Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

have to talk to someone. If only to find out where we are.” She carefully failed to notice that the sausage she’d laid out had vanished. She rolled herself up in the balloon fabric and lay down with her back to the fire. “Good night, O mighty hunter.”

Krosp sat looking away through the trees in a preoccupied manner, his cheeks bulging. As she drifted into sleep, Agatha could hear him covertly chewing.

She was jolted awake at dawn by an exultant furry object landing hard on her stomach. She snapped her eyes open to see Krosp, his fur even messier, standing victoriously atop her blanket, waving a paw in which he clutched one medium-sized and terrified rat.

“Breakfast!” he sang out. “Breakfast caught by me! Mrowrr! Yowwrllll! Eat eat EAT!” He thrust the rat toward Agatha and grinned with manic pride.

Agatha stared at the rat in panic. The rat stared back. “I....” she thought quickly, “I thought you wanted us to get moving.”

Krosp stared at her expectantly. “Yeah.” He waggled the rat back and forth in front of her face. “So hurry up! Eat!”

Agatha closed her eyes. “I’ll just eat some more stuff from the pack.” She peeked.

Krosp’s eyes were full of betrayal. “But... but I caught you food! Me! See? Here!” He bounced the rat around some more.

“I’m not eating this—” Agatha thought quickly, “um... I’m not eating this raw! ”

Krosp considered this. “Mmm. You human types do kind of insist on that, don’t you.” He frowned. “I don’t want to waste time cooking...”

Krosp moved aside as Agatha sat up. She tried to sound reasonable. “Look. Today I’ll eat from the pack. Tonight, you can catch extra—” Again, she looked at the rat. She was deep in the Wastelands, with nothing to eat in her pack but six sausages, some cheese and an old apple. The rat was still, steadily returning her gaze. Agatha’s heart sank. Well, she might have to eat them, but she would do her best to avoid saying it. “You can catch extra... erm... things, and I’ll roast them overnight on the coals.”

Krosp eyed the rat in his paw speculatively, then nodded grudgingly. Agatha reached out and scratched behind his left ear. “And I know you can do it, ’cause you’re obviously an amaaazing hunting creature.” Her voice became a soothing croon.

Krosp’s eyes closed in bliss as Agatha’s fingers scratched away. A small purr began to rise from his throat, then was cut short as the cat caught himself and snapped his eyes open. Suddenly, he looked serious. “Okay. Okay!” He pulled himself away from Agatha’s hand and sat down hard on a nearby rock. He looked again at the rat and sighed regretfully, then, with a perfectly horrible crunch, bit off its head. The purr returned and grew louder as the cat chewed contentedly. “But you don’t know what you’re missing,” he confided around a mouthful of rat. “The head is best raw.”

Agatha froze at the sound of the crunch, stared in horror for several seconds, then slowly dropped the sausage she had been unwrapping back into its waxed paper wrapper. “Somehow,” she whispered weakly, as she tucked it back into her pack, “I’ll make do.”

With the mountains behind them, they walked on through a rocky landscape, lightly wooded and crossed by the occasional stream. The countryside was beautiful in the early morning light, but neither Agatha nor Krosp was used to long marches, especially long marches that involved carrying full packs over rough ground. After the first hour, the conversation had flagged. The effort of moving as far away from the crash site as possible soon sapped their energy. The going was slow, and they stopped frequently to rest.

Soon, the light woods began to give way to thicker forest, and Agatha noticed Krosp glaring suspiciously into the increasingly thick undergrowth. She realized that she had been doing the same thing. The cat was probably as jumpy as she was, she thought. Hardly surprising. Neither of them had much experience with the outside World. Agatha had traveled a bit with her uncle when she was very young, but most of her life had been spent within the sheltering walls of the university town of Beetleburg. Krosp was a young cat, most likely born in a laboratory on Castle Wulfenbach. His life had been spent entirely on board the Castle.

Agatha smiled at the odd thought that this was the first time the cat had ever walked on the actual surface of the earth. Still, even her limited acquaintance with Krosp told her that he was no fool. They hadn’t had time to discuss much beyond the best way to escape Castle Wulfenbach for good, but from various things Krosp had said, she understood that the cat had spent much of his time on Castle Wulfenbach reading books on military history, strategy and tactics, and studying maps of old battles. He had the mind of a furry little general, and was most likely imagining an enemy in every thicket—and planning what to do if it attacked.

As she marched, Agatha could feel the tension growing throughout her body. Her chest felt tight and the back of her neck and shoulders throbbed. She took a deep breath and pondered the situation.

The threat of aerial pursuit from Castle Wulfenbach made her fear the sky and the open spaces, so she was glad of the cover the forest provided. On the other hand, the sinister reputation of the Wastelands made her wary of the shadows under the trees and the crevices in the rocks. Although they saw no animal larger than a crow all morning, occasional cries and rustlings in the brush told of larger creatures nearby. These were, most likely, ordinary wild animals about their morning business—but the possibility of something more unusual made her imagination race.

To take her mind off the thought of phantom monsters lurking in the bushes, Agatha turned her mind to the more concrete danger that faced her. There would be pursuit from Castle Wulfenbach, she was sure. That the Baron would simply allow her to leave quietly was too much to hope for.

Agatha had just been rather dramatically revealed to be the daughter of the house of Heterodyne. Her father and uncle had been the near-messianic duo of heroic Sparks known as the Heterodyne Boys. Stories of their adventures and heroism had caught imaginations across the continent. Like it or not, Agatha’s mere existence had the potential to shake the Baron’s hold on Europa, and he knew it. No, Baron Wulfenbach would not leave her be.

Agatha remembered the stricken look that had crossed the man’s face when he had realized who she was, and shuddered. And his reaction after that, his determination to keep her not only a prisoner, but sedated... the Baron clearly believed her to be extremely dangerous. The only mystery was why he didn’t simply want her dead.

And then there was the Baron’s son... he didn’t seem likely to let her be, either... but that line of thought made her feel strange, and slightly pained, so she pushed it out of her mind—shaking her head hard to chase away the unwelcome thoughts.

She had been watching the ground as she hiked, now she looked up at the trees ahead of her. They had come through the thickest part of the forest, and were making their way along a gentle hill that ran down into a wide green valley. They spotted a river below, glinting behind the trees.

“We’ll follow that downstream as long as we can.” Agatha decided. “I know you don’t want to be seen, but we can’t live in the Wastelands forever. I need to get to Mechanicsburg, and I don’t see how I can manage that if I don’t even know where it is. With any luck, that river will lead to a town where we can get information without being too conspicuous.”

Krosp harrumphed softly, and gave this some thought. “Hm. Yes, I suppose I could manage some reconnaissance in a town. That was part of my creator’s reasoning when he designed me, actually.”

Krosp was silent for a few more seconds, pondering, then seemed to gain enthusiasm for the idea. “Yeah. This could be fun. Heh. I’ll sneak around, find out where we are, steal us a map to Mechanicsburg, and catch us some wily sausages while I’m at it! Mrowr!”

Agatha was pleased to see that the thought cheered the cat considerably. As he marched, Krosp hummed softly with an occasional “Hmmm... yes...” and his tail twitched slightly as he plotted his cunning attack on some unsuspecting village. Agatha smiled. She was feeling a bit better, too. It was good to have a plan.

They were making their way through a sun-dappled stand of birch trees when a stifled sob brought both Agatha and Krosp up short.

“Did you hear that?” Agatha whispered. Krosp nodded. A rustling sound caused them both to look up into the branches over their heads. Perched in the crook of a tree was a small boy. He was about eight years old, dressed in