Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

As Agatha helped clear the plates and bowls away, the party split into two groups, one playing musical instruments, the other dancing merrily. Everyone was relaxed and happy, and the conversations were fascinating, but the second time Agatha nodded off, and then jerked awake, she gave up. She said good night to her companions and headed for bed.

Exhausted, Agatha climbed aboard the Baba Yaga and gently shut the door behind her. She pulled herself up a short ladder to the sleeping compartment, which ran the entire length of the vehicle. The wagon bed was tilted slightly forward, thus Agatha had to pull herself upslope just to reach the back wall. There she managed to fold down the bunk platform. As she was adjusting the heavy support chains so that the bed would lie level, Krosp leapt up from below. He found one of the small windows, and curled up on the deep sill. His tail lashed jerkily.

“What’s with you?” Agatha asked. She found a built-in cedar chest and exclaimed over the luxurious eiderdown-filled mattress she found inside.

Krosp peered out the window. Outside, the music continued, along with the occasional burst of laughter and appreciative whistling. He turned away. “There’s something these people aren’t telling us.”

Agatha opened another chest and pulled out a patchwork quilt that looked as if it had been made from old costumes. She arranged it on the bed. “That’s not surprising,” she said, after a deep yawn. “We’re certainly not telling them everything about us.”

Krosp waved a paw dismissively. “That’s their problem.”

Agatha finished tucking in the quilt. “What exactly is bothering you?”

“These people have no weapons. Well, no weapons worth anything, anyway. There are smells... that make me think they’ve got something, somewhere, but I’ve been looking around—and there’s nothing! ”

Agatha frowned. “Those pointy things most of the guys are wearing are called ‘swords.’ The blunt ones are called ‘guns.’”

Krosp hissed and began to pace the length of the compartment. “Please. I mean real weapons. When that crab clank attacked, they scattered and ran!”

Agatha frowned. “Well, of course they did. So? Their guns are just guns. The Baron doesn’t let people have anything too Sparky. So they wouldn’t do much against a clank like that.”

“That’s just it! I read some of Wulfenbach’s reports about the Wastelands. That clank was nothing compared to some of the stuff that’s supposed to be out here—and yet we’re supposed to believe that these people have been traveling around out here for years—essentially unarmed?” He sat and glared out the window. “They should all be dead!” Agatha climbed aboard the bed and began to undress. Krosp continued musing. “No. They must have something.”

Agatha frowned. “But then why didn’t they use it against that crab clank?”

Krosp looked at Agatha. “The only thing that makes sense is that they were hiding it from you.”

Agatha frowned. “From me?”

The cat nodded. “That clank attacked right after we left. They couldn’t be sure we’d gone far enough.”

“But why?”

Krosp slumped. “I... don’t know. Maybe it’s just that you’re a stranger?” he said unconvincingly.

Agatha shook her head. “Krosp, that thing picked up Olga and fried her. What could I possibly do that would be worse than that?”

Krosp pounded his little paw against his forehead. “I don’t know! I’m missing something!”

He turned and came face-to-face with a little clank that looked like a pocket-watch. It had legs, arms, and a single mechanical eye that peered at him curiously. It waved at him and chimed.

The cat shot underneath Agatha’s skirt. “Where did that come from?” he yowled, peeking out from underneath the hem.

Agatha smiled. “It’s one of mine. I found it hiding on the airship.” She paused, “Well, I suppose ‘hiding’ is the wrong word, its spring had run down.”

Krosp glared at the device. “I don’t like it.”

Agatha used a foot to push him out from under her skirt. “You don’t have to. Anyway, it’s harmless, I have to wind it every day or it’ll stop.”

Krosp looked unconvinced. He jumped onto the bed and licked his paw, then settled down in the exact center. “Pity it’s so useless. Now, that gun you built—that we should have kept.”

Agatha finished getting undressed—leaving her camisole and long pantalettes to serve in place of a nightgown. “We’ve been over that. Leaving it on the grave was supposed to look like a mark of respect for the stranger who saved them from the crab-clank. To make Wulfenbach think I was the one in there, right? Anyway, like I said, the Baron’s people would never have let us keep it.”

Krosp, still in the center of the bed, kneaded the quilt up into a tidy little nest around him. “Yes, yes...” he muttered, laying his head on his paws and preparing to sleep.

“Besides,” said Agatha casually, “We don’t really need it.” She reached into her travel bag and pulled out a device made of wood, glass, and what looked like decorative brass tubes pulled off the calliope. “I’ve already built a better one.”

Krosp jerked upright. “You’re worried too.”

Agatha nodded as she scooped up the cat and deposited him at the foot of the bed. “Not worried, exactly...” she said, as she slid beneath the quilt, “I just have this... odd feeling. And it’s been getting stronger all day.”

Several hours later, the last of the musicians yawned and declared themselves too tired to play another note. As the troupe headed off toward the wagons, Master Payne tucked his petite-gaffophone under his arm and frowned. “A bit of a late night for you, isn’t it Lars?”

Lars waved reassuringly. “I can stand the occasional late night. Besides—” He glanced over at the wagon that he shared with Abner, “Ab’s talking to Pix about Race to the West Pole.” The Countess and Master Payne grimaced. Pix was known for her temper, and she had been the troupe’s unrivaled leading lady ever since she joined. Even if she didn’t like playing Lucrezia, no one was quite sure how she would react to another actress taking what she would see as “her” role. Still, they hadn’t heard any actual shouting...

Lars continued, “Anyway I figure they’re into the ‘kiss and make up’ part by now, and if I’m any judge, that’ll go on for a while. I thought I’d just take the first watch. I’ll still be good to go in the morning, never fear. Augie and I will be waiting for you slow coaches in the next town.”

Payne nodded, “Fare thee well then,” and with his arm tucked around the sleepy Countess, he took his leave.

Lars stood up, stretched, and tossed a few more logs onto the fire. Around him, the circus settled in for the night. The murmur of the last few conversations dwindled away. Otto’s stentorian snoring could faintly be heard, despite the excessive amount of soundproofing Andre and Rivet had designed for his wagon. Soon the only sounds were the popping and crackling of the fire. Despite his assurances to Master Payne, Lars felt his eyelids drooping.

A sudden clatter brought him up to a crouch, his hand on his sword hilt. It sounded like it had come from the makeshift paddock. Slowly a shape materialized against the darkness. Lars stood still, and then blew out a sigh of relief. It was the new horse—the one Abner had ridden back to camp. The animal had somehow broken its tether and was wandering loose.

Lars held out his hand and slowly moved toward the horse. It watched him for a moment, like a pet pony expecting a carrot. Then it opened its mouth, revealing several rows of sharp, glittering teeth. Lars froze in astonishment. The monster snarled, reared up on its hind legs and leapt at him, easily covering the intervening six meters.

His reflexes taking over, Lars dropped and rolled toward the creature, yelling as loudly as he could as it landed directly above him. He scrambled for footing as the monster twisted about, feet stamping furiously as it tried to crush him.

With his feet under him, Lars launched himself sideways and landed near the fire, grabbing a protruding branch as he tumbled past. He heard the creature’s scream of rage as it leapt after him, and, ignoring the pain in his hand, he thrust the burning wood up into the monster’s face. The beast snarled as it lunged forward, jaws