Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (20 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marie sighed. “But… not very well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abner perked up. “Background wow?”

Payne nodded. “Background wow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glorious!” she declared.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooh! Ooh!
Clockwork Sundial
!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course!”

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

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

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

Krosp frowned. “Something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agatha paused. “What?”

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

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

Thoughtfully Agatha retrieved her pillow and settled down to sleep.

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

CHAPTER 4

When Jägermonsters hunt for you

Remember what you mustn’t do:

Don’t jump in a butt of wine,

  
They’ll find you hiding there just fine.

   
Don’t hide with the grain or meat,

    
You’ll be the first thing that they eat.

     
Don’t hide with the dung or offal,

      
They’ll just spread you on a waffle.

       
Don’t hide in among the dead,

        
They’ll eat you up with jam and bread.

         
But hide in water, soap and lye,

          
and far away from you they’ll fly!

—
Children’s song

I
t 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.