Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

Baba Yaga didn’t break down once.”

From inside Stev’s shell, Rivet’s voice echoed. “It was damn weird. No breakdowns, no jamming, and I swear the gearage improved while I was driving it.” She popped up from the depths and gave Agatha a piercing look. “What the heck did you do to it?”

Agatha looked back blankly. “But... I haven’t done anything. Not yet...” Rivet looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I mean, I looked it over, and I made some sketches, but everyone’s been keeping me so busy that I just haven’t had the time.”

Rivet’s eyebrows were now drawn down in a scowl. “No.” She shook her head. “No. I refuse to believe that you’re some kind of magical Spark who can fix something just by ‘making a few sketches.’”

Agatha held up her hands. “Well it wasn’t me!”

Rivet thought a moment, and looked like she was running through the events of the previous day in her head. “Yeah... you were busy all day yesterday. Huh. That’s really weird. But...”

Rivet did not like mysteries. She disappeared back into the damaged clank, grumbling: “Somebody’s been messing with that furschlugginer chicken house, and I want to find out who!”

Under the eaves of a nearby wagon, three miniscule clanks paused, cables dangling from their delicate mechanical hands. The cables were already partially strung, winding behind woodwork, through reworked cabinetry, and along newly redesigned axles.

The clanks looked at their leader in silent appeal. The little golden pocket-watch clank looked up from the sheaf of drawings it was studying and waved them back to work.

A short distance away a scene of shocking animal cruelty was unfolding. Unusually, the expected roles were reversed, but none of those involved appeared to appreciate the irony.

Krosp stood atop an upended barrel, enthusiastically pumping away at a concertina. He was also making a game attempt at singing and dancing. His song ranged from unearthly high-pitched yowls down to disturbing rumbling growls, all delivered with the vocal energy of an opera singer in a bar fight.

The troupe members who formed the small audience sat stunned by the spectacle before them.

“It’s... it’s just such a waste,” Abner said over the cacophony. “A cat who sings! Dances!”

Marie sighed. “But... not very well.”

Professor Moonsock had her hands over her ears. “He’s terrible!”

The Countess tried to find a positive side. “But he is a real cat who really sings and dances.” Krosp’s concertina playing was so awful that Marie couldn’t even try to find a good side to it.

Payne nodded slowly. “That’s the problem, I think. He’s unmistakably real.” Krosp came to the end of the song and finished with a shrill musical flourish that cracked one of the lenses in Professor Moonsock’s glasses. “It might be best if we kept him off the stage entirely. We don’t want to lose him, after all...”

“Lose him!” Professor Moonsock snorted. “Are you kidding? If anyone tries to steal him, we’ll just have him sing for them!”

Krosp flattened his ears. “Ridiculous! I know I’m not yet ready for the Paris Opera—” Andre gasped and sat down, looking pale. “But this is hardly Paris! You can’t all have tin ears! This show needs my talent!”

Payne nodded judiciously. “I quite agree! Not using someone as unique as you would be quite a waste.”

Abner perked up. “Background wow?”

Payne nodded. “Background wow.”

“Background what?” Agatha asked Krosp as they trudged across the field.

“The idea,” Krosp said, “is to have a few ‘fabulous monsters’ in the background. Doing everyday, normal things.”

“Like how they have Yeti running the concession stand[26]?”

“Yeah, he’s the example they gave me. He’s big and looks great, but apparently he gets a nosebleed and faints if he goes onstage. But he’s strong as an ox, so he helps set up the tents; he’s got a good voice, so he does announcements; and he’s great at making change, so he sells snacks. The rubes are supposed to see him and say: ‘Golly-gee, if that’s what they have selling crunch muffins and cider, let’s go see what kind of amazing things are in the actual show!’”

Agatha was impressed. “That’s pretty clever.”

“Classic misdirection,” it was a term Krosp had just learned, but he used it with grudging approval.

Agatha tried to project cheer. “Well, don’t look so down. It’s an important part of the show! And you can still practice with the other stuff, um, well, outside of camp somewhere, probably... and, and until then, you really do look wonderful!”

Even though Krosp’s ears were flattened against his skull, Agatha could tell that he agreed. The cat now wore a brilliantly red, military-style, high-collared greatcoat with elegantly fringed epaulets. It was encrusted with almost a kilogram of shiny gold trim, frogging and stamped buttons, and it was a perfect fit. Against Krosp’s white fur, the effect was stunning.

“It was very nice of them to say you could keep it,” Agatha continued.

Krosp shrugged as they came to the wagon that held tack and animal feed. The horses and other creatures that pulled the circus wagons were clustered nearby. “They don’t need it any more, Balthazar outgrew it.”

Agatha tried again. “...and it really does bring out your natural leadership qualities.”

Krosp eyed her dangerously as he selected a flat shovel. “No kidding.”

“Really. And... and don’t forget that you’re making a valuable contribution—”

Krosp tossed a shovelful of horse dung into a bucket. “Just drop it,” he snarled.

At that moment, Balthazar trotted up, a large wooden bowl of what looked like mechanical flowers balanced on his head. “Hey, Agatha! They want you at Master Payne’s wagon!”

With guilty relief, Agatha left Krosp behind. “What’s going on?” Agatha asked the boy as he danced ahead of her.

“We’ll be hitting the town of Zumzum in a day or two, so they’re assigning parts for the show.”

Everyone was clustered around a big fire pit that had been built in the center of camp. Abner and Master Payne sat together, between two great ornate chests that stood open. A thick, leather-bound ledger lay in Payne’s lap.

“Master Payne is checking what we did in Zumzum the last time we came through two years ago.” Balthazar explained. “That way we give them a fresh show.”

Payne made a notation in his book. “—and we’ll finish up with some of Dame ?dith’s knife throwing.”

“Glorious!” she declared.

“And this time—” Abner warned, “Do not ask if there are any vampires in the audience.”

“By my faith! How was I to know that fool was joking?” she groused, “What sane man would joke about vampyres?”

“One less now, I suspect,” Abner replied. ?dith folded her arms and sat back down with a huff.

Payne clapped his hands. “This brings us to the main performance, and the show we will be performing.”

There was a sudden uproar, as many of the troupe members called out suggestions.

“Ooh! Ooh! Clockwork Sundial!”

“How about The Fog Merchants? There’s some ladder business I want to try in scene two.”

“Could we please do something with some music? Might I suggest The Racing Snails of Dr. Zagreb?”

Abner waved his hands for quiet. “It’s already been decided. We’re doing The Heterodyne Boys and the Race to the West Pole.” He paused and let this sink in. Frowns turned to smiles and nods of appreciation.