Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

When she looked at Agatha, her gaze was alert, with a hint of friendship. Agatha realized that the girl was younger than she had first thought.

Zeetha took a deep, contented breath and leaned back, slumping comfortably against the wagon door. Agatha hardly knew the girl, but this seemed so out-of-character that she couldn’t help staring. Zeetha saw her surprise, and gave a rueful smile.

When she spoke next, her voice was soft. “Miss Clay, I have been wandering Europa for over three years now, searching for any news of my home. You are the first person who has ever even heard of Skifander.” She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can you understand? It was like I was asking after a fever dream. I... I was beginning to think that I had made it all up while I was sick. No one in any of the cities had heard of it, not even at the Universities. I was reduced to searching the Wastelands, interrogating every traveler I met. I thought I had gone mad.”

She paused, and looked out at the encircling forest. “I was this close—” she held two fingers about a centimeter apart, “To picking a direction and just walking until I found either Skifander or death.” She looked at Agatha again and grinned. “And I wouldn’t have cared which I found first.” She dropped her hand.

They sat silently together and watched the shadows darken under the trees.

Finally Zeetha continued. “But you—you have let me know that my home, my family, everything that made me what I am really does exist, and for that, I wish to thank you.”

Agatha shrugged. “Oh, well, I—”

Zeetha leaned into her face and shouted: “By starting you on warrior training! Tomorrow morning!”

She leapt to her feet and glared down at Agatha, who sat, wide-eyed in shock. “It’s ‘over.’” She snorted. “You speak like a child. The Baron’s people will be back, or if not, there will be others like them. You must be ready!”

Agatha looked up at her angrily. “What makes you say that? It’s a perfect plan. They think I’m dead!”

Zeetha cocked an eyebrow. “There is a serious flaw in this ‘perfect plan’ of yours. One that could undo everything at any time!”

Agatha puzzled over this, quickly running through everything they had done. She couldn’t think of anything wrong...

When Agatha didn’t answer, Zeetha gave a sardonic smile. “Just this: you’re not really dead, now are you?”

Agatha and Krosp looked at each other.

Behind Zeetha, the cooking fires ignited with a dramatic roar, and, just for an instant, she stood before Agatha—a fearsome dark goddess rimmed by fire. She grinned again, revealing her sharp teeth. “Tomorrow morning.”

CHAPTER 3

The ladies pale go riding, riding— 

On their spiders striding, striding. 

stealing girls asleep in bed— 

drinking all their blood so red—

...

When pretty maidens die of fright, 

Their ghosts go riding through the night. 

—Traditional Walpurgis Night song

The Baron stood in one of the vast hangar bays of Castle Wulfenbach, an all-too-familiar weariness settling upon his shoulders.

On the ground before him was an open field coffin. Within lay a charred corpse, clad in the remnants of a green tweed dress. He stared down at it silently. It had been a long time since he had so keenly felt the loss of his old friends—and his old life. The faces of the Heterodynes flashed through his mind, and for the thousandth time, he wondered what had happened to them. Where had they gone? Why was he alone left to keep the Sparks of Europa in line—when half the time it ended so damned badly?

A loud crunch made him look around. Bangladesh DuPree stood beside him, cheerfully munching on a pear.

“Ah. DuPree,” he said carefully, his eyes returning to the body before him, “When I say the words ‘alive and unharmed,’ do any neurons actually fire in that brain of yours?”

The crunching stopped dead. Despite himself, Klaus counted under his breath until DuPree finally answered. “No sir!”

He nodded. “I thought not.”

Encouraged, Captain DuPree continued. “But I can’t take credit for this one. Some old crab clank burned her down before we got to her. I saved you the sigil plate.” She handed over a large enameled metal oval—cracked and blackened by fire. Sparks were notorious for “signing” their work, often decorating creations with heraldic colors or family sigils. The Baron encouraged this—it made it so much easier to assign blame.

In this case, the design was familiar. “Ah, yes, one of Von Bode’s[15] little toys.” He tossed the plate aside. “Was my son... upset?”

Bangladesh snorted. “Oh, him? Sure was. Here he was all set to be a hero and rescue his girl, then he finds out he’d need fireplace tongs to get her undressed? Yeah—upset is one word for it.”

Klaus rubbed his forehead. “Thank you, DuPree, for that... vivid imagery. You may go.”

DuPree looked around, and then casually tossed her pear core into the coffin. “Let me know when you’ve got something else for me.” She sauntered out of the room, calling after her: “And try to make it a fun one!”

Klaus leaned down and fished out the core. Allowing himself a rare display of temper, he fired it hard into a distant trash barrel, where it struck with a tremendous clang and sent the barrel toppling backwards. His secretary and second-in-command, Boris, was entering the hangar at that moment, and coolly caught it in two of his four arms setting it back upright without ever taking his eyes off the paperwork he carried[16].

“Herr Baron?” he said quietly, “The Jager Generals are here.”

Klaus nodded. “Show them in.” Boris walked back and called to someone just out of sight. There was a rumble of reply, and the Baron turned to greet the three creatures who entered—the largest bending his head to get through the tall doorway.

These were the oldest of the Jagermonsters, constructs created to ride with the mad Heterodynes who had plagued Europa generations before Bill and Barry’s heroics had redeemed the family name. Long ago, these had been ordinary barbarian raiders, but through some process that Klaus had never been able to uncover, they were now nightmarish monsters—inhumanly strong, fast, and long-lived. All the Jagers were toothy, clawed and hairy to some degree. Some even sported horns or tails. Still, these three oldest stood apart from their brethren as much as the younger Jagers did from the rest of Humanity. Klaus wondered if the Generals had been the prototypes, with the procedure then refined for the other Jagers, or if the physical changes the creatures experienced became more pronounced the older they got. If so, the three who approached him now were very old Jagers indeed.

When they reached him, the generals paused smartly “at attention” before the Baron. The three wore uniforms from completely different armies. This was another peculiarity of the Jagers, who loved the idea of uniforms, but never quite understood the concept behind making everyone wear the same one.

General Zog, the most traditional, wore mostly his own luxurious fur—shining white under a leather and brass warrior’s harness that, although old, had been meticulously cared for. Zog was forever poised to sweep across Europa laying waste to all in his path—by himself, if necessary.