Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 6

           Lucrezia: You, sir, should remove your pants.

           Stranger: Indeed?

           Judy: Indeed, it’s time. We have all laid aside modesty but you.

           Stranger: I... wear no pants.

           Lucrezia: (Terrified, aside to Judy.) No pants? No pants!

           —The Heterodyne Boys and The Socket Wench of Prague (Act 1. Scene 2d)

What it meant was that the Heterodyne shows became a lot more... interesting. There was a tension between Lars and Agatha now that was quite evident to the audience, and the final onstage kiss usually produced a cathartic eruption of applause and cheering that could last for minutes.

Agatha’s nights were full of peculiar dreams, and she actually found herself welcoming Zeetha’s morning exercises.

The frustrating thing was that off stage, her relationship with Lars seemed like it was being directed by two different people. One day he would be friendly and attentive, and the next, strangely distant.

Agatha kept trying to figure out if she was doing something wrong, but was unable to discern any pattern to Lars’ behavior.

Finally, in desperation, she mentioned her predicament to Zeetha. The green-haired girl pondered for a moment and then nodded. “An excellent choice. He’s experienced enough that he’ll be able to show you a good time, nice enough that he’ll be gentle, and independent enough that there should be no hard feelings when you move on.”

Agatha, red-faced, seized upon the one part of this analysis that seemed conversationally safe. “What do you mean ‘Move on?’ Why should I—”

Zeetha interrupted. “You’re the one who said that you were only with us until Mechanicsburg. That’s just a little over a month from now.”

Agatha opened her mouth in surprise. “But... but I thought...” She paused. What was she thinking?

Zeetha had been polishing her swords. She stopped now and leaned in, putting a firm hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “Hey. This—” she gestured vaguely at the surrounding circus—“This is not where you belong.”

Agatha frowned. “What do you mean?”

Zeetha looked troubled. “Explaining things other than fighting isn’t really what I’m good at. But I’m your Kolee. I know you.” She waved away any potential objection. “Not story stuff, like your favorite color or how you shaved the cat when you were six years old or... or crap like that. But I know you, Agatha Clay... if that’s your real name—” Agatha started. Zeetha made a calming motion with her hand.

“No, no. That stuff isn’t important. See, I know what kind of a person you are. Better than anyone here.” She paused, “Except maybe for the Countess and Master Payne. They’re even sharper than they look.

“But you, you’re not like these people. Sure, they’re Sparks, but you... you’re a whole different level. You just haven’t had a reason to show it yet.” She sat back and cocked her head to the side. “When you do, you won’t fit here anymore.”

“But...” Agatha looked around. “But they like me here. I like acting. I like traveling. I...” she looked down shyly. “I am honored to be your zumil.”

Zeetha leaned in and gently beeped her nose. “You will always be my zumil, silly girl.” She stood up and stretched. “But a warrior must learn that nothing ever stays the same, which is why the things we want in life must be grabbed before they slip away. In this case, the thing you want to grab is Lars.”

“But I’m not really sure that I want to grab his—” Agatha realized what she was saying, and put her head in her hands, profoundly grateful that Zeetha was the only one listening.

Zeetha laughed and tousled Agatha’s hair. “Relax, no one’s expecting you to marry him.” She frowned slightly. “But he is acting uncharacteristically shy.”

Things got odder. Onstage, Lars took every opportunity to get close to her. To touch her arm, to run his hand along her jaw. His eyes smoldered, and their climactic kiss was beginning to dominate Agatha’s dreams, as well as some of her daytime musings.

But off stage, Lars remained formally polite, when he could be found at all. Increasingly, he took every opportunity to leave the troupe, for any number of perfectly plausible reasons. It was evident that he was utilizing the tricks he’d learned to avoid confrontations in a half a hundred towns. It was only obvious because he was using them all for the same audience.

Agatha tried to dismiss her feelings and distract herself by working. After all, aside from this irrational infatuation, she enjoyed her day-to-day life quite a bit, and there was always something to keep her busy.

Great strides were made on the Silverodian. One quiet, foggy morning, Agatha actually managed to produce a tortured set of hoots and squeals from the pipes, which caused everyone to run out, weapons in hand. But this, along with the work the various troupe members piled upon her, was not enough, and the Sparks around her began to feel the result.

Almost all of the Sparks in the show found themselves being questioned by Agatha about their work. These sometimes turned into marathon sessions that left them feeling, as Augie put it later, “As if she turned me upside down, poured all my theories out onto the ground, examined them, kept the good stuff, and pointed out the rubbish.”

Indeed, there was a bit of a Renaissance amongst the lesser Sparks, as a number of theories and concepts were aired out and scrutinized. There were also, it has to be said, some hard feelings, as a few cherished ideas were thoroughly disproved, sometimes in embarrassing detail[36].

The result was a quietly rising tide of chaos and small disruptions. Small, but to those who knew to watch for such things, quite noticeable.

And thus it was that one evening, in a small village with an insatiable appetite for candied mimmoths, after the show had ended and the troupe had bedded down for the evening, Lars found himself strongly invited to have a drink with Master Payne and The Countess.

The inside of their wagon was done in a tasteful blend of dark inlaid woods, rich fabrics and stained glass. Within the compact space, souvenirs and trophies gleaned from decades of travel caught the eye, and everywhere, there were cards.

Playing cards from throughout history and hundreds of cultures were carefully mounted upon every flat space large enough to accommodate it. Elegant cards made from starched silk, impossibly thin slices of wood, decorated with gilt and crushed gems, alongside a thousand different varieties of paper and parchment adorned with everything from crudely drawn symbols to excruciatingly detailed miniature oil paintings.

As they made small talk and settled into place, Payne nonchalantly pulled a series of cords and levers. It quickly became evident that the wagon was a marvel of compact engineering. It seemed that almost every surface swiveled, unfolded or slid out to become or to reveal something else. By the time the old magician was done, a table, complete with tablecloth and settings, had appeared, as had several plates of snacks, along with a bottle of wine and three glasses. As Payne leaned back and adjusted his cuffs, a small arm swung down and a tiny music- box-like mechanism played a jolly tune as it deftly removed the cork from the bottle before swinging back up and out of sight.

The Countess offered Lars a savory egg-cream tart as Payne carefully poured him a glass of deep red wine. “A little something the Countess put up a year or two ago. Do let me know what you think.”