Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

The crowd shuffled its feet sheepishly, looked disappointed, and began to disperse. The Countess nodded in satisfaction and then turned to her husband with a thoughtful expression. “And...and perhaps a soothing tonic?” she said—a small, manic grin spreading across her.

Payne nodded amiably and gently pushed his wife along. “That’s a wonderful idea, my dear. Why don’t you go brew one up?” The Countess gave a slightly mad chuckle of triumph and darted off.

Master Payne gusted out an enormous sigh and turned back. The circle of firelight was now empty except for Agatha, looking perplexed, and Lars, still babbling about horses and pies.

Payne addressed Agatha warily. “And you, Miss Clay—do you have any ideas for calming Lars down?”

“Me? Heavens, no!”

Payne grinned in relief. “Excellent! You may stay. Help me get him up, won’t you?”

Soon enough, they had Lars sluiced off and installed in his own bed. Abner had been dispatched to look in on everyone as they settled in. After the night’s excitement, Payne wanted to be sure that no one was out building anything “helpful.”

Lars had calmed down a bit. He was no longer babbling, and lay quietly, burrowed deep under his bedding. Only his face showed over the quilt, staring out at the world with wide eyes.

Agatha placed a damp cloth on his head and turned to Master Payne, who sat slumped wearily in a chair, watching her. “So?” she asked.

Payne nodded wearily. “So the point is, everyone knows what a Spark is, right? Just ask the people who come to our shows. A Spark is the madman in the castle on the hill, cackling away while he builds monsters. Sparks are Flamboyant! Fearless! Powerful! No one can stop them! When you say ‘Spark,’ that is the sort of fantastical creature a person thinks about.”

Payne’s voice had risen to a dramatic height, but now he sighed and wiped a hand across his face. When he spoke next, his voice was tired.

“You’d probably think of the Heterodyne Boys, or The Master of Paris.” He shook his head. “But most people remember the bad ones. Petrus Teufel. Lucifer Mongfish. The Polar Ice Lords. If only because they make for better stories. That’s what Sparks are like.

“But the Spark, like any other talent, comes in varying degrees. Think about it. How do you know when someone is a Spark?

“The answer is when they create something too mad too ignore. That’s all it takes, really. But what about someone who’s brilliant, has the Spark burning brightly within him, no doubt about it, but is born to an impoverished village cobbler? Without any education or resources, what can they do? Build a dangerous boot?

“The worst off are those with just enough of the Spark that those around them can identify them, but not enough that they can defend themselves.”

Payne gestured out at the circus. “Most of us, here, are Sparks without power. We are not rich, and, my Countess excepted, we have no rank. We have no castle walls to hide behind, and our talents are not strong enough to fend off the world. We are easy prey for those who would have use for us. So, we play madboys on the stage and openly perform our mundane miracles using easily spotted smoke and mirrors. The audience sees simply players in a show, and we are able to hide in plain sight. Even from the Baron.”

Realization dawned in Agatha’s mind. “You thought the Baron had sent that crab clank. That’s why you didn’t fight back.”

Payne nodded. “The Baron or someone like him. When we think the wrong people are watching, we travel ‘on stage.’ Remember that term, please. There are many who have a use for Sparks, weak or strong, and they have any number of tricks for hunting us.”

Agatha was silent. She had seen enough at the University, and later on Castle Wulfenbach, to know that Payne’s words were true. The thought made her feel heavy, and tired.

“I understand. Well, it’s late. I guess I’d better go—”

“NO!” Lars frantically pushed himself up and grabbed Agatha’s arm so hard that a small shock of pain went through her. “I want her to stay here!”

Payne looked surprised. “Miss Clay? Why?”

“Because she’s got a great big monster-killing gun!” he exclaimed. “And I want it, and her, right here!”

Krosp shrugged. “Can’t really argue with that logic.”

“Don’t worry.” Agatha smiled at Lars as she pried his hand from her arm. She turned to face Master Payne. “I’ll stay. I don’t know if I could sleep now, anyway.”

Payne sat back and nodded. “Thank you, Miss Clay, I appreciate it.”

A quiet snore surprised them. Lars, eyes closed, was already deep in slumber.

“Strike a light!” Master Payne declared. “That was quick.”

Agatha smiled. “Well! No one has had that much faith in me since—” Suddenly, she thought of Gil, his image so clear in her mind that her breath caught and her eyes began to sting. She turned away.

Payne looked quizzical, “—since?”

“Nothing important.” Her voice was husky, “Never mind.”

Master Payne looked thoughtful. “I see.” He stood up, and said in a hearty voice: “Good night then!” Agatha simply waved a weak goodbye. She was lost in unhappy thought.

When Payne stepped down from the wagon, he found Abner waiting for him. The young man was slightly disheveled, and hastily tucked in his shirt as he asked: “Is Lars all right, sir?”

Payne nodded. “Oh, yes. Miss Clay is going stay with him.”

Abner shook his head. “Well, we’ve got our proof. She’s a Spark, and a strong one, I’d bet.”

“That’s a sucker bet and no mistake.” Payne shook his head. “And she’s on the run from Wulfenbach. Aspects of Moxana’s new game are starting to make some sense.”

“And yet you don’t look happy,” Abner observed. He lowered his voice. “We... could lose her. At the next town.”

Payne stretched and rolled his shoulders. “No, Ab, I don’t think we could.” The two men started to walk. “Nothing good would come of it. I can almost guarantee it.” He shook his head. “She wants us to get her to Mechanicsburg? Let’s just do it as quickly as possible, and get it over with.”

The body of the horse-monster needed to be disposed of. Several men had been hauling wood and building a pyre a small distance downwind of the camp. As Payne and Abner arrived, Rivet and Otto were just lowering the carcass onto the pyre with a device that resembled an inside-out forklift. The cook used a tiny hatchet to broach a small cask, and everyone stepped back as he soaked everything with a colorless liquid. He took extreme care not to get any on himself, and when he finished, he sprang back—tossing the empty cask on the pyre as if it were already on fire. Everyone looked expectantly at Payne. The Circus Master stepped up and with a flourish, shot a thin jet of green fire from his fingers. Wood and monster exploded into flame.

Payne nodded in satisfaction and turned to Abner, who was settling himself against a log. “Use all the wood and fuel you need, but I want that thing reduced to ash before morning. That’s when we’re moving out.”

Abner gave a lazy salute. “If anything happens, I’ll give the signal. You know, the one where I scream like a diva.”

“Good man.” Before Payne went back to his own wagon, he took a last turn through the camp, making sure to assign extra watch duties to everyone unwary enough to cross his path. Just before he climbed the steps to his own wagon, he saw Pix heading toward the roaring fire. She was loaded down with an enormous counterpane and a picnic basket. Payne grinned, and closed the wagon door behind him.

Back in Lars’ wagon, Agatha had lit the lamps, and made herself comfortable at the wagon’s tiny fold-down table. Krosp was blithely rummaging through the cupboards. Agatha considered telling him to stop, then decided that she was too tired to bother. She would scold him later.

“Hide the Spark,” she mused. “I’ve heard of people trying to do it, but they never seem to succeed.”

Krosp sniffed at an empty china bowl. “It’s easier for these guys. They have less to hide.”

Agatha thought about some of the devices she had glimpsed before she had blasted the monster horse apart.