Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (10 page)

Gil shook his head. In that at least, he could honestly claim innocence. “No. I admit, that was a surprise. I didn’t know about any of that until DuPree told me. She thinks the whole thing is hilarious.” He winced again, visibly this time.

His father nodded briefly and he growled: “Well, now I know it too, as will the whole of Europa! And she’s gone off with
Othar Tryggvassen
no less!
¹⁰
For all we know, Othar might have killed her himself, once he discovered she was a Spark!”

Gil paled visibly at this. His body tensed, and he glanced toward the door. DuPree hadn’t told him that Agatha had escaped with Othar. She’d been too busy laughing. If he went after her right now, would he be too late?

Klaus noticed the reaction and swore silently. Gil’s obvious agitation confirmed several suspicions that he had hoped were unfounded. “I want you to leave immediately with Captain DuPree. The two of you will find this girl and bring her back.”

Gil nodded. He’d been expecting this, and was happy to go, but the addition of Bangladesh DuPree made things… difficult. “Father, I can’t just grab her by force and drag her back here. She’s a Spark, but she hasn’t broken the peace.” This was a rather fatuous argument, as Klaus had people dragged off all the time. These were usually people who
had
broken the peace, and spectacularly so, but the fact remained that the ruler of the Wulfenbach Empire certainly
could
arrest anyone he pleased, no matter what the reason. And so could his son.

Gil started as Klaus thumped his bed. “Don’t be an idiot! She’s not just a Spark—she is a
Heterodyne
!”

It was true. Agatha’s very existence would be a threat to the Empire. The Heterodynes loomed large in the hearts of the people of Europa, and those who chafed under the Baron’s rule, especially among the old ruling classes, would not hesitate to make use of their legend. A genuine Heterodyne heir would be the perfect nucleus around which a well-organized “popular” revolt could made to crystallize. However Gil felt about Agatha, to his father, she could only be a powerful wild card that threatened his control over the all-consuming game he been playing—and winning—for so many years. Gil knew his father well enough to know that the Baron would already be laying detailed plans in advance against the plots that would hatch, the uprisings, betrayals and power-grabs that would follow—if news of a new Heterodyne was allowed to spread. Gil also knew that, politically, having the Heterodyne heir firmly in the control of the Empire would be the most important of all those plans. But this was Agatha, not some hypothetical “Heterodyne Heir,” and he found he didn’t much like what “firmly in the control of the Empire” might mean for her.

Klaus continued: “Plus, she is the daughter of Lucrezia Mongfish. That alone warrants our attention—and our extreme caution.”

This surprised Gil. He had heard rumors about his father and the wife of Bill Heterodyne, but they were rumors he had never paid much attention to. Scientifically speaking, he found the idea “icky.” It seemed those rumors may have been true after all. Still, this was obviously neither the time nor the place to ask.

He tried a different tack. “Father, she’s already angry with me. If I just go and arrest her—and with DuPree—” This argument slammed into the granite cliffside of Klaus’ determination.

“You will bring her back here. As a prisoner. Is this understood?”

Gil tried one more time. “Father, of course I’ll go after her. But if I can just
talk
to her, she might—”

“As a prisoner!” Klaus roared. “There will be no argument! You can save any romantic ideas you have for later.” Gil’s face went scarlet. Klaus paused, then continued, his voice slightly softer. “She must be contained as quickly as possible. There is no time for negotiations or compromises. Blame me, if you must. Let DuPree do the dirty work. Once she’s here, you can talk all you want—although I would advise against it. Now go. DuPree is waiting on Dock Forty-Three.”

With that, the Baron laid back and closed his eyes. With a touch of concern, Gil noted the evidence of strain on his father’s face, and checked the actual settings on the speed healer. He blinked as he realized how much pain his father must be experiencing. Arguments at this time would be counter-productive. He would have to do what he could on his own. With a simple “Yes, Father,” he turned to go.

Gil closed the great doors behind him, still feeling slightly ill. His thoughts were racing—he would have to move quickly. Suddenly, a plaintive cry of: “Hey! Wulfenbach! Over here!” caused him to look around.

Gil’s eyes widened in dismay and surprise. Moloch von Zinzer sat uncomfortably in a steel cage, hung from a rolling framework and flanked by a pair of guard clanks. Gil could see that he had arrived too late. The hapless soldier’s fate had been determined.

“I did what you wanted,” Von Zinzer complained. “I pretended I was the Spark like you told me to. I didn’t tell your father it was your idea.” He shrugged. “Not like he was really listening to what I had to say, anyway. He was really angry.” Gil could well imagine. Von Zinzer shifted in his cage. “Hey—you said you’d help me.”

Gil stared at him helplessly. The man was an enemy soldier who had confessed to threatening Agatha’s life at least twice, as well as, if you were going to be technical about it, assorted incidents of robbery, blackmail, threats of violence, assault, and burglary. Despite this, Gil found that he felt sorry for the fellow. He seemed to be a fairly ordinary sort of person—barely above a peasant—who had simply been unlucky enough to get caught up in the affairs of Sparks. From Gil’s experience, this meant Von Zinzer had been doomed from the start. Behaving like a saint probably wouldn’t have helped the man.

“Yes,” Gil conceded. “I did say I’d help you.” He reached into his waistcoat’s inner pocket and withdrew a small black pill. “Here. Take this.”

Moloch reached forward eagerly. “Great! Thanks! What is it?”

“Poison,” Gil replied. “It’ll kill you instantly.” He glumly told himself that having such a thing to hand said all-too-much about his life.

Moloch slammed backwards against the rear of the cage, setting it to swinging. “What? Get away from me! You’re crazy!”

Gil sighed. Of course, some people did have it worse than he did. He caught hold of Von Zinzer’s leg and deftly tucked the pill into one of the soldier’s pant cuffs.

“I am truly sorry, Herr Von Zinzer. I really am trying to help you.” He eyed the destination tag affixed to the bottom of the cage. It read “Castle Heterodyne”
¹¹
. “I know it isn’t much, and I’m sorry. The way things are going, this might be more than I can do for Miss Clay.”

He turned away. Von Zinzer called after him: “You madboys! You’re all loony! If that’s your idea of ‘help,’ no wonder you people are always killing each other! God help
anyone
who thinks you’re his
friend!”
Gil froze, and then stiffly continued on his way.

A final burst of flame erupted over the delighted heads of the audience, and Master Payne bowed amidst a wave of cheering before continuing. “Before tonight’s main show, we have a special treat for you! Our own Professors Moonsock and Therm will share a song that they learned on their last trip to the
Americas!”

As Payne swept off, two ladies dressed in exotic (and rather daring) costumes strutted onto the stage, strumming what appeared to be tiny guitars. As they played, they circled each other in a jaunty, high-stepping dance, before facing the audience and launching into song.

Apparently, they were well aware that they had no bananas, but it couldn’t be helped, perhaps the audience would care for something else? They quickly had the crowd merrily clapping in time and merrily joining in on the chorus.

Payne, observing from the wings, nodded in satisfaction, then continued backstage—through an open air labyrinth of canvas walls filled with puffing machinery and actors half in and half out of costume. People bustled to and fro, carrying props and lights.

Abner stood in the center of it all, a dozen people in varying stages of hysteria vying for his attention. Abner himself radiated icy calm. With a few succinct directions, instructions and threats, Abner sent them all on their separate ways. Payne smiled. The lad was getting pretty good.

As Payne stepped out of the shadows, Abner reached his hand around behind his back and handed the circus master a steaming mug of his favorite bitter apple tea. Payne frowned. “Save it for the paying customers, lad.” He then smiled and took an appreciative sip. “How do things look?”

Abner shrugged. “A good crowd, sir. The whole town is here. It was market day, so I’d be surprised if there’s anyone living between here and the river who isn’t out front.” Balthazar ran past carrying a red crate. Abner watched him go. “—and if that’s what I think it is, it means we’re almost out of ‘Mimmoths On A Stick.’”

That was good news. Like most shows, the circus made most of its profits from the sales of treats, remedies, charms, and small souvenirs.

“And the troupe?” Payne asked, although he already knew the answer.

“On edge. They’re calming down now that the show’s under way.” A huge roar of laughter went up on the other side of the curtain wall. Payne eyed his apprentice. “And how are
you
doing?”

Abner took a moment to consider his answer. “It… it’s like a storm brewing. I know
something
is going to happen. I just want to get it over with.”

An odd breeze rippled the fabric of the walls. Payne cast his eyes upward. “Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered.

Abner nodded. “But I think we have a chance. As long as whoever shows up is someone who will listen to us…” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe nothing will happen at all.”

Payne looked at him askance. “Do you really believe that?”

Abner shook his head. “No sir.”

Payne again looked upwards in time to see the great black shape blotting out the stars. “Good. Because it’s
show time
.”

As always, the Circus Master’s timing was impeccable. With a crash, huge rows of electric arclights snapped on overhead, blinding performers and audience alike. The Wulfenbach airship had silently drifted down over the crowd—unseen until it was less than ten meters overhead. Soldier clanks stood outlined in the cargo bay doors, and the great steam cannons slowly tracked about. A loudhailer crackled, easily carrying over the noise of the crowd below.

“ATTENTION! THIS IS THE WULFENBACH AIRSHIP
ISLAND QUEEN
. EVERYONE IS TO STAY WHERE THEY ARE. PLEASE CO-OPERATE, AND NO ONE WILL BE HARMED.”

In less then thirty seconds, the ship had settled low enough for a crew of airshipmen to leap to the ground. The ship fired its compressed air harpoon
cannons, driving six great mooring stakes into the ground, thick lines trailing upward. Onboard, the great capstans rumbled to life, the hawsers thrummed taut, and the enormous ship began to sink down to earth.

On the ground, the airmen took up positions around the anchor lines, drew the swords at their belts, and assumed guard positions.

From the cargo bays, great metal ramps rolled out and slammed to the earth with a single resonant crash. The thunder of three dozen giant brass and steel soldier clanks marching down the ramps filled the air. In the center of the group strode Gilgamesh Wulfenbach and Captain Bangladesh DuPree
¹²
, bickering like a couple who’d had a lot of practice.

“’No one will be harmed?’” she demanded. “How am I supposed to work here?” As DuPree considered success to be measured by the number of bodies she left behind, Gil thought any impediment to her efficiency was a thing to be encouraged.

“These people may know nothing,” he pointed out.

Dupree rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t start
that
again. I found the crash site, the place where she slept, and tracks of a caravan intercepting her. We followed those tracks and hey presto, a traveling show! She’s here.”

Gil didn’t try to dispute this. DuPree was a phenomenal tracker. “Yes, yes, but this time we want the job done without incident. There’s politics involved.”

DuPree grimaced. Usually, when she heard the word “politics,” it was had something to do with Klaus yelling at her. “It’s not my fault if I’m always sent to deal with unreasonable people.”

Gil remembered that he had once tried to determine what kind of person DuPree considered “reasonable.” Thanks to an experimental variant of self-induced shock therapy, he no longer remembered the details. “Just find her.”

“Hmf.” DuPree considered stabbing Gil in the eye, then rolled her eyes and told herself that it probably wouldn’t shut him up anyway. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

They stopped talking as they approached the crowd, attempting to present a united front
¹³
. The crowd had sorted itself into two distinct groups. The first was made up of the audience, who appeared to be trying to hide behind the local Burgermeister. The second comprised the members of the circus, who were doing the same thing behind Master Payne. No one had been foolish enough to run. Of the two obvious leaders, the Circus Master was the most impressive looking, so it wasn’t surprising that he was the one Captain DuPree chose to approach.

She stood for a moment studying his clothing and nodding in approval. It would be hard to slip a knife through all those layers. On the other hand, if she was going to kill the guy in charge, it would be to make a point. In which case, she’d want to be spectacularly flamboyant anyway, so politely slipping a knife between his ribs was already right out. She grinned at the thought. “You look like you think you’re smart. Who’s in charge here?”

Payne looked at Abner. Abner looked back. This appeared to be a trick question, and was most likely just an excuse to use harsher interrogation methods.

“Er… you are.” Payne ventured.

DuPree beamed. “Wow! You’re
so
smart—” her arm snapped out and snagged Abner by the collar, “I’ll have to slap this guy around instead!” Abner rolled his eyes.

Gil cleared his throat. “DuPree—”