Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 4

It was a beautiful morning in the town of ZumZum, and the shops lining the square were doing brisk business. The square itself was a large open area covering a full hectare. Part of it was paved in dark blue stone, but a good half of it was still greensward, occupied by a small flock of sheep and a few cows, idly grazing. A bored-looking child with a stick sat watching the animals, lounging back against the base of a squat tower that stood to one side. The tower, with its limp windsock hanging from a pole, hinted at occasional airship traffic. ZumZum was right on the edge of the Wastelands, but it wasn’t yet completely the middle of nowhere.

A covered market bordered the paved side of the square. It was just a slate-shingled roof atop sturdy wooden posts, but it kept the sun and rain off. Five small boys with brooms were inside the empty structure industriously sweeping at cross-purposes. Tomorrow would be the weekly market-day, when farmers from all over the area would make their way to town to buy and sell, drink, and exchange gossip. Tomorrow, the square would be a noisy, bustling place, full of excitement. Tomorrow would be fun. Today, however, was boring. Miserably, miserably boring.

Three pairs of eyes stared out at the scene glumly. Their owners were watching the movement of the shadows across the green, counting down the hours until market day, when they would have something to look at besides grazing livestock.

“She’s gunna keel uz hyu know,” muttered the one on the right, for easily the hundredth time.

The one in the middle rolled his eyes. “Hy know, Hy know.”

The left one snorted. “Ho! Ve should get off so easy.”

The one on the right tried to nod, but that didn’t work very well. He gave up. “Hyu gots dot right, brodder.”

The middle one considered this solemnly. “Hy vill admit dot she ken be unreasonable, bot in dis caze, Hy tink mebbe she gots some cause.”

The right one scowled. “Iz dot supposed to make me feel better? Iz not vorkink.”

The one on the left brightened. “Hey! Vait a minute! Mebbe ve gets lucky! Mebbe ve be dead by der time she gets here!”

The three considered this. “I hadn’t thought uf dot,” the middle one admitted.

The right one sighed. “Iz hyu crazy? Den ve’d really be in trouble.” Suddenly, his attention was caught by the group of people in showy clothing walking toward them across the grass. He brightened. “Hoy! Brodders! Company!”

Master Payne and Lars stared up at the three Jägermonsters hanging by their necks from the gallows. They were a strange-looking trio—all the Jägermonsters had presumably once been human, or at least, that was the rumor, but whatever change had been worked on them long ago had given them strange, monstrous features that set each of them apart, even from his fellow Jägers.

The first of the three, in addition to the pointed ears and claws common to most of his kind, had long flowing hair and skin of a purplish hue that looked as if it had been that color even before its owner had been strung up. His face was finely boned and handsome, with sharp teeth that jutted over his lips from his lower jaw. The second sported a large ram’s horn—curling out from one side of a mop of dirty blonde hair. His feet were huge and unshod, with two great toes that looked like fat bird claws. The third had skin so olive it was actually green, and dark, untidy hair that ran down the sides of his wide face into a little pointed beard. He, of the three, was the only one who still wore a hat—a green billed cap that matched his skin topped by a pair of worn goggles. A long plume like a horse’s tail sprang from a small carved skull in the top center, to cascade down his back. The creatures swung slowly in an almost nonexistent breeze, hands tightly tied behind their backs.

“Are you insane?” Payne turned to Lars. “We can’t perform here!”

Lars cast a glance at the watchman, a grizzled old soldier wearing armor emblazoned with the town seal. The man stood back deferentially, but he was observing them closely. His face was carefully blank.

“I know, sir.” Lars rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I tried. But all entertainments have to be performed in the town square. As it was, I had enough trouble convincing them to let us camp on the meadow. I actually had to pay out some coin for that.”

Payne frowned, but he knew Lars was good at his job. If money had to be spent, it wasn’t because Lars was a fool. Even so, this was a bit much. “Performing next to corpses is disrespectful! And unhygienic!”

Now Lars really looked uncomfortable. “Ah, well, if that’s your only qualm...”

The green Jäger grinned down at them apologetically—flashing an alarming collection of large, pointed teeth. “Sorry for der problemz,” he called out in a friendly, slightly strangled, voice.

A man of Master Payne’s dignity rarely leapt into the air in surprise. Lars grinned in spite of the situation. He felt privileged to have been a witness to it. “They’re still alive?” Payne was incredulous.

“They’ve been up there for two days, sir.” Lars said, “Apparently, they just aren’t dying.”

Payne stared at the watchman in confusion. “But... after a hanging... they’re supposed to be cut down after twenty-four hours. The Baron’s rules of conduct and hygiene...”

“That’s a bit of a grey area, sir,” the watchman answered stoically. “According to our Mayor, that’s twenty-four hours after they’re dead and all.”

Payne glanced at Lars, who nodded. “The Mayor’s got a betting pool going over how long they’ll last.”

Payne’s lip curled. “Lovely.”

“Oh, he is that.” Lars agreed.

“Well...” Payne looked at the town. Its charm had soured in his eyes. “Fine. One night. We re-supply essentials only, charge double and leave at dawn.”

Lars was surprised. “But I’ve paid for three days. Tomorrow’s a market day—” Payne gave him a look that stopped him cold. “One night. Yessir.”

As they moved off the Jägers grinned at each other. “Did hyu hear dot?”

“Yah! Ve gets to see a show. For free!”

It was going to be an interesting day after all.

Tonight would be Agatha’s first show as a real part of the troupe. Agatha had expected Zeetha to forego the usual morning training—but that had proved wishful thinking. She had been awakened—before sunrise, as always—by the now-familiar beep on her nose.

Zeetha’s foot had healed quickly, and she had celebrated the removal of her bandages by singing a boisterous song in Skifandrian as she trotted behind Agatha on her morning run. Before the run, she had presented Agatha with two heavy buckets full of water, and whenever her pupil had spilled any, or showed signs of slowing down, Zeetha had cheerfully kept time by swatting her across the backside with the freshly-cut switch she carried for just that purpose.

As a result, it had taken some effort for Agatha to stand up straight, wave and smile as the circus caravan rumbled through the cheering crowd at the town gates.

As Zeetha was fond of reminding her, Agatha was still in hiding. To the world outside Master Payne’s Circus of Adventure, she was still Madame Olga: the teller of fortunes. In the odd corners of her days, when Agatha was not peeling vegetables, repairing bits of machinery or running from Zeetha’s stick, she practiced the essential skills she would need for her new identity: observation and lying. The troupe’s sharpshooter, Thundering Engine Woman, was quite a good fortune teller herself, and she had been coaching Agatha in the tricks of the trade. As the circus rolled into the town of ZumZum, she stood at Agatha’s side waving, smiling, and muttering last minute advice. “Remember—eye contact, knowing smile, then look away mysteriously. And for goodness sake, show a little more ankle!”

An hour later, the square had been transformed. The cows and sheep had been moved aside, and now the wagons were arranged in a tight circle on the green. Sideshow booths had been set up, and, even though they would leave the next day, the circus roustabouts were assembling the largest and most elaborate of the Circus’ stages.

The preparations were all of great interest to the three Jägers. Having nothing better to do, they held a long, lazy discussion of past Heterodyne shows they had seen, comparing them to the real people and events on which they were supposedly based. When they got tired of that, they made a game of guessing what each performer’s act might be. Through it all, they cheerfully called out helpful suggestions and friendly remarks to the female members of the troupe, who grimly ignored them.

Suddenly, the wind shifted. The green Jäger stiffened in surprise. The other two were in the middle of a drawn-out argument over the best way to dip a cat in caramel, when he growled at them. “Hey! Shot op! Shot op!”

The other two looked sideways at him with mild astonishment. “Use hyu noses!” he ordered.

They paused. Then, as best they could, they drew in great breaths of air, slowly savoring the mélange of odors that filled the square.

Suddenly, the middle Jäger opened his eyes wide. The one on the end sniffed a moment longer, then his eyes also bugged. The three monsters darted their eyes about, intensely examining each person in the square until, finally, they all found their target. They glanced at each other, excitement showing plainly in their eyes.

It was going to be a very interesting day indeed.

When Thundering Engine Woman caught sight of the gallows with its dangling Jägers, she stopped dead. “Okay. Right here will be perfect.” She dropped the handle of the small cart she had been hauling behind her and glanced at the ground, mentally measuring an open space to one side of the posts.

Agatha looked up and blanched. “Here? Are you kidding?”

The other girl shook her head. “Nope. When people see something like that, they start to wonder what’s going to happen to them. They’ll flock right in, and anything you tell them will seem a lot better in comparison. You’ll make a fortune.” She dragged the cart to a good spot and began to remove the canvas wrapping.

“That seems kind of... callous.”

The girl nodded as she tugged the last of the cover away. She folded it and set it on the grass, well away from the cart—now revealed as a complex crate made of polished wooden and brass slats. “Probably, but I shoot things for a living. If you want sensitivity, go talk to André. Now, watch carefully. You’ll have to do this yourself, next time.”

Agatha continued to stare at the Jägers. “But what did they do?”

Thundering Engine Woman snorted. “Be Jägermonsters and get captured. Doesn’t take a whole lot more than that around here.” She took hold of a pair of handles and pulled. Jointed poles unfolded and silk billowed.

Agatha bit her lip. “But—won’t the Baron be upset?”

At this, the old watchman, who had been leaning against a nearby wall, came toward them. “The Baron don’t care about them, Miss.”

The two women looked at him in surprise. Agatha would have sworn the man had been drowsing in the late-morning sun. “Sergeant Zulli, at your service, ladies,” he said, touching his polished helmet. His smile was indulgent, as though he were addressing children. “We’re too small and out of the way here.” He waved a hand at the tattered windsock. “It’s a rare event when we even see the Baron’s patrol ships overhead.”

“But still, if someone comes looking for them—”

“No need to fret about that, Miss. These fine fellows aren’t part of the Baron’s forces. What we’ve got here is a genuine pack of wild Jägers!”

Agatha stared at the three in surprise. They grinned down at her silently.

Zulli continued, “And to them with long memories, them what remembers the old Heterodynes, that makes these critters fair game.” He paused for a moment to look up at the captives. From the expression that settled on his face, Agatha guessed that the old guardsman’s memory was very long indeed.

“But Bill and Barry—”

Zulli snapped out of his reverie and smiled again. “Bless you, Miss. Of course they were the good ones.” He ran an appraising eye over her so frankly that Agatha blushed.” Young thing like you, they’re probably the only Heterodynes you know.” His eyes again looked into the distance, watching scenes that had happened long ago.

“But before them there were the old Heterodynes—The Masters of Mechanicsburg. Murdering devils, every one of them. The Jägers rode with them, back then, in a great howling horde. They’d come riding down, swarms of them, killing for sport, pillaging and looting, laying waste to whatever they couldn’t carry off. They made a point of hitting our town for tribute every four years or so, sure as the moonrise.”

As the old sergeant spoke, the Jägers, too, seemed to be looking into the past. Agatha watched them closely now, feeling a bit less sympathy than before.

“That’s what the old folks remember,” Zulli concluded. He pulled an obscenely carved pipe from his pocket and struck a match on the purple Jäger’s boot, then puffed in satisfaction as he looked up at the three subdued creatures. “For them folks, living and dead, this is just an example of the wheels of justice grinding slow but fine.” The old man’s jovial mood seemed to have soured, and his face had set in hard lines. “Good day, ladies. Looking forward to your show.” He gave them an abrupt half-salute and strolled off.

Agatha continued to study the Jägers, who stared back at her solemnly. She felt an odd sense of betrayal. The Jägers back on Castle Wulfenbach had been... she paused in her thoughts, confused.

Well, she couldn’t really say they’d been especially kind, or terribly smart, or even particularly helpful... but she realized that she had liked them—been drawn to them. Trusted them. Trusted them to do what, exactly, she couldn’t say, but the fact was that she had felt comfortable around them. Now that she knew about her family, that made sense, but...

“I hadn’t ever really thought about the old Heterodynes,” she admitted. “I mean, I knew they were... bad, but nobody ever really talks about it.”

Thundering Engine Woman tacked up some loose bunting. “Yeah, well, Bill and Barry really redeemed the Heterodyne name. I think their family history is probably the reason they were always trying to do so much good.” She stepped back and examined the booth with a nod of satisfaction. “But people still scare their kids with stories about the Jägermonsters. They were—” she paused, and stared upward as if something had just caught her attention. “Actually, damn creepy is what they are.”

Agatha followed her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve been staring at you non-stop.” Agatha realized that this was true. They hadn’t taken their eyes off her through the whole conversation with Sergeant Zulli. They were still watching her, silently, their expressions unreadable.

Agatha shivered. “Maybe we should set up somewhere else?”

“Too late.” The fortune-teller’s tent was completely unfolded now. Silken walls fluttered in the breeze, striped with deep blue and purple sprinkled with golden stars. Yeti had strolled up with a stack of signs under his massive arm, and was standing with his head tipped back, examining the setup. He selected a wooden board, and hung it on a pair of hooks outside the tent:

Thundering Engine Woman rubbed her hands together and grinned. “And look! Your first customer!”

It was true. Already standing in front of the booth was a shy-looking young woman in drab clothing, obviously trying to work up the courage to go in.

Agatha dithered, “But I’m not ready! I haven’t looked over my notes! I’ve only got part of my costume on!”

Thundering Engine Woman snorted. “You can put the finishing touches on later. Look, if they’ll believe I’m a real American, they’ll believe you’re a real fortuneteller.”

“You’re not a real American?” Agatha blinked in surprise. Thundering Engine Woman had long black braids, and was dressed in flashy beaded buckskins.

“Whoo. You are nervous. The real Thundering Engine Woman traveled with the Heterodyne Boys! How old do you think she’d be by now? I’m just an actress from Italy—but I tell them I’m from America and the crowds eat it up. They’ll swallow your act, too. Just remember they mostly want a sympathetic ear and validation of decisions they’ve already made.” She gently pushed Agatha forward. “Oh yeah, and lie a lot.”

“Okay, okay, I can—” Agatha stumbled with the push, and found herself face to face with the young woman, who stared at her blankly. Agatha straightened up and thought quickly. She really wished she had had time to put on her fancy headdress. Oh, well. She placed her hand upon her brow theatrically and intoned: “I sense that you have... questions.”

The customer’s eyes widened. “Wow! How do you do that?”

Agatha was thrown for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “Enter my tent, child. The power of SCIENCE shall reveal all!” With a flourish, she held open the tent and gestured the girl inside. Perhaps fortunetelling would be easier than she’d thought.

Yeti and Thundering Engine Woman watched this performance with amusement. When the tent flap was closed and murmuring voices could be heard from inside, Yeti smiled. “Not bad,” he conceded.

Suddenly, Agatha’s astonished squeal arose from within the tent. “YOU DID WHAT?”

“I’d say she needs work,” Thundering Engine Woman sighed.

A minute later, Agatha held aside the tent flap with a shaking hand. The quiet young woman stepped out, eyes demurely cast toward the ground. Agatha’s voice had an odd pitch to it as she gave her final pronouncement: “Have no fear, my child, the data indicate that all will be well.” She stood in the doorway with a grin frozen on her face until the girl was out of sight.

Yeti stepped up. “Something wrong?”

Agatha blushed. “People around here are... very strange.”

Yeti tried hard to keep his face blank, but his black eyes shone with amusement. “Well, you have to keep an open mind,” he said, fighting back a smile. “People in different places do different things. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad, it just makes them different. That’s one of the fun things about travel.”

Agatha looked at him. Yeti should know. Zeetha had told her that he came from a land high on a distant mountain, and that he had traveled through all kinds of exotic places for years before joining up with the Circus. “It isn’t that. It’s just... how can I give people advice when I don’t understand the problem? Maybe everything that girl was telling me is perfectly normal here. For all I know, she was only worried because she’d used the wrong spoon.”

Yeti’s curiosity was definitely piqued. “Well, you can go pretty far using common sense, logic and—”

“Whooo! I hear you got a spicy one!” Zeetha bounded out of nowhere and draped an arm across Agatha’s shoulders. “Gimme the details!”

Yeti shrugged. “And when necessary, ask an expert.”

“You’re an expert in...?” Agatha blushed, “erm... weird stuff?”

Zeetha raised her eyebrows and gave her a long, mock serious look. “Oh, yes indeed. Skifander’s patron goddess is Ashtara—she who, among other things, watches over luuurve!” She threw her arms into the air and flowed into a sinuous, undulating dance that caused Yeti to fan himself appreciatively. “Our holy days are fun! Cha cha cha!”

Agatha relaxed enough to laugh. “Well, I think I just found you a new bishop.”

Zeetha snorted in derision and punched Agatha’s arm. “Ha! You’re just getting started. Talk to me in a week!”

After that, Agatha was busy for hours. The fancy headdress she had planned to wear as Madame Olga sat untouched in its hatbox, since so many people had come to have their fortunes told. Finally, Dame Ædith’s knife throwing exhibition had drawn off the crowd, and from the “oohs,” “aahs,” and occasional “Aiee!’’ it was apparent that she had their attention.

As Agatha was about to open the hatbox at last, Balthazar rolled up, balancing atop a barrel. It was time to prepare for the main show, and he had been sent to fetch her. A small cold lump formed in her chest.

Feeling light-headed, Agatha closed up the fortuneteller’s tent and made her way to the now-familiar canvas labyrinth that had sprouted behind the main stage.

As soon as she arrived, someone gave a shout, and the backstage staff pounced. She was unceremoniously stripped down and buttoned into a costume—someone barked: “Close your eyes!” and began smearing makeup across her face and neck, and someone else began to tug at her hair, pinning it up in what felt like a very odd style.

Agatha told herself that, as an actress, she would eventually get used to swarms of people rushing past while she was undressed. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was simply a subject in one of the bizarre sociology experiments back at Transylvania Polygnostic University that had occasionally scandalized the town. Agatha herself had never taken part in one—the waiting lists were enormous.

Marie poked her head through the doorway. “Ten minutes,” she sang out. “Nervous?”

Agatha grimaced. “Only because people keep asking me that.”

Guntar stood in the corner, getting an elaborate set of construct stitching applied to the exposed parts of his body. He laughed. “Relax! If you mess up, we’ll cover for you.”

Balthazar trotted up, a wobbling rack of pies as tall as himself balanced on his head. “Here’s the rest of the pies, daddy!”

Agatha eyed the tower of pastry. “Okay, now I’m nervous.”

Marie startled her by clapping her hands together with a sharp pop. “No, no, no! You’re not nervous, you’re Lucrezia Mongfish! You’re mad! You’re bad! You’re dangerous!”

Agatha nodded. “Yes! Yes! ‘I think too much—therefore I am mad!’ Grrr!” She tried to smile like a Jäger, and succeeded well enough that Marie took a step backwards in alarm.

“That’s...that’s very good.”

Abner appeared, clutching a sheaf of paper, and snapping his fingers. Agatha heard a line of dialogue coming through the curtain that separated her from the stage: “I pray the mistress is in a good mood—” The line sounded familiar...

Marie took Agatha’s arm and firmly steered her towards the stage. “That’s your cue! Go!”

Agatha found herself directly behind center stage, her nose nearly brushing the curtain edges. She took a deep breath, grabbed one in each hand, and threw them back, roaring: “Of course I am! For it is a glorious day—”

“FOR SCIENCE!!” the audience thundered back.

Agatha took a deep breath and froze in horror. There, looming at least a head above the rest of the audience, was the unmistakable figure of Othar Tryggvassen.

Panic welled up inside her. Othar! Othar had tried to kill her, just for being a Spark! She had barely managed to save herself by pushing the self-proclaimed hero over the side of the airship as they had escaped from Castle Wulfenbach.

Yet here he was, alive, larger than life, and evidently having a wonderful time. Well why not? He had just discovered an entire troupe of Sparks. He could fill his quota for the month without even having to open his eyes.

It was “Bumbling Minion Number Three” who saved the day. The actor had been warned that he might have to deal with a case of “first night nerves,” and he was ready. As Agatha turned to flee, he clung tightly to her hand, cleared his throat, and shouted: “Has the trap been set, Mistress?”

The gears of Agatha’s mind finally engaged. That was her cue. The response she had practiced so many times burst from her mouth before she realized what she was doing: “Yes! And soon, all of the Heterodyne secrets will be mine!”

And so the show went on. She’d just have to warn everyone when she got off stage, if Othar let her live that long. From the way he was cheering along with the crowd, he would at least let her finish the play.

She managed to remain Lucrezia Mongfish all throughout the first act, but as the curtain closed, she felt her hands beginning to shake. Before she could find a place to sit or collapse, she was grabbed from behind. The fastenings down the back of her dress were being released in quick sequence. She would have to be back on stage in only a few minutes, and required a complete costume change. “That was a great first act,” Marie said.

Agatha allowed herself to relax slightly. Othar still hadn’t attacked...

Trish nodded as she threw a new costume across Agatha’s shoulders and began to tighten a series of cleverly strung laces. “Very edgy! It was like you expected someone to shoot you or something.”

The idea made Agatha go tense again. She took a deep breath. “I think I saw Othar Tryggvassen out there! The big blond guy with the weird visor glasses?”

Trish grinned. “Oh, you saw him? Yeah, he loves our shows!”

Agatha blinked. “He’s—you’ve all met him before?”

The Countess whipped a huge bunch of false curls out of a hatbox and began to fasten it to the back of Agatha’s head. It felt like she was using nails. “He gets around a lot. We’ve seen him five—”

“Six,” Trish corrected her.

The Countess nodded. “Correct. Six times in the past year. He buys a lot of popcorn.”

“And he hasn’t shot anybody?”

Trish gave her an odd look. “Of course not. It’s good popcorn. He gets free refills.”

Then, Agatha remembered that the Sparks of Master Payne’s Circus of Adventure took pains to hide their true talents. Othar most likely saw nothing here but ordinary actors and sideshow wonders. The Spark could be hidden.

Finally, Marie stepped back and gestured meaningfully—it was nearly time for her next entrance.

Relief had lifted Agatha’s spirits, but the nervous energy that terror had lent her remained. When Lucrezia Mongfish strode into her laboratory in a towering rage and demanded of her three cringing minions: “Who has deactivated my beautiful frogs?” the audience pointed as one to Bill Heterodyne, who lay stripped to the waist and shackled to a huge wooden laboratory table. “He did!” they screamed.

All in all, it was a tremendous success.

The rest of the show passed in a kaleidoscopic whirl, and then... suddenly... Lars was kissing her.

They had carefully pecked at each other during rehearsals, but for the real show, Abner had ordered them to hold the kiss as long as the audience cheered them on.

The audience cheered them on for approximately six and a half years. When it was over, Agatha tottered dizzily backward, her face burning. She stuttered through her last lines and fled the stage with as much grace as she could manage.

The Countess caught Agatha as she entered the wings. She adjusted her hairpiece and tucked her disheveled costume back into place just as the final curtain fell. Then she spun Agatha about and gave her costume one last expert tweak, exposing shoulders and an alarming amount of decolletage in one quick tug before propelling her back onto the stage. She landed hard against Lars, who caught her expertly in the crook of his arm.

At her entrance, the applause doubled in volume. Cheers and whistles filled the air.

Agatha had never received such overwhelming approval as she was getting now—nearly everything she had done at the University had either been ignored or had gotten her into trouble. She drank in the adulation, astonished at how satisfying—how right it felt. She ventured a peek at the audience to see how Othar was reacting, and was surprised to see that he was gone.

Lars beamed as he waved to the crowd. He leaned down and whispered in Agatha’s ear: “I knew you’d be great!” He took her arm and led her toward the edge of the stage. “Now we head on down and mingle.”

Agatha nodded. Othar was much less likely to try to kill her in the center of the crowd—he might hit an innocent bystander—and she didn’t think that would fit with his delusions of heroism. She donned her glasses, pulled her costume back onto her shoulders, shook out her skirts, and straightened up to follow Lars—only to walk directly into Othar. He was standing patiently off to one side of the stage, obviously waiting for her. Agatha gave a little shriek of surprise.

Othar laughed genially. “So! Madame Olga!” he boomed, “You are, I’m told, a sayer of sooths and a teller of fortunes, yes?”

Agatha was taken aback. He couldn’t possibly have forgotten her already, could he? Lars leaned in and answered for her. “Indeed she is, sir!”

“Excellent!” Othar looped a muscular arm around her shoulders and began to walk her away. “I would like my fortune told! Now, if you please!”

Agatha was so stunned that she allowed him to gently steer her toward her tent. Less than a minute later, Othar was dropping onto a cushioned chair—leaning his elbows on the ornate little table that stood before Madame Olga’s skull-draped throne. Agatha took her time at lighting the vast collection of candles and lanterns that hung around the tent, trying to collect her thoughts.

“A fine performance!” Othar said as he leaned forward, peering at the dials and meters set into the huge brass-bound crystal orb that rested on the table.

“Thank you.” Agatha was confused. Othar’s body language conveyed no sense of menace whatsoever. Somehow, this only made the tall, jolly man even more frightening.

Othar idly scratched his beard. “You seem a bit on edge.”

Agatha spun about to face him directly. “The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me!”

“Oh, that.” Othar waved a hand in dismissal. “That was before I knew that you were a Heterodyne.”

Agatha started. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Why, not long after we—” he coughed politely into his fist, “—parted ways, I ran into a young man who I believe to be your cousin: a Master Theopholous DuMedd?

“You didn’t do anything horrible to him, did you?”

Othar paused, and a frown flitted across his features. “Ah, I see. No, I was unaware that he was a Spark.” He sighed. “What a pity. At any rate, he was traveling with a small group of the Baron’s hostages who had snatched the opportunity presented by my rather dramatic departure to affect their own escape from Castle Wulfenbach. All very nice young people, and all fans of mine, as it happens!

Young DuMedd told me everything. He was very glad to hear that you were in good hands as my spunky girl assistant!”

Agatha glowered. “I am not your assistant. You tried to kill me.”

Othar waggled an admonitory finger at her. “See? That’s why friends shouldn’t keep secrets from one another.”

“I don’t keep secrets! Not from my real friends.” Agatha was digging through a small chest to one side of her throne. Who knows what the previous Madame Olga had kept in it? Maybe she could poison his tea.

Othar sat back and folded his arms. “Ah. So these traveling players know who you really are?”

This brought her up short. “No,” she admitted, after a deep breath. “No, they don’t.”

Sergeant Zulli stood atop the city wall, watching the moon rise from behind the eastern mountains. He had just spent a half-hour instructing one of the new recruits in the correct use of the town’s prized night scope—and was hoping the boy would prove himself a fast learner. The instrument was huge, an ornate, cumbersome affair full of mirrors, lenses and strange, colored filters, bristling with switches, knobs and gauges all up and down the sides. It had been a gift to the town long ago, built by the local lord—a Spark who occasionally had trouble containing his monsters. Even Zulli had to admit he had no idea how it actually worked, but work it did, and very well, too. A competent operator could view all three roads leading up to the town as clear as day, even on a moonless night[28].

Tonight, Zulli could hear the crowd below—roaring with laughter at the circus’ antics. Things were going smoothly, and he was beginning to think he would soon be able to join the fun, when the boy suddenly started back from the scope’s eyepiece with a yell of alarm, nearly falling from his perch.

Zulli was at his elbow instantly, steadying him with one hand. “Anybody you know?”

“No sir! There’s something coming up the East Road.”

Zulli frowned. “Some thing—”

“I don’t know what it is, but it’s big and it’s fast.”

“That’s never a good combination.” Zulli removed his helmet and fitted his eye to the scope.

“It should be coming up on the five lengths mark,” the boy said.

Zulli spun an engraved wheel and pointed the instrument at a distant road sign—the large white V newly repainted and shining in the dark. He brought the sign into focus just in time to see a blur rush past. He snapped upright, eyes wide. “That’s damn fast!” The old guard took off at a run, shouting back over his shoulder: “Ring the bell—and get some archers to the East Gate! That’s an order!”

Zulli dashed along darkening streets, lit by only the occasional lantern. Now, he could hear the alarm bell tolling from the central watchtower. He cast his eyes about frantically for someone—anyone—he could commandeer to help spread the word, but the streets were empty, the shops dark and locked tight. Everyone in town must be at the damn circus, he realized. He hoped that his fellow guards would hear the bell and respond, but the music of the circus and the noise of the crowd drowned out everything else. They might not hear the bell, or they might be too drunk to care.

He skidded around the final corner and swore in dismay. There before him was the East Gate, portcullis up, the great oak and iron doors still wide open. This staggering bit of incompetence was explained by one look at the men on duty. It was Smek and Bodine, a pair of the Mayor’s otherwise unemployable relatives. Zulli promised himself he’d break whoever had assigned them to the same shift.

“Red fire!” he shouted as he ran up, “Are you Sparksons deaf? Close the damn gate!”

The two guards gaped at him. Bodine was in a state of flustered confusion, but managed to squeak: “But... but Assia Velichou and Pavel Dakar are still outside!”

“They’re hunting mushrooms,” Smek drawled helpfully.

Zulli delivered a resounding smack to both of their helmets as he tore past them. “You cretins! They’ve got thirty seconds to get dressed and back inside before we close the gate! Do you hear me out there?” he addressed the darkness beyond the gate in a voice like thunder: “Something’s coming! We’re closing the gate! Get in here NOW!”

Smek was the smarter of the two. He dashed off and began tugging at the great iron hook that locked the left gate open. Zulli tugged at the right, while counting under his breath.

Bodine dithered beside him. “We can’t just leave them out there—it’s dark!”

“Thirty seconds!” Zulli roared as he pulled the hook free.

Smek was already tugging his half of the gate closed. “What’s coming?” he gasped.

“I don’t know,” Zulli admitted, “but you’d better hope it kills you, or Assia’s father will!”

“S-s-sir!” Bodine whispered. His voice was strangled, terrified.

Another voice spoke. “Hy vish to enter dis town.”

The tones were rich and sweet, but the accent froze Sergeant Zulli fast. We should have killed those Jägers, he thought.

There was a gust of warm air behind him. He turned slowly, and found himself face to face with the largest brown bear he had ever seen. Deep brown eyes watched him steadily. Avoiding the bear’s gaze, he found himself staring at the huge pair of gold rings in its left ear, then at the matching pair in its right. A delicate cough dragged his attention upward. The bear’s rider was a Jägermonster, that much was obvious. Its deep blue cloak hung aside slightly, revealing an oddly distorted breastplate. Startled, Zulli realized that the rider was female. Old military man that he was, Zulli had of course heard rumors, jokes, and all kinds of lascivious stories, but he had only half believed them. He had never seen a female Jägermonster before. Now, with one gazing down at him from atop her gigantic bear, the light of the huge gate lanterns throwing vast shadows behind them, the sergeant felt a small flicker of curiosity through his pall of terror.

Her long hair was a fine silvery grey, and her skin—what little could be seen of it—was a deep olive green. The lower half of her face was muffled under a soft scarf, and her wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over her face. The eyes that showed between were large and expressive. She gazed at him calmly—she wasn’t angry... yet.

Zulli opened his mouth and found it had gone dry. He swallowed with difficulty and tried again. “The... the town is closed. Until dawn.”

The Jäger sat back and made a pretense of examining the gate. “But de gate iz not yet closed. Hy merely seek—”

A “tung” sounding from the wall overhead was Zulli’s only hint that his fellow guards had finally arrived. The rider had already noticed them, of course, and moved her hand before the sound even came, calmly plucking a crossbow bolt out of the air. She examined it briefly, and then casually snapped the shaft in half with her thumb.

“Hy forgiff.” She announced to the air. “Vunce.” She leaned down towards the shivering watchmen. “Hy em lookink for my boyz.”

Thank the Blessed Zenobia they’re still alive, Zulli thought. He was just beginning to form a polite answer, when Smek, unable to contain his terror any longer, proved just how stupid he really was by screaming: “FIRE!”

Agatha sank into the fortuneteller’s throne and leaned forward with one arm on the little table—positioning herself to fling the telluricomnivisualization ball at Othar’s head if he made any sudden moves. “Look” she said. “I’m only going to explain this once. The Baron thinks I’m dead. Gil... thinks I’m dead. That’s good. That’s what I want. I don’t want to be a Heterodyne. I don’t even want to be a Spark. Not if people like you are going to show up trying to kill me. So I won’t. I’ll stay here. I’m done with all of that. Finished. And I am certainly not going to go off hero-ing with you. Understand?”

Othar leaned back so far that his chair rested on only its two back legs. He crossed his arms behind his head and his mouth twitched upwards in a small, infuriating smile. “Really?” It was more a statement than a question.

At that moment, a great roar erupted outside the tent, followed by screams and a clash of weapons.

Agatha leapt to her feet, knocking over the table and sending the scrying ball whizzing past Othar’s ear. The lightning gun that she had been quietly holding under the table was now in full view, but she didn’t care about secrecy any more. Ignoring Othar, who had fallen backward off his chair, she swept aside the curtains and took in the scene outside.

Through the blaze of the circus lanterns she could see an enormous bear, towering high as it reared back and gave another tremendous roar. A dozen members of the town watch, and easily twice as many townsmen, were swarming around its feet in desperate battle. Things were not going well for them.

The bear lashed out, its wide paws knocking men about with terrible ease. Astride the creature rode a woman swathed in a midnight-blue cloak, silver hair flying. She deflected arrows and sliced the tops off pikes with a sword that was easily two meters long. It wasn’t so much a battle as it was a rout.

“Hy em rapidly loozink my patience,” the woman shouted. Agatha paused as she realized that the rider was a Jäger and, as far as Agatha could tell, hadn’t actually killed anyone.

Just then, the rider noticed Agatha. She took one look at the lightning gun in Agatha’s hands and snarled in fury. Turning her great bear, she faced Agatha directly, and charged.

Agatha desperately pointed the gun and fired. A sharp crack rang out as a burst of dazzling blue light filled the square. When her eyes cleared, Agatha saw that one of the wagons was burning, but the bear and its rider were nowhere to be seen. It was only when the bear crashed back to earth that Agatha realized it must have leapt straight up to avoid the blast. I didn’t know they could do that, she thought in a daze, just before the bear’s rider slammed into her.

The Jäger dashed the weapon from Agatha’s hand and stomped it with a booted heel, smashing the center flat with a crackle of blue sparks.

She grabbed Agatha’s wrist and leaned in close. “Und now,” she hissed, “Ve see vat happens to clever leedle fingers vat play vit nasty leedle toyz—” As the Jäger spoke, she pushed Agatha’s index finger backward toward her wrist.

Agatha thrashed backward and screamed in pain. Suddenly, Othar swung in, delivering a solid boot to the side of the Jäger’s head, so that she went spinning away from Agatha.

“That’s my Spunky Girl Sidekick, I’ll have you know!” He boomed cheerfully.

Agatha scrambled to her feet. “I am not—”

“Agatha! RUN!” screamed Krosp, who had followed her out of the fortuneteller’s tent. Agatha turned, only to find herself staring into the gaping jaws of the bear—its hot breath on her face. Krosp was already in mid-leap, claws extended. As he landed, he buried them in the bear’s sensitive nose. The huge animal shrieked in agony and flinched backward, furiously swiping at its face with its paws as the cat ran up its back and launched himself up and away.

Agatha spun about and ran. She passed Sergeant Zulli clutching his limp and bloody arm. He was kicking at the prone watchmen and yelling. “—Guns, damn you! Get up! Open the armory and get the guns! Shoot all four of them!”

Without thinking, she changed her direction until she found herself standing in front of the gallows, and its three Jägers. In the flickering light the three grinning faces took on a demonic quality that sent a shiver down her spine.

The green one spoke. “Problems... Mistress?”

Agatha took a deep breath. “Someone—another Jäger—is attacking the town. The guards are going to shoot you. All of you. I’ll cut you down, and you’ll get her out of here when you escape.”

The purple one nodded. “Oh, yes?”

She paused, “And you’ll leave the townspeople alone.”

The horned one smiled lazily. “Oh, uv cawze.”

Agatha grit her teeth and glowered up at them. “Swear. Swear that’s all you’ll do. Swear... on your loyalty to the House of Heterodyne!”

Their eyes went wide at this, and this time their grins were honest ones.

“Good vun!”

“Schmot gurl!”

“Ve all so svear, Mistress!”

Agatha dashed away and returned with the smaller chair from Madame Olga’s tent. She climbed up next to the closest Jäger, and began hacking at the rope with the folding knife she kept in her boot. It wasn’t the best tool for the job, but it was sharp. “I’d better be right about you,” she panted.

The rope parted, and the green Jäger landed heavily on his feet. He scraped the ropes binding his wrists against a stone wall—so brutally that they parted. Hands free, he grinned up at her. “Too late to vorry about dot now, sveethot!” he called as he bounded away.

The Jäger woman held Othar aloft by his hair as she prepared to slice his head off. “Hyu fights pretty goot,” she panted, “But hyu iz too demmed annoyink to be any fun.” She raised her sword.

“Schtop! Hyu horr’ble monster-y ting uf evil!” The voice was loud and strong, and a hush fell over the square.

The Jäger blinked in surprise and lowered her sword. “Vot?”

Ranged before her, striking theatrically heroic poses, were the three Jägers from the gallows. They had found weapons, and, inexplicably, hats.

The green Jäger stepped forward and brandished a fist full of gleaming throwing knives held in a very professional-looking grip. “Ve iz Jägerkin,” he announced in a ringing voice. “Charged by de ancient contract, vit der job uv savin’ all dese pipple!”

The watching crowd of townspeople looked at each other. This was news to them.

The purple one flourished a sword that shone red in the firelight. “Yah, and ve gets to do it by gettin’ hyu outta here!”

The horned one twirled an immense three-bladed halberd with an effortless twitch of his fingers. “Now—iz hyu gunna run, or iz hyu gunna die?”

The female Jäger stared at them for a moment, snorted in amusement, and then, with one flowing move of her arm, tossed Othar high into the air. “Ha-ho! Dis vill slow hyu down!” She shouted, and then turned with a swirl of her long blue cape and dashed away. Othar described an elegant parabola high into the air and then crashed to the ground. The Jäger woman stopped, turned, and stared in surprise at the crumpled hero.

The three other Jägers looked at each other uncertainly.

“Sorry,” the horned one called. “Vas ve supposed to ketch him?”

The purple one shrugged and grumbled: “Dunno vhy, Hy dun like hm.”

The green Jäger leapt forward. “Vhatever! Come on, brodders! Ve gots a monster hunt!”

At this, the other two brightened up. With a shout of “Ve HUNT!” the three brandished their weapons in one last showman-like flourish, and raced off after the bear and rider—through the streets and out into the dark night beyond the town gates.

The amazed crowd stared after them, wondering whether to applaud. It was only when Master Payne bellowed, “Fire!” that the spell was broken and a crew assembled to douse the burning circus wagon.

With the fire out, the monsters gone, and the gates firmly bolted shut, it was time for a party. The tavernmaster whose house bordered the square had stood everyone a large mug of cider, and the townspeople, as a whole, were feeling extremely accomplished. A pack of monsters run off, a fire put out, and a rather good stage show, all in one night! Why, Zumzum would be the next Paris[29]!

Only the Mayor did not share the festive mood. He huffed up to Sergeant Zulli, his face red and angry. Thanks to the sling on his arm, the old soldier was accepting his latest free drink with his left hand.

The Mayor clutched a severed rope in one fist, and shook it in Zulli’s face. “Look! See? This rope was cut! That’s how those Jägerscum got free! One of those show people, I’ll be bound!”

Zulli sipped his drink. “A good thing, eh?” He flicked his eyes around the crowded taproom, then gazed back at the Mayor with a significant look.

The Mayor frowned as he surveyed the happy crowd. A large number of the men were sporting bruises, but nothing more serious than that, and the worst bit of property damage had happened to out-of-towners, who hardly counted at all. He could see that everyone was in a surprisingly good mood, and his political sense told him that now was the time to make himself visible, be jolly and congratulatory, and take as much credit as possible. But he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his disappointment. He puffed out his moustache. “But now no one will win the bet,” he muttered petulantly.

Zulli nodded again. “Also a good thing, I think.”

The Mayor snorted and tossed the rope to the ground. “Bah!” He looked over at Master Payne. “It was them all right.” He glowered at Zulli. “I assume you know what to do?”

Sergeant Zulli actually smiled. “Already done, sir.”

Later, Master Payne and Abner were examining the burned circus wagon when Rivet strolled up. “Get this—the Sergeant there said we can fix our wagon in town for free!”

Payne was astonished. “Really?” He glanced around the town as if seeing it for the first time. “Well, well,” he murmured. “We might have to stay a few days after all.”

Abner rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful! I’ve just been talking to a Frau Velichou who wants us to perform at a wedding!” This was also good news. A wedding was a plum job, with lots of tips and free drinks. Payne almost smiled.

Agatha and Othar stood apart, watching the celebrations. Othar was bruised from all his tumbling about, but was surprisingly undamaged. Agatha was beginning to think the man was made of rubber. She shook her head. “You’re the one who caught them? By playing a game of hangman?”

Othar was visibly pleased with himself. “The Jägermonsters love to play games, but they’re fuzzy when it comes to rules. That’s something you should remember as you set out to fight evil.”

Agatha cocked an eyebrow at him. “I told you, I’m not doing that. Going out looking for trouble to ‘fight evil.’ It’s ridiculous. You can’t make me.”

Othar threw his head back and burst out laughing. Agatha stared at him. “Make you?” He took off his visor and wiped his eyes. “You ran straight at the danger without even thinking. That is who and what you are.” Suddenly, the big man’s voice was grave, his manner serious. “You say you want a normal life.” He sighed deeply, “We all say that at one time or another. You certainly deserve your chance at it.” He stepped back and looked her up and down.

“I’ll find you in about three months,” he told her. “And we’ll see how ‘normal’ your life is.” Then he leaned down, and to Agatha’s astonishment, gave her a soft peck on the cheek. His blue eyes were bright and warm.

He grinned and replaced his visor. “But sincerely—Good luck.” And with that, he walked back to the tavern, and the admiring crowd who was waiting to hear his tales of adventure and buy him drinks.

Agatha watched him go, her hand gently touching the spot where he’d kissed her.

Krosp materialized at her elbow. “How can someone so stupid be so smart?” he groused.

Agatha dropped her hand and turned away. “He only sees what he wants to see,” she growled. “Which is why he’s completely wrong about me.”

Krosp’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. His whiskers twitched. “Ah. Right.” He sighed, “Of course.”

From the eaves of the forest outside town, the Jäger woman listened to the celebratory noise spilling out into the night. As she turned her back to the lights of the town, a huge black shape detached itself from the shadows and lumbered toward her. Even in the darkness, she instinctively found the great bear’s moist nose leather and gave it a fond pat. “Ah, Füst. Who iz a goot bear?”

Füst snorted happily and nuzzled her hand. Without turning, she addressed the air. “Hokay—Hy know hyu eediots iz dere. Come on out.”

From the deep gloom under the trees, the other three Jägers appeared—smug grins on their faces. The Jäger woman looked them over. “Maxim, Ognian und Dimo. Vot vas dot all about? Iz hyu seriously telling me—”

“Dot ve found a Heterodyne? Ho, yaz!” Maxim’s purple eyes shone in the darkness.

Ognian’s toothy grin seemed to reach to both ears. “It’z a gurl. But de schmell, de voice...” He thumped his halberd on the ground—“She iz uf de bloodline!” he declared.

Dimo nodded quietly, but with certainty. “Dere iz no mistake, Jenka,” he agreed.

“A gurl?” The others nodded. Jenka abruptly sat down. The three stepped forward in concern, but she waved a hand in reassurance. “Dot iz... sooprizink.” She sat still a moment, and then, with a single graceful bound, leapt astride her bear. She pointed at the other three. “Hyu three vill stay vit her.”

Dimo was surprised. “Iz dot all?”

Jenka took a deep breath. “Our task vas to find a Heterodyne. This ve haff done.” She sat back. “Now de qvestion iz—vot iz to be done vit her?”

The three looked at each other in surprise. “Hyu gots to ask?” Maxim was puzzled.

Jenka consulted the stars and began steering her bear between the trees. “It haz been too long. Hy vant... instructions.” She waved a hand at them. “Until den, just keep her alive.”

And with that, bear and rider vanished into the night.