Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

“A welcome change of pace, that one,” Dame ?dith conceded. She darted a look at Pix. “But I thought our Pix did not like playing the Lady Lucrezia.”

Pix nodded. “Indeed I don’t. But West Pole has some of the best scenes ever written for the High Priestess, and I’m finally going to get to play them. Agatha can play Lucrezia, and she’s welcome to her.”

Agatha felt her jaw drop. “What? But I’ve never done any acting!”

Pix smiled at her. “Don’t worry. She’s the ingenue—the most boring part in all of theater. All you really have to do is rant around and look pretty. The rest of us will make sure it goes smoothly.”

The other players looked startled. Lucrezia was the lead female role in most of the Heterodyne plays. Admiring looks were directed at Abner, who was studiously examining the binding on one of the scripts. He looked up. “Don’t look at me, people. I was ready to wrestle the axe out of her hands if I had to, but she really means it.”

Pix grinned mischievously. “Oh, dear, surely you all didn’t think I would throw a tantrum? Tsk. I don’t want the frilly, pretty roles, I want the good ones! I am an actress, and don’t you forget it!”

Abner stood up. “It’ll be fine,” he announced. “I expect everyone to help her out. Lars says she’s already pretty good, and I’ve learned to judge his instincts.” He stepped up to Agatha and handed her a small, leather- bound booklet. “Besides, he plays Bill, and he’s really good at onstage coaching. Trust him.”

Agatha held the booklet as if it might explode. “But what if I can’t do it?”

Abner shrugged. “Well, if it comes to that, we’ve found that none of the Heterodyne plays really suffer if Punch and Judy start throwing pies.”

There was a pause as Agatha digested this. “I’m going to go study my lines,” she announced.

As she scampered off, Taki puffed out his chest and grinned. “Another demonstrable success for my Unified Pie Theory!”

Abner sat back down. “Yeah, yeah. So publish already.” He handed the cook a booklet. “You’re Klaus.”

“Of course!”

Hours later, Agatha was back in the Baba Yaga. She lay on her bunk, legs halfway up the wall and head hanging over the edge[27]. “Do not tempt me,” she recited. “Your brother approaches, and I must go!”

Krosp flipped the final page of the script. “Um—blah, blah, exploding bananas—blah, blah, pole of my heart...” He closed the booklet. “That was your last line.” He looked up. “Good job. I’m impressed. You read it through twice and you’ve already memorized it.”

Agatha waved a hand dismissively. Before Doctor Beetle had passed down the order that she was to be allowed to sit in on any class she pleased, Agatha had often been chased out of the lecture halls at Transylvania Polygnostic University. She had got to the point where she could usually remember the contents of a chalkboard after just a glance. Lately, this talent for memory seemed to be getting even stronger. “I thought about it a lot,” her voice trailed off and her face took on an odd look.

Krosp frowned. “Something wrong?”

Agatha rolled onto her front. “This all feels so strange... I mean, if I really am the daughter of Bill and Lucrezia Heterodyne—”

Krosp frantically waved one paw for silence even as he leapt across the room and slammed the little window shut. Agatha lowered her voice.

“Well if I am—then these stories—all the Heterodyne stories—are about my family. My parents.” She sat up. “This part: Lucrezia. I’m playing my own mother. And Lars is playing my father.”

Krosp scratched his chin with a rear foot. “So?”

Agatha hugged her pillow uncomfortably. “So... there’s kissing and stuff. It feels weird.”

Krosp nodded sagely. “Okay, so when you kiss him, don’t think of him as Bill Heterodyne. Think of him as Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. You liked him.”

The pillow slammed into the cat so fast he didn’t have time to dodge.

“I don’t want to be reminded of that,” Agatha growled. She had kissed Gil once, on impulse, after the terrifying fight with the Hive Queen. But that had been a quick, one-sided victory kiss, and she hadn’t even seen his reaction. She still cringed at the thought of it.

“I will not be kissing Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. Now, or ever again.” she declared— trying to push his face from her mind.

Krosp peeped out from under the pillow. “I know that! You’re kissing that what’s-his-name. Lars.”

Agatha paused. “What?”

“Well he’s the one who plays Bill Heterodyne, right?”

Agatha remembered her surprise at the easy strength with which Lars had lifted her free of the barrel. The friendly look in his eyes as he laughed with her. The little tingle she had felt when his voice shifted as he had dropped into character. That had been... interesting.

Thoughtfully Agatha retrieved her pillow and settled down to sleep.

Lars. He wasn’t even a Spark. Kissing him should be safe enough.

CHAPTER 4

               When Jagermonsters hunt for you

                Remember what you mustn’t do:

                 Don’t jump in a butt of wine,

                  They’ll find you hiding there just fine.

                   Don’t hide with the grain or meat,

                    You’ll be the first thing that they eat.

                     Don’t hide with the dung or offal,

                      They’ll just spread you on a waffle.

                       Don’t hide in among the dead,

                        They’ll eat you up with jam and bread.

                         But hide in water, soap and lye,

                          and far away from you they’ll fly!

—Children’s song

It was a beautiful morning in the town of ZumZum, and the shops lining the square were doing brisk business. The square itself was a large open area covering a full hectare. Part of it was paved in dark blue stone, but a good half of it was still greensward, occupied by a small flock of sheep and a few cows, idly grazing. A bored- looking child with a stick sat watching the animals, lounging back against the base of a squat tower that stood to one side. The tower, with its limp windsock hanging from a pole, hinted at occasional airship traffic. ZumZum was right on the edge of the Wastelands, but it wasn’t yet completely the middle of nowhere.

A covered market bordered the paved side of the square. It was just a slate-shingled roof atop sturdy wooden posts, but it kept the sun and rain off. Five small boys with brooms were inside the empty structure industriously sweeping at cross-purposes. Tomorrow would be the weekly market-day, when farmers from all over the area would make their way to town to buy and sell, drink, and exchange gossip. Tomorrow, the square would be a noisy, bustling place, full of excitement. Tomorrow would be fun. Today, however, was boring. Miserably, miserably boring.