Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (38 page)

Eventually, Payne had insisted that the drivers, and anyone else who could, should try to get some sleep. He had ostensibly done so himself, but despite the fact that he and the Countess had burrowed beneath their comforters several hours ago, the instant the first knock sounded, Payne had bounded to his feet, still dressed, a small pistol magically appearing in his hand. The Countess’ feet had yet to touch the floor, but the rifle she drew from beneath the covers moved without hesitation.

Payne moved up to the door and listened for a moment, shook himself, and suddenly appeared a lot more rumpled and sleepy. He slowly opened the door, concealing the pistol behind the door. “Yes?”

A few steps below him was a squad of Sturmhalten soldiers. Abner was bracketed by a pair of them. Zeetha stood to one side, next to Yeti. To anyone else, she would have looked merely nervous, but Payne could see that she was a fraction of a second away from drawing her swords. That wasn’t good.

A Captain stood before him. The man stared a bit too long at the hidden hand holding the pistol behind the door. Payne switched mental gears. This required finesse. With a flick of his wrist he slid the pistol out of sight up his sleeve as he slowly—very slowly—brought his hand out from behind the door and scratched at his chin.

The Captain relaxed slightly. “Evening, sir,” he said, while sketching out the half salute that soldiers gave civilians they were supposed to be polite to. “Are you the master of this circus?”

Payne nodded cautiously. “I am.”

The Captain drew a small note from his pocket and scrutinized it in such a way that Payne knew he had it memorized. “You were traveling with one Olga Žiga?”

Oh, this definitely didn’t look good. “Yes, but at the moment she is at the palace—a guest of your Prince.”

The Captain nodded. “Indeed she is, sir.” He paused, and ran an eye over the other circus members who were quietly collecting. “Were you aware that this ‘Madame Olga’ is a fugitive? Wanted by Baron Wulfenbach himself?”

This was unexpected, and Payne was honestly taken aback, which was handy, as it helped with the lying. “No! Of course not!”

The Captain nodded. “Yes, that’s just what the Prince told me you’d say. Well you’ve had a lucky escape, sir. As have we all, I suspect. No telling what she’s capable of if the Baron’s after her, eh?”

Payne felt the jaws of the trap close. Intellectually he had to admire the way it was done.

The Captain continued. “Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, eh?” He ostentatiously fished about in a courier’s pouch at his belt and hauled out a leather pouch adorned with the seal of the royal family. It clinked as he tossed it from hand to hand. “Prince Aaronev has sent you this reward! Mighty generous says I, but ‘no bless obli cheese,’ says he.”

Payne blinked. “…Does he?”

The Captain nodded as he handed the money over. “All the time.” As Payne took the money, the Captain’s hand tightened. Their eyes locked. When the Captain spoke again, the easy-going tone he had effected had vanished from his voice. “He also says that, for everyone’s safety, he thinks it best if you and your good people leave town.”

Payne licked his lips. “But it’s—”

In his best parade ground voice, the Captain merely said, “Now.” The rest of the soldiers present straightened and presented arms with a snap. “Your escort is waiting.”

Payne knew when to cut his losses. “We’re moving out,” he roared to the half a hundred hidden ears he knew were listening. A part of his mind noted without surprise that Zeetha had vanished.

In a surprisingly short time, the circus was on the move. The streets of the town were empty. A mist had drifted down from the surrounding mountains, giving the electric streetlights a glowing blue halo. Along the route, soldiers stood quietly, watching the train of wagons as it rumbled towards the gates. In the lead wagon, Abner, Lars and Krosp sat glumly.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” muttered Abner.

“Something’s not right,” said Lars, eyeing the soldiers.

“Of course not,” snapped Krosp, his ears flattened. “That story about a reward is hokum. The Baron thinks Agatha is dead. If he thought otherwise, he’d come and get her. The Prince just wants us to leave, and this way, we daren’t complain.”

Lars looked lost. “But what will we do?”

Abner looked at him levelly. “We go down this road about fifteen kilometers and turn left at Mulverschtag. That’ll get us on the road to Mechanicsburg.”

“No! I meant—”

“Oh wait,” Abner interrupted snidely. “Are you seriously thinking we should go back—into a hostile town full of armed soldiers—to try to rescue a girl from a madboy’s fortress?”

Lars examined this statement. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes I am!”

Abner sighed. “There’re a million reasons why that isn’t going to work.”

“Dun vorry,” a low voice chuckled from above. The three whipped their eyes upwards. Dimo, Ognian and Maxim were lounging on the roof of the wagon. Dimo was staring down at them and indicated himself and the others. “Dere’s three reasonz it
iz
.”

Agatha blinked. Her mouth tasted terrible, her head was throbbing, and she felt like she was shackled to a table. This last realization snapped her awake. She
was
shackled to a table. Some sort of lab bench, and by straining her head, she could see that she was wearing remarkably little. This didn’t look good.

She was in some sort of laboratory, racks of electronic devices surrounded her, and there was a pervasive smell of ozone and burnt insulation.

Suddenly a figure loomed up from her right. It was Anevka. She had been cleaned and polished. Her wig was black and glossy, cut short in front and tied back with several gold chains. She was dressed in a red velvet lab coat and violet work apron with matching gold piping
⁴⁷
.

By rolling her eyes, Agatha could just see her retainers, with the ever-present device resting upon their shoulders. They stood motionless, eyes half closed.

“Oh good,” Anevka said. “You’re finally awake!” She glanced behind Agatha’s line of sight and made a small adjustment to an unseen device. “Happy?”

That was an easy one. “Certainly not!”

Anevka nodded. “Very good!”

“No—Not good! How dare you people do this to me? Get me some clothes!”

Anevka actually rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. A lovely strong command wave.” She looked back at Agatha. “Do you have any questions?”

Agatha had a great number of questions, as well as several strong opinions about Anevka, her situation, her lack of clothing and Anevka’s preoccupation with whatever it was that was keeping her from setting Agatha free. After about a half an hour of this, Agatha began to wind down. “Are you even
listening
to me?”

Anevka made a final adjustment to the oscilloscope she’d been monitoring and nodded in satisfaction. “Oh yes, and you’ve been just
perfect
! I quite think you’re done.”

She shut down the device and then turned to a small cloth covered ceramic tray. A delicate flip of the fabric revealed an array of gleaming steel surgical instruments. Anevka ran her hand above them, and then selected a simple scalpel.

“And now, let’s hear you beg for your life.”

Agatha’s eyes bugged out. “What?”

Anevka twirled the scalpel around her fingers. “I’ve got my readings. Now I get to have a little fun.”

A squawk from behind Agatha revealed that someone else was here. Tarvek strode into sight, flinging down a set of tools and grabbing Anevka’s wrist. “Stop!” Agatha realized that she didn’t know whether to be more relieved at his intercession or scandalized at her state of undress before him. Another glimpse of the scalpel in Anevka’s hand helped prioritize things nicely.

Anevka rolled her eyes at Tarvek. “But why? We have all the readings that we need.”

“Don’t be a fool. We should test it first.”

Anevka considered this. With a deft flick of her wrist, she tossed the scalpel back into the tray with a clatter. “You’re right, of course,” she said regretfully. “It would be unforgivably stupid to kill her before we’re sure.”

Suddenly a commotion filled the air and several people burst into the room. A cluster of brawny castle servants were restraining a lone Geiesterdamen. She was wearing an elegantly cut robe that had been thrown over little else. Her white hair was disheveled and chopped short, and her pearly white eyes glared furiously. The four men holding her had obviously had a rough time of it, as all of them suffered from bruises, scratches, and torn clothing.

When she saw Tarvek and Anevka, the captive woman roared furiously, in what, Agatha realized in astonishment, was perfectly good Romanian
⁴⁸
.

“What is the meaning of this? Where is your father, the Prince?” She saw Agatha for the first time and paused. “What are you children playing at?”

Tarvek stepped forward. “Good evening, Lady Vrin. There are things you should be made aware of—”

Vrin lunged at him, almost throwing her captors off balance. “Release me, you insignificant worm!”

Anevka crossed her arms. “Oh, I really don’t want to listen to any more of
this
. Tarvek?”

Her brother stepped behind her and was making some adjustments to a control panel on her back. “I’ve made the adjustments to your voice box. Try it now.”

Anevka stepped forward. “Release her.” The servants stepped back. Vrin launched herself towards the mechanical girl, who again spoke. “Lady Vrin?
Kneel!”

The voice that boomed out, artificially amplified, sounded remarkably like Agatha’s. The effect upon the Geisterdamen was electric. She froze, and then dropped to her knees. “Lady?” she whispered.

Instantly she grabbed her head and screamed. The servants again grabbed her arms. She glared up at Anevka. “You are not her,” she hissed in fury.

Anevka put her head to one side. “Tch. It appears you were right, brother. We are not there yet.”

Tarvek nodded slowly. He pulled a pad of paper from a coat pocket and began to scribble some notes. “Hmm. I suspect your speaker needs more bass. Maybe what I need to do is isolate the command harmonics, and then amplify
them
…”

Anevka patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, yes. You
do
that.” She turned back and with a few twists, released Agatha.

Stiffly she slowly climbed down from the bench. At a sign from Anevka, two more servants took hold of her wrists. Anevka continued. “Take these two troublesome girls and put them in the cell with the others.”

As they were being led away, Vrin rallied and called out, “You will pay for this! When your father and The Order—”

Anevka interrupted her. “My father is dead. And this pathetic girl?” She indicated Agatha. “She is your ‘holy lost child,’ for all the good it will do you.”

This information struck Vrin like a physical blow, and she stared at Agatha in astonishment as they were led away.

As they moved through the deserted corridors, Agatha shivered. She realized that she was still in her underwear and turned to the nearest servant. “I want some clothes.” All of the men chuckled at this.

“I’m sure you do,” the one she addressed replied. Agatha glared at him and spoke again. This time her voice was loud and insistent. “I’m cold and I want some clothes.
Now
!” All of the servants blinked. And without a word, the man she’d addressed turned and left. They kept walking, but several minutes later, as they came to a thick armored door, he returned at a trot, holding a bundle that Agatha recognized as her outfit. As the lead servant unlocked the door with a complicated looking key, he handed it over. Agatha took it, and then she and a thoughtful Lady Vrin were shoved through the door, which could be heard locking behind them.

Agatha had been a tremendous fan of the Heterodyne Boys novels. On a fairly regular basis, one or the other of the heroic duo had been tossed into cells by cackling villains. Thus, the room before her was oddly familiar. Bare stone walls, a small slit of a window, several bunks covered with mounded blankets, and a plain wooden table were before her.

Agatha looked at the outfit in her hands. “I didn’t expect them to actually get me my clothes,” she remarked. A frown crossed her features.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Vrin coming close and staring into her face. Agatha tried not to flinch. “The Anevka-clank claims that you are The Holy Child. Why?”

Agatha found it difficult to look into the odd eyes of the woman before her. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what all this Holy Child nonsense is about. I’m not even a child. I’m eighteen, thank you very much.”

Vrin blinked. “Eighteen…”

“Klazma? Klazma
Vrin
?” Both Vrin and Agatha turned in surprise. In the rear of the cell were several bunks, mounded with blankets. One of these mounds moved, and revealed two more Geisterdamen, sleepily rubbing their faintly glowing eyes. With quick movements, they slid from the bunk and began eagerly questioning the Lady Vrin in their own language.

Agatha was obviously the subject of a great deal of the discussion. Vrin’s declaration, “Na fig seg unat plin,” was greeted with exclamations of dubious surprise. Agatha tried to listen to the conversation as she set about stripping her dress of the ruffles and lace that inhibited her movements. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she suspected she would want to be able to move fast.

As she slipped her glasses back on over her ears, one of the Geisterdamen, who had been looking at her intently suddenly started and declared, “Zoy!” along with a lot of other words, the only one of which that Agatha could understand was “actors!”

This started a brief argument between the two, which only ended when Vrin slammed her hand down on the table. She took a deep breath and turned towards Agatha. Agatha could tell that Vrin was unsure about how to deal with her.

Vrin studied her for a moment, and then spoke slowly. “The Geisterdamen have long sought a child who was stolen from us.”

Agatha shrugged apologetically. “I’ve never seen, or even heard of a Geisterdamen child.”

Vrin nodded. “This was a pink child. It was the offspring of the persons you would know of as Lucrezia Mongfish and the Bill Heterodyne.”