Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

“Agatha! RUN!” screamed Krosp, who had followed her out of the fortuneteller’s tent. Agatha turned, only to find herself staring into the gaping jaws of the bear—its hot breath on her face. Krosp was already in mid-leap, claws extended. As he landed, he buried them in the bear’s sensitive nose. The huge animal shrieked in agony and flinched backward, furiously swiping at its face with its paws as the cat ran up its back and launched himself up and away.

Agatha spun about and ran. She passed Sergeant Zulli clutching his limp and bloody arm. He was kicking at the prone watchmen and yelling. “—Guns, damn you! Get up! Open the armory and get the guns! Shoot all four of them!”

Without thinking, she changed her direction until she found herself standing in front of the gallows, and its three Jagers. In the flickering light the three grinning faces took on a demonic quality that sent a shiver down her spine.

The green one spoke. “Problems... Mistress?”

Agatha took a deep breath. “Someone—another Jager—is attacking the town. The guards are going to shoot you. All of you. I’ll cut you down, and you’ll get her out of here when you escape.”

The purple one nodded. “Oh, yes?”

She paused, “And you’ll leave the townspeople alone.”

The horned one smiled lazily. “Oh, uv cawze.”

Agatha grit her teeth and glowered up at them. “Swear. Swear that’s all you’ll do. Swear... on your loyalty to the House of Heterodyne!”

Their eyes went wide at this, and this time their grins were honest ones.

“Good vun!”

“Schmot gurl!”

“Ve all so svear, Mistress!”

Agatha dashed away and returned with the smaller chair from Madame Olga’s tent. She climbed up next to the closest Jager, and began hacking at the rope with the folding knife she kept in her boot. It wasn’t the best tool for the job, but it was sharp. “I’d better be right about you,” she panted.

The rope parted, and the green Jager landed heavily on his feet. He scraped the ropes binding his wrists against a stone wall—so brutally that they parted. Hands free, he grinned up at her. “Too late to vorry about dot now, sveethot!” he called as he bounded away.

The Jager woman held Othar aloft by his hair as she prepared to slice his head off. “Hyu fights pretty goot,” she panted, “But hyu iz too demmed annoyink to be any fun.” She raised her sword.

“Schtop! Hyu horr’ble monster-y ting uf evil!” The voice was loud and strong, and a hush fell over the square.

The Jager blinked in surprise and lowered her sword. “Vot?”

Ranged before her, striking theatrically heroic poses, were the three Jagers from the gallows. They had found weapons, and, inexplicably, hats.

The green Jager stepped forward and brandished a fist full of gleaming throwing knives held in a very professional-looking grip. “Ve iz Jagerkin,” he announced in a ringing voice. “Charged by de ancient contract, vit der job uv savin’ all dese pipple!”

The watching crowd of townspeople looked at each other. This was news to them.

The purple one flourished a sword that shone red in the firelight. “Yah, and ve gets to do it by gettin’ hyu outta here!”

The horned one twirled an immense three-bladed halberd with an effortless twitch of his fingers. “Now—iz hyu gunna run, or iz hyu gunna die?”

The female Jager stared at them for a moment, snorted in amusement, and then, with one flowing move of her arm, tossed Othar high into the air. “Ha-ho! Dis vill slow hyu down!” She shouted, and then turned with a swirl of her long blue cape and dashed away. Othar described an elegant parabola high into the air and then crashed to the ground. The Jager woman stopped, turned, and stared in surprise at the crumpled hero.

The three other Jagers looked at each other uncertainly.

“Sorry,” the horned one called. “Vas ve supposed to ketch him?”

The purple one shrugged and grumbled: “Dunno vhy, Hy dun like hm.”

The green Jager leapt forward. “Vhatever! Come on, brodders! Ve gots a monster hunt!”

At this, the other two brightened up. With a shout of “Ve HUNT!” the three brandished their weapons in one last showman-like flourish, and raced off after the bear and rider—through the streets and out into the dark night beyond the town gates.

The amazed crowd stared after them, wondering whether to applaud. It was only when Master Payne bellowed, “Fire!” that the spell was broken and a crew assembled to douse the burning circus wagon.

With the fire out, the monsters gone, and the gates firmly bolted shut, it was time for a party. The tavernmaster whose house bordered the square had stood everyone a large mug of cider, and the townspeople, as a whole, were feeling extremely accomplished. A pack of monsters run off, a fire put out, and a rather good stage show, all in one night! Why, Zumzum would be the next Paris[29]!

Only the Mayor did not share the festive mood. He huffed up to Sergeant Zulli, his face red and angry. Thanks to the sling on his arm, the old soldier was accepting his latest free drink with his left hand.

The Mayor clutched a severed rope in one fist, and shook it in Zulli’s face. “Look! See? This rope was cut! That’s how those Jagerscum got free! One of those show people, I’ll be bound!”

Zulli sipped his drink. “A good thing, eh?” He flicked his eyes around the crowded taproom, then gazed back at the Mayor with a significant look.

The Mayor frowned as he surveyed the happy crowd. A large number of the men were sporting bruises, but nothing more serious than that, and the worst bit of property damage had happened to out-of-towners, who hardly counted at all. He could see that everyone was in a surprisingly good mood, and his political sense told him that now was the time to make himself visible, be jolly and congratulatory, and take as much credit as possible. But he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his disappointment. He puffed out his moustache. “But now no one will win the bet,” he muttered petulantly.

Zulli nodded again. “Also a good thing, I think.”

The Mayor snorted and tossed the rope to the ground. “Bah!” He looked over at Master Payne. “It was them all right.” He glowered at Zulli. “I assume you know what to do?”

Sergeant Zulli actually smiled. “Already done, sir.”

Later, Master Payne and Abner were examining the burned circus wagon when Rivet strolled up. “Get this— the Sergeant there said we can fix our wagon in town for free!”

Payne was astonished. “Really?” He glanced around the town as if seeing it for the first time. “Well, well,” he murmured. “We might have to stay a few days after all.”

Abner rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful! I’ve just been talking to a Frau Velichou who wants us to perform at a wedding!” This was also good news. A wedding was a plum job, with lots of tips and free drinks. Payne almost smiled.

Agatha and Othar stood apart, watching the celebrations. Othar was bruised from all his tumbling about, but was surprisingly undamaged. Agatha was beginning to think the man was made of rubber. She shook her head. “You’re the one who caught them? By playing a game of hangman? ”

Othar was visibly pleased with himself. “The Jagermonsters love to play games, but they’re fuzzy when it comes to rules. That’s something you should remember as you set out to fight evil.”

Agatha cocked an eyebrow at him. “I told you, I’m not doing that. Going out looking for trouble to ‘fight evil.’ It’s ridiculous. You can’t make me.”

Othar threw his head back and burst out laughing. Agatha stared at him. “Make