Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

She poked him in the chest with a finger. “Listen. Your father told me to bring her back. Here she is—back she comes. Argue with him.”

Gil glared at her, then seemed to deflate. With a sigh, he turned away. “Why bother?”

DuPree stared at his back and frowned. This was worrying. Gil was always good for an argument.

Gil strode up to Abner, who stood nervously off to one side of the airship ramp. “Herr de la Scalla, I have seen enough. I’m inclined to believe your story. We’ll take you back once we’re finished here.”

Abner shuffled his feet. “Actually, sir, I’d rather just head back on my own.”

Gil blinked in surprise. “What? Across the Wastelands? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Abner held up his hands placatingly. “This is a main road, I should be fine. It’s relatively well-traveled—” he looked at Gil, “I don’t want people thinking we’re... you know... associated with the Baron.” His eyes flicked toward where Bangladesh was supervising the clank and he dropped his voice. “And Captain DuPree there, I’m sorry, um... I’d really rather keep her away from my people.”

Gil nodded woodenly. “That’s very sensible of you. See the Quartermaster while we’re finishing up here. He’ll give you some travel supplies. And... ah, please convey my apologies to your young lady. I’m afraid I got rather... upset.”

Abner stared. He hadn’t expected that. “Um... I’m so sorry about this, sir.” Gil looked at him blankly. “This girl—it’s obvious she was very... very special to you, sir.”

Gil nodded slowly and made an effort to pull his mind back from thoughts of Agatha—working intently on the flying machine—dancing with him to the music of the mechanical orchestra—fighting beside him during the Slaver Wasp attack—kissing him impulsively in the heady moment when they realized they had won and were not going to die after all. And finally, Agatha laughing at him, as he slipped the connector ring on her finger and completely botched what turned out to be his last chance to tell her what was in his heart.

“Special? Yes, she might have been. It might have been...” He trailed off, and a look of dark anger settled over his features. “But it isn’t. Just go.”

Abner went.

Gil stood alone for a long time, watching as the clank gently replanted the sapling in the newly filled-in hole. He remained alone, looking at the tree, until the last of the clanks marched aboard the dirigible—and Captain DuPree shouted that if he didn’t want to come aboard, she’d happily leave him behind.

The sun was sinking toward the tops of the trees when Master Payne signaled that the caravan could finally stop. The animals were lathered, and the people weren’t much better. Payne had kept them moving through the night and all the next day, but there had been no complaints.

In this part of the Wastelands, the road was hard going—a pale shadow of its former glory. Everyone was exhausted from keeping watch for pursuing villagers, hostile forest denizens, or the return of the Wulfenbach airship.

When the front riders had returned to report that a lakeside glade with sufficient forage lay ahead, Payne had finally decided that they could risk making camp—if only because it would allow him the opportunity to get away from Pix, who had been fretting nonstop beside him throughout the entire trip.

It was charmingly obvious that Pix was worried about Abner. Unfortunately, her concern was vocally expressed in the form of an endlessly varied list of Abner’s unforgivable faults, stupidities and errors. Really, the girl was making Payne seriously consider reviving the old Put-The-Annoying-Person-In-A-Trunk-And-Drop-It-Into-A-Lake trick. But, he had to frequently remind himself, a good magician never performs the same trick twice.

“I can’t believe Abner cut in on my scene so soon! I had a lot more material ready.”

“Frankly, I thought the two of you worked very well together.”

“Well, yes, but if he’d just let me keep going a little longer, they probably wouldn’t have taken him. What was he thinking?”

Payne had already considered several scenarios where Pix had been allowed to continue to talk to the young man from the airship. In the latest one, it ended with him setting her on fire. He briefly allowed himself to savor this image, before dismissing it with a guilty start.

“I’d ask Abner when he gets back.”

The girl stared ahead fiercely. “He’d better get back.”

On another wagon sat Payne’s wife, Countess Marie. She was a regal woman who came by her title honestly. As she had remarked several thousand times since, her life would have been quite different if she had not been attracted to a certain dashing magician who had the ability to pull the most astonishing things out of a lady’s clothing, up to and including the lady herself. If pressed, she would smile and admit that “quite different” did not automatically mean “better.”

The Countess set the wagon’s brake, stretched, and slid down to the ground. She looked up at her companion, who had been sitting silently next to her. The girl was dressed in a billowy low-cut shirt and a tight, gaudy bodice which managed to leave something, if only a very little, to the imagination. Her face was overshadowed by a huge mass of thick, dark curls.

The Countess extended a hand. “Wake up, ‘Madame Olga.’ It’s time to rest.”

Agatha blinked. She had been deep in thought. “Yes, I guess so.” She climbed to the ground stiffly, then looked around, squinting her eyes. The Countess noticed and turned back to the wagon. “Ah, yes. Here.”

She fished a large pair of glasses out of a wooden box near the seat and handed them to Agatha, who took them gratefully and slid the looped wires behind her ears.

All around them, other wagons were stopping. People preparing to make camp shouted to each other as they saw to their animals. Agatha leaned against the wagon. “I still can’t believe that worked. Pix was amazing. A perfect, xenophobic peasant.” Agatha rubbed her forehead and breathed deeply. “But the people they sent. They... it wasn’t what I expected. I’m sorry. I... I hope Abner will be all right.”

The Countess began to unhitch the horses. Agatha automatically began to help from her side. When the Countess saw that Agatha knew what she was doing, she nodded in approval. “Think nothing of it. Abner owes you. We all do. That crab clank that killed Olga damaged several carts before she and Andre led it off. I have no doubt that it would have come back after it had finished them off.”

She grabbed the horse bridles and tethered them to a nearby tree. She tossed Agatha a curry comb as Balthazar bustled up with two large leather buckets of water. The horses immediately lowered their heads and began to drink.

The Countess continued as she began to rub her horse down. “You saved our lives. And you tried to save Olga’s, too, even after we sent you away. We had to do this.” She gave Agatha a reassuring smile. “Anyway, Abner is no fool. He’ll be fine. He’s a fast talker—he’s probably got them convinced you never even existed by now.”

Agatha smiled back, then tentatively fingered the blouse she wore. “Hm. Still... dressing her in my things. Doctoring the body. And—um—especially taking her place. Even her name. It’s not that I want to be caught, I know it’s practical. It just feels so strange. Disrespectful.” She looked contrite. “Sorry.”

The Countess patted Agatha on the shoulder. “Olga was with us for over five years. She was a good friend, and I knew her very well. The life—traveling and performing—it was everything to her. She was never happier than when she’d pulled a really clever scam—convinced some rube that she was a runaway construct, or a grand duchess who had been swindled out of her fortune, or a lost explorer from the moon. She loved that sort of thing.” She smiled at some private memory.

“And now? Now she gets to fool not just some gullible townie, but Baron Klaus Wulfenbach himself! If she weren’t dead, she’d have killed herself to play this part.”

Agatha digested this. “Show people are very strange.”

She hadn’t quite meant it as a compliment, but the Countess looked pleased. “You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s what worries me.”

The Countess laughed. Professor Moonsock strode up, a roustabout carrying a stack of horse blankets following along behind her. She shooed The Countess and Agatha away and began to examine their horses’ feet.

The two women walked back to Professor Moonsock’s wagon, where Agatha had been temporarily assigned a tiny fold-down bunk. The Countess patted a wheel. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here again, but tomorrow we should have something more permanent sorted out.”

“Really,” Agatha protested, “You’ve already done so much—”