Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 6

What it meant was that the Heterodyne shows became a lot more... interesting. There was a tension between Lars and Agatha now that was quite evident to the audience, and the final onstage kiss usually produced a cathartic eruption of applause and cheering that could last for minutes.

Agatha’s nights were full of peculiar dreams, and she actually found herself welcoming Zeetha’s morning exercises.

The frustrating thing was that off stage, her relationship with Lars seemed like it was being directed by two different people. One day he would be friendly and attentive, and the next, strangely distant.

Agatha kept trying to figure out if she was doing something wrong, but was unable to discern any pattern to Lars’ behavior.

Finally, in desperation, she mentioned her predicament to Zeetha. The green-haired girl pondered for a moment and then nodded. “An excellent choice. He’s experienced enough that he’ll be able to show you a good time, nice enough that he’ll be gentle, and independent enough that there should be no hard feelings when you move on.”

Agatha, red-faced, seized upon the one part of this analysis that seemed conversationally safe. “What do you mean ‘Move on?’ Why should I—”

Zeetha interrupted. “You’re the one who said that you were only with us until Mechanicsburg. That’s just a little over a month from now.”

Agatha opened her mouth in surprise. “But... but I thought...” She paused. What was she thinking?

Zeetha had been polishing her swords. She stopped now and leaned in, putting a firm hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “Hey. This—” she gestured vaguely at the surrounding circus—“This is not where you belong.”

Agatha frowned. “What do you mean?”

Zeetha looked troubled. “Explaining things other than fighting isn’t really what I’m good at. But I’m your Kolee. I know you.” She waved away any potential objection. “Not story stuff, like your favorite color or how you shaved the cat when you were six years old or... or crap like that. But I know you, Agatha Clay... if that’s your real name—” Agatha started. Zeetha made a calming motion with her hand.

“No, no. That stuff isn’t important. See, I know what kind of a person you are. Better than anyone here.” She paused, “Except maybe for the Countess and Master Payne. They’re even sharper than they look.

“But you, you’re not like these people. Sure, they’re Sparks, but you... you’re a whole different level. You just haven’t had a reason to show it yet.” She sat back and cocked her head to the side. “When you do, you won’t fit here anymore.”

“But...” Agatha looked around. “But they like me here. I like acting. I like traveling. I...” she looked down shyly. “I am honored to be your zumil.”

Zeetha leaned in and gently beeped her nose. “You will always be my zumil, silly girl.” She stood up and stretched. “But a warrior must learn that nothing ever stays the same, which is why the things we want in life must be grabbed before they slip away. In this case, the thing you want to grab is Lars.”

“But I’m not really sure that I want to grab his—” Agatha realized what she was saying, and put her head in her hands, profoundly grateful that Zeetha was the only one listening.

Zeetha laughed and tousled Agatha’s hair. “Relax, no one’s expecting you to marry him.” She frowned slightly. “But he is acting uncharacteristically shy.”

Things got odder. Onstage, Lars took every opportunity to get close to her. To touch her arm, to run his hand along her jaw. His eyes smoldered, and their climactic kiss was beginning to dominate Agatha’s dreams, as well as some of her daytime musings.

But off stage, Lars remained formally polite, when he could be found at all. Increasingly, he took every opportunity to leave the troupe, for any number of perfectly plausible reasons. It was evident that he was utilizing the tricks he’d learned to avoid confrontations in a half a hundred towns. It was only obvious because he was using them all for the same audience.

Agatha tried to dismiss her feelings and distract herself by working. After all, aside from this irrational infatuation, she enjoyed her day-to-day life quite a bit, and there was always something to keep her busy.

Great strides were made on the Silverodian. One quiet, foggy morning, Agatha actually managed to produce a tortured set of hoots and squeals from the pipes, which caused everyone to run out, weapons in hand. But this, along with the work the various troupe members piled upon her, was not enough, and the Sparks around her began to feel the result.

Almost all of the Sparks in the show found themselves being questioned by Agatha about their work. These sometimes turned into marathon sessions that left them feeling, as Augie put it later, “As if she turned me upside down, poured all my theories out onto the ground, examined them, kept the good stuff, and pointed out the rubbish.”

Indeed, there was a bit of a Renaissance amongst the lesser Sparks, as a number of theories and concepts were aired out and scrutinized. There were also, it has to be said, some hard feelings, as a few cherished ideas were thoroughly disproved, sometimes in embarrassing detail[36].

The result was a quietly rising tide of chaos and small disruptions. Small, but to those who knew to watch for such things, quite noticeable.

And thus it was that one evening, in a small village with an insatiable appetite for candied mimmoths, after the show had ended and the troupe had bedded down for the evening, Lars found himself strongly invited to have a drink with Master Payne and The Countess.

The inside of their wagon was done in a tasteful blend of dark inlaid woods, rich fabrics and stained glass. Within the compact space, souvenirs and trophies gleaned from decades of travel caught the eye, and everywhere, there were cards.

Playing cards from throughout history and hundreds of cultures were carefully mounted upon every flat space large enough to accommodate it. Elegant cards made from starched silk, impossibly thin slices of wood, decorated with gilt and crushed gems, alongside a thousand different varieties of paper and parchment adorned with everything from crudely drawn symbols to excruciatingly detailed miniature oil paintings.

As they made small talk and settled into place, Payne nonchalantly pulled a series of cords and levers. It quickly became evident that the wagon was a marvel of compact engineering. It seemed that almost every surface swiveled, unfolded or slid out to become or to reveal something else. By the time the old magician was done, a table, complete with tablecloth and settings, had appeared, as had several plates of snacks, along with a bottle of wine and three glasses. As Payne leaned back and adjusted his cuffs, a small arm swung down and a tiny music-box-like mechanism played a jolly tune as it deftly removed the cork from the bottle before swinging back up and out of sight.

The Countess offered Lars a savory egg-cream tart as Payne carefully poured him a glass of deep red wine. “A little something the Countess put up a year or two ago. Do let me know what you think.”

Lars sipped. He was suddenly reminded of a Spring Festival. The air was cool and fresh, the sun—clear, but not too bright. The music, the laughter, the first kiss of a shy girl—

He shook himself, and examined the drink in his hand. He slowly nodded in appreciation. “That’s mighty good stuff, m’lady.” Marie looked pleased.

Payne steepled his fingers together. “So Lars, perhaps you’ve noticed that things around here have been a bit...” He looked at his wife.

“Higgelty-piggelty,” she said promptly.

Payne frowned. “...Chaotic,” he suggested.

Lars shifted uneasily. “I have, sir. But that doesn’t have anything to do with me...” He looked at the two of them. “Does it?”

“The direct cause appears to be Miss Clay.” Lars looked to the side. Marie continued. “She seems to be...” She looked at Payne.

“Agitated?” He said.

“Frustrated,” she corrected. The two of them swung their gazes upon Lars. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“I didn’t touch her,” Lars said defensively.

Again the two glanced at each other. Payne harrumphed awkwardly, and tried to assume his best man-of-the-world demeanor. He opened his mouth—

“Why in Heaven’s name not?” Marie asked. Payne rolled his eyes.

Lars saw that the Countess was looking at him expectantly. This was when he fully realized just how difficult it would be to extract himself from the encircling furniture. He blew out a breath, took a deep drink, and sat back.

“It... It’s not that I don’t want to,” he found that this discussion was easier if he kept his eyes focused on the wineglass in his hand. “I’d... kind of planned on it. But... do you remember Doktor Spün and his Cylinder of Touch[37]?”

Payne nodded. Hiring Doktor Spün had been one of his rare personnel mistakes. His firing had been cathartic however, even if it had taken awhile to put out.

“That damned thing was beautiful. You wanted to touch it. To feel it. I wanted to. But I knew—I knew that it was a bad idea. I had that walking into a bad town feeling. I told you at the time, remember?”

He took another sip of wine, and finally raised his eyes to Payne’s. “I... I get the same feeling from Agatha. I want to touch her. Red fire, I want to... but, then I get the feeling that if I get too close, there’s going to be trouble.”

Payne slowly sat back, and thoughtfully poured the young man another glass of wine. He then turned to the Countess. “I’ve seen Moxana’s game. I can’t argue with that.”

Marie regarded Lars and slowly tapped her chin. “You’ve never... dallied with a girl possessed of the Spark, have you?”

Lars looked surprised. “No, m’lady. All the town girls I...” he paused, “—talk to, are regular folk. There’s never been any available ma—uh—gifted ladies with the show.” He thought about this. “You think that’s it?”

Payne shrugged. “Only an idiot would think about knowingly involving himself with a woman with the Spark, —if he planned to take advantage of her.”

“I wasn’t—!”

Payne held up a hand. “Neither one of us thinks you’re that foolish, my boy. But wooing even a normal lady is not something a fellow should do lightly. You have a finely tuned sense of danger. I think it only natural that this would be a situation that would cause it to sit up and start screaming.”

Lars thoughtfully took a drink. “I think I see what you mean, sir.”

Payne nodded. “Now, both the Countess and I think you an honorable person.” Marie cleared her throat. Payne continued smoothly “—In your own way. Which is why, at the very least, you should stop giving her these mixed signals. It’s not fair to Agatha. Settle it one way or the other before she gets so wound up that she dismantles half my circus.”

Lars sat back, and slowly sipped his wine. What he was afraid of was the unknown. The mysterious thing that reached out from behind your back and grabbed you.

When he knew what a particular danger was, Lars was surprisingly good at dealing with it. There was the screaming afterwards, of course, but no one is perfect.

Another thing Lars was good at, was talking to women. Now in this case, he was dealing with an infatuated, naïve, and inexperienced woman who could literally warp the laws of nature and probably turn him into a carrot if he did her wrong.

But when he thought of it that way, it began to seem like an interesting challenge...

There had been a thunderstorm the night before, leaving the air cool and crisp, and putting a sparkle on the leaves of all the trees.

The circus was currently parked next to the map dot that was known to the locals as the village of Borlax. The local solstice stock fair was winding up, tonight would be the last show and tomorrow the circus would be back on the road. Today, however, the locals were engaged in a final frenzy of deal making that involved more histrionics and high drama than the actors dished out in a month. Thus, the troupe was enjoying a little extra free time.

Many were critiquing the locals’ use of hyperbole and invective. Rivet and Captain Kadiiski were replacing a broken wheel on one of the caravan wagons. Agatha was examining a small device she had discovered hidden in the back of her wagon. It was a complicated little hand-cranked thing of gears and spheres within spheres. It looked like it should produce music of some kind, but she couldn’t figure out how it worked.

Suddenly she released a catch, there was a small click, and a gear slid into place. She gave a satisfied grin and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes.

At that moment, Dame Ædith strolled over. “Good day to you, Miss Clay. If I may take a moment of your time?”

Agatha nodded. “Is everything satisfactory?” The vampyre hunter had asked Agatha to do some minor repairs upon her wagon.

The older woman paused, and marveled at the small device in Agatha’s hand. Agatha graciously passed it over and wiped her hands on a square of rag. “Ah, that is the thing,” Ædith continued. “It rides right smoothly, and the brakes are now most effective...” Absent-mindedly, she spun the crank on the device and gave a small delighted smile as a number of spheres spun and twisted about each other, accompanied by a barely heard high-pitched twittering.

“...But?” Agatha interjected.

Dame Ædith kept spinning the crank, but frowned. “But now the accursed thing doth make this most vexatious clicking noise.”

Agatha looked surprised. “Clicking noise?”

“Aye, and a right loud one too. I thought—” What she thought was never to be revealed, as at that moment, a large brown bat cannoned into her hat, and with a great deal of flapping and squeaking, tried to climb under it. Dame Ædith shrieked and batted ineffectually at the creature, in the process throwing the device into the air. Agatha caught it before it crashed to the ground. As she did so, she saw that there was a faded paper label stuck to the bottom, which she had neglected to examine. It read “Bat Summoning Engine.” Under this, in a crabbed hand, someone had added the notation; “excessively effective.”

She looked up. The bat was clinging to Dame Ædith’s hat, even though the woman was now waving it about frantically trying to dislodge the creature. Agatha surreptitiously slipped the device into a tool bag and said brightly, “I’ll just go take a look, shall I?”

Dame Ædith’s wagon was as garishly decorated as any of the others, but when you got close enough, it became evident that the décor consisted of holy symbols. Hundreds of them, fitted together chock-a-block, forming an intricate pattern that drew spiritual comfort from hundreds of different faiths and belief systems, in no evident order of precedence.

The roof bristled with totems, icons, spirit flags and ætheric antennae constructed of everything from precious metals to bones and seashells. Signs covered the sides, promising cures for anemia, sleepwalking and a “fear of garlic.” Agatha had noted that the exact nature of the “cure” was never specified.

Whenever the wagon moved, an ingenious gear system automatically rotated a plethora of prayer wheels and played simple melodies upon several gongs and chimes. There was also a fat copper chain that dragged along behind, because, Agatha had been informed, Dame Ædith’s cart was struck by lightning on an average of once a month. A fact the vampyre hunter found “statistically inconvenient.” Privately, Agatha attributed this to the excessive amount of metal used in the decorations.

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

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

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

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

Dame Ædith looked relieved. “Praise be!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That should do it,” she stated confidently.

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

Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Science.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s my alternative?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guntar blinked. “Lucky?”

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

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

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

Ognian chimed in. “But lots schmarter!”

“Shoo! Very goot at making de plans.”

“He save my life vunce!”

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

“End he vas soch a gentlemen!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It iz zo nize, ven married pipple tok to each odder.” He leapt to the ground and slumped back against the wagon and grinned. “Und now, Hy tink hyu should tok to me.” He smiled at the Countess. “But mitout de pan.”

Several minutes later, the three were walking a short way away from the circus. Dimo was silent. Finally the Countess asked, “Will you help us?”

Dimo looked at her and grinned in a way that made her squirm. “Eet soundz like fun. Bot—” He held up a clawed finger, “Hy gots to discuss hit vit Maxim and Oggie.”

“Do you think they’ll agree?”

Dimo laughed and deftly slid his arm around the Countess’ waist and drew her close. “For a nize doll like hyu, ve do all kindz uf tings!”

Marie stiffened. “Do you mind?”

Dimo looked surprised, and then darted a look at Payne, standing next to him. A light dawned. “Ho! Yaz!” He dropped his voice to what he no doubt thought a whisper. “Ve gots to be sobtle in front uv you’s haitch... oh... zee... bee...” A worried look crossed his face, and he gave up. He jerked a thumb in Payne’s direction. “Hyu know, heem.” Payne rolled his eyes.

At that moment, they heard a sound drifting through the air. Marie stopped dead. “What in the world is that?”

Dimo smirked. “Ho! Hy knows dot vun. My family vos musical. Dot—” he pronounced, “Iz music!”

The two humans regarded him blankly for a moment. Then Payne spun about. “No!” A look of shock crossed his face. “No, it can’t be!” He took off at a run and the other two followed.

To Payne’s amazement, the source of the sound was indeed, the Silverodeon.

The original instrument had been a simple steam calliope that had been fitted with some organ pipes salvaged from an old church. For the next twenty years it had been hauled around to various harvest festivals and occasionally used to scare bats out of barns.

The circus had discovered it after it had been smashed by a particularly large and grumpy bat, who had gone on to take down several airships before one of the Empire’s warships had blown it apart.

That rusty collection of cheap iron and old brass bore no resemblance to the glittering contraption that was still unfolding from the wagon bed as the magician approached.

Clusters of pipes and tubes sprouted upwards from the back of the instrument, resembling some sort of art nouveau hedgehog. Along the side, valves and pistons rippled, catching the eye and drawing it to the cockpit, where at least four keyboards, as well as what appeared to be the controls from an ancient locomotive, were being played by Agatha[39].

Sweat poured from her as she played, great sweeping arpeggios and surging waves of melody that sent shivers down the spines of her listeners. This was the first time that Agatha had played—really played, since the shackles had been removed from her mind. She found the music triggering feelings and emotions within her that she strove to express, a creative cycle that went on and on and on.

The listeners never were able to determine just how long they stood there, enraptured by the music, but when it ended, when Agatha finally brought her hands down in a final gentle chord and slumped forward, many of them found themselves weeping and cheering simultaneously. Agatha jerked up, amazed that everyone was suddenly there. A sudden pain in her fingers caused her to grimace, and then smile ruefully. She was out of practice.

Rivet awoke to find herself next to André, who was standing stock still, as if he was afraid that when he moved, he would forget everything he had just heard. “But it was junked,” she said to him. “You said it was just to keep her busy.”

André smiled at her. “Never have I been so glad to be wrong.”

Payne plowed his way through the crowd and stopped next to the cockpit. “Miss Clay, I’m...” he gave up. “I’m speechless.”

Agatha blinked. “Is that good?”

The Countess smiled, “It’s practically unheard of.” This earned her a snort from Payne.

Agatha winced apologetically. “Please don’t think it’s done, I just wanted to test the keyboards.” Payne stared at her. Agatha nervously buffed a bit of brass trim, “I’m almost finished with the latest mechanism, that’ll let me add more instruments. Maybe even some little singing automata.” Payne’s eyes had begun to glaze. Oh dear, Agatha thought. I’m boring him.

“I was also thinking, maybe a kind of... a kind of ball, all covered in little mirrors and...”

This particular revolution in popular entertainment was brought to a halt by the sudden ringing of a bell. Agatha looked around in confusion. She knew the signal bells that the actors used for meals, attacks, meetings, and excessive drinking, but this one was unfamiliar. She realized it was coming from a small cupola atop one of the prop wagons. The circus people were looking between the bell and Agatha nervously.

Krosp dropped down next to her. “It’s coming from Moxana’s wagon.”

Payne’s eyebrows rose. “She must have heard the Silverodeon.” He turned to Agatha. “I suspect she wants to meet you, Miss Clay.”

Abner stepped up. “I’m sure Krosp told you about her.”

Agatha nodded. “He told me enough to pique my curiosity, certainly. Unless I miss my guess she’s some sort of autonomous clank construct, apparently with some attribute that resembles prognostication, which no one in the circus can understand, but is doubtless simply utilizing some heretofore undiscovered branch of science, which would explain why you try to keep her out of sight.”

Master Payne looked at her, obviously considered saying something, but in the end, just waved her into the wagon.

It took a bit of maneuvering for all of them to fit into the tight space, so it was Krosp who first noticed—“Hey! The chessboard is gone.”

Suddenly, the seated figure moved. Her eyes snapped open with a soft click. They were a vivid, electric blue. Her gleaming, white porcelain arms came up and swept out over the board, which was now a pad of brushed green baize, embroidered with an intersecting set of lines and circles with a shining silver thread. Her movements were smooth, and gracefully stylized.

She slid her palms together and a deck of large, ornate cards appeared between them.

Payne grunted in surprise. “I haven’t seen her use her cards in ages,” he muttered.

Moxana placed the stack face down and with the tip of a finger, swirled the deck into an elaborate spiral. She then selected the card that lay in the center and flipped it up, exposing the face.

They all craned forward to examine it. Agatha had never seen a card like this before. Adam had occasionally had friends over for a late night game of cards in the back room of the forge. Agatha had been pressed into service bringing them beer and snacks. But this card was not embellished with any of the familiar four suits.

It was a colored picture of a globe hanging in the night sky, part of a mechanism of great brass and crystal gears. A large turn-key was inserted into the heart of Africa. At the top, along the margin was the Roman numeral “XXI” and at the bottom, written in a fine Carolingian miniscule hand, were the words—

“The Device.” Payne adjusted his spectacles. “That’s the card Moxana uses to indicate herself[40].”

Moxana nodded, took the card back and unhesitatingly tore it into small bits. As the others gasped in surprise, one of her hands snapped out and clasped Agatha’s right hand and pulled it towards her. Agatha allowed her hand to be turned palm upwards. Moxana then dropped the shredded card into her open hand, reached out to take her other hand and placed it palm down upon the first. She then released both hands, brought both of her arms back to her sides and went still.

Everyone looked at each other, but nothing else happened. Agatha raised her hand. There, upon her upturned palm, was the card, restored and whole.

Agatha stared at this for several seconds, and then looked at Moxana. “You’re broken,” she hazarded, “And you want me to repair you.”

Payne and Abner stared at each other in astonishment. “Could you do that?” Abner asked.

Agatha shrugged. “Depends on what’s wrong. May I take a look?”

Moxana nodded with a click. As Abner unlatched the front, Agatha reached into a pocket and pulled out her pocket-watch clank. A tap on the back, and the central eye clicked on, sending a bright beam of light across the wagon’s dim interior. She slid to her knees and crawled into the depths of the cabinet. A faint humming could be heard as she poked around. This was cut off suddenly as Agatha’s body jerked in surprise. She pulled herself out again with an amazed look on her face. She turned to the two men.

“Did you know that this is a Van Rijn?” she whispered.

Master Payne gave her an appraising look. “I did. I’m impressed that you do[41].”

Agatha reached out and gently took one of the clank’s arms. She peered closely at the mechanisms in the finger joints. “My old Master used to talk about Van Rijn and his work endlessly. They were one of his passions.” She put the hand down. “Beautiful,” she murmured. “You’d never know she was over two hundred years old. There are still things we just don’t know how to duplicate...”

She turned to face Master Payne. “I’d rather not just go poking around inside her. I didn’t see anything obviously wrong. What’s the problem?”

Payne shrugged. “I’m not sure—”

With a ping, Moxana snapped into action. Her hands swept up the cards, except for two, that spun about upon their corners before flopping down together, face up. In addition to The Device, there was a card that showed a spinning top balanced upon an upright wheel that was rolling off the edge of a cliff. It had the number “XV” at the top, and the label at the bottom simply read: Movement.

When Payne saw this, his face sagged and he closed his eyes. “Of course,” he sighed. “Tinka.”

To Agatha’s unspoken question, he explained. “We used to have another clank we displayed along with Moxana. This one was a dancer. Her name was Tinka.” He paused, and then continued. “Both Moxana and Tinka were originally part of a set of nine clanks constructed by the artificer Van Rijn for The Storm King.” He again paused.

“The Muses,” Agatha supplied. Then realization of what she had said penetrated and her eyes went wide. “The Muses? The Muses? Moxana is one of the Storm King’s Muses?”

Payne nodded. “The same[42].”

Agatha was overwhelmed, and understandably so.

“But they were lost!”

“They lost themselves. If they had not done so, they were convinced they would have been dismantled by Sparks seeking to understand and duplicate Van Rijn’s work. And so, they hid.”

Agatha looked at Moxana. “But—As part of a traveling show?”

Payne spread his hands. “Actually it was a very perspicacious move.

Before shows such as ours became Heterodyne shows, they were usually just traveling wonder shows, with a large collection of freaks and oddities. Some of the most popular items displayed were fake Muses. They were famous, after all.”

He reached out and ran a hand gently over the back of Moxana’s throne. “Moxana and Tinka had stayed together, and disguised as fakes, they survived, and traveled across Europa for over a hundred and fifty years, doing what they were designed to do. Instructing, inspiring and waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Payne sighed. “For a new Storm King.”

Krosp’s brow furrowed. “But—”

Payne forestalled his objection with an upraised hand. “Don’t even start. They were built to serve The Storm King. Until there’s a new Storm King, they wait. If there never is a new Storm King, then they will wait forever. They are machines. Rational argument will only go so far.”

Agatha nodded. She’d seen her share of otherwise brilliant mechanisms determined to walk through walls or wash pots until they’d been scrubbed into metal foil.

Payne continued. “But travel, especially in the Wastelands, is dangerous, and if you do it long enough, then the odds will turn against you.” He shrugged. “I found Tinka and Moxana in a wrecked wagon amongst the ruins of another show. Whatever attacked didn’t consider them valuable.

“They were happy enough to join my show, and I was able to protect them for almost twenty years.”

Payne stopped and his shoulders slumped. Moxana reached up and gently patted his hand. Payne smiled at her and continued. “And then, three years ago, we were doing our spring traverse of the mountains, just as we’re doing now. In those days, we preferred to go through Balen’s Gap.”

Krosp perked up. “I’ve heard of that. It’s where the coalition of forces under The Storm King actually managed to stop Bludtharst Heterodyne’s armies.” He turned to Agatha. “Very famous battle, that. Until then, it looked like the Heterodynes would sweep all the way to the Danube, but instead, they were forced to overextend themselves and—”

Agatha put a large bucket over the cat. “You get him going on military history and he’s good for several hours. You were saying?”

For some reason, Payne had to reassemble his thoughts. “Balan’s Gap, yes. Big town. Lots of traffic. Lots of loose coin. The local ruling family is the House of Sturmvarous, currently headed by Prince Aaronev the fourth. A strong Spark. He used to be a major player, but when Wulfenbach rolled through, he submitted quietly enough, and he’s been a good little vassal ever since.

“Of course, being the ruler, it’s still within his power to confiscate... well... anything he wants, really. And out of the blue, what he wanted was Tinka, and there was nothing we could do.” Payne removed his spectacles and fastidiously cleaned the spotless lenses. Obviously, the memory still angered him.

“There was still snow on the ground that year. Which is why Moxana had been left in her wagon. I’m guessing that’s why they didn’t take her as well.” He looked at the clank and shook his head. “Perhaps it would have been better for her if they had.”

Payne turned to Agatha. “The Muses were renowned as beautiful, miraculous machines. The common folk always ascribe emotions and actual, self awareness to them, a fallacy that more educated people know better than to fall into.” He hesitated. “But, I think... in this particular case... the common folk might be correct.”

Agatha said nothing, but her mouth twitched. Payne waved his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Anthropomorphism is a danger whenever you deal with any sufficiently sophisticated mechanism. It would certainly be easier to create a mechanism that merely simulates emotion.

“However there is no denying that in the last three years, Moxana has become less and less responsive. Even when she is active, she remains absorbed in her own private games. Recently she has begun shutting down for days at a time. Just before we found you, she’d been quiescent for almost a solid week. Even if her grief is artificial, I think it’s destroying her.

“And that is why we are crossing the mountains as early as we are, this year. I want to get her to Transylvania Polygnostic University.”

Agatha blinked in surprise. “In Beetleburg? But that’s where I came from.”

Payne looked interested. “That could prove useful. We should get there a few weeks after we go through Mechanicsburg. I want to get her to Dr. Tarsus Beetle, the master of the University. No one knows more about The Muses than he does. We’ve corresponded in the past, but he doesn’t know I possess an actual Muse.” Payne shrugged wearily. “He’s not someone I actually trust, but I’ve run out of ideas.”

Agatha sighed. “Doctor Beetle is dead.”

Everyone looked startled at this. “What?”

Agatha carefully picked her words. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I was his student before I was on Castle Wulfenbach[43]. He can’t help you.”

“Damn.” Payne looked distraught. He looked at Moxana and he looked even worse. “Damn!” He pounded his fist against a nearby chest, denting it with the force of his blow. “We’re committed to Sturmhalten now. We’ve lost too much of the year. And now I see it was for nothing!” He focused back on Agatha. “But you were his student?”

Agatha nodded.

“Well you’re certainly a stronger Spark than any of us. Hopefully he taught you well.”

Agatha looked wary. “Why?”

Payne patted Moxana’s chassis. “I think... maybe... what Moxana needs, is a new sister. I’d like you to try to build one for her.”

Agatha was already shaking her head. “Ridiculous. How could I possibly hope to duplicate the work of one of history’s greatest Sparks? Work that no one else has been able to equal in the last two hundred years?”

Payne shrugged. “I have no idea. But you would have an actual functioning Muse to study. And—” He paused and looked at Moxana expectantly. With a faint sound, the seated figure nodded slowly and then placed her hands flat upon the board. There was a soft “click” and the board swung upwards, revealing a shallow, hidden compartment. Nestled within was a large book. It was bound in brown leather that had cracked with age. The pages within were thick hand cut sheets of vellum, with dozens of ribbons, scraps of papers, leaves and other objects serving as impromptu bookmarks. Upon the cover, embossed in gold that still gleamed against the dark leather, was a simple “R.v.R.”

“More importantly, you’d have Van Rijn’s notes.”

Hours later, the opened book before her, reams of scribbled notations littering her wagon, Agatha had one of her little clanks in her hand. Its eye rolled in alarm as she selected a sharp bladed screwdriver. Agatha’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Hold still,” she commanded. “I’ve got six ideas for how to improve things already, and that’s just from chapter one!” The clank squirmed and looked at her beseechingly. “Relax. You should be incapable of feeling pain.”

A sound made her look up. Arrayed next to her door were the three Jägers. They stood quietly, obviously nervous, but there none the less. A part of Agatha’s mind took note of the fact that she had not even heard them enter. “Yes?” she ventured.

The green Jäger, the one called Dimo, stepped forward. “Ve must tok,” he said seriously.

Agatha looked at them and then carefully put down the screwdriver along with the relieved clank. Instead of distracting her, the presence of the monster soldiers seemed to cause her brain to work harder.

“You’ve been avoiding me ever since you joined up with the circus, but now we must talk? Why? What’s happened?”

Maxim grinned and swept his hair back in a theatrical gesture. He leaned in towards Agatha past Dimo, who looked alarmed. “Oh, vell, hyu know, who vouldn’t vants to tok mit a pretty leetle gurl like hyu?” He leered.

Dimo grasped his sleeve. “Maxim! No!” He looked at Agatha’s face, which had frozen in a mask of cold fury. “She iz schtill in de madness place! She could—”

With a deft movement, Agatha knocked off Maxim’s hat. The mask of sophistication shattered and the purple Jaeger snarled, “Dot vas my hat!”

Agatha stepped closer to him. “What do you want?”

Maxim stared at her, saw the icy calmness that radiated off of her, and with a grin, gracefully dropped to one knee and bowed his head while placing a hand over his heart. “Forgiff me, mistress,” he whispered.

Agatha made a moue of displeasure. “And that is quite enough of that,” she stated. “Get up. These people don’t know who I am.”

Maxim nodded and stood back up. “Ve underschtand, lady.”

Agatha looked at him skeptically. “I doubt it.”

Maxim grinned. “Ve find tings out. Hyu iz escaped from Baron Wulfenbach. He tinks hyu iz dead. Now hyu iz goink to Mechanicsburg.”

Dimo spoke up. “Iz dangerous to travel through der Vastelands mitout protection, so hyu join der circus. Efferbody vants a nize borink jouney. Ve agrees, so ve has helped out a bit mit dot already. Eet giffs us schomting to do at night, jah?”

Ognian stuck a clawed finger deep within an ear and wiggled it about. “Dot Master Payne, he vants a nice qviet trip too. Ezpecially sinze he’s got dot fency magic doll he vants to keep hid from der medboy in Balan’z Gap.”

Maxim nodded. “Yah. Dot family alvays had der sticky fingers and efferyvun iz afraid dot she gets stolen like her seester. She iz a clenk, bot if she gets dismantled, it chust der same as dyink, jah? Herr Payne tink dot since old Sturmvarous got vun nize toy from dis circus, he gun come sniffink around to see vhat else dey gots since den.”

Dimo shrugged. “But dot Payne, he’s a schmot guy. He gots a goot plan.”

Ognian pulled a large insect out from the depths of his ear and regarded it with satisfaction. “He vants us to help. But hyu iz our mistress. Hyu gots to say it is hokay.” With a flourish, he popped the insect into his mouth and chewed.

Agatha goggled at the three for a minute. Dimo elbowed Ognian, who looked guilty and stuck his finger back in his ear. “Sorry bout dot. Do hyu vant vun? Hy should have asked.”

Agatha shuddered.” No, thank you.” She paused. “You all seem... remarkably on top of all this.” She regarded the three creatures before her. “Are you really Jägers?”

Maxim and Ognian looked surprised and glanced at each other. Maxim slid a small mirror out of his tunic and worriedly checked himself.

Dimo chuckled and slowly rubbed his jaw, which produced a sound analogous to stroking a stiff hairbrush. “Dot... iz a goot qvestion. Sometimes Hy vunder.” Maxim and Ognian looked at him questioningly. “Haff all dose guys mit der Baron gone soft offer der years? Or haff ve become... sharper because ve leaf der group und haff to learn how to tink better?” He spread his hands. “Hy tink mebbee both.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “The group... You mean the other Jägermonsters that work for the Baron?” Dimo nodded. “Why did you leave them?”

Dimo looked at her seriously. “For hyu.”

Maxim nodded. “Ven der Baron offered the Jägerkin employment, ve knew ve had to take it. He said dot he needed us, but not as much as ve needed him. Ve served der House of Heterodyne. For der last twenty years or so, dot vas all to der goot, but der Jägers haff served der Heterodynes for hundreds uf years, und dot vas vat people remembered. Vitout der Heterodynes, ve needed somevun like der Baron to protect us.

“But if dere vas even a possibility dot anodder Heterodyne existed, ve could not, in goot conscience sign on mit der Baron. So ve agreed to serve him, mit the condition dot if a Heterodyne vas effer found, ve would be released from der Empire’s service.

“Now, der Baron agreed to help us search, but it vas suspected dot searchink vould not be a high priority. So der Generals asked for a sqvad of volunteers.”

Dimo picked up the narrative. “Ve were to leave the group. Go forth into der vorld, und not return until ve had found an acceptable Heterodyne heir, no matter how lonk it took. Ve knew it vas... suicide mission. Ve had kept track uf der family tree. Ve knew dot der Heterodynes vere gone. Ve vould neffer be able to go beck.”

He stopped, overcome with emotion. Ognian gently punched him on the shoulder and continued. “But because uf us, der Jägerkin could hold der heads up und say dot ve had not abandoned our masters. Dey vas free to join der House uf Wulfenbach. Der Baron protected dem, and dey fought for der Empire.”

The Jäger grinned. “Und now hyu show op und spoil all our plenz!” A tear formed in his eye. “Because now ve... ve gets to go beck. And I neffer—” he gulped, “I neffer thought—” Suddenly he folded up at Agatha’s feet and to her intense embarrassment clasped at her knees. “Ve haff missed you,” he choked out. “Please, please be real!”

Agatha stooped and gave the distraught monster a hug. She looked up into the faces of the other two Jägers, who were displaying mixed emotions at the scene before them. “I am real,” she assured them. “I really am.”

She pulled an embarrassed Ognian to his feet and then sat back down. “Now tell me about Master Payne’s plan.”

Several days later, the circus cleared a last patch of forest and rolled onto a very well-maintained road running parallel to the bank of a fast-flowing river. According to Master Payne, this meant that they had officially exited the Wastelands.

This was cause for a small celebration. Bottles were passed about and musical instruments made their appearance. Thus it was a jolly troupe indeed that pulled up before the stout, reinforced gates of a small fortress that barred the road over the river.

Although small, the garrison bustled with activity. Farmers were delivering hay, a squad of new recruits, loaded with large packs lumbered past, harried by a bellowing Sergeant. Stacks of stores were being moved by sweating troopers, who were stripped to the waist. Several nearby airship gantries stood empty, but showed signs of recent use.

Everywhere in evidence was a sigil depicting a sword thrust down through the spokes of a gear, which was adorned with a pair of heraldic wings. This was the Sturmvarous family crest. They had arrived at the border of Balan’s Gap.

Questions were asked. A desultory examination of the wagons was made, a small discrete payment, as well as several bottles, exchanged hands, and the wagons rumbled through the fortress and over the well-maintained stone bridge. More than one circus member noted the carrier pigeons that left the fortress shortly thereafter and flew on before them.

The lowlands on this side of the river consisted mostly of rich-looking farmland, with fields of freshly sown dark earth, dotted with small settlements.

Almost immediately however, the road swung upwards, and they began to climb the foothills leading up to the actual pass over the mountains.

The superior quality of the road was a pleasant change after weeks in the Wastelands, and once all of the spare horses were hitched up, the climb was slow, but uneventful.

Quickly enough, the trees began to change from deciduous to conifer. By the time the circus pulled into the small alpine village where they’d spend the night, there was a bit of a chill to the air. There were also dark, gathering clouds. The troupe’s part-time meteorologist assured Payne that there would unquestionably be a heavy rainstorm in the next few hours, as well as the always-present danger of meteors.

There was no show that night. With the threat of rain, Payne had refused to set up the outdoor stage. With his permission, many of the performers headed over to the inn, a large, grandiose building that was beginning to show signs of neglect. It had been built in the days before airship travel had begun to steal the wealthy road traffic.

There would be no Heterodyne show this evening. The proprietor of the inn had agreed to split the evening’s profits if the troupe performed in the tavern, and while there wasn’t enough space for a proper stage show, it was a perfect venue for individual musicians, buskers and jugglers to try out new routines.

Agatha and Zeetha were heading there themselves, when they came upon Lars tending a small fire.

Lars had been a lot more attentive of late. Agatha found this flattering, but she had discovered that while Lars was undoubtedly what people in books referred to as a “boon companion,” he had certain deficiencies that she, personally, found troubling.

As Lars would have been the first to point out, he wasn’t particularly intellectual, had no inclination towards mechanics or chemistry, and frankly admitted that he wasn’t even much of a reader.

On the plus side, he was tall and muscular, displayed a great deal of interest in Agatha, and when he spoke in his onstage “Madboy” voice, her heart began thumping in a most distracting manner.

She had shared these observations with Zeetha, who had shrugged. “So he’s not much for intellectual discussion?”

Agatha shook her head.

“Good kisser though, eh?”

Agatha had blushed and nodded. Even though all they had done was kiss once a night onstage, these kisses had been getting better and better.

“So kiss him enough that he doesn’t have a chance to mess things up by talking.”

Agatha frowned. “That seems like an extremely poor blueprint for a long-term relationship.”

Zeetha rolled her eyes. “Start with kissing him twice in one night. Then decide if you want to work your way up.”

This suggestion certainly had a lot to recommend it, so when they reached Lars, Agatha stopped, and casually said, “You go on ahead. I’ll be there eventually.”

Zeetha just grinned, and trotted off.

Lars unrolled a horse blanket upon the ground, and patted the empty space beside him invitingly.

“Not going to the inn?” Agatha asked.

Lars shook his head. “I had a bellyful of that lot yesterday. They water the beer and short-change the tavern maids. Besides, someone’s got to watch the wagons.” He pulled a small silver timepiece out from an inside pocket and consulted it. “My watch’ll be over soon anyway.” He looked up at the low-lying clouds. “Before it starts to rain, if I’m lucky. You?”

Agatha stepped over and, feeling quite daring, sat down beside him. “I don’t like taverns much. I don’t like the smells.” She leaned back a bit and looked at the dark clouds overhead. “I think that’s what I like best about living on the road. It always smells so nice.”

“You got that right,” Lars agreed. He reached behind him and pulled out a dark green bottle. He flipped open his knife and set about removing the wax sealing the cork. “Of course, I spent five years apprenticed to a cheese-maker, so just about anywhere smells better than that.” He pulled the cork with a pop, buffed the lip in a gentlemanly way with his sleeve, and offered her the bottle.

Agatha took a sip. It was sweeter than she expected. She passed the bottle back. “I don’t know about that. I was a lab assistant. For stick-to-your-clothes stink, I doubt you can beat your exotic coal-tar derivatives.”

Lars took a drink. He started to speak, and then began laughing.

“What?”

Lars shook his head. “Here I am thinking I’m going to impress a pretty girl by talking about the terrible smells of various loathsome cheeses.” He took another drink and handed Agatha the bottle. “Mighty suave, huh?”

Agatha cocked an eyebrow. “Well I am impressed at how smoothly you slipped the ‘pretty girl’ line in.”

Lars stared at her for a moment, and then sheepishly looked at his boots. “Well, it’s not like I was lying.” He glanced at her again. “If you’re going to cynically analyze everything I say, then I might as well start talking about cheese again.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “If that’s my choice, I think I’d prefer it if you stopped talking.”

Lars turned towards her. “All right.”

He reached out, gently pulled her towards him and kissed her. It was a slow, relaxed kiss, and yet Agatha felt her heart racing. When they stopped, she took a deep breath. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

Lars raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Is that a problem?”

Agatha opened her mouth and he kissed her again. This time the kiss was harder, and when they broke apart, Agatha could feel that her face was flushed.

“Wait,” she gasped.

Lars smiled. “I have been. This is what I was waiting for.” He leaned in again, and then checked himself. “You don’t like it?”

Agatha did like it. A lot. But there was something that was... not right—she tried to convince herself... “It... it could be an interesting experiment,” she whispered.

Lars paused, and then dropped into his madboy voice. “Don’t tell me you fear the experiment?”

With a small growl, Agatha mashed her lips to his. This caught Lars by surprise and he tried to pull back, but found himself held fast by Agatha gripping his vest. The kiss intensified and she pulled him even closer. Lars felt a small burst of panic and wrenched his face back, breaking the kiss.

Agatha looked at him. Her eyes flashed in heavy-lidded irritation. She pulled him back towards her—

“Stop!” Lars gasped out.

Agatha blinked in astonishment, realized that she was holding him fast, and released him so suddenly that he fell backwards.

Lars felt his heart racing like he had just escaped from some sort of trap. He looked up at Agatha, slightly disheveled, breathing quickly, with a bit of a wild look in her eye, and wondered if he had.

For her part, Agatha was analyzing what had just happened. She looked at Lars and realized that while he wasn’t that interesting intellectually, if he talked to her in his onstage voice, he could recite a bread recipe and she would do whatever he wanted. This disturbed her. On the other hand, it had been an exceptional kiss.

Suddenly, there was the sound of amused throat-clearing, and they turned to find Captain Kadiiski standing on the other side of the dying fire, seemingly fascinated with the cloud-obscured night sky.

He glanced their way, and seeing that he had their attention, bowed. “Good evening! Am sorry to be breaking up no doubt fascinating discussion of various intellectual subjects, but it is my turn to stand the watching.” He paused, “So when did someone steal Master Payne’s wagon?”

Agatha and Lars whipped about, and seeing that all was well, glared at the grinning mechanic.

“Very funny,” Lars said sourly as he offered Agatha a hand up.

Kadiiski nodded. “It is that.” He tipped his hat to Agatha. “So! Are you offering stimulating conversation to all of us lonely watching men?”

Agatha blushed. “I... ah...”

Kadiiski guffawed and made shooing motions. “Off with you both before I am made dead from the cuteness.”

They did. From the inn, a song about the Storm King, accompanied by much table pounding, boomed out from the open doors. A local staggered out and was exuberantly sick.

Wordlessly, they turned back towards the wagons.

All too soon, they found themselves at the foot of the Baba Yaga’s ladder. Tentatively, they kissed. It went on for some time.

Finally, Lars took a deep breath. “Okay. I gotta... I gotta go grab some shut-eye.”

Agatha nodded, and with some difficulty, removed her hands from Lars’ vest. “Right. Say good night to Herr de la Scalla for me.”

“Oh I won’t see him, I’ll be bunking under one of the wagons.”

“What? Why?”

Lars grinned. “Well, Pix has kind of moved in. I’ll be getting a new wagon soon enough, but it’s no big deal since I’m so used to sleeping outside anyway.” He paused, “Although, if you can think of a place I could stay...”

Agatha looked up at Lars and her breath caught. For a moment, the lights from the inn illuminated his profile in such a way that she was reminded of Gilgamesh Wulfenbach.

But it wasn’t Gilgamesh, and it never would be. She had run from him and made sure that he never came back. Ever.

No, it wasn’t Gilgamesh. It was Lars. A man who liked her. Who... who wanted her, even though he knew what she was. She looked around. This was her world now, and Lars was one of the people in it. A good person. Maybe good enough...

All of this flashed through her head in a split second.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It sounds tempting. Really tempting. But...”

Lars knew when to push and when to fade. Sometimes you wanted a girl to be thrown a bit off balance. He gently ran a hand down her cheek and smiled. “—But that’s a big step. No problem.”

Agatha had been expecting a little more pressure. “Really? You’ll be okay?”

Lars dramatically put a hand to his heart and strove to look excessively noble. “I assure you that none will be disturbed by my weeping.” Agatha’s eyes narrowed, and Lars chuckled, lightening the mood. “No, seriously, I’ll be fine outside—”

A boom of thunder rattled loose objects as it rolled across the sky and a wall of rain crashed down upon them.

Seconds later, they were inside the wagon, clothes dripping. Agatha fetched a towel from the small cabinet under the washbowl and silently began dabbing it at Lars’ face.

“Or, I could stay here,” he conceded. Without taking his eyes off of hers, Lars nodded. “That bench seat should be comfortable enough.”

Agatha opened her mouth and he kissed her again. This was a forceful kiss, intense, but quickly ended. He pulled back slightly and waited to see how Agatha would react.

She tipped her head back—

A frantic hammering began upon the door, causing them both to jump. Agatha pulled it open to reveal a soaked and bedraggled Krosp. He marched in and stoically allowed Agatha to remove his dripping coat and towel him down.

“I feel most put upon,” he announced when she was done. “I am going to bed.” With that, he scrambled up the ladder.

Agatha looked apologetically at Lars. “Sorry about that.”

Lars snorted in amusement and leaned in. “We could wait until he’s—”

“Agatha!” Krosp’s head appeared in the opening. “Come and fold down the bed!” He disappeared again.

Lars paused. “Normally, overly-protective cats don’t bother me, but—”

“Agatha! Do we have any cheese?” Krosp peered down at them. “Bring up some cheese.” He vanished.

They both stared up at the opening for a moment. Then eyed each other. “I’ll bet he snores,” said Lars.

“Not usually,” Agatha sighed, “But I’ll bet he starts tonight.”

They both chuckled, and then looked into each other’s eyes. They leaned in for a last kiss—

“Agatha! You missed a wet spot on my head! Bring the—” The flung towel struck Krosp in the face.