Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

she and a thoughtful Lady Vrin were shoved through the door, which could be heard locking behind them.

Agatha had been a tremendous fan of the Heterodyne Boys novels. On a fairly regular basis, one or the other of the heroic duo had been tossed into cells by cackling villains. Thus, the room before her was oddly familiar. Bare stone walls, a small slit of a window, several bunks covered with mounded blankets, and a plain wooden table were before her.

Agatha looked at the outfit in her hands. “I didn’t expect them to actually get me my clothes,” she remarked. A frown crossed her features.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Vrin coming close and staring into her face. Agatha tried not to flinch. “The Anevka-clank claims that you are The Holy Child. Why?”

Agatha found it difficult to look into the odd eyes of the woman before her. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what all this Holy Child nonsense is about. I’m not even a child. I’m eighteen, thank you very much.”

Vrin blinked. “Eighteen...”

“Klazma? Klazma Vrin?” Both Vrin and Agatha turned in surprise. In the rear of the cell were several bunks, mounded with blankets. One of these mounds moved, and revealed two more Geisterdamen, sleepily rubbing their faintly glowing eyes. With quick movements, they slid from the bunk and began eagerly questioning the Lady Vrin in their own language.

Agatha was obviously the subject of a great deal of the discussion. Vrin’s declaration, “Na fig seg unat plin,” was greeted with exclamations of dubious surprise. Agatha tried to listen to the conversation as she set about stripping her dress of the ruffles and lace that inhibited her movements. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she suspected she would want to be able to move fast.

As she slipped her glasses back on over her ears, one of the Geisterdamen, who had been looking at her intently suddenly started and declared, “Zoy!” along with a lot of other words, the only one of which that Agatha could understand was “actors!”

This started a brief argument between the two, which only ended when Vrin slammed her hand down on the table. She took a deep breath and turned towards Agatha. Agatha could tell that Vrin was unsure about how to deal with her.

Vrin studied her for a moment, and then spoke slowly. “The Geisterdamen have long sought a child who was stolen from us.”

Agatha shrugged apologetically. “I’ve never seen, or even heard of a Geisterdamen child.”

Vrin nodded. “This was a pink child. It was the offspring of the persons you would know of as Lucrezia Mongfish and the Bill Heterodyne.”

Agatha’s felt an odd sensation in her stomach and face went blank. “Really.”

Vrin’s eyes never wavered “A female child. She would indeed be eighteen years old.” Agatha bit her lip. Vrin continued slowly. “And it was said that she would have the Spark.”

Agatha smiled brightly. “Well. That’s fascinating. A lot of people have wondered what your people were doing for all those years. You were searching. For a Heterodyne heir. A lot of people were doing that.”

Vrin continued to study her. Agatha felt compelled to continue. “Well my father was a blacksmith, and I think I would have noticed if he was some sort of legendary hero.”

These were familiar lies, and Agatha felt herself relax as she told them. “As for me being a Spark, well that’s just ridiculous!” She noticed about this time that Vrin was no longer looking directly at her, but instead, slightly to the left of her face. A quick shift of her eyes revealed her faithful little clank, which had crawled from her pocket, and was waving hello at the fascinated Geisterdamen.

Vrin nodded slowly and leaned back against the table. “A blacksmith, you say.”

Agatha sighed. “A really good blacksmith.” She put the little clank on the table and tried to change the subject. “So what happened back there? What’s going on?”

Vrin took a final glance at the pocket-watch clank and then ignored it. The other two Geisters openly stared at it, and one of them actually poked it with her fingers and started making adorable cooing noises at it.

Vrin spoke seriously. “It appears that the royal children have staged a coup. They claim that our liaison, Prince Aaronev is dead.”

Agatha interrupted. “That’s true, I’m afraid. I saw it. The princess, Anevka, electrocuted him.” She paused, and then added, out of a sense of fairness, “Prince Tarvek seemed surprised and rather annoyed about that.”

Vrin raised her eyebrows at this, and then rubbed her brow. “Znug!” she swore.

She looked at Agatha and seemed to come to a decision. “We—” she indicated herself and the other two Geisterdamen, “—Are the priestesses of our Lady, our Goddess. Thus, we are able to command our Lady’s... lesser servants. As you no doubt heard, the Royal Children appear to be trying to recreate the true voice of our Lady, which could compel not only these lesser servants, but us as well.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” Agatha asked. “She was analyzing my voice. Do I really sound like that? Like your god—like your Lady?” She paused as the implications struck her. “What if I told you to kneel?”

Vrin actually smiled. “Why, I’d probably laugh so hard, I’d only slap you twice.”

Agatha stepped back. “What?”

“The voice they seek is... very much like yours.” She considered. “Especially when you are angry, I think. But even if you are the child we seek, a child is never exactly the same as her mother. Even with us—” Vrin stopped as she realized that she was getting off the subject. “But we can discuss this later. Now, we must escape this place.” She looked over at the table. Eotain had the little clank dancing on the palm of her hand. “Can your little device open doors?”

Agatha shook her head. “Not without tools, but—” Suddenly she remembered Lars’ gift, and slid the ring off of her finger. She fiddled with it a moment, and suddenly, with a satisfying “pung,” it unfolded. “—We do have a lock pick.”

Vrin looked at Agatha with a new respect. “Impressive.”

Agatha smiled. “Okay, now let’s get out of here!” With that she knelt down and proceeded to tinker with the lock mechanism. After a few terse instructions from Vrin, all three of the Geisterdamen prepared to deal with the outside guards.

Ten minutes later, they were leaning against the table, arms folded, as Agatha continued to work at the lock. Vrin leaned in. “You have no idea how to use that thing, do you?”

Agatha sat back on her heels and blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Yes, well, they didn’t cover this in holy rug rat school.”

Vrin grabbed Agatha’s shoulder and jerked her to her feet. “Speak with respect! I do not care who you are, you will not mock our quest. It is all to us.”

Agatha bit back a retort, paused, and then said quietly, “Maybe you should explain it to me.”

Vrin looked surprised, then nodded slowly. She sat Agatha down on one of the cell’s beds, and then sat opposite her. She thought for a minute, and then started speaking. Her voice took on a storyteller’s cadence.

“Since the beginning of all things, we have served our eternal lady. No matter how long her absence from our presence, we knew she would always return to us.

“From when I was a novice, she visited us frequently, always in the same lovely aspect. She helped us increase our crops. Helped us make stronger children. Those were happy days in the City of Silver Light.” Vrin paused.

“But then the Day of Reckoning occurred, as we knew it must. As the Lady herself had foretold. She came to us in high distress. The Gods were at war, and as had been foretold, she carried within her own body the Holy Child.

“It was the Time of the Final Prophecy, beyond which even Our Lady could not see. We were to prepare for The Great Battle, even though we knew she would be taken from us.

“But still we had hope. For we had been given a task. Our only task, the reason we had been created. We were to protect the Holy Child. Protect her from those whom we knew would try to steal her away from us.

“We knew when they would come. We knew what they would do. We knew their powers and abilities—”

Vrin paused. Agatha could see that she was shaken by these memories. The two Geisterdamen reached out and touched her shoulders in support. She took a deep breath and continued.

“And yet, knowing all that, we still failed. We failed utterly. The enemies of our Lady were too strong. Our Lady was taken from us and the Child had been stolen. There were no more prophecies. It was The End of History.