Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

“End he vas soch a gentlemen!”

“Ho yez! No matter vot happened, alvays mit de dignity!” Maxim scowled. “Hit makes me so mad ven pipple tink he vas schtupid! Just becawze he vas so beeg and couldn’t talk.”

Ognian finished his eighth bowl with a lick and stowed it back into his coat. “Dot vould haff hurt him de most, Hy tink, he vas alvays very concerned about pipple tinking all constructs iz schtupid or evil.”

Guntar looked like he had suffered several body blows. He gave a sickly grin. “But... surely... ah... didn’t he have a... a lighter side?”

Maxim pondered this, and smiled. “Oh, uv cawrze! He vould build these amazink toyz for de orphan cheeldrens!”

Taki tried to laugh, but had decided to taste the glue and now discovered that his mouth was sealed shut.

Master Payne and his wife observed this all from a distance. As the Jagers started pulling on the cook’s jaws, they turned away. Marie had that little line between her eyebrows that Payne had come to dread.

“Payne,” she said. “I’ve seen you convince bandits to contribute to the Actor’s Retirement Fund.”

Payne smiled at the memory, but remained wary. “Your point, my dear?”

“There’s a reason there are no Jagermonsters in the Heterodyne shows. People really hate them.”

Payne shrugged. “Well it’s not like they’re insisting on performing. We hardly see them.”

Marie eyed him closely and continued slowly. “You could have gotten rid them if you’d wanted to, but you haven’t even tried.” A unnerving “crack,” a groan of pain, and a “Hoy!” of victory caused her to glance back. “In fact, you feed them.”

Payne opened his mouth, looked at his wife and closed it again. “Ergo,” she continued, “You are Up To Something. You have got a reason, but you did not tell me.”

A few beads of sweat appeared upon Payne’s brow. Marie clasped her hands together and looked vulnerable. Payne flinched. “The only time you don’t tell me something is when you think it’s dangerous, because being a fragile, sheltered noblewoman, I might faint at the thought of experiencing physical harm like a common person.”

She sighed, and seemingly from nowhere, produced an enormous cast-iron frying pan easily one hundred centimeters in diameter. “And then,” she said sadly, “I have to damage one of the good pans by smacking it against your thick, common skull until you tell me—”

“BALAN’S GAP!” Payne screamed, cowering. “We have to go through Balan’s Gap!”

Marie paused, and then lowered the pan. “Oh dear. You’re expecting more trouble from the Prince.” She thoughtfully tapped a finger against her pursed lips. “And you think having them along might help discourage him from...”

Payne looked out from between his fingers. “Yes?”

Marie cocked her head. “That’s very clever for a commoner.”

Payne drew himself up and preened. “Why, thank you, my dear.” The two of them smiled at each other, and then leaned in for a delicate kiss. Just before their lips met, they were startled by a snuffling sound from overhead. They froze, and they swiveled their eyes upwards to see Dimo crouching on the roof of the wagon beside them. A large tear dripped from his bulbous nose.

“It iz zo nize, ven married pipple tok to each odder.” He leapt to the ground and slumped back against the wagon and grinned. “Und now, Hy tink hyu should tok to me.” He smiled at the Countess. “But mitout de pan.”

Several minutes later, the three were walking a short way away from the circus. Dimo was silent. Finally the Countess asked, “Will you help us?”

Dimo looked at her and grinned in a way that made her squirm. “Eet soundz like fun. Bot—” He held up a clawed finger, “Hy gots to discuss hit vit Maxim and Oggie.”

“Do you think they’ll agree?”

Dimo laughed and deftly slid his arm around the Countess’ waist and drew her close. “For a nize doll like hyu, ve do all kindz uf tings!”

Marie stiffened. “Do you mind?”

Dimo looked surprised, and then darted a look at Payne, standing next to him. A light dawned. “Ho! Yaz!” He dropped his voice to what he no doubt thought a whisper. “Ve gots to be sobtle in front uv you’s haitch... oh... zee... bee...” A worried look crossed his face, and he gave up. He jerked a thumb in Payne’s direction. “Hyu know, heem.” Payne rolled his eyes.

At that moment, they heard a sound drifting through the air. Marie stopped dead. “What in the world is that?”

Dimo smirked. “Ho! Hy knows dot vun. My family vos musical. Dot—” he pronounced, “Iz music!”

The two humans regarded him blankly for a moment. Then Payne spun about. “No!” A look of shock crossed his face. “No, it can’t be!” He took off at a run and the other two followed.

To Payne’s amazement, the source of the sound was indeed, the Silverodeon.

The original instrument had been a simple steam calliope that had been fitted with some organ pipes salvaged from an old church. For the next twenty years it had been hauled around to various harvest festivals and occasionally used to scare bats out of barns.

The circus had discovered it after it had been smashed by a particularly large and grumpy bat, who had gone on to take down several airships before one of the Empire’s warships had blown it apart.

That rusty collection of cheap iron and old brass bore no resemblance to the glittering contraption that was still unfolding from the wagon bed as the magician approached.

Clusters of pipes and tubes sprouted upwards from the back of the instrument, resembling some sort of art nouveau hedgehog. Along the side, valves and pistons rippled, catching the eye and drawing it to the cockpit, where at least four keyboards, as well as what appeared to be the controls from an ancient locomotive, were being played by Agatha[39].

Sweat poured from her as she played, great sweeping arpeggios and surging waves of melody that sent shivers down the spines of her listeners. This was the first time that Agatha had played—really played, since the shackles had been removed from her mind. She found the music triggering feelings and emotions within her that she strove to express, a creative cycle that went on and on and on.

The listeners never were able to determine just how long they stood there, enraptured by the music, but when it ended, when Agatha finally brought her hands down in a final gentle chord and slumped forward, many of them found themselves weeping and cheering simultaneously. Agatha jerked up, amazed that everyone was suddenly there. A sudden pain in her fingers caused her to grimace, and then smile ruefully. She was out of practice.

Rivet awoke to find herself next to Andre, who was standing stock still, as if he was afraid that when he moved, he would forget everything he had just heard. “But it was junked,” she said to him. “You said it was just to keep her busy.”

Andre smiled at her. “Never have I been so glad to be wrong.”

Payne plowed his way through the crowd and stopped next to the cockpit. “Miss Clay, I’m...” he gave up. “I’m speechless.”

Agatha blinked. “Is that good?”

The Countess smiled, “It’s practically unheard of.” This earned her a snort from Payne.

Agatha winced apologetically. “Please don’t think it’s done, I just wanted to test the keyboards.” Payne stared at her. Agatha nervously buffed a bit of brass trim, “I’m almost finished with the latest mechanism, that’ll let me add more instruments. Maybe even some little singing automata.” Payne’s eyes had begun to glaze. Oh dear, Agatha thought. I’m boring him.

“I was also thinking, maybe a kind of... a kind of ball, all covered in little mirrors and...”

This particular revolution in popular entertainment was brought to a halt by the sudden ringing of a bell. Agatha looked around in confusion. She knew the signal bells that the actors used for meals, attacks, meetings, and excessive drinking, but this one was unfamiliar. She realized it was coming from a small cupola atop one of the prop wagons. The circus people were looking between the bell and Agatha nervously.

Krosp dropped down next to her. “It’s coming from Moxana’s wagon.”

Payne’s eyebrows rose. “She must have heard the Silverodeon.” He turned to Agatha. “I suspect she wants