Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

Krosp nodded sympathetically, then lashed out with lightning speed and batted at the sleeve that Payne wasn’t gesticulating with, knocking free the rook of Krosp’s that he’d hidden there. The cat snagged it in midair and placed it back on the board. “Yes,” he agreed, “I can see how other people would find that frustrating.”

Payne harrumphed and sat back, which is the only reason he saw the tip of Krosp’s tail nudging one of the cat’s pawns forward.

The two played every day thereafter[34].

Zeetha continued Agatha’s training. This was in two parts. In the morning Agatha was run around, and in the evening, after dinner, she watched while Zeetha went through her own exercises.

While she leapt and swirled, she gave a running commentary about what she was doing, technical terms and the history of the swords themselves.

They were called Quata’aras, and instead of a pommel that was an extension of the blade of the sword, they had a perpendicular handle, which put the blade in a line with the wielder’s forearm. Agatha considered that, from an engineering perspective, this would give the weapons a lot more power. Zeetha moved with such grace that she easily masked this power, until she made a delicate move and cut down a nearby tree. Agatha very much wanted to be able to move like that, and itched to try her hand with the weapons themselves.

One morning, after an exciting, impromptu performance the previous evening, when Zeetha had deftly bisected an attacking swarm of overly large yellow jackets on the wing, Agatha was awakened by the now-familiar nose beep and found that she was expected to run around the camp while lugging a small blacksmith anvil.

Agatha balked. “When do I get to learn to use a sword?”

Zeetha paused. “You’re not ready to even touch a Quata’ara yet.” Agatha opened her mouth, but her memory flashed back to the time on Castle Wulfenbach, when one of the Baron’s students, Zulenna, had demonstrated just how much she had to learn about Europa-style fencing, which was the sword-style Agatha had known about all her life.

With a sigh, Agatha bent her knees and lifted the anvil off the ground. She turned to see Zeetha looking at her, her lower lip pushed out in a moue of disappointment.

“Oh wait,” Agatha said, “let me guess. This was where I was supposed to insist you let me wield a Quata’ara, even though you, my Kolee, have told me I’m not ready. Possibly I’m supposed to harbor some day- dream that I have a magical affinity for these swords, which will allow me to side-step all this tedious training.

“No doubt this would have led to some hilarious, but painful lesson reaffirming that I am, in fact, not yet ready to touch the swords. I’ll skip that, if I may.”

She was about to say more, but the flush working its way up Zeetha’s face stopped her cold. Without another word, she hugged the anvil to her chest and fled. With a roar, Zeetha followed.

That night, a bruised and nearly comatose Agatha lay face down on her bunk, attempting to formulate a philosophical worldview that would make the pain more bearable. This was proving quite difficult, possibly because it hurt to think.

Agatha tried to review the day, but beyond a certain point, her memories faded into a red fog. All she could remember was finally being allowed to drink what felt like liters of water and being too exhausted to eat. Oh, and the Jagers. She remembered them.

Even though Master Payne had announced that they were joining the circus, they’d hardly been in evidence. They were seen, lurking about on the fringes of the camp. They occasionally came in for something to eat, or an awkward conversation, but no one knew where they slept.

It was obvious that they were not used to dealing with people they weren’t trying to kill, and were still trying to figure it out. They never appeared in a town, and sometimes they weren’t seen from one day to the next, especially when other travelers joined the circus at an overnight camp, or were traveling in the same direction.

But they’d been there today. Their usual lazy, insouciant grins replaced by a grim watchfulness. It seemed like every time Agatha had come around a corner, one or the other of them had been somewhere nearby. There had even been one time when she’d been staggering along, the anvil now strapped to her back, when she had stumbled. From nowhere, a pair of strong green hands had caught her and gently set her back onto her feet.

It was shortly after that that Zeetha had released her for the day.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Zeetha’s head popped up through the ladder well. Agatha twitched, but otherwise did nothing.

Zeetha prodded her with a finger, possibly to see if she was still alive. She looked guilty. “How are you doing? I—ah... I was told I might’ve worked you a bit more than I should’ve today.”

Agatha shrugged. It hurt. “I’m sorry I was disrespectful, Kolee,” she whispered.

Zeetha grimaced and proceeded to light several candles and lanterns. She then unbuckled her harness, slipped off her swords and hung them from a peg. The small cloth bag she carried proved to contain several ceramic jars. She opened them one after the other and laid them out in a row on a nearby shelf. Strong herbal scents began to fill the room.

Without a word, she stripped Agatha of her clothes, moving her gently, but pitilessly. When she was done, small stars were lazily pinwheeling past Agatha’s vision.

Zeetha selected a jar, scooped out a handful of creamy paste and rubbed it into her hands. The smell of paprika grew stronger.

She knelt beside Agatha and began vigorously kneading the paste into her shoulders. Agatha’s eyes bugged out and a small “eeee” escaped her lips. The ointment started out soothing, but proceeded to get warmer and warmer until by the time Zeetha was kneading it into her lower back, her shoulders and arms felt like they were on fire. Zeetha ignored Agatha’s squeaks of pain and methodically worked her way down Agatha’s back.

Suddenly, she spoke. “When I asked my Kolee for the sword, she told me I wasn’t ready. But when I asked again, she gave it to me.

“It was so heavy, I was convinced she’d slipped me one made of lead.” She shifted slightly and started working down Agatha’s left leg.

She spoke slower now. “I was younger than you are now, of course. I needed two hands to hold it, and within thirty seconds I had chopped down my aunt’s favorite fruit tree, broken two floor tiles and my toe.”

She switched to Agatha’s right leg and worked her way back up. “Everybody does that at least once. Challenges their Kolee. Tries to prove that they’re Ashtara’s Chosen One.” She was silent as she selected another jar and started from the beginning.

Agatha’s teeth snapped together in shock. This time the contents of the jar felt like ice, and she imagined great scalding clouds of steam erupting from her tortured skin. It took her a few seconds to realize that the pain was fading as well, as if it too were being boiled away. She gave a small groan of relief.

Zeetha gave a small smile. “Like I said, we all do it. The stories are always trotted out at family get- togethers, and everybody always has a good laugh. My teacher’s teacher always said—” and here Zeetha’s voice took on a reedy quality, “There’s no better way to keep a warrior from getting killed than to have her almost do it to herself.”

She paused halfway up Agatha’s right leg. She was silent long enough that Agatha looked over her shoulder to see what was wrong. Zeetha knelt there, tears flowing down her face. She looked at Agatha and sniffed.

“Except of course, when they do manage to kill themselves. My cousin, Zoniax, she was so much faster than I’ll ever be. But they gave her... they let her...” She broke down sobbing. Before she knew what she was doing, Agatha found herself cradling the crying girl in her arms.

“It was such a waste,” Zeetha sobbed. She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from Agatha’s arms and looked her in the eye.

“What you did today was smart. When a warrior is being forged, they don’t train her to be smart. Being smart makes you ask questions, and no War Queen wants an army full of fighters asking questions.” She smiled at the thought. Then she got serious again.

“Now you—you’re never going to be a warrior. But if you ask enough smart questions, you might live long enough to be a War Queen.”

Then she gave Agatha a fierce hug and a kiss on the forehead. Without another word she finished the massage, covered Agatha up and extinguished the lights. A second later, Agatha heard the wagon door click shut.