, and jealously guarded.

“In this life, I am allowed to train one other besides my own daughters. I have chosen you. The bond between us will be stronger than that of friends. Of family. Of lovers. As of now, we are ‘Koleedok-zumil.’”

Agatha looked hard at Zeetha and thought a moment. This sounded serious—what was she getting into? “What does that mean?” she asked.

Zeetha paused. “Ah—it’s kind of hard to translate. Sort of like ‘teacher and student.’ Sort of like ‘cause and effect.’” With a sudden, fluid movement, she brought the stick around and knocked Agatha to her knees. “Mostly like ‘grindstone and knife.’”

Agatha was stunned. “What are you doing?

Zeetha twirled the stick about her fingers. “Testing your reflexes. You’re supposed to try to stop me. Try again!” She swung her stick.


About an hour later, Zeetha sighed deeply and sat on her heels next to Agatha, who had resorted to huddling on the ground with her hands over her head. “Pathetic,” she pronounced. “No stamina. You can’t dodge. You can’t block. You allow anger to drive your attacks, and you can’t even run away properly.” She stood back up. “The good news is that you’ve got fast reflexes, and I’m greatly encouraged by the fact that I haven’t been able to hit you exactly the same way twice.”

Agatha stirred slightly. “So... this death thing that training is supposed to prevent... why is it bad?”

This earned her another smack across the rump. “And a poor attitude.” Zeetha stretched her arms toward the sky, then squared her shoulders. “Lucky for you, I like a challenge!”

“This is lucky?” Agatha’s voice was barely there.

“Sure! Nothing’s broken, is it?” Zeetha turned to go. “That makes it a good first day. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

As Zeetha left, Krosp, who had been watching for some time, hopped from the wagon and sauntered up to Agatha. He gave her a sniff and then nudged her with his foot. “How’d it go?” he asked.

Agatha raised her face and her eyes were despairing. “Krosp,” she wailed. “Help! She’s going to kill me.”

Krosp’s whiskers twitched disapprovingly. “It sounds like she’s going to toughen you up. Good! These are the Wastelands! You’ve got to be strong! You’ve got to be quick! If you want to stay alive, you’ve got to make sacrifices.”

Agatha slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. “Gosh. I—”

“And tomorrow, be a little more careful when you leave, okay? You almost woke me up.”

Agatha told herself later that she probably wouldn’t have actually hit him with it... she had just grabbed the rock without thinking. A good-sized rock, actually. It wasn’t until she had raised it high over her head with a vengeful roar that Zeetha voice sounded behind her. “Hey! You’re moving!” Zeetha set down a dish of oatmeal and looked pleased. “I’m really impressed!”

Agatha flinched, and dropped the rock onto her foot. As she clutched her foot in pain, Zeetha explained. “The point of the first day of training is to drive you to your absolute limit. To see just how far I can force you.” She gestured to the rock. “You’re not as weak as I thought.”

The ramifications of what Zeetha was saying began to sink in. “No!” Agatha whimpered. “I am weak.”

Zeetha laughed merrily, and swung the stick up with a flourish. “And you’re sneaky! I admire that!” Down came the stick. “But you won’t fool me again!”

Agatha, squealing, gamely tried to defend herself from the fresh volley of blows. Krosp looked on with detached interest as she staggered off—Zeetha trotting happily behind to deliver the occasional smack.

The cat stretched, then picked up Agatha’s cereal. He ventured a taste, nodded in approval, and began to eat. “Mm! Delicious. She’ll be sorry she missed this!”


Some time later, a large, shaggy raven crouched on the edge of Professor Moonsock’s wagon, peering hopefully at the prone figure of Agatha on the grass below. She hadn’t moved for a long time, which looked promising. Perhaps she was dead. The raven swooped down to land on her thigh. No reaction. Good. It took a peck at her. Still no reaction. Very good. Encouraged, the bird prepared to dig in—when a pebble whizzed out from under the nearest tree and caught it hard just above its tail. The raven gave an outraged “squark” as it flapped hastily into the air, circling around to settle back onto the roof of the cart. It could wait. Countess Marie strode forward. She rolled her eyes at the comatose girl before her and shook her head. “Come along, Agatha. I know you’re not dead.”

A muffled voice escaped the moss. “You cannot prove that by any verifiable method.”

Zeetha had let it be known that she had taken Agatha under her wing, and would be working her hard. There were no objections. In fact, this fit neatly with the order Master Payne had quietly given his troupe the night before. Grateful as the circus members were for Agatha’s help, she was nevertheless a stranger. Until they bid her fare-thee-well at Mechanicsburg, she was to be kept busy and worked hard, hard enough that she would have neither time nor energy to get into trouble, or ask too many questions.

Marie was used to dealing with actors who had over-indulged the night before, and was infamous for her ability to get them on their feet and on stage without mercy. Agatha’s condition, while not self-imposed, was familiar enough. She reached down with one hand, and effortlessly hauled the girl to her feet. “Let’s get you moving.”


Clean, dressed, and with a decent meal inside her, Agatha was soon willing to admit the possibility that life might be worth living.

Marie smiled. “We’ll have you help out with a little of everything. That will give us a chance to see where you’ll be the most use. To start with, I believe Embi could use an assistant.”

Agatha swallowed the last of her oat bread and honey, then wiped her hands. “Who is Embi?” she asked.

The Countess smiled. “Ah! With all the excitement we’ve had the last few days, you haven’t had a chance to meet everyone. Now, it’s high time you experienced the true glamour and excitement of show business!”


Several minutes later, a man no taller than Balthazar—with skin so dark it was almost black—plopped a second huge basket of beets at her feet as he sang out “Aaaand this batch of glamour here!” He then sat down beside her and pulled a paring knife out of his astonishingly tall hat.

Agatha was all-too-familiar with the job before her[17]. She sighed, and set to work with a will. She was soon surprised to find the task more pleasant than usual, for Embi had a friendly air about him and the conversation flowed comfortably.

“That’s a fine hat,” Agatha said. “I’ve never really seen one like it. Is it from Paris[18]?”

“Ho! A common mistake!” Embi smiled. “But it is a style that was common in my youth, in a village in Africa that you’ll never have heard of.”

Agatha sat back and looked at the little man with surprise. “Then you really are a long way from home.”

Embi sighed as he picked up another beet and stripped the peel off all in one long strip. “It is true. I am an explorer. I travel these savage lands in search of the rare and exotic.” He saw the direction of Agatha’s glance and hefted the beet in his hand defensively. “We don’t have these back home.”

Agatha laughed. “But then, why are you with the circus?”

“The same as yourself. It is an excellent way to travel through these inhospitable lands.”

“Inhospitable?” Agatha glanced at the surrounding forest. “Well, the Wastelands, certainly... but I never thought of Europa as savage or exotic.”

Embi raised an eyebrow. “You know, that’s what I always said to visitors to my land.”

Agatha considered this. “I see. What’s your act?”

“Oh, some storytelling, exotic music, slight-of-hand...” Embi shrugged. “Mostly, I am short.”

Embi was obviously an adult, but even for a short man, he seemed impossibly tiny. “Is everyone short where you come from?”

“Indeed!” Embi reached into the basket. “Why, when I left home, my newest nephew was the size of this beet.” He held the vegetable a moment, and a far-away look came into his eyes. “He’ll be a great-great-grandfather now, I trust.” He sighed.

Agatha blinked as she ran the math in her head. “Wait a minute. You don’t look—how old are you?”

The little man studiously began to peel his beet. He didn’t look at Agatha. “I am... no longer sure,” he said quietly. “But one hundred and thirty, at least.”

Agatha sat back and considered this. “Is that normal for your people?”

“Ha!” Embi laughed, “No! When I was young and rash, I asked a boon of the Great Devil Goddess. In return, I took a sacred vow to see the wide world. I am to return to tell her all about it before I die.” He slumped a bit and looked at Agatha with one eyebrow raised. “To be honest, I don’t think either one of us knew just how wide the world is.”

Agatha thought about this. “But what has that got to do with your long life?”

Embi fixed her with a stern glare, and Agatha suddenly felt like a naughty six year old. “Humph! One of the problems with people in these lands is that they do not take sacred vows at all seriously!”


From the shadows between two wagons, Master Payne and Countess Marie watched as Agatha laughed, chatted, and relieved beets of their skins. After a few minutes of eavesdropping, they drew back farther behind the wagons, and the circus master turned to his wife.

“And so, my dear, what do you think?”

Marie bit lightly on a knuckle and frowned. “It’s too soon to tell. She seems very nice. Brave and good-hearted, but then that’s not the question, is it?” She studied Payne. “You’re worried about something.”

Payne gave a snort of annoyance. Among his players, he had a certain reputation for imperturbability, which he took pains to cultivate. His wife, on the other hand, was never fooled. He felt like he was onstage, attempting a conjuring trick that he hadn’t quite mastered. “Moxana has started a new game,” he said.

Marie exclaimed in surprise. “Started over? This far into the season? For Agatha? Why didn’t she just add her, like she has for everyone else?”

Payne shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Marie was intrigued. “But which piece—”

Payne interrupted her. “Not just a new piece. Not just started over—this is a completely new game. A different game, with different rules.” He shook his head. “I’m still working it out, but this Miss Clay is the center of the whole thing.”

Marie’s eyes widened. “What is she?” she whispered. “What have we done?”

Payne looked at her and gave a single, mirthless bark of laughter. “We did what we had to do. You said it yourself. We couldn’t leave her. That may have been... truer than you’d meant.”

“But we couldn’t... ah.” Marie absorbed this. “I find Determinism a very lazy philosophical viewpoint,” she groused, “But... a new game...”

Payne gently slid his hand around her shoulders. “If we hurry, we’ll be in Mechanicsburg in a little over two months. She plans to leave us there. With luck, and a bit of care on our part, she may never notice anything.”

Marie nodded, but her voice was skeptical. “Two months. With this lot?” The couple shared a significant look and shrugged in unison.

From the peaked roof of one of the wagons, Krosp watched them walk off, arm-in-arm. Well, that was interesting, he thought.


As Agatha finished peeling her basket of beets, a stout, bipedal clank carrying an enormous load of logs emerged from the forest and strutted toward them. Perched atop the large domed head was Balthazar, who waved excitedly when he saw them. “I brought wood!” he sang out. “Where do you want it, Herr Embi?”

The little man nodded approvingly and pointed to the beginnings of a fire circle that lay nearby. “One more load and you’re done for the day, lad.” He looked at Agatha’s basket and smiled. “And it looks like you are done as well, Miss Clay. Good job! There’ll be borscht tonight!”

Agatha needed no more prompting. She darted off after the clank. There was something about it that had seemed odd, and she wanted a better look at it.

The device moved slowly, and she easily caught up to it. Agatha examined it as she walked alongside. Balthazar smiled down at her from his perch. “Pretty neat clank, hey?” he said with pride.

Agatha nodded. “Indeed it is. Where did your family get it?”

“He.” Balthazar corrected her. “This is Smilin’ Stev. My dad used to be a smith for the Porcelain Count of Niktalten. He’s the guy who used to take down airships with his clockwork falcons. When the Baron beat him, Dad took Stev here as his back pay.” The boy affectionately patted the clank on the head. “He’s nothing fancy, so none of the bad people we run into think he’s worth stealing. He just pulls our cart and fetches wood and water.”

A light dawned. “Ah—That’s what confused me.”

Balthazar suddenly looked wary. “What?”

Agatha pointed at the mechanical troll’s limbs as they pistoned along. “Has your father ever opened Stev up? These joints are really complicated. And look at the way these plates overlap. I think this clank may be a bit more sophisticated than you think.”

“Dad says Stev is slow and stupid, just like Mama likes ’em.”

This pronouncement effectively broke Agatha’s chain of thought. “Wait... what?

Balthazar smiled at her innocently. “Dad plays Punch in the Heterodyne plays[19].”

“But—”

Suddenly, Agatha realized that while she had been intent on the clank, she had been flanked by Rivet the mechanic, and André, the troupe’s music master. Rivet was assuring André that Agatha was a decent mechanic—or at least talked like one. She turned and smiled cheerfully. “Hello, Agatha!” she chirped. “Feeling bored?”

Agatha saw that escape was impossible. “This doesn’t involve root vegetables, does it?”

Rivet considered this. “No.”

“Or hitting me with sticks?”

André frowned. “Hardly. If I remember correctly, you told Master Payne that you could play anything with a keyboard?”

Agatha perked up. “Yes! He was asking me if I had any performance experience[20]. Lilith gave me lessons—ballroom dancing and piano, mostly. Sometimes, I got to play the big organ at Transylvania Polygnostic, too. And there was that accordion Doctor Vogel had hidden in his lab. He didn’t know we knew about it, but one time...”

André interrupted her. “And you’re a mechanic! It’s too perfect!”

They led her to the baggage wagons. “You’ll like this—we have a repair job for you! When that clank attacked, it completely smashed our calliope.” André untied a rope holding down a canvas cover and whipped it aside with a showman’s flourish. “Behold! The Silverodeon! Once the finest steam-powered music machine this side of the Carpathians.”

Revealed was a carved and painted cart that held an accumulation of scrap metal and twisted piping. Agatha could tell that this was the wreckage of some sort of musical instrument, but the damage looked like it had been caused as much by sheer neglect as by the clank attack.

“But... really? Agatha stepped up to the wagon and took a closer look. “I wouldn’t think it’s been played in years.”

André shrugged. “Ah, it just looks like that. We’ve discovered that if something appears too shiny and new, we run the risk of losing it to some damned princeling out for a new toy.”

Balthazar had said something similar. Agatha ran an eye over the circus wagons ranged before her. It explained a lot.

“But how can I fix this? That is, if I had the right tools, I think I could do it, but it’ll take more than basic cart repair tools for a job like this...”

Rivet grinned. “Ho! Tools I’ve got! Come on over here.”

Agatha turned to André. “I’m surprised you can’t fix it.”

He dismissed this with an elegant shrug. “Ah, while I know keyboards, I am, alas, no mechanic. Rivet here, while a fine mechanic, does not play. At the very least, I’m hoping you can get the basics sorted out before you leave us at Mechanicsburg.”

Agatha grimaced. “Well, I’ll try, but without a shop, without proper tools—”

They stopped beside Rivet’s wagon. It was covered in elaborate panels, which upon closer examination, Agatha noticed were actually cabinet doors. Rivet pulled out a ring of keys and began unlocking them and throwing them open one after the other, giving a proud little “Ta-dah!” with each reveal. Agatha watched this performance with growing astonishment. Within the cunningly-wrought cabinets were rack upon rack of gleaming tools, lovingly placed. Once all the doors were open, Rivet began fiddling with additional latches, unfolding and extending displays to reveal new wonders.

And wonders they were. Even some of the obscure tools she had only seen used in the most specialized labs at Transylvania Polygnostic were represented—often with a left-handed variant, and in a variety of sizes.

Delicate watch-making tools crafted from gold wire and ivory were a single rack away from a collection of monkey-wrenches that could have been used to uncouple the main fuel lines aboard Castle Wulfenbach. Tools constructed of everything from wood to what appeared to be tempered glass were artfully laid out around objects that even Agatha, with all her University experience, was having trouble identifying. Below the tools were what must have been hundreds of built-in drawers that contained nails, screws, bolts, and fasteners in a bewildering variety of shapes and sizes, with each compartment neatly labeled.

Agatha stood back and took in this immense collection of ironmongery. She now understood why Rivet’s wagon had to be pulled by a team of six draft horses.

“Sweet lightning,” she whispered. “This is an amazing collection. I don’t think the University has some of these!” She reverently picked up a locking wrench. “They’re beautifully made.” Craftsmen often constructed their own tools as an important part of their apprenticeship, but this collection ran across dozens of different trades.

Rivet nodded. “I find them out here in the Wastelands. Abandoned towns, crashed airships—you can find all kinds of stuff if you know where to look. I keep the best, rebuild and refurbish the rest. They’re good sale and trade items no matter where we go.”

Agatha picked up a curious piece that looked vaguely like a screwdriver. She depressed a small switch and the device began to vibrate in her hand with a high-pitched ululation. Nearby, a brass padlock sparked and fell open.

Rivet looked surprised. “Is that what that does? I’d wondered.”

Agatha carefully put the device back. “You’ll let me use these? With tools like these, I should be able to fix anything—anything at all.” Her voice was thick with admiration.

André grinned. “Wonderful! I will get you some paper, I’m sure you’ll want to draw up plans. Oh, and you’ll want to talk to Otto. He can configure his wagon engine so that it can run a lathe, mill or saw, anything you need.”

Agatha nodded, but she was only half listening. Her mind was already tackling the problem. Deep in thought, she wandered back to the old calliope.

Rivet watched her go, sighed, and began shutting up her wagon. It was a rather time-consuming operation. When she spoke, it was in a low whisper. “André, I just don’t understand what Master Payne is thinking. There’re plenty of real repair jobs I could use her on.” She glared at the music master. “Finest music machine east of my ass. That stupid old thing is just a wreck that Lars found. I was planning on stripping it for scrap.”

André sniffed. “Don’t be crude, it suits you all too well. You want her to help with repairs? Then by all means ask her. Master Payne said to keep her so busy she doesn’t have time to think.” He waved a hand to indicate Agatha, who was now atop the calliope wagon, resolutely tugging at a twisted pipe, “Voilà! It is done!”

Rivet hesitated, than sulked a bit. “But she’s going to mess with my tools.”

“Better to share your tools, than lose your neck.”

All Rivet had to say to that was a resigned “Harumph” and the conversation was over. Krosp, lurking behind a wheel, found this extremely frustrating.


At lunchtime, Agatha asked Zeetha: “How will Abner find us again? Haven’t we traveled an awfully long way since he’s been gone?”

Zeetha reassured her. “We’re in the same river valley, and we’re keeping to the old road. The caravan always moves pretty slow, and Abner’s a good woodsman when he has to be. I won’t start to worry about him for another week, at least.”

Even so, it wasn’t long after lunch that Agatha saw Zeetha walk off along the wooded road in the direction they’d come—and when, later that afternoon, Abner emerged from the woods atop a sleek chestnut stallion, Zeetha was trotting along beside him, grinning.

Gunter, the big man who was Balthazar’s father, saw them first and roared out a welcome that also served to alert the rest of the camp. Everyone dropped what they were doing and converged on the returning pair.

A dark-haired young man reached them ahead of the others, and grinned up at Abner. “Hey! You’re alive! And back quick, too!”

Abner laughed. “Sorry, Lars! You can’t rent out my half of the wagon just yet.” He patted his mount, who was eyeing the gathering crowd nervously. “For which you can thank this fine horse.”

Lars examined it critically, and nodded in admiration. “Wulfenbach’s people give him to you?”

Abner snorted at the thought. “Ha. I don’t talk that fast. I found him wandering loose near a campsite that had... well, it had been attacked by something.”

Instantly Lars went tense. “Attacked by something? By what?

“I don’t know. It was something nasty. The place was wrecked pretty bad.” He dismounted. “Believe me, I was glad to find this guy. I wanted out of there fast. Some of the remains I found... well... whatever got them mauled them pretty bad before it ate them.” He saw the look on Lars’ face and shook his head. “Hey, give me some credit. I made sure I wasn’t followed. I rode down the river for close to two kilometers.”

Lars thought about this and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, that sounds good. Sorry, Ab, worrying is part of my job.” He faced the rest of the crowd. “But that’s still close enough that I want everyone to be on the alert!”

While Abner and Lars talked, Professor Moonsock and Dame Ædith were examining the horse. “Looks mighty famished to me,” Ædith said.

Professor Moonsock ran a hand over the horse’s ribs and frowned. “Certainly feels boney,” she admitted. She tried to grab the animal’s head. “He’ll definitely need fattening up before we can have him working. Come on, old fellow, let me see those teeth.” At this the horse snapped his head back and reared. Ædith caught the smaller woman before she hit the ground. “Closemouthed beast.”

The professor dusted herself off. “He just needs to be fed a bit. Get to know us. Apparently we don’t all have Herr de la Scalla’s winning personality.”

Abner shrugged modestly, then froze as a voice behind him called his name. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning.

“Pix,” he said simply.

They stood less than a meter apart. Everyone else tried hard to look like they were interested in something else—and failed dismally. Pix spoke first. “Are you all right?”

Abner nodded. “I am.”

“Well... well good.” Pix desperately cast about, trying to think of something to say. This confused her—she usually had plenty to say and didn’t hesitate to say it. But now she realized that there were thousands of things she wanted to say to Abner, and that she was terribly afraid of saying the wrong thing. Suddenly, she was annoyed. This actually helped—now she could talk. “So what was the idea of horning in on my act, hey?”

This was not quite what Abner had expected. “What? But... I had to!” He protested. “I thought he was going to kill you!”

Pix considered this. “It was a close thing, wasn’t it?” she admitted, “But I don’t think he was the kind to shoot an unarmed girl. He was making too much noise. I had him pretty rattled, after all.”

Pix turned to Agatha. “But it would have helped if you’d told us you were running from a lover. We all thought they were looking for you because you’d stolen something.” Everyone looked at Krosp.

The cat drew himself up haughtily. “Wrowr! As if I’d go and let myself get stolen! I rescued her!

Agatha sputtered, “He... he is hardly my lover! And I am not...”

Pix patted her shoulder sympathetically. “No, no, don’t worry. We’ve all had experiences we’d like to forget. I expect he took shocking liberties.”

Dame Ædith bit her lower lip, her eyes glowing with interest. “Oh yes, that kind always does! I expect he did terrible, vile things—”

Professor Moonsock perked up. “Oooh—really? You poor girl, you must tell us all about it!” She looked at the others. “Purely for therapeutic reasons, of course.” The others nodded solemnly, and then looked expectantly at Agatha.

Agatha’s outraged protest was cut off when Zeetha stepped forward. “All right, ladies. Enough.” Agatha looked at the green-haired girl gratefully. “Anyway, whatever he did couldn’t have been too horrible, she almost ran right out to him. I thought I was going to have to hold her back for a minute there.”

Agatha blushed. “That... that’s because I thought he was going to shoot Pix!” she insisted.

Zeetha nodded sagely. “Of course. Well, in any case, don’t worry. I have something that’ll take your mind off of him.” She flourished the training staff. “More training! Now run!

Everyone watched until the two girls were out of sight—some with sympathy, but most with amusement. Then, with pleasure borne of the knowledge that no one was likely to chase them with sticks, they smiled and returned to their work. Abner and Pix were left standing awkwardly alone.


Abner took a deep breath. “So Pix, I seem to remember this kiss.”

Pix went red. She glared at Abner, “Oh, you seem to, do you?”

Gently he took hold of her shoulders. “Perhaps I should have said that I’ll never forget it.”

Pix went redder. “Oh.”

Abner waited for a moment, but that seemed to be all she was going to say. Gingerly, he slid his arm around her shoulders. Pix looked up at him. She was beautiful. He’d known that, of course, but never before had he quite noticed how beautiful. Perhaps he should tell her this. “Let’s talk,” he said.

Pix nodded. “Yes.”


Some time later, Lars lifted the lid of a barrel. Agatha was huddling inside. “Ah. There you are.” He laughed.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Have pity on me, whoever you are.”

The young man grinned. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t met. I’m Lars. I’m one of the show’s advance men.”

Agatha looked up at him. He was very handsome, with dark hair and well muscled arms that showed under his short sleeves. “Is that some technical term for a leading man?”

He laughed again, and effortlessly lifted her from the barrel. His hands were large and steady. “No, although I do play Bill Heterodyne a lot. No, an advance man travels ahead of the circus. We scout the terrain ahead. It’s our job to keep the show from riding into a nest of monsters or wasting time going down a road that ends up being washed out—things like that.

“When we get to a town, we make sure it’s not full of cannibals or blood frogs. If it seems okay, then we have to find a place for the show to set up, figure out who we have to bribe, collect local information that might be good to include in the show, and try to get a good deal on any supplies we need.”

“That sounds pretty dangerous.” Agatha said, then thought a little about Zeetha, and Zeetha’s stick. “Hey, the next time you go, take me with you!”

That got yet another laugh. Agatha liked the sound of it. “Ah, are you one of my fans, already?” Lars chuckled, “I know I have a magnetic personality, but...”

“No!” Agatha was blushing a lot, today. “I mean, I just thought it would be a good way to escape—”

“Interesting. Usually we get farm girls who want to join the show to escape.”

“Oh? Escape from what?”

Lars grew serious. She had asked the question lightly, but suddenly Agatha wondered what he’d seen. “The tedium of farming. A family that thinks of her as nothing but a servant, or worse. The dull lad she’s doomed to marry. A town that remembers every one of her mistakes...”

“What do you do with them?” Agatha asked.

Lars immediately brightened. “Why, we take them, of course!”

Agatha looked surprised. “You do?”

They had been walking away from camp as they spoke, following a path that led across a shallow brook. Lars gallantly held out a hand to help her hop across on the flat stones that served as a bridge.

He nodded. “Sure. Some panic their first night away from home, and most of them, having succeeded in escaping their old life, leave us at the next town. But some—ah, some people set foot on the stage and never step off.”

Agatha gave him a shrewd look. “Like yourself.”

“Ha! Caught!” He struck a dramatic pose and his voice boomed forth. “You see before you a former cheesemaker’s apprentice, who foolishly stopped to see a traveling Heterodyne show when he was supposed to be delivering a wheel of Hungarian Kashkaval!” Lars threw his arms wide and looked impressive for a brief moment, but he had chosen his stage poorly. His boots slipped on the wet rocks and he toppled, plunging ankle-deep into the water. Agatha laughed and helped him up.

On the bank, Lars continued. “It was The Heterodyne Boys and Their Anthracite Burning Earth Orbiter.” He sighed happily at the memory. “That was over ten years ago and I’ve never regretted it.”

Agatha smiled. “My favorite was always Race to the West Pole.”

Lars clapped his hands. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good one. We haven’t done it in a while, though.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Different shows work better with different actors. It’s not like it’s a problem, there’s so many of them, you know? It just hasn’t come around in the rotation.” He eyed Agatha speculatively. “It’s about due, actually. Hmm... but there are some tough scenes in West Pole. Remember the scene on the burning submersible?” His voice suddenly shifted timbre, becoming lower and more intense.

“Renounce your father, lest his evil corrupt you!”

Lars paused, and looked at Agatha encouragingly. Agatha shivered. His voice, as he’d said the line, had sent an electric tingle down her spine. She thought back to the last time she’d seen the play.

It had been years ago, in Beetleburg, during one of the annual Lightning Festivals. Booths and revelers had crowded the streets. It had been easy to slip away from Lilith, who had been busy dickering over a set of exotic canning jars—and who, Agatha knew, would not have approved of her foster-daughter’s enthusiasm for the show playing on the makeshift stage in the market square. It had been a rare forbidden pleasure, and Agatha had watched intently. Later, she would replay the wonderful story over and over in her head.

Lars had begun the scene where Bill Heterodyne and the villainous Lucrezia Mongfish were trapped together aboard the slowly combusting submarine. It was one of her favorite scenes, and she knew how it went:

“One cannot be corrupted by Science! And Science alone is my master!”

Lars nodded approvingly and moved closer. “Then your master is mad! As mad as you have driven me!”

“Is it madness to see clearly? You only confuse me!”

Lars swept her into his arms. “Allow me to elucidate.”

Agatha tilted her head back and looked him in the eyes. “...It could be an interesting experiment, if I but dared...”

“Don’t tell me you fear the experiment?”

“I fear the result! But the experiment itself—why, that is but Science!

“For Science, then!”

“For Science!”

On the stage, it was an intense scene, romantic and passionate—and it was meant to end with a torrid kiss. Agatha and Lars blinked at each other. He held her tightly in his arms, pulled close so that their faces were only centimeters apart. She, gazing up into his face, was clutching at his shirt and pulling him down toward her in a most unseemly way.

They broke apart and Agatha fanned herself with her hand. The weather seemed to have turned unseasonably warm, and her heart was pounding.

Lars took a deep breath and grinned. “Say! You’re pretty good!”

Agatha licked her lips. “Really? I never... ah... so that’s acting? I... I wonder if...” A strained wheeze stopped her, and she glanced sideways at Lars. He was staring fixedly up over her head. “Lars?”

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 question[21].

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 did[22], 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?”

Trish, next to Otto, lowered her crutch. It could now be seen that this was an automated rifle of exotic design. She bent it open with a “crack!” and snapped in a fresh drum of ammunition. “I’m not sure—” she began, closing the weapon with one jerk of her arm. She raised it to her shoulder as the beast lurched back to its feet. It glared at them and showed its teeth, as dozens of spines erupted from its head and body. It screamed again and stalked toward them purposefully.

“—But I think we got it mad,” Trish cried.

“Stev!” Guntar shouted, “Destroy!”

With a rumble, the squat automaton strode forward. As he moved, he shuddered and shrugged, unfolding his joints and growing as he advanced. Smilin’ Stev suddenly looked a lot more dangerous. The enormous grin plastered across his face widened—and a buzz saw slid out of his mouth, shrieking as it gained speed.

The monster saw the approaching clank and paused. As Stev came within reach, the creature wheeled about and delivered a punishing kick with its rear legs, punching two enormous dents into the machine’s hide and sending him flying backwards. Stev hit the ground rolling. When he stopped, he was on his back, limbs waving feebly.

By this time the rest of the circus performers had appeared, most of them carrying strange bits of equipment. A high-pitched squealing filled the air, causing everyone’s teeth to vibrate painfully. “Cover your ears!” André yelled, “I’m using the sonic cannon!”

Dame Ædith appeared atop one of the wagons. She opened a huge prayer book to reveal a hand-held machine cannon, and began firing wooden stakes at the creature. “Aut vincere aut mori!” she screamed.

Yeti lumbered forward. He took a string of huge beads from around his neck and wrapped it around his hand. The light around him began to bend slightly as he advanced. “Stay back,” he called out, “I am contemplating the gravity equations!”

Professor Moonsock rushed up, wearing nothing but a leather waistcoat and bloomers. She gleefully pulled the stopper from a large canister covered with warning symbols. “Fools! None of that will work!” she announced joyfully, “I am releasing my poisonous skywurms!”

At this announcement, the entire company turned away from the spiny horse-monster and screamed “No!” But it was far too late. A horde of glowing purple insects boiled forth from the canister. They spun about in the air, and then, at a signal from their delighted mistress, dived en masse toward the bemused horse beast.

As the wurms neared their target, the monster reared up and spat out a stream of foul-smelling flames that engulfed the entire swarm.

Guntar blinked in astonishment. “It breathes fire?

Professor Moonsock stomped in fury. “Cheating! Cheating! That is so unfair!”

At that moment, Yeti clapped his huge hands together and boomed forth a low “Ooooommmmm...” The horse gasped, and its knees buckled.

From the darkness, Zeetha leapt onto the horse-creature’s back, her swords crossed before her. As she landed, she swept her arms forward, and the blades effortlessly sliced through the creature’s neck.

The head flew off with a surprised expression frozen upon its features. The body shuddered, but before anyone could react, the creature’s chest split wide open, revealing a gaping, fang-filled mouth that gibbered and squealed. Zeetha, astonished, had recovered quickly and was repeatedly sinking her swords into the creature’s back, but long tentacles burst out of the open maw, and plucked her into the air. Helpless, she roared in fury as she was pulled toward the creature’s huge mouth.

Suddenly, the thing exploded in a spatter of brilliant blue light. Zeetha was thrown sideways, and crashed against a cart, followed by tiny pattering scraps of monster.

The circus players stood transfixed. The only sound was an ominous “vreeeeeee—” as the weapon Agatha held under her arm recharged. She stood in the firelight, studying the performers and the assorted devices they held. She looked around at the damage those devices had caused to the surrounding area. Finally she nodded and lowered the gun.

“Well,” she said to Krosp, “There’s your answer.” She turned to Master Payne. “I think I understand now. You’re all Sparks. Aren’t you?”

Everyone looked at Master Payne. He opened his mouth to answer—and was cut off when Lars let out an unearthly shriek.

Oddly, at the sound of Lars’ scream, the circus players seemed to relax, as if this were the signal that all was clear. Trish bent over him as he sat on the ground near the fire. “It’s okay!” she said soothingly, “Take a deep breath.”

This didn’t help. “HORSE!” he screamed. “HORSEHORSE HORSEHORSE!”

Agatha stared. “What in the World is the matter with him?”

The Countess shook her head. “Panic attack. He gets them after things like this.”

Agatha looked surprised. “Oh. But... that’s kind of unusual for a Spark, isn’t it? Doesn’t he wind up doing it all the time, then?”

“He’s not a Spark.”

“What? But—”

Marie spread her hands. “Many of us, yes, but not all of us.”

Taki bustled up with an anticipatory grin upon his face. He was carrying a beautiful, large, golden-brown pie. “Panic attack, eh? Finally! Thought I’d never get a chance to try my newest Calming Pie!”

Before anyone could stop him, the cook strode straight over and slapped the pie directly into Lars’ face. Lars froze. Everyone held his or her breath... and then from around a face full of pie could be heard a strangled, “horrrff!”

Agatha looked at Marie with suspicion. “That was supposed to calm him down?”

The Countess rolled her eyes. “Those of us who are Sparks aren’t always that good at it. There’s a reason we get called ‘mad’ you know.”

The cook shrugged irritably. “All the calm must’ve leaked out. I’ll bake a fresh one.”

Yeti had retrieved Zeetha, and now held her carefully in his arms. Master Payne examined her foot, which looked bruised. He gingerly wiggled it, causing her to gasp in sudden pain.

The Circus Master clucked his tongue. “You’ve sprained that ankle. One of Professor Moonsock’s self-tightening bandages should have it fixed up in a few days, but you’ll want to stay off of it.”

One of the other performers bustled up. “No! Wait! This is the perfect opportunity to test out my ‘relativistic pain theory’! Let me get my hammer!”

One of the puppeteers snorted derisively. “Bosh! We should amputate! We can try out my new steam-powered feet!”

Zeetha snarled at them both and brandished a sword. “Come near me, and I will kill you!”

With the ease of long practice, both Sparks turned away. “Fine. Suffer then,” the hammer man said.

The puppeteer was obviously more disappointed and turned to eye the still babbling Lars. A speculative gleam grew in her eyes. “You know,” she said hopefully, “I’ll bet Lars wouldn’t panic if his feet could run at two hundred kilometers an hour!”

The hammer man looked at her scornfully. “Absurd. The stress would tear his legs apart.”

The puppeteer grinned and rubbed her hands together. “Ah—Old fashioned flesh legs, yes, but—”

“Enough!” Marie shouted, giving them a stern look. Around them, several equally-alarming conversations came to a halt. “All Lars needs is a lie-down and some quiet!

The crowd shuffled its feet sheepishly, looked disappointed, and began to disperse. The Countess nodded in satisfaction and then turned to her husband with a thoughtful expression. “And...and perhaps a soothing tonic?” she said—a small, manic grin spreading across her.

Payne nodded amiably and gently pushed his wife along. “That’s a wonderful idea, my dear. Why don’t you go brew one up?” The Countess gave a slightly mad chuckle of triumph and darted off.

Master Payne gusted out an enormous sigh and turned back. The circle of firelight was now empty except for Agatha, looking perplexed, and Lars, still babbling about horses and pies.

Payne addressed Agatha warily. “And you, Miss Clay—do you have any ideas for calming Lars down?”

“Me? Heavens, no!”

Payne grinned in relief. “Excellent! You may stay. Help me get him up, won’t you?”

Soon enough, they had Lars sluiced off and installed in his own bed. Abner had been dispatched to look in on everyone as they settled in. After the night’s excitement, Payne wanted to be sure that no one was out building anything “helpful.”

Lars had calmed down a bit. He was no longer babbling, and lay quietly, burrowed deep under his bedding. Only his face showed over the quilt, staring out at the world with wide eyes.

Agatha placed a damp cloth on his head and turned to Master Payne, who sat slumped wearily in a chair, watching her. “So?” she asked.

Payne nodded wearily. “So the point is, everyone knows what a Spark is, right? Just ask the people who come to our shows. A Spark is the madman in the castle on the hill, cackling away while he builds monsters. Sparks are Flamboyant! Fearless! Powerful! No one can stop them! When you say ‘Spark,’ that is the sort of fantastical creature a person thinks about.”

Payne’s voice had risen to a dramatic height, but now he sighed and wiped a hand across his face. When he spoke next, his voice was tired.

You’d probably think of the Heterodyne Boys, or The Master of Paris.” He shook his head. “But most people remember the bad ones. Petrus Teufel. Lucifer Mongfish. The Polar Ice Lords. If only because they make for better stories. That’s what Sparks are like.

“But the Spark, like any other talent, comes in varying degrees. Think about it. How do you know when someone is a Spark?

“The answer is when they create something too mad too ignore. That’s all it takes, really. But what about someone who’s brilliant, has the Spark burning brightly within him, no doubt about it, but is born to an impoverished village cobbler? Without any education or resources, what can they do? Build a dangerous boot?

“The worst off are those with just enough of the Spark that those around them can identify them, but not enough that they can defend themselves.”

Payne gestured out at the circus. “Most of us, here, are Sparks without power. We are not rich, and, my Countess excepted, we have no rank. We have no castle walls to hide behind, and our talents are not strong enough to fend off the world. We are easy prey for those who would have use for us. So, we play madboys on the stage and openly perform our mundane miracles using easily spotted smoke and mirrors. The audience sees simply players in a show, and we are able to hide in plain sight. Even from the Baron.”

Realization dawned in Agatha’s mind. “You thought the Baron had sent that crab clank. That’s why you didn’t fight back.”

Payne nodded. “The Baron or someone like him. When we think the wrong people are watching, we travel ‘on stage.’ Remember that term, please. There are many who have a use for Sparks, weak or strong, and they have any number of tricks for hunting us.”

Agatha was silent. She had seen enough at the University, and later on Castle Wulfenbach, to know that Payne’s words were true. The thought made her feel heavy, and tired.

“I understand. Well, it’s late. I guess I’d better go—”

“NO!” Lars frantically pushed himself up and grabbed Agatha’s arm so hard that a small shock of pain went through her. “I want her to stay here!”

Payne looked surprised. “Miss Clay? Why?”

“Because she’s got a great big monster-killing gun!” he exclaimed. “And I want it, and her, right here!”

Krosp shrugged. “Can’t really argue with that logic.”

“Don’t worry.” Agatha smiled at Lars as she pried his hand from her arm. She turned to face Master Payne. “I’ll stay. I don’t know if I could sleep now, anyway.”

Payne sat back and nodded. “Thank you, Miss Clay, I appreciate it.”

A quiet snore surprised them. Lars, eyes closed, was already deep in slumber.

“Strike a light!” Master Payne declared. “That was quick.”

Agatha smiled. “Well! No one has had that much faith in me since—” Suddenly, she thought of Gil, his image so clear in her mind that her breath caught and her eyes began to sting. She turned away.

Payne looked quizzical, “—since?”

“Nothing important.” Her voice was husky, “Never mind.”

Master Payne looked thoughtful. “I see.” He stood up, and said in a hearty voice: “Good night then!” Agatha simply waved a weak goodbye. She was lost in unhappy thought.


When Payne stepped down from the wagon, he found Abner waiting for him. The young man was slightly disheveled, and hastily tucked in his shirt as he asked: “Is Lars all right, sir?”

Payne nodded. “Oh, yes. Miss Clay is going stay with him.”

Abner shook his head. “Well, we’ve got our proof. She’s a Spark, and a strong one, I’d bet.”

“That’s a sucker bet and no mistake.” Payne shook his head. “And she’s on the run from Wulfenbach. Aspects of Moxana’s new game are starting to make some sense.”

“And yet you don’t look happy,” Abner observed. He lowered his voice. “We... could lose her. At the next town.”

Payne stretched and rolled his shoulders. “No, Ab, I don’t think we could.” The two men started to walk. “Nothing good would come of it. I can almost guarantee it.” He shook his head. “She wants us to get her to Mechanicsburg? Let’s just do it as quickly as possible, and get it over with.”

The body of the horse-monster needed to be disposed of. Several men had been hauling wood and building a pyre a small distance downwind of the camp. As Payne and Abner arrived, Rivet and Otto were just lowering the carcass onto the pyre with a device that resembled an inside-out forklift. The cook used a tiny hatchet to broach a small cask, and everyone stepped back as he soaked everything with a colorless liquid. He took extreme care not to get any on himself, and when he finished, he sprang back—tossing the empty cask on the pyre as if it were already on fire. Everyone looked expectantly at Payne. The Circus Master stepped up and with a flourish, shot a thin jet of green fire from his fingers. Wood and monster exploded into flame.

Payne nodded in satisfaction and turned to Abner, who was settling himself against a log. “Use all the wood and fuel you need, but I want that thing reduced to ash before morning. That’s when we’re moving out.”

Abner gave a lazy salute. “If anything happens, I’ll give the signal. You know, the one where I scream like a diva.”

“Good man.” Before Payne went back to his own wagon, he took a last turn through the camp, making sure to assign extra watch duties to everyone unwary enough to cross his path. Just before he climbed the steps to his own wagon, he saw Pix heading toward the roaring fire. She was loaded down with an enormous counterpane and a picnic basket. Payne grinned, and closed the wagon door behind him.


Back in Lars’ wagon, Agatha had lit the lamps, and made herself comfortable at the wagon’s tiny fold-down table. Krosp was blithely rummaging through the cupboards. Agatha considered telling him to stop, then decided that she was too tired to bother. She would scold him later.

“Hide the Spark,” she mused. “I’ve heard of people trying to do it, but they never seem to succeed.”

Krosp sniffed at an empty china bowl. “It’s easier for these guys. They have less to hide.”

Agatha thought about some of the devices she had glimpsed before she had blasted the monster horse apart. “I don’t know about that. But even if that is the case, I can still learn a lot from them.”

Krosp had opened a door and removed a covered plate. He lifted the lid and discovered a wheel of buttery yellow cheese. He sniffed approvingly, and bit off a sizeable chunk. Agatha swatted the back of his head in disgust as she scolded him. “Krosp! Manners!” The cat blinked resentfully, but carefully took a knife and cut a thick wedge off of the unbroken side of the cheese. He passed it to Agatha and went back to gnawing away at the rest. “The problem is that because they’re trying so hard to appear harmless, they’re vulnerable.”

Agatha was thoughtful. “Yes, they can’t carry around anything unusually powerful without giving themselves away. Hiding really big stuff would be hard.” She paused for a moment as an idea percolated in her mind. “Hmmm... I’ll bet I could do it.”

Krosp’s ears flattened with alarm. Agatha didn’t notice. “Yesssss—” her voice intensified, “With the tools and materials available, why, I could build defenses that would keep them safe from anyone!

Krosp waved his paws. “Whoa, whoa! Without being obvious? The whole idea is to look innocuous, remember? Anyway, they probably won’t want to let you mess around with their stuff!”

Agatha was excited now. “Plans!” she declared.” I’ll draw up plans and they can see what I can do.”

Krosp considered this and nodded grudgingly. “That should give them some warning, anyway. Hold on...” He opened an upper cupboard and returned with a stack of paper and some pencils.

Agatha snatched them from his paws and began sketching furiously. “When I’m done,” she declared, “we’ll be the most normal-looking circus on the face of the earth!”

Krosp rolled his eyes. “Very reassuring.”


Hours later, the first subtle hints of dawn began to appear. Krosp was curled up inside an earthenware bowl that a few hours ago had contained a black pudding. Now, the pudding was contained within Krosp. Agatha was still hunched over the table. Beside her, the lamp guttered, and with a final puff, went out. She blinked and sat back, her back popping faintly. She stretched mightily, and looked slightly astonished at the blizzard of paper strewn about the little room.

With a sigh, she began collecting the papers, pausing to examine each one as she picked it up. Hearing her chuckle, Krosp came awake with a grunt, stretching all four legs upward in a huge yawn. “Done?” he asked.

Agatha nodded proudly. “Uh-huh. Want to see?” She held up a page covered with intricate drawings.

Krosp’s brow furrowed. “What is this? A nutcracker?” He tilted the page slightly sideways, and realized that the “nuts” in the picture actually had tiny screaming faces. “AAAAHHH!” He shrieked and flung the paper away.

Agatha looked surprised. “What?”

Gingerly, Krosp picked up another page and examined it. He frowned and waved the page at Agatha accusingly. “A merry-go-round that can level a small town seems a bit... overboard for ‘self defense.’”

Agatha examined the plans. She didn’t remember drawing that one—it was pretty horrible. Still, she was rather pleased at how she’d drawn the fleeing townspeople.

“Well...” she hazarded, “It could be a really evil town...” She saw Krosp glaring at her. “Okay, okay.” She shuffled all the papers together with a touch of regret. “I doubt I’d need anything this extreme anyway.” A colossal yawn caught her by surprise. She looked out the window and, for the first time, noticed the predawn light. She glanced at Lars—he had slept soundly all through the night.

“I believe I am now ready to get some sleep,” she confessed. She turned in her seat and pain exploded throughout her frame. She froze—suddenly remembering the grueling workout Zeetha had put her through the day before. “Acetylsalicylic acid!” she gasped.

The cat looked around. “Where? I don’t see the acid.”

Agatha would have glared at him, but even her eyeballs ached. “No,” she said patiently, as she carefully hobbled forward, “I have to find some.” The wagon door swung open and there stood Zeetha, leaning on a sturdy crutch. She grinned when she saw Agatha.

“You’re awake! Eager for training, eh? Well, I’d heard Sparks were tough.”

Agatha realized that there was only one door to the wagon, and thus, no escape. “No,” she whispered.

Zeetha laughed and dragged her into the clear morning air. “No more mollycoddling!”

The wagon door shut. Krosp stared at it for a moment. Unfamiliar feelings surged through his tiny, feline heart. “Why, this must be pity,” he thought in wonder.

A snort from behind announced Lars’ return to consciousness. “Is someone here?”

Krosp leapt onto the bed and stood on Lars’ chest. “That would be me.” Lars looked up at him owlishly. “This is when you offer to feed me,” Krosp suggested helpfully.

Lars nodded fuzzily and pushed Krosp aside. He climbed out of bed, freshened up at a washbowl, and began looking through the cupboards. A frown crept across his features as he peered into one empty container after another. “Where’d Agatha go?” He asked as he upended an empty pitcher. “Off to bed? I’ll bet she was pretty beat.”

A faraway bleat of pain caused Krosp’s ears to twitch. “She will be.”

To Krosp’s horror, Lars then noticed the stack of paper on the table. “Wow. She was busy.” He picked up the top sheet and frowned. “Is this some sort of cherry pitter?” He tilted the page slightly sideways—

“Hey! I smell food!” Krosp yowled, grabbing at Lars’ pants. “Open the door! Let me out! Hey! Hey! Open the door! Hey!”

Lars paused. A tantalizing aroma was indeed coming from somewhere outside. He tossed the paper back onto the table and opened the door.

“Is that breakfast I smell?” Lars called out cheerfully as he marched through the tall grass outside the camp. Abner looked up from beside the embers of the fire. A few glowing bones poked out of the pile of ash.

Lars stopped dead and looked sick. “Er—I sure hope not.” he muttered.

Abner grinned. He was enveloped by a huge quilt, the remains of a leisurely picnic strewn at his feet. Still asleep, but cuddled close up against him, was Pix.

“Mornin’, Lars,” Abner said softly. He nodded in the direction of the pyre. “Doesn’t look so scary now, does it?”

Lars looked askance at the fire. “That depends. What’s for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal—”

Lars looked relieved.

“À la monster!” Abner crowed.

“Half-wit.” Lars growled.

His friend shrugged modestly. “It’s a gift.”

Lars agreed that indeed it was. Pix made a small contented sound in her sleep and snuggled in closer to Abner.

Lars raised an eyebrow. “Pix sure looks happy.”

Abner smiled at her tenderly. “We sat up all night watching this thing burn.”

Lars looked impressed. “Wow. And I thought I knew how to show a girl a good time.”

Abner shrugged. “Well, we had a good long talk.”

Lars looked stern. “Just talked?” He asked skeptically.

“Just talked.”

“Hmph. You look pretty happy for a couple who ‘just talked.’”

Abner grinned again in a way that had Lars rolling his eyes. “Guess we liked what we heard.”

Master Payne strolled up. “Good morning, all. Ready to go, Lars?”

Lars gave a small bow. “I can eat in the saddle, so all I have to do is find some breakfast and my partner in crime, and we can set out.”

Payne nodded. “Excellent. Augie has been ready to go for the last half hour. He’s waiting for you near my cart, looking over maps and calling you several interesting and creative names. He’s got your horse all saddled, and he’s got your breakfast—so get going. The sooner we’re away from here, the better, and I daresay the ladies in the towns ahead are waiting.” Lars trotted off obediently.

When Lars had gone, Payne selected one of the iron cooking spits and poked at the remaining bones, peering curiously into the ashes. “So,” he asked. “I don’t suppose there was anything interesting hidden within our monster here? Jeweled heart? Enchanted princess?”

Abner shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. For what it’s worth, it smelled like horse.”

“Pity. Well, we’ll just have to come up with something interesting ourselves. We’ll make a good story out of it[23].”

Zeetha came toward them, leaning heavily on her crutch. She carried Agatha slung over her shoulder. When she saw the two showmen she rolled her eyes and grumbled: “Bah! Novices today! Ask them to move some rocks and they just collapse.”

“I think she was up all night, watching Lars,” Master Payne remarked.

Zeetha looked surprised, and then delivered a sharp smack to Agatha’s backside. “Idiot! You have to tell me these things!” When this got no response, Zeetha looked worried.

“Lars is getting ready to ride out, put her in his bed.” Master Payne ordered. “He won’t mind, and I’ll have Rivet drive the Baba Yaga today.”

“Yeah, okay. That’ll be good.” Zeetha agreed. “That chicken thing moves like a drunk.” She carried Agatha off toward the wagons.

Everyone was eager to be on the move as soon as possible, and the camp was a flurry of activity. Horses were being hitched, fuel added to boilers, and belongings stowed.

Lars and Augie were already mounted, Lars on a long-legged black stallion and Augie on a stout Serbian Clicking-Horse. They were nearly ready to head out, but first they joined the point riders, who were still busy making a thorough check of their equipment and mounts.

These three would escort the caravan, keeping watch for any trouble as they rode. Pushed up onto their foreheads were strangely-designed goggles that could give them spectacular views of the surrounding landscape as they rode. The five men took a few minutes to discuss the route ahead and compare maps. When they were done, they drew their swords and formally saluted each other. Then, Lars and Augie galloped away down the road. The point riders set out at a more sedate pace.

This was the signal for Abner to blow the “ten minute” whistle. Everyone was now putting out the remaining fires, tightening straps and climbing aboard wagons.

The Circus Master’s wagon was the first to set out, its brilliant black and orange roof tiles gleaming in the morning sun. It was pulled by a towering, snow-white draft horse and a sleek black mule with a long twisting horn rising between its fuzzy ears.

As the next wagon began to roll, Payne stood upon the footboard and called out: “A fair road to us all, my friends! And now—a little traveling music, if you please!”

At this, Balthazar, sitting on the roof of his family’s wagon, struck up a jaunty melody on his horn. André had found the bizarrely twisted, multi-belled instrument in an abandoned pawnshop, and then had never been able to get a note out of it. Balthazar, however, could get notes out of it, lots of them, and of great variety. And, as the horn was big, shiny, and terrifically loud, the boy had become extremely attached to it. He practiced with it constantly, knew lots of songs, and now played well enough that the rest of the troupe’s “joking” attempts to hide the instrument had all but stopped.

To the curious music of the horn, alternately blasting like an elephant and twittering like a flock of tiny birds, the wagons pulled one-by-one onto the road and rumbled along toward their next show.


The ancient road that originally stretched from Imperial Rome to the Thracian province of Dacia was still the preferred route for anyone who traveled through the region. Although there were places damaged by time and weather, it was mostly in good repair—more so as one approached a town or castle. Travel became easier as the circus left the wilder parts of the Wastelands behind them, and traffic in both directions increased.

Still, as the wagons bumped along the weathered paving stones, Master Payne sat with his eyes turned skyward. Every time the wagon jolted through a hole where a stone had gone missing, the idea of retiring the venerable caravan wagons and outfitting a set of circus dirigibles sounded better and better.

This was not a new thought. It was an idea often raised after the troupe had escaped some monster, dodged bandits, or fought off a horde of cannibalistic mole-people. In other words, the subject was on the Circus Master’s mind a lot.

He was intrigued by, and not a little envious of, the new wagon belonging to Herr Helios, the aerialist. It was little more than a traditional wagon suspended from a small blimp. It had no engines, so the strange little aerial cart had to be towed along whenever the show traveled, but it gave the Circus a nice touch of the exotic and looked good when they paraded into town. Once, though, the tow rope had broken, and only luck and the quick action of Professor Moonsock and her trained albatross had prevented Herr Helios from drifting away to parts unknown.

But Payne considered Helios’ craft to be an intriguing “first draft.” He took a clinical pleasure in each new design flaw Herr Helios encountered. Imagining how he would prevent similar problems with his own, at-this-point-theoretical, airship was an amusing way to pass the long hours of travel.

Marie, who was driving, easily recognized the dreamy look in her husband’s eyes. She glanced at the sky and pulled a face, but left him to his thoughts. Although she had qualms about abandoning the traditional wagons, she suspected that most of them boiled down to an irrational fear of rolling out of her bed and falling five hundred meters to the ground.

She’d just told herself that if Payne ever did get hold of an airship, she’d just have to brew up something that would keep her afloat. This line of thought had produced some intriguing speculations.

And thus, dreaming their respective dreams, the circus rolled on.


Several hours later, Agatha awoke. She was so warm and comfortable that she was slow to emerge from her heavy fog of sleep. Finally, with a start or recognition, she realized that the bed she was curled up in belonged to Lars. Last she remembered, Lars had been the one asleep here.

She remembered a vague nightmare involving large stones and Zeetha, but she couldn’t remember falling asleep. She relaxed and stretched. Well, she had been up all night, and the bed really was soft, and had a delightful masculine smell about it. This traitorous thought brought her sharply awake, and in one great leap she burst from beneath the warm covers.

A set of unfamiliar clothes had been laid out. The outfit was covered in the colorful folk embroidery worn by the rest of the performers. Agatha felt happy as she pulled them on—the skirt and bodice were a perfect fit[24]. It was a little thing, but it seemed symbolic, as though she had been accepted into the troupe for real now.

She glanced at the table. There were no papers to be seen—the drawings she had worked on all night were gone. She rummaged through the cupboards and lifted the mattress on the bed. Nothing. A small twinge of panic snapped at the back of her skull. She didn’t want her new friends to get the wrong idea... even Krosp had been unusually horrified by some of the designs. Then, she realized that Krosp had most likely been the one who took them. Still, Agatha felt a bit piqued. She’d worked hard on those plans.

She pushed open the door and stopped in surprise. “We’ve moved!”

The circus had pulled off the road, and was camped in a wide field dotted with pine trees. Agatha took a deep breath. The smell made her think of the Christmas holidays[25]. Nearby, a fast-flowing river burbled down a rocky slope.

Guntar and Otto looked up from the dismantled husk of Smilin’ Stev. Guntar waved a wrench in greeting. “Good afternoon! You’ve been asleep most of the day!” Several sawhorse tables surrounded them, covered with carefully laid out parts and tools.

Otto chimed in: “Is true. We hit a stretch of the good road, found this spot and camped early while we still have much bright light for working!”

Guntar nodded. “We’ll have ol’ Stev here good as new in no time. He broke down three times today, and I don’t like holding everyone up.”

Balthazar was sitting on a nearby boulder, balancing a gear on a stick. “But it was kind of weird, that old Baba Yaga didn’t break down once.”

From inside Stev’s shell, Rivet’s voice echoed. “It was damn weird. No breakdowns, no jamming, and I swear the gearage improved while I was driving it.” She popped up from the depths and gave Agatha a piercing look. “What the heck did you do to it?”

Agatha looked back blankly. “But... I haven’t done anything. Not yet...” Rivet looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I mean, I looked it over, and I made some sketches, but everyone’s been keeping me so busy that I just haven’t had the time.”

Rivet’s eyebrows were now drawn down in a scowl. “No.” She shook her head. “No. I refuse to believe that you’re some kind of magical Spark who can fix something just by ‘making a few sketches.’”

Agatha held up her hands. “Well it wasn’t me!”

Rivet thought a moment, and looked like she was running through the events of the previous day in her head. “Yeah... you were busy all day yesterday. Huh. That’s really weird. But...”

Rivet did not like mysteries. She disappeared back into the damaged clank, grumbling: “Somebody’s been messing with that furschlugginer chicken house, and I want to find out who!

Under the eaves of a nearby wagon, three miniscule clanks paused, cables dangling from their delicate mechanical hands. The cables were already partially strung, winding behind woodwork, through reworked cabinetry, and along newly redesigned axles.

The clanks looked at their leader in silent appeal. The little golden pocket-watch clank looked up from the sheaf of drawings it was studying and waved them back to work.


A short distance away a scene of shocking animal cruelty was unfolding. Unusually, the expected roles were reversed, but none of those involved appeared to appreciate the irony.

Krosp stood atop an upended barrel, enthusiastically pumping away at a concertina. He was also making a game attempt at singing and dancing. His song ranged from unearthly high-pitched yowls down to disturbing rumbling growls, all delivered with the vocal energy of an opera singer in a bar fight.

The troupe members who formed the small audience sat stunned by the spectacle before them.

“It’s... it’s just such a waste,” Abner said over the cacophony. “A cat who sings! Dances!”

Marie sighed. “But... not very well.”

Professor Moonsock had her hands over her ears. “He’s terrible!

The Countess tried to find a positive side. “But he is a real cat who really sings and dances.” Krosp’s concertina playing was so awful that Marie couldn’t even try to find a good side to it.

Payne nodded slowly. “That’s the problem, I think. He’s unmistakably real.” Krosp came to the end of the song and finished with a shrill musical flourish that cracked one of the lenses in Professor Moonsock’s glasses. “It might be best if we kept him off the stage entirely. We don’t want to lose him, after all...”

“Lose him!” Professor Moonsock snorted. “Are you kidding? If anyone tries to steal him, we’ll just have him sing for them!”

Krosp flattened his ears. “Ridiculous! I know I’m not yet ready for the Paris Opera—” André gasped and sat down, looking pale. “But this is hardly Paris! You can’t all have tin ears! This show needs my talent!”

Payne nodded judiciously. “I quite agree! Not using someone as unique as you would be quite a waste.”

Abner perked up. “Background wow?”

Payne nodded. “Background wow.”


“Background what?” Agatha asked Krosp as they trudged across the field.

“The idea,” Krosp said, “is to have a few ‘fabulous monsters’ in the background. Doing everyday, normal things.”

“Like how they have Yeti running the concession stand[26]?”

“Yeah, he’s the example they gave me. He’s big and looks great, but apparently he gets a nosebleed and faints if he goes onstage. But he’s strong as an ox, so he helps set up the tents; he’s got a good voice, so he does announcements; and he’s great at making change, so he sells snacks. The rubes are supposed to see him and say: ‘Golly-gee, if that’s what they have selling crunch muffins and cider, let’s go see what kind of amazing things are in the actual show!’”

Agatha was impressed. “That’s pretty clever.”

“Classic misdirection,” it was a term Krosp had just learned, but he used it with grudging approval.

Agatha tried to project cheer. “Well, don’t look so down. It’s an important part of the show! And you can still practice with the other stuff, um, well, outside of camp somewhere, probably... and, and until then, you really do look wonderful!”

Even though Krosp’s ears were flattened against his skull, Agatha could tell that he agreed. The cat now wore a brilliantly red, military-style, high-collared greatcoat with elegantly fringed epaulets. It was encrusted with almost a kilogram of shiny gold trim, frogging and stamped buttons, and it was a perfect fit. Against Krosp’s white fur, the effect was stunning.

“It was very nice of them to say you could keep it,” Agatha continued.

Krosp shrugged as they came to the wagon that held tack and animal feed. The horses and other creatures that pulled the circus wagons were clustered nearby. “They don’t need it any more, Balthazar outgrew it.”

Agatha tried again. “...and it really does bring out your natural leadership qualities.”

Krosp eyed her dangerously as he selected a flat shovel. “No kidding.”

“Really. And... and don’t forget that you’re making a valuable contribution—”

Krosp tossed a shovelful of horse dung into a bucket. “Just drop it,” he snarled.


At that moment, Balthazar trotted up, a large wooden bowl of what looked like mechanical flowers balanced on his head. “Hey, Agatha! They want you at Master Payne’s wagon!”

With guilty relief, Agatha left Krosp behind. “What’s going on?” Agatha asked the boy as he danced ahead of her.

“We’ll be hitting the town of Zumzum in a day or two, so they’re assigning parts for the show.”

Everyone was clustered around a big fire pit that had been built in the center of camp. Abner and Master Payne sat together, between two great ornate chests that stood open. A thick, leather-bound ledger lay in Payne’s lap.

“Master Payne is checking what we did in Zumzum the last time we came through two years ago.” Balthazar explained. “That way we give them a fresh show.”

Payne made a notation in his book. “—and we’ll finish up with some of Dame Ædith’s knife throwing.”

“Glorious!” she declared.

“And this time—” Abner warned, “Do not ask if there are any vampires in the audience.”

“By my faith! How was I to know that fool was joking?” she groused, “What sane man would joke about vampyres?

“One less now, I suspect,” Abner replied. Ædith folded her arms and sat back down with a huff.

Payne clapped his hands. “This brings us to the main performance, and the show we will be performing.”

There was a sudden uproar, as many of the troupe members called out suggestions.

“Ooh! Ooh! Clockwork Sundial!

“How about The Fog Merchants? There’s some ladder business I want to try in scene two.”

“Could we please do something with some music? Might I suggest The Racing Snails of Dr. Zagreb?

Abner waved his hands for quiet. “It’s already been decided. We’re doing The Heterodyne Boys and the Race to the West Pole.” He paused and let this sink in. Frowns turned to smiles and nods of appreciation.

“A welcome change of pace, that one,” Dame Ædith conceded. She darted a look at Pix. “But I thought our Pix did not like playing the Lady Lucrezia.”

Pix nodded. “Indeed I don’t. But West Pole has some of the best scenes ever written for the High Priestess, and I’m finally going to get to play them. Agatha can play Lucrezia, and she’s welcome to her.”

Agatha felt her jaw drop. “What? But I’ve never done any acting!”

Pix smiled at her. “Don’t worry. She’s the ingénue—the most boring part in all of theater. All you really have to do is rant around and look pretty. The rest of us will make sure it goes smoothly.”

The other players looked startled. Lucrezia was the lead female role in most of the Heterodyne plays. Admiring looks were directed at Abner, who was studiously examining the binding on one of the scripts. He looked up. “Don’t look at me, people. I was ready to wrestle the axe out of her hands if I had to, but she really means it.”

Pix grinned mischievously. “Oh, dear, surely you all didn’t think I would throw a tantrum? Tsk. I don’t want the frilly, pretty roles, I want the good ones! I am an actress, and don’t you forget it!”

Abner stood up. “It’ll be fine,” he announced. “I expect everyone to help her out. Lars says she’s already pretty good, and I’ve learned to judge his instincts.” He stepped up to Agatha and handed her a small, leather-bound booklet. “Besides, he plays Bill, and he’s really good at onstage coaching. Trust him.”

Agatha held the booklet as if it might explode. “But what if I can’t do it?”

Abner shrugged. “Well, if it comes to that, we’ve found that none of the Heterodyne plays really suffer if Punch and Judy start throwing pies.”

There was a pause as Agatha digested this. “I’m going to go study my lines,” she announced.

As she scampered off, Taki puffed out his chest and grinned. “Another demonstrable success for my Unified Pie Theory!

Abner sat back down. “Yeah, yeah. So publish already.” He handed the cook a booklet. “You’re Klaus.”

“Of course!”


Hours later, Agatha was back in the Baba Yaga. She lay on her bunk, legs halfway up the wall and head hanging over the edge[27]. “Do not tempt me,” she recited. “Your brother approaches, and I must go!”

Krosp flipped the final page of the script. “Um—blah, blah, exploding bananas—blah, blah, pole of my heart...” He closed the booklet. “That was your last line.” He looked up. “Good job. I’m impressed. You read it through twice and you’ve already memorized it.”

Agatha waved a hand dismissively. Before Doctor Beetle had passed down the order that she was to be allowed to sit in on any class she pleased, Agatha had often been chased out of the lecture halls at Transylvania Polygnostic University. She had got to the point where she could usually remember the contents of a chalkboard after just a glance. Lately, this talent for memory seemed to be getting even stronger. “I thought about it a lot,” her voice trailed off and her face took on an odd look.

Krosp frowned. “Something wrong?”

Agatha rolled onto her front. “This all feels so strange... I mean, if I really am the daughter of Bill and Lucrezia Heterodyne—”

Krosp frantically waved one paw for silence even as he leapt across the room and slammed the little window shut. Agatha lowered her voice.

“Well if I am—then these stories—all the Heterodyne stories—are about my family. My parents.” She sat up. “This part: Lucrezia. I’m playing my own mother. And Lars is playing my father.”

Krosp scratched his chin with a rear foot. “So?”

Agatha hugged her pillow uncomfortably. “So... there’s kissing and stuff. It feels weird.”

Krosp nodded sagely. “Okay, so when you kiss him, don’t think of him as Bill Heterodyne. Think of him as Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. You liked him.”

The pillow slammed into the cat so fast he didn’t have time to dodge.

“I don’t want to be reminded of that,” Agatha growled. She had kissed Gil once, on impulse, after the terrifying fight with the Hive Queen. But that had been a quick, one-sided victory kiss, and she hadn’t even seen his reaction. She still cringed at the thought of it.

“I will not be kissing Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. Now, or ever again.” she declared—trying to push his face from her mind.

Krosp peeped out from under the pillow. “I know that! You’re kissing that what’s-his-name. Lars.”

Agatha paused. “What?”

“Well he’s the one who plays Bill Heterodyne, right?”

Agatha remembered her surprise at the easy strength with which Lars had lifted her free of the barrel. The friendly look in his eyes as he laughed with her. The little tingle she had felt when his voice shifted as he had dropped into character. That had been... interesting.

Thoughtfully Agatha retrieved her pillow and settled down to sleep.

Lars. He wasn’t even a Spark. Kissing him should be safe enough.



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