Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

soldiers stood quietly, watching the train of wagons as it rumbled towards the gates. In the lead wagon, Abner, Lars and Krosp sat glumly.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” muttered Abner.

“Something’s not right,” said Lars, eyeing the soldiers.

“Of course not,” snapped Krosp, his ears flattened. “That story about a reward is hokum. The Baron thinks Agatha is dead. If he thought otherwise, he’d come and get her. The Prince just wants us to leave, and this way, we daren’t complain.”

Lars looked lost. “But what will we do?”

Abner looked at him levelly. “We go down this road about fifteen kilometers and turn left at Mulverschtag. That’ll get us on the road to Mechanicsburg.”

“No! I meant—”

“Oh wait,” Abner interrupted snidely. “Are you seriously thinking we should go back—into a hostile town full of armed soldiers—to try to rescue a girl from a madboy’s fortress?”

Lars examined this statement. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes I am!”

Abner sighed. “There’re a million reasons why that isn’t going to work.”

“Dun vorry,” a low voice chuckled from above. The three whipped their eyes upwards. Dimo, Ognian and Maxim were lounging on the roof of the wagon. Dimo was staring down at them and indicated himself and the others. “Dere’s three reasonz it iz.”

Agatha blinked. Her mouth tasted terrible, her head was throbbing, and she felt like she was shackled to a table. This last realization snapped her awake. She was shackled to a table. Some sort of lab bench, and by straining her head, she could see that she was wearing remarkably little. This didn’t look good.

She was in some sort of laboratory, racks of electronic devices surrounded her, and there was a pervasive smell of ozone and burnt insulation.

Suddenly a figure loomed up from her right. It was Anevka. She had been cleaned and polished. Her wig was black and glossy, cut short in front and tied back with several gold chains. She was dressed in a red velvet lab coat and violet work apron with matching gold piping[47].

By rolling her eyes, Agatha could just see her retainers, with the ever-present device resting upon their shoulders. They stood motionless, eyes half closed.

“Oh good,” Anevka said. “You’re finally awake!” She glanced behind Agatha’s line of sight and made a small adjustment to an unseen device. “Happy?”

That was an easy one. “Certainly not!”

Anevka nodded. “Very good!”

“No—Not good! How dare you people do this to me? Get me some clothes!”

Anevka actually rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. A lovely strong command wave.” She looked back at Agatha. “Do you have any questions?”

Agatha had a great number of questions, as well as several strong opinions about Anevka, her situation, her lack of clothing and Anevka’s preoccupation with whatever it was that was keeping her from setting Agatha free. After about a half an hour of this, Agatha began to wind down. “Are you even listening to me?”

Anevka made a final adjustment to the oscilloscope she’d been monitoring and nodded in satisfaction. “Oh yes, and you’ve been just perfect! I quite think you’re done.”

She shut down the device and then turned to a small cloth covered ceramic tray. A delicate flip of the fabric revealed an array of gleaming steel surgical instruments. Anevka ran her hand above them, and then selected a simple scalpel.

“And now, let’s hear you beg for your life.”

Agatha’s eyes bugged out. “What?”

Anevka twirled the scalpel around her fingers. “I’ve got my readings. Now I get to have a little fun.”

A squawk from behind Agatha revealed that someone else was here. Tarvek strode into sight, flinging down a set of tools and grabbing Anevka’s wrist. “Stop!” Agatha realized that she didn’t know whether to be more relieved at his intercession or scandalized at her state of undress before him. Another glimpse of the scalpel in Anevka’s hand helped prioritize things nicely.

Anevka rolled her eyes at Tarvek. “But why? We have all the readings that we need.”

“Don’t be a fool. We should test it first.”

Anevka considered this. With a deft flick of her wrist, she tossed the scalpel back into the tray with a clatter. “You’re right, of course,” she said regretfully. “It would be unforgivably stupid to kill her before we’re sure.”

Suddenly a commotion filled the air and several people burst into the room. A cluster of brawny castle servants were restraining a lone Geiesterdamen. She was wearing an elegantly cut robe that had been thrown over little else. Her white hair was disheveled and chopped short, and her pearly white eyes glared furiously. The four men holding her had obviously had a rough time of it, as all of them suffered from bruises, scratches, and torn clothing.

When she saw Tarvek and Anevka, the captive woman roared furiously, in what, Agatha realized in astonishment, was perfectly good Romanian[48].

“What is the meaning of this? Where is your father, the Prince?” She saw Agatha for the first time and paused. “What are you children playing at?”

Tarvek stepped forward. “Good evening, Lady Vrin. There are things you should be made aware of—”

Vrin lunged at him, almost throwing her captors off balance. “Release me, you insignificant worm!”

Anevka crossed her arms. “Oh, I really don’t want to listen to any more of this. Tarvek?”

Her brother stepped behind her and was making some adjustments to a control panel on her back. “I’ve made the adjustments to your voice box. Try it now.”

Anevka stepped forward. “Release her.” The servants stepped back. Vrin launched herself towards the mechanical girl, who again spoke. “Lady Vrin? Kneel!”

The voice that boomed out, artificially amplified, sounded remarkably like Agatha’s. The effect upon the Geisterdamen was electric. She froze, and then dropped to her knees. “Lady?” she whispered.

Instantly she grabbed her head and screamed. The servants again grabbed her arms. She glared up at Anevka. “You are not her,” she hissed in fury.

Anevka put her head to one side. “Tch. It appears you were right, brother. We are not there yet.”

Tarvek nodded slowly. He pulled a pad of paper from a coat pocket and began to scribble some notes. “Hmm. I suspect your speaker needs more bass. Maybe what I need to do is isolate the command harmonics, and then amplify them...”

Anevka patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, yes. You do that.” She turned back and with a few twists, released Agatha.

Stiffly she slowly climbed down from the bench. At a sign from Anevka, two more servants took hold of her wrists. Anevka continued. “Take these two troublesome girls and put them in the cell with the others.”

As they were being led away, Vrin rallied and called out, “You will pay for this! When your father and The Order—”

Anevka interrupted her. “My father is dead. And this pathetic girl?” She indicated Agatha. “She is your ‘holy lost child,’ for all the good it will do you.”

This information struck Vrin like a physical blow, and she stared at Agatha in astonishment as they were led away.

As they moved through the deserted corridors, Agatha shivered. She realized that she was still in her underwear and turned to the nearest servant. “I want some clothes.” All of the men chuckled at this.

“I’m sure you do,” the one she addressed replied. Agatha glared at him and spoke again. This time her voice was loud and insistent. “I’m cold and I want some clothes. Now!” All of the servants blinked. And without a word, the man she’d addressed turned and left. They kept walking, but several minutes later, as they came to a thick armored door, he returned at a trot, holding a bundle that Agatha recognized as her outfit. As the lead servant unlocked the door with a complicated looking key, he handed it over. Agatha took it, and then