Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (2 page)

Oh, there had been screams of rage from her father, of course, accompanied by a brief rain of burning tar. Apparently the girl had been promised to one of the Heterodyne’s allies, and he didn’t have many to spare.

But eventually the Heterodynes had relented, old Clemethius gave his blessing, and the treaty was approved.

And today was the day of the wedding, at which the Treaty of Sturmhalten would be signed, formally ending the conflict, and everybody could go home in time for the spring planting.

This was why Andronicus was up this morning, after a sleepless night, watching and waiting.

He realized that he felt… jumpy. He’d felt more and more like that lately. Usually he was only nervous like this during the actual fighting.

Once oafs started running at each other screaming, they could take the most simple battle plan and make a hash of it within thirty seconds. But the whole point of it all was to make things so bloody, unpleasant and pointless that even a crazed despot would be willing to negotiate in order to make it stop.

That’s what he lived for. Strategy, diplomacy, negotiating. The delicious art of the back room deal. But lately, it had all felt… wrong somehow.

If this was what
love
did to one’s head…

A soft scraping sound behind him caused him to spin, his hand going to his sword—

He stopped short. He hadn’t even heard them arrive, and they had undoubtedly made the noise just to let him know they were present.

Arrayed before him were The Muses. It was unusual to see all nine of them in one place, in a motionless, glittering tableaux.

The King scowled. He’d been avoiding them for weeks. They stared back at him silently. A wind began to rise along with the sun, ruffling the great feathers of Otilia’s wings.

Damn
van Rijn! Why hadn’t he built the blasted things with a way to shut them down that didn’t entail taking them apart? The old fool had made such a damned spectacle about it when he presented them, that now, whenever Valois opened his mouth, everyone looked to see if they agreed with him!

They were supposed to be these fabulous, mechanical advisors, but bugger him sideways if they made
sense
half the time. Granted, when they did, they were usually spot on, but all too often they just spun pointless stories, or played music, or showed him one of those devilish cards.

They’d been… clearer when there was fighting to be done. Orotine’s maps had made developing strategy seem like child’s play. But these days, when he was juggling a hundred and a half treaties and coalitions—if he spent too much time with them, his head just started to ache. Their latest pronouncements had been the final straw.

As if reading his thoughts—which he wouldn’t put past them—the non-twins, Mawu and Liza, stepped forward and spoke in perfect unison. “Storm King. You are about to make a great mistake. This marriage will not cement your alliance, but rather, will destroy it.” They then stood silent, their black and white robes fluttering in the breeze.

Andronicus blinked. What they had said was hardly a surprise, but the way they’d been hinting, and suggesting and being so damned subtle and oracular about it for so long—Andronicus was surprised that they could just come out and
say
it plain and simple.

Maybe he
could
talk to them like normal people. Clanks. Whatever. “You don’t
know
that. You’re just guessing.”

They all turned to the Muse, Prende, who had, as always, been examining the large, hypnotically intricate, gold wire sphere she carried. Andronicus sighed. Not another obtuse parable about courtly love—

With a smooth movement, the Muse brought her hands together, collapsing the sphere down to the size of an orange. “Euphrosynia Heterodyne is not in love with you, my King. She is working as her father’s cat’s-paw to sabotage the coalition.”

Andronicus felt like he was dreaming. These were the same blank porcelain faces staring back at him, but they were actually talking sense.

“What proof do you have?”

Prende paused, and glanced at the other Muses. “No physical proof, your Majesty.”

Valois slammed his hand down upon a parapet. “Then this is useless! I cannot refuse to marry her for no reason! Especially after
I
insisted I marry her in the first place! This marriage is the lynch-pin of the whole treaty!”

“Indeed it is,” said Artimo, closing her book with a thump, “And whose idea was that?”

Andronicus opened his mouth and then paused. The negotiations at that point had been delightfully complicated, but surely
he
had wanted…

All of a sudden he could understand things that had not been clear before… He had been manipulated. He could feel it.

Suddenly there was the moan of hundreds of horns and the pounding of the great saurian skull drums from the Heterodyne camp. Andronicus looked down and saw the wedding procession emerging from Bludtharst’s easily spotted tent.

He turned back to the Muses. “I can’t refuse the marriage. Even if you are correct. I can’t!”

Artimo nodded. “But at least you are now aware that caution is required.”

Andronicus snorted. “I’ll be bedding a Heterodyne. Caution goes without saying.” He sighed. “But I’ll take little enough enjoyment from it now.” He glared at the assembled clanks. “Damn you! Damn you all!
Now
you have to talk sensibly! If you’d explained this to me weeks—
days
ago—I might have been able to
do
something!”

“We could not!” Otilia said flatly. “We would have… damaged ourselves by speaking this plainly before now.”

“Otilia is correct,” Artimo agreed. “We were designed to teach you, to inspire you, to help you make the correct decisions. We cannot lead you. We cannot force you. We cannot rule you.”

Andronicus thought about this. “That’s… good to know, I suppose. So why tell me this now?”

Suddenly, there was a clattering upon the stairs and a squad of Storm Knights, led by Hugomont, his aide-de-camp, were there. The man shrugged apologetically. Valois waved it off, the old fellow had done wonders, Andronicus had easily had almost fifteen minutes to himself.

Hugomont spoke. “Your Majesty! The Heterodynes are approaching! You must prepare!”

The Storm King nodded, squared his shoulders and allowed himself to be led away to his destiny.

The Muses watched him leave, and then, as one, swiveled about to look down upon the approaching procession.

“Because, my King,” Artimo said softly, “It is too late to change anything.”

CHAPTER 1

SCENE; A small cottage. Table. 3 Chairs. Shutters on the windows. Sturdy door. PRINCESS VIONA & Her three SERVANTS are center stage.

SOUND EFFECT; KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

PRINCESS VONIA; Now who could that be?

THE FIDDLER (softly); Please let me in. I want your light.

PRINCESS VONIA; My light? How peculiar!

THE SERVANT MADE OF ICE; Princess! Remember! These are the Wastelands! Don’t open the door!

THE FIDDLER (softly); But I’m so dark. I need your light.

PRINCESS VONIA; But he sounds so weak.

THE SERVANT MADE OF LEAD; Princess! We were warned! These are the Wastelands! Don’t open the door!

THE FIDDLER (softly); Please. You are using so very much. I need it. Just open your door.

PRINCESS VONIA; Why, surely a little light couldn’t hurt.

THE SERVANT MADE OF WHEELS; Princess! There is something wrong here! These are the Wastelands! Don’t open the door!

ALL THREE SERVANTS; Don’t open the door! Don’t open the door! (TO THE AUDIENCE) Help us before it is too late!

SERVANTS AND AUDIENCE (louder each time); Don’t open the door! Don’t open the door! Don’t open the door!

PRINCESS VONIA; Surely a peek will not hurt. (OPENS DOOR) Oh!

(LIGHTS GO OUT)

—Act 1/Scene 1,
The Heterodyne Boys and the
Mystery of the Thrice-Dark City

T
he little airship was losing altitude fast. Agatha could see the wild pine forests and mountain outcrops growing ever closer, and this worried her. She had guessed that her quick patch-job wouldn’t hold for long, but she
had
hoped it would last long enough for the stolen ship to get her over the mountains before nightfall. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She aimed toward a promising gap in the peaks, then, locking the wheel so the course would hold, killed the engines.

She turned to the center of the gondola and tugged at a likely ring in the floor, stumbling backward slightly as the heavy hatch first stuck, then swung open as if spring-loaded. She quickly scanned the mechanism it revealed, humming softly to herself. Then, she dragged a leather roll of tools to her side, flipped it open with a deft movement, and began to work.

She wasn’t even sure what mountains they were
¹
, or where she was, exactly. She knew she was traveling east, toward the sun rising behind the peaks.

Agatha had been insensible on the trip from her home in the University town of Beetleburg to the great airship city Castle Wulfenbach
²
. She now realized, with some annoyance, that in all the time she had spent on Castle Wulfenbach, she had never bothered to discover the present location and route of the gigantic airship as it continued its endless patrol of the Wulfenbach Empire. This morning’s escape could have begun practically
anywhere
over Europa.

Well, she thought, as she slammed the hatch and re-started the engines, it hardly mattered at the moment. Putting the mountains and their turbulent air currents between herself and any pursuit seemed like her best shot at escape. Once on the ground, she could worry about where she was. For now, anywhere but Castle Wulfenbach was her goal.

“Krosp—wake up.” She called to the gondola’s other occupant, a large white cat who yawned and stretched.

“What is it, Agatha? Pursuit?”

“No, but we’re starting to lose altitude.” She tapped a fingernail against a dial face. The needle within flicked briefly, then continued in its slow decent. “Pretty quickly, too, thanks to that hole Othar
³
shot in the envelope.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that patch would hold long.” The two of them scanned the ground. Dense forest covered a jagged landscape that occasionally revealed rocky spires. Patches of late snow still clung to the higher, more shaded dells. A multitude of streams and small rivers coursed through the numerous valleys. It looked like an absolutely terrible landscape to travel on foot.

“Can we at least clear that?” Krosp stopped licking one paw long enough to gesture toward an especially craggy mountain that loomed to one side of the gap.

“I think so.” Agatha said. “I’m going to try. I’ve made some changes to the ship’s engines—they’ll give us more speed for about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Then what?”

She considered this. “Then, they’ll start to explode. But don’t worry. The envelope doesn’t have that much time left anyway, from the look of it.”

Krosp gazed at her for a long moment. “I’m reassured. Thanks.”

Agatha continued, oblivious to the sarcasm in the cat’s voice. “But it
should
get us over the mountains before we’re scraping the tops of the trees. That’s assuming that the winds here don’t tear us to shreds, of course.”

Krosp’s ears twitched. “…Of course.”

The wind certainly
tried.
Krosp’s voice was drowned out by a sudden, screaming blast that hit the tiny airship from the starboard side—knocking the cat off his feet and sending him tumbling across the deck. He landed hard against a roughly carved trunk and grasped frantically at the netting that held it firmly lashed in place. As she lunged for the ship’s wheel, Agatha spared a glance backward, reassuring herself that Krosp hadn’t been blown over the side. There was nothing she could do for him in any case. She would have to trust in the cat’s own terror and claws to keep him safely on board through the worst of it.

The airship bounced to and fro. The wind first tossed it dangerously close to the sharp mountain crags—now nearly level with the ship’s engines, then picked it up and flung it even higher into the air. For a couple of sickening seconds, the gondola was blown fully sideways as the ship shot upward, just missing the cliff below.

Through all of it, the modified engines roared in protest, driving the ship ever faster ahead. Agatha hauled on the wheel, fighting to keep the ship—not steady, that was impossible—but at least pointing in roughly the right direction through the madness. If she could keep the ship above the tearing rocks below and pointed toward the gap in the mountains ahead, there was a chance she could get them through alive.

The winds whipped her hair into tangles across her face, tearing it from the strip of greasy rag she had used to tie it back while working on the engine. At least the flight goggles someone had left hanging from the dirigible controls fit over her glasses, but vision was still difficult. There was moisture in the morning air, and a cold mist was continually forming on the goggle lenses, then streaking away as the droplets condensed and blew aside.

The air above the mountains was icy. Agatha’s gloveless hands were growing raw and numb, making it difficult to hang on to the wheel. She grit her teeth, braced her feet, and hung on. Whenever she flew higher, vicious blasts of air—full of tiny particles of ice—stung her cheeks painfully. She winced and hung on, as the winds finally seemed to cooperate, driving the airship hard forward.

Suddenly, they were on the other side, the ground below dropping away as the rocky peaks turned to scrubby, bracken-blanketed slopes, then wooded, boulder-strewn foothills.