Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (34 page)

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.

CHAPTER 7

On this spot we will build a shield against the Heterodyne. A fortress so strong he cannot crack it. Like a mighty storm, he will rage and scream and throw himself against it. But here we will fight him, and here we will stop him. Because we will have a place of refuge. A place of strength. A place of hope. We will have Sturmhalten.

—Andronicous Valois,

From the Commission of Building delivered to the Western Coalition after the Battle of the Six Skies.

I
t was a crisp, frosty dawn. The weather up here at the pass was still meandering towards spring, but the drivers of the circus wagons were dressed in their performing finery, albeit over several layers of winter underwear.

They certainly attracted a fair amount of interest as they rumbled through the outskirts of the town. Technically, Balan’s Gap was still before them, constrained behind the city walls, but along the main road a ramshackle collection of businesses that existed to service, supply (and swindle) travelers had grown up around the various industries that had been placed outside the town for various health, space or aesthetic reasons.

Last night the circus had arrived at one of the staging areas that existed for arriving or departing trade caravans. While there were still plenty of other travelers who used the old roads, there had been enough excess space in the staging area that the circus had been able to put on a late night performance, to great success. Thus, this morning, they were buoyed along by a large crowd of well-wishers, and noisily escorted by a ragtag convoy of children who frantically waved at the drivers and the various characters who sat waving back wearing grins that didn’t look forced at
all
.

Abner and Master Payne sat together on the driver’s seat of the lead wagon, sharing a couple of mugs of stewed tea, and a large basket of freshly baked cardamom butter rolls.

To the amazement of a small girl, Payne drew an impossibly large handkerchief from Abner’s ear, delighted her brother by blowing his nose in it with a sound like a rampaging elephant, and then scandalized their mother by stuffing it back into his long-suffering apprentice’s ear.

The cart slowed to a stop. Before them were several other wagons, all awaiting the pleasure of the gate masters of the town. Each wagon was assessed an entrance fee based on the number of riders, number of horses, purpose of travel, and how much trouble you gave the gate keepers. Three wagons ahead, a stout, richly dressed merchant was making things expensive for himself by insisting that the animal pulling his cart was not, in fact a horse, but a rare, short-eared mule.