Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (19 page)

Krosp sniffed at an empty china bowl. “It’s easier for these guys. They have less to hide.”

Agatha thought about some of the devices she had glimpsed before she had blasted the monster horse apart. “I don’t know about
that
. But even if that is the case, I can still learn a lot from them.”

Krosp had opened a door and removed a covered plate. He lifted the lid and discovered a wheel of buttery yellow cheese. He sniffed approvingly, and bit off a sizeable chunk. Agatha swatted the back of his head in disgust as she scolded him. “Krosp! Manners!” The cat blinked resentfully, but carefully took a knife and cut a thick wedge off of the unbroken side of the cheese. He passed it to Agatha and went back to gnawing away at the rest. “The problem is that because they’re trying so hard to appear harmless, they’re vulnerable.”

Agatha was thoughtful. “Yes, they can’t carry around anything unusually powerful without giving themselves away. Hiding really big stuff would be hard.” She paused for a moment as an idea percolated in her mind. “Hmmm… I’ll bet I could do it.”

Krosp’s ears flattened with alarm. Agatha didn’t notice. “Yesssss—” her voice intensified, “With the tools and materials available, why, I could build defenses that would keep them safe from
anyone
!”

Krosp waved his paws. “Whoa, whoa! Without being obvious? The whole idea is to look innocuous, remember? Anyway, they probably won’t want to let you mess around with their stuff!”

Agatha was excited now. “Plans!” she declared. ”I’ll draw up plans and they can
see
what I can do.”

Krosp considered this and nodded grudgingly. “That should give them some
warning
, anyway. Hold on…” He opened an upper cupboard and returned with a stack of paper and some pencils.

Agatha snatched them from his paws and began sketching furiously. “When I’m done,” she declared, “we’ll be the most normal-looking circus on the face of the earth!”

Krosp rolled his eyes. “Very reassuring.”

Hours later, the first subtle hints of dawn began to appear. Krosp was curled up inside an earthenware bowl that a few hours ago had contained a black pudding. Now, the pudding was contained within Krosp. Agatha was still hunched over the table. Beside her, the lamp guttered, and with a final puff, went out. She blinked and sat back, her back popping faintly. She stretched mightily, and looked slightly astonished at the blizzard of paper strewn about the little room.

With a sigh, she began collecting the papers, pausing to examine each one as she picked it up. Hearing her chuckle, Krosp came awake with a grunt, stretching all four legs upward in a huge yawn. “Done?” he asked.

Agatha nodded proudly. “Uh-huh. Want to see?” She held up a page covered with intricate drawings.

Krosp’s brow furrowed. “What is this? A nutcracker?” He tilted the page slightly sideways, and realized that the “nuts” in the picture actually had tiny screaming faces. “AAAAHHH!” He shrieked and flung the paper away.

Agatha looked surprised. “What?”

Gingerly, Krosp picked up another page and examined it. He frowned and waved the page at Agatha accusingly. “A merry-go-round that can level a small town seems a bit… overboard for ‘self defense.’”

Agatha examined the plans. She didn’t remember drawing that one—it
was
pretty horrible. Still, she was rather pleased at how she’d drawn the fleeing townspeople.

“Well…” she hazarded, “It could be a really
evil
town…” She saw Krosp glaring at her. “Okay, okay.” She shuffled all the papers together with a touch of regret. “I doubt I’d need anything this extreme anyway.” A colossal yawn caught her by surprise. She looked out the window and, for the first time, noticed the predawn light. She glanced at Lars—he had slept soundly all through the night.

“I believe I am now ready to get some sleep,” she confessed. She turned in her seat and pain exploded throughout her frame. She froze—suddenly remembering the grueling workout Zeetha had put her through the day before. “Acetylsalicylic acid!” she gasped.

The cat looked around. “Where?
I
don’t see the acid.”

Agatha would have glared at him, but even her eyeballs ached. “No,” she said patiently, as she carefully hobbled forward, “I have to
find
some.” The wagon door swung open and there stood Zeetha, leaning on a sturdy crutch. She grinned when she saw Agatha.

“You’re awake! Eager for training, eh? Well, I’d
heard
Sparks were tough.”

Agatha realized that there was only one door to the wagon, and thus, no escape. “No,” she whispered.

Zeetha laughed and dragged her into the clear morning air. “No more mollycoddling!”

The wagon door shut. Krosp stared at it for a moment. Unfamiliar feelings surged through his tiny, feline heart. “Why, this must be pity,” he thought in wonder.

A snort from behind announced Lars’ return to consciousness. “Is someone here?”

Krosp leapt onto the bed and stood on Lars’ chest. “That would be me.” Lars looked up at him owlishly. “This is when you offer to feed me,” Krosp suggested helpfully.

Lars nodded fuzzily and pushed Krosp aside. He climbed out of bed, freshened up at a washbowl, and began looking through the cupboards. A frown crept across his features as he peered into one empty container after another. “Where’d Agatha go?” He asked as he upended an empty pitcher. “Off to bed? I’ll bet she was pretty beat.”

A faraway bleat of pain caused Krosp’s ears to twitch. “She will be.”

To Krosp’s horror, Lars then noticed the stack of paper on the table. “Wow.
She
was busy.” He picked up the top sheet and frowned. “Is this some sort of cherry pitter?” He tilted the page slightly sideways—

“Hey! I smell food!” Krosp yowled, grabbing at Lars’ pants. “Open the door! Let me out! Hey! Hey! Open the door! Hey!”

Lars paused. A tantalizing aroma was indeed coming from somewhere outside. He tossed the paper back onto the table and opened the door.

“Is that breakfast I smell?” Lars called out cheerfully as he marched through the tall grass outside the camp. Abner looked up from beside the embers of the fire. A few glowing bones poked out of the pile of ash.

Lars stopped dead and looked sick. “Er—I sure hope not.” he muttered.

Abner grinned. He was enveloped by a huge quilt, the remains of a leisurely picnic strewn at his feet. Still asleep, but cuddled close up against him, was Pix.

“Mornin’, Lars,” Abner said softly. He nodded in the direction of the pyre. “Doesn’t look so scary now, does it?”

Lars looked askance at the fire. “That depends. What’s for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal—”

Lars looked relieved.

“À la monster!” Abner crowed.

“Half-wit.” Lars growled.

His friend shrugged modestly. “It’s a gift.”

Lars agreed that indeed it was. Pix made a small contented sound in her sleep and snuggled in closer to Abner.

Lars raised an eyebrow. “Pix sure looks happy.”

Abner smiled at her tenderly. “We sat up all night watching this thing burn.”

Lars looked impressed. “Wow. And I thought
I
knew how to show a girl a good time.”

Abner shrugged. “Well, we had a good long talk.”

Lars looked stern. “Just talked?” He asked skeptically.

“Just talked.”

“Hmph. You look pretty happy for a couple who ‘just talked.’”

Abner grinned again in a way that had Lars rolling his eyes. “Guess we liked what we heard.”

Master Payne strolled up. “Good morning, all. Ready to go, Lars?”

Lars gave a small bow. “I can eat in the saddle, so all I have to do is find some breakfast and my partner in crime, and we can set out.”

Payne nodded. “Excellent. Augie has been ready to go for the last half hour. He’s waiting for you near my cart, looking over maps and calling you several interesting and creative names. He’s got your horse all saddled,
and
he’s got your breakfast—so get going. The sooner we’re away from here, the better, and I daresay the ladies in the towns ahead are waiting.” Lars trotted off obediently.

When Lars had gone, Payne selected one of the iron cooking spits and poked at the remaining bones, peering curiously into the ashes. “So,” he asked. “I don’t suppose there was anything
interesting
hidden within our monster here? Jeweled heart? Enchanted princess?”

Abner shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. For what it’s worth, it smelled like horse.”

“Pity. Well, we’ll just have to come up with something interesting ourselves. We’ll make a good story out of it
²³
.”

Zeetha came toward them, leaning heavily on her crutch. She carried Agatha slung over her shoulder. When she saw the two showmen she rolled her eyes and grumbled: “Bah! Novices today! Ask them to move some rocks and they just collapse.”

“I think she was up all night, watching Lars,” Master Payne remarked.

Zeetha looked surprised, and then delivered a sharp smack to Agatha’s backside. “Idiot! You have to
tell
me these things!” When this got no response, Zeetha looked worried.

“Lars is getting ready to ride out, put her in his bed.” Master Payne ordered. “He won’t mind, and I’ll have Rivet drive the Baba Yaga today.”

“Yeah, okay. That’ll be good.” Zeetha agreed. “That chicken thing moves like a drunk.” She carried Agatha off toward the wagons.

Everyone was eager to be on the move as soon as possible, and the camp was a flurry of activity. Horses were being hitched, fuel added to boilers, and belongings stowed.

Lars and Augie were already mounted, Lars on a long-legged black stallion and Augie on a stout Serbian Clicking-Horse. They were nearly ready to head out, but first they joined the point riders, who were still busy making a thorough check of their equipment and mounts.

These three would escort the caravan, keeping watch for any trouble as they rode. Pushed up onto their foreheads were strangely-designed goggles that could give them spectacular views of the surrounding landscape as they rode. The five men took a few minutes to discuss the route ahead and compare maps. When they were done, they drew their swords and formally saluted each other. Then, Lars and Augie galloped away down the road. The point riders set out at a more sedate pace.

This was the signal for Abner to blow the “ten minute” whistle. Everyone was now putting out the remaining fires, tightening straps and climbing aboard wagons.

The Circus Master’s wagon was the first to set out, its brilliant black and orange roof tiles gleaming in the morning sun. It was pulled by a towering, snow-white draft horse and a sleek black mule with a long twisting horn rising between its fuzzy ears.

As the next wagon began to roll, Payne stood upon the footboard and called out: “A fair road to us all, my friends! And now—a little traveling music, if you please!”

At this, Balthazar, sitting on the roof of his family’s wagon, struck up a jaunty melody on his horn. André had found the bizarrely twisted, multi-belled instrument in an abandoned pawnshop, and then had never been able to get a note out of it. Balthazar, however,
could
get notes out of it, lots of them, and of great variety. And, as the horn was big, shiny, and terrifically loud, the boy had become extremely attached to it. He practiced with it constantly, knew lots of songs, and now played well enough that the rest of the troupe’s “joking” attempts to hide the instrument had all but stopped.

To the curious music of the horn, alternately blasting like an elephant and twittering like a flock of tiny birds, the wagons pulled one-by-one onto the road and rumbled along toward their next show.

The ancient road that originally stretched from Imperial Rome to the Thracian province of Dacia was still the preferred route for anyone who traveled through the region. Although there were places damaged by time and weather, it was mostly in good repair—more so as one approached a town or castle. Travel became easier as the circus left the wilder parts of the Wastelands behind them, and traffic in both directions increased.

Still, as the wagons bumped along the weathered paving stones, Master Payne sat with his eyes turned skyward. Every time the wagon jolted through a hole where a stone had gone missing, the idea of retiring the venerable caravan wagons and outfitting a set of circus dirigibles sounded better and better.

This was not a new thought. It was an idea often raised after the troupe had escaped some monster, dodged bandits, or fought off a horde of cannibalistic mole-people. In other words, the subject was on the Circus Master’s mind a lot.

He was intrigued by, and not a little envious of, the new wagon belonging to Herr Helios, the aerialist. It was little more than a traditional wagon suspended from a small blimp. It had no engines, so the strange little aerial cart had to be towed along whenever the show traveled, but it gave the Circus a nice touch of the exotic and looked good when they paraded into town. Once, though, the tow rope had broken, and only luck and the quick action of Professor Moonsock and her trained albatross had prevented Herr Helios from drifting away to parts unknown.

But Payne considered Helios’ craft to be an intriguing “first draft.” He took a clinical pleasure in each new design flaw Herr Helios encountered. Imagining how he would prevent similar problems with his own, at-this-point-theoretical, airship was an amusing way to pass the long hours of travel.

Marie, who was driving, easily recognized the dreamy look in her husband’s eyes. She glanced at the sky and pulled a face, but left him to his thoughts. Although she had qualms about abandoning the traditional wagons, she suspected that most of them boiled down to an irrational fear of rolling out of her bed and falling five hundred meters to the ground.

She’d just told herself that if Payne ever did get hold of an airship, she’d just have to brew up something that would keep her afloat. This line of thought had produced some intriguing speculations.

And thus, dreaming their respective dreams, the circus rolled on.