Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (6 page)

“She’s a great actress though,” the girl conceded. She reached down and produced a blue enameled metal pitcher. She leaned over and poured a dollop of thick cream into Agatha’s bowl. “Here. Eat.” She set the pitcher down. “I am Zeetha. Daughter of Chump.”

Agatha’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. The porridge smelled delicious, but—“Chump?”

Zeetha rolled her eyes. She looked like there was more she wanted to say, but all that came out was, “Just eat.”

Agatha thought she should at least show willing. “I am Agatha Clay. Daughter of blacksmith.”

Zeetha looked at her levelly and took a long slow breath through her nose. “No, really…” she said. “Just eat.”

The porridge was delicious. It was thick, warm and filling. Agatha thought about Krosp and his rat, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply, enjoying her breakfast’s rich nutty scent and delightful lack of rodent.

Agatha saw that Abner had been serious about moving out. People were scurrying everywhere, carrying supplies and equipment. Looking closely, Agatha saw that the chaos was, in fact, not chaos at all. What outwardly appeared to be a disorganized swarm of people would descend upon a section of the camp, and begin sorting, organizing, packing and stowing everything upon one of the waiting wagons—all with a grace and breathtaking efficiency that made the whole thing seem like it was part of a performance. She mentioned this out to Zeetha, who nodded grudgingly.

“Right the first time. This was all choreographed by Gospodin Rasmussin over there.” She pointed to a small, intense-looking man who was striding through the camp, rhythmically striking the ground with an ornately topped dance-master’s cane. As he went past, Agatha could hear that he was counting under his breath in Russian.

Zeetha grinned. “We can get the whole camp packed and ready in less than six waltzes, or three polkas, if we’re actually under attack.”

Agatha finished her breakfast just as a crew swept in and began collecting the various cooking implements. She surrendered her bowl and watched as it skimmed through the air to land in a tub of similar bowls. Agatha had a sudden realization, and guiltily looked around. “Are we the only ones not doing anything?”

Zeetha leaned back and nodded. “You’re a guest. I’m kept around to kill things, and at the moment,” she said frankly, “I’m keeping an eye on you in case I have to kill you.” She saw Agatha’s expression and shrugged. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Agatha had to admit that, up until recently, this had been the case.

Zeetha snorted. “You really escaped from Castle Wulfenbach?”

Agatha nodded. “Yes.”

Zeetha eyed her speculatively. “You must be tougher than you look.”

Agatha considered this statement. “I had help,” she admitted.

Zeetha grinned. Agatha noticed that she had disquietingly large canines. “So? That’s a mark in your favor. My people say that a good friend is like a strong sword.”

“Your people?”

The momentary jocularity left Zeetha and she slumped a bit. For a moment, Agatha thought she wasn’t going to say anything, then she sighed. “I’m from Skifander. Ever heard of it?”

Agatha blinked. She suddenly remembered a small cabin high in some heavily-forested mountains. It had snowed furiously earlier in the day, drifts piling up around the carved wooden walls. Agatha had been young, very young, and had returned from building an army of snow minions to find her Uncle Barry leaning against the cabin. Night was falling, and he was watching the stars emerge in the night sky. They had gazed at them together, and Agatha had said something about the night revealing her hidden jewels.

This turn of phrase had delighted her uncle, and that night, while they ate in front of the crackling fire, he had told her fabulous stories for half the night about—

“Skifander!” Agatha declared with a nostalgic smile. “The Warrior Queen’s Hidden Jewel! Guardian of the Red Mountain! Oh, I remember that!”

The words had an electric effect. Zeetha’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She stared at Agatha as if she had spontaneously grown a second nose.

Agatha was surprised. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Did I get it wrong? It’s been so long—”

Suddenly hands like iron gripped her arms. Zeetha’s face was centimeters from her own. Her eyes were wild. “You know where Skifander is?”

Agatha blinked—“No! I—”

Zeetha shouted her down. “WHO DOES?”

”My uncle! He told me stories—”

“Where is he?” Zeetha was frantic.

“I don’t know!” Agatha shouted. “He disappeared years ago!”

Zeetha staggered back, her eyes wide. “No!” she whispered. With a shimmer of steel, her swords appeared in her hands. “No, No, NO! NOOOO!” she screamed like an animal as the swords wove a glittering arc around them. Suddenly, Zeetha seemed to catch herself. Eyes still wild, she slammed her swords back into their scabbards and ran off, howling.

All around Agatha, objects began to fall apart. The people nearby slowly unfroze and turned to stare at Agatha.

The old man with the vest remarked, “Huh. She’s never done that before.”

A tall girl with a great mass of dark curly hair and an astonishing amount of exposed cleavage burst from the nearest caravan. “Smoke and the devil! What was that all about?”

An intense young woman in a grey leather uniform shrugged. “I have no idea. The two of them were just talking—and then Zeetha went nuts.”

The tall girl turned to Agatha, who was still stunned. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I don’t know!” Agatha wailed. “We were talking about Skifander and—”

The girl interrupted. “Wait—You’ve heard of Skifander? Really?”

Agatha looked at her. “Yes. Really.” The look on the girl’s face prompted her to ask, “Why is that so surprising?”

The tall girl slowly sat down. She studied Agatha intently for a minute and then nodded to herself. “Sorry. I’m one of the few friends Zeetha has.” Agatha thought, rather uncharitably, that she was surprised Zeetha had any friends at all.

The girl introduced herself. “I’m Olga Žiga. Listen. Zeetha was—is—from this Skifander place. Apparently it’s some ancient lost city in the jungle or a cavern or something.”

Agatha nodded. She could believe it. “Lost” civilizations were surprisingly common, even outside of the Wastelands. Two years ago, a group of students had discovered one under old Rudolf’s Delicatessen back in Beetleburg.

“Well a few years ago, this Skifander got itself ‘discovered’ by some Spark’s expedition. When the explorers were ready to head back to civilization, the Queen decided to send one of her warriors out with them, an explorer of her own to go see what the rest of the world was getting up to. Zeetha was chosen. It was a big honor. She’s actually a member the Royal Family, though she doesn’t go on about it.

“On the journey here, she got really sick. Feverish. She doesn’t remember anything about the trip—except the hallucinations, and from her description, they were pretty awful. Floating around, furniture on the ceiling—wild stuff. Then, just as she was getting back on her feet, their airship was attacked by pirates.”

“They killed everyone else on board, but decided to spare her. Personally, I think it was her hair. It’s really naturally green, you know, and really pretty when she treats it well. They probably thought they could sell an exotic like her for a nice sum
⁸
. Plus, by then, she must’ve looked pretty helpless.

“Anyway, they took reasonably good care of her. That meant that by the time they got back to their fortress and let her out of her cell, she was nice and healthy. Oh, and in case I hadn’t mentioned it before, Skifander is apparently some sort of city of warriors, and Zeetha had to earn her spot on the trip by beating everyone one else who wanted to go. So, as you might guess, she’s a really good warrior.

“Well, she took them all on. All the pirates in the fortress. All of them. And she won. She killed them all. Again… All of them.”

Olga paused, and Agatha thought she looked a little embarrassed. “Like I said, a good fighter, but… thinking really isn’t her strong suit. So it wasn’t until she’d finished them all off and burned down the fortress that she realized that she’d just killed anyone who might’ve had a clue about where she’d originally come from.”

Olga sat back and sighed, smoothing her hair with a clash of bracelets. “Since then she’s been wandering all over Europa looking for a way home. She joined up with us almost two years ago.” She looked Agatha in the eye. “And you’re the first person, anywhere, who’s even heard of this Skifander.”

Agatha puffed a lock of hair up out of her face. “I see. That explains her reaction.” Agatha thought a moment. “I wish I knew more, but my uncle never said where Skifander was. He just told stories about it.”

Olga stood. “But at least you’ve heard of it. Most of the others—” she glanced around. “Well, I think at least some of the others think she was just making it all up. And… Zeetha can tell. That really wears on her. You see how she is.”

At this moment, Pix rounded the corner of a wagon. “Agatha!” she called out. “Master Payne is ready to see you!”

Olga stood. “Ah, I’ve got to pack. Nice meeting you.” She took Agatha’s hand. “I’m so glad you’ve heard of Skifander. It’s been bothering her so much. Even if you don’t know anything else…well… thank you for that.” Olga turned with a wave and vanished back into her wagon.

Agatha turned to Pix, and the two set off together. Pix looked sideways at her curiously. “You’ve really heard about Zeetha’s Skifander?”

“It was years ago,” Agatha admitted, “But my uncle traveled all over. He talked about it like it was a real place.”

Pix digested this. “And where are you heading?”

“Mechanicsburg.” Agatha replied.

“Ah. The home of the Heterodynes. That’s quite a way. You have family there?”

Agatha considered this. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Pix nodded. “Your best bet is to head west.” She gestured over the trees. “Do you have a compass?” Agatha shook her head. “Oh, well, I’ll bet we can find one for you to take with you easily enough. I’ll ask around before you go.”

Agatha nodded. A sinking feeling began to grow inside her chest. It didn’t sound like they were going to let her stay.

A shrill mechanical squeal filled the air. Next to them, a wagon covered in garish gear designs rocked to a halt, wobbling slightly as it balanced upon a single, central wheel.

A diminutive woman with dark skin and a grimy leather mechanic’s coverall swore and threw a large wrench to the ground. “What the hell is it
now?”
she screamed.

Agatha stepped up and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but that noise means that your gyro gear needs repacking.” The woman gave her long, blank, stare, but an older man, seated at the wagon’s controls, slapped his thigh and laughed heartily. “Aha! See? It is as I
told
you!”

The woman frowned and turned away from Agatha in irritation. “Ah, what does
she
know?”

Agatha bristled. “I know that it’s a Duchy of Blenshaf Gyro Wheel,” she said frostily. “Your wobble plate is loose, and it also sounds like you’ve neglected to replace the sponge dampers. Probably because you can’t find new ones. They’re hard to get these days. You can make an acceptable replacement out of horse dung and straw.
And
from the way your wheel is spalling, it’s obvious that that you don’t have the correct formula for tread gunk.”

The short woman turned back, all traces of annoyance gone. She regarded Agatha with interest. “You know Gyro Wheels,” she stated.

Agatha nodded, slightly mollified. “My dad was a mechanic. We saw these all the time.”

The man in the driver’s seat was grinning. He had fair skin, bleached yellow hair, and a wide jaw. When he grinned, it covered a fair amount of his face. He also had a mechanical forearm and hand which he raised, pushing back his cap. He leaned forward. “Say, if you are going to being sticking around, would you want a working job?”

Agatha blinked. “What?” Behind her, Pix grimaced in exasperation and covered her eyes with one hand.

“I am Captain Kadiiski. Me and Rivet—” He indicated the woman, who gave her a friendly nod, “We have the dubious honor of being the poor, put-upon mechanics for this noisy collection of divas and geeks. But I must admit, with some small embarrassment, that the Lady Rivet and myself are what you would call piston-leg men. This miserable wheel has got us smoked.”

Rivet nodded. “We could use another competent mechanic around here anyway.”

Pix spoke up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Reluctantly, Agatha agreed. “Yes, I’ve got to get to Mechanicsburg.”

Rivet once again looked at her blankly. “So what’s the problem? We’ll be performing at Mechanicsburg in a month or two. Big cheese festival.”

Agatha turned to look at Pix. “Really.” Pix rolled her eyes.

Rivet continued, “Oh yeah. And in the meantime, you’ll actually earn—”

“Rivet! Shut! Up!”

All three of them stared at Pix. Kadiiski frowned. “What is
your
problem of the sudden?”

“The problem,” a voice boomed from behind them, “Is that this Miss Clay cannot travel with us.”

Agatha turned and stared. Before her stood one of the largest men she had ever seen, followed by several other members of the troupe. A quick reassessment and she realized that while he was tall, he wasn’t exceptionally tall, and while he was heavy, he wasn’t excessively fat, it was just that he… loomed large. This, she realized, was a man who filled the space he was in, whatever that space happened to be. He had a broad face framed by a mane of wild reddish brown hair, as well as a full beard and moustache. His eyes were magnified in a mesmerizing way by his small, thick spectacles.

He wore layer upon layer of waistcoats, each adorned with pockets, piping, buttons and chains, none of which matched. The whole ensemble was enveloped by a huge, elaborate coat covered with embroidered stars, moons and comets. At his throat was a family sigil badge, which, strikingly, was completely blank.

The man’s voice matched the rest of him. It was solid and booming, and in this instance, grim. It was a voice which allowed no argument.