Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 8

Over the next several courses, Agatha chatted away, cheerfully answering the occasional question, and recounting her experiences of the last several months.

A small growing voice of alarm from somewhere deep within her head vainly tried to get her attention, but was easily overridden by her mouth, which babbled on.

The only time she paused was when she was talking about Gilgamesh. She was giving the facts of her final encounter in a clear steady voice, but a distant part of her noticed that her eyes were streaming almost nonstop, and there was a discernible huskiness to her voice. How sad.

“I suppose I’ll never see him again. If I’m lucky.” She took a deep breath and smiled at the Prince. “And this is a simply lovely torte.” She then collapsed face forward onto her dessert.

There was a pause, as everyone in the room waited to see if this was the end of the show. After a few moments, Agatha began softly humming some sort of waltz. The Prince impatiently waved over a server, took the decanter that had contained Agatha’s wine, and gave it a sniff.

“Hmm. I think I used a bit too much on her.”

Tarvek had pulled Agatha’s face up and was gently cleaning it with a warm cloth that another servant had handed to him. “You think?”

Agatha’s eyes focused on Tarvek and a wide smile spread over her face. “You’re very cute,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t think I picked out this ugly dress.” Tarvek’s face reddened slightly as he finished up.

“Oh dear,” tittered Anevka, “Here I thought she was telling the truth and now it’s obvious that the poor girl’s been hallucinating.”

“Shut up!” Tarvek felt flushed. Within his head, plans and schemes were shattering and reassembling themselves into new configurations at lightning speed.

The rest of the family stood, and Aaronev ordered a pair of sturdy servants to hoist Agatha to her feet. “I feel very strange,” she confided to one of them. “Zeetha will laugh at me.”

The Prince was ebullient, dancing in place and rubbing his hands together. “Come! Bring her! I have everything prepared!” Tarvek and Anevka glanced at each other. The young man spoke hesitantly. “But father, wait. Shouldn’t we—” he thought frantically for a second. “Shouldn’t we send for some of the others? They’d want to be present for something so momentous.”

Anevka chimed in. “Father, even if you’re sure she is The One, this is a terrible idea. You could kill her.”

Aaronev waved this away. “Bah! The others died because they were not her! It’s as simple as that. I have manipulated every other variable and failed.” He glanced at his daughter, and a brief flicker of remorse flashed across his face. “You should know that better than anyone, Anevka.”

The clank girl’s eyes clicked once. “I do, father.”

They had been hurrying along the corridors of the palace. Servants scurried before them, lighting lamps and opening doors, but at the last set of doors they opened the doors and stood back. The royal party swept through, and Tarvek closed and locked the doors behind them.

The large room they were now in had once been the castle’s chapel. Graceful lines arced upwards for several stories, and one could see where thin, arched windows had lined the walls. These were now bricked over, and the naves were filled with glowing banks of machinery. Dominating the central area was a tall, angular device. It had multiple rods and couplings that joined the ceiling, without regard to the religious pictures that could still be faintly seen there. At the base was a peculiar looking throne. The seat was studded with contacts and a set of ominous-looking straps were attached to the armrests. From a rack overhead, a cluster of vaguely non-Euclidian crystal rods pointed straight down, directly to where the chairs’ hapless occupant would reside.

Aaronev took a moment to examine Agatha. With a few deft movements, he removed the various ornaments and jewelry that had been placed in her hair, along with her glasses. “No, this time—” he muttered, “This time, it will work!” He spoke to the two servants carrying Agatha. “Strap her in!”

The two did so, with a quiet efficiency. Then, at Aaronev’s quick dismissal, they bowed and quickly exited, relocking the doors behind them.

Tarvek moved closer. “Father. Don’t do this.”

Aaronev darted about the throne, checking settings and adjusting dials. “I must! Our family has been given a sacred task! I will complete it! I will prove that I am still worthy to lead The Order!” He made a final adjustment and turned to Tarvek, who was alarmed at the gleam he saw in his father’s eyes. “And I will see her again,” he whispered.

Tarvek tried again. “You can’t be sure—”

Aaronev’s hand whipped out and Tarvek found his coat clutched in an iron grip. When Aaronev spoke it was with the strength and assurance of a powerful Spark in full burn. “Of course I’m sure! The harmonic readings are perfect! The people obeyed her! She confessed to being Lucrezia’s daughter! This is The Child!”

He released Tarvek and made a final adjustment. He turned to his daughter, who had glided up behind him. “Anevka, you know, don’t you? Tell your brother that I am correct.”

Anevka nodded. “I do believe that he is correct, brother. Therefore—” She reached out and clutched her father’s head. Aaronev didn’t even have a chance to register surprise before a bolt of electricity arced through him. He jerked once and his clothes and hair burst into flame. The crackling blue discharge surrounded him for several seconds before it cut off, and he collapsed to the ground, smoldering.

Anevka’s outfit and wig had been burned away. Revealing a grey metal manikin. Various blobs of half-melted jewelry clung at her throat and wrists. She looked down at her carbon-smeared body and tsked. “That,” she announced to no one in particular, “was my favorite dress.”

This broke the spell that had frozen Tarvek. “Anevka, what the hell—!”

Anevka interrupted. “Do you know how many girls father’s destroyed in that machine? Do you?” Tarvek shut his mouth. Anevka stepped closer. “I do! The only thing that could have possibly made it all worse would have been if he had actually succeeded. And make no mistake. He would have. She is the one!”

Agatha, who had been half-heartedly struggling against the chair’s restraints, looked up at this. It was obvious that she was still disorientated. She peered down at the remains of Aaronev and a faintly disturbed look crossed her features. “Did you do that just for me?” She thought about this. “Should I thank you?”

Anevka strode up to her and tilted her head to one side. “Don’t be silly, girl.” She reached up and extended a finger, which she lightly tapped against Agatha’s forehead. A short burst of electricity arced and Agatha collapsed. “I have my own use for you.”

Tarvek felt an unexpected pang of concern. He knelt and lifted Agatha’s head, checked her pulse and gently rolled back an eyelid. “But shouldn’t we—”

Anevka imperiously waved him into silence. “Come along, brother, the clock is ticking now, and we have much to do.”

Several hours later, there was a frantic knocking at the door to Master Payne’s wagon. After the show, the troupe had packed up and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. But Agatha had failed to return, and a growing unease had begun to permeate the group.

Eventually, Payne had insisted that the drivers, and anyone else who could, should try to get some sleep. He had ostensibly done so himself, but despite the fact that he and the Countess had burrowed beneath their comforters several hours ago, the instant the first knock sounded, Payne had bounded to his feet, still dressed, a small pistol magically appearing in his hand. The Countess’ feet had yet to touch the floor, but the rifle she drew from beneath the covers moved without hesitation.

Payne moved up to the door and listened for a moment, shook himself, and suddenly appeared a lot more rumpled and sleepy. He slowly opened the door, concealing the pistol behind the door. “Yes?”

A few steps below him was a squad of Sturmhalten soldiers. Abner was bracketed by a pair of them. Zeetha stood to one side, next to Yeti. To anyone else, she would have looked merely nervous, but Payne could see that she was a fraction of a second away from drawing her swords. That wasn’t good.

A Captain stood before him. The man stared a bit too long at the hidden hand holding the pistol behind the door. Payne switched mental gears. This required finesse. With a flick of his wrist he slid the pistol out of sight up his sleeve as he slowly—very slowly—brought his hand out from behind the door and scratched at his chin.

The Captain relaxed slightly. “Evening, sir,” he said, while sketching out the half salute that soldiers gave civilians they were supposed to be polite to. “Are you the master of this circus?”

Payne nodded cautiously. “I am.”

The Captain drew a small note from his pocket and scrutinized it in such a way that Payne knew he had it memorized. “You were traveling with one Olga Žiga?”

Oh, this definitely didn’t look good. “Yes, but at the moment she is at the palace—a guest of your Prince.”

The Captain nodded. “Indeed she is, sir.” He paused, and ran an eye over the other circus members who were quietly collecting. “Were you aware that this ‘Madame Olga’ is a fugitive? Wanted by Baron Wulfenbach himself?”

This was unexpected, and Payne was honestly taken aback, which was handy, as it helped with the lying. “No! Of course not!”

The Captain nodded. “Yes, that’s just what the Prince told me you’d say. Well you’ve had a lucky escape, sir. As have we all, I suspect. No telling what she’s capable of if the Baron’s after her, eh?”

Payne felt the jaws of the trap close. Intellectually he had to admire the way it was done.

The Captain continued. “Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, eh?” He ostentatiously fished about in a courier’s pouch at his belt and hauled out a leather pouch adorned with the seal of the royal family. It clinked as he tossed it from hand to hand. “Prince Aaronev has sent you this reward! Mighty generous says I, but ‘no bless obli cheese,’ says he.”

Payne blinked. “...Does he?”

The Captain nodded as he handed the money over. “All the time.” As Payne took the money, the Captain’s hand tightened. Their eyes locked. When the Captain spoke again, the easy-going tone he had effected had vanished from his voice. “He also says that, for everyone’s safety, he thinks it best if you and your good people leave town.”

Payne licked his lips. “But it’s—”

In his best parade ground voice, the Captain merely said, “Now.” The rest of the soldiers present straightened and presented arms with a snap. “Your escort is waiting.”

Payne knew when to cut his losses. “We’re moving out,” he roared to the half a hundred hidden ears he knew were listening. A part of his mind noted without surprise that Zeetha had vanished.

In a surprisingly short time, the circus was on the move. The streets of the town were empty. A mist had drifted down from the surrounding mountains, giving the electric streetlights a glowing blue halo. Along the route, 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 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. The end of our world.”

Vrin stared bleakly at Agatha in silence. Then, astonishingly, she smiled. “But when your world ends, apparently a new one glides in to take its place. The sun rose. The stars wheeled across the sky. Sisters realized they were getting hungry. So... we sat down and ate. It was the last meal and the first.

“We bid farewell to the dead. We rebuilt The City of Silver Light. We welcomed New Children. We worshipped the Lady, because we had never worshipped anything else. Perhaps, wherever she was, our prayers would help her.”

Vrin took a deep sigh. “And then, our prayers were answered. They were answered with rage and fury. With pain and fire. Our Mistress did indeed return. This time, she appeared in her most terrible aspect, The Lady of Sharp Crystal, who had not been seen for over fifty generations. She purged the High Priesthood with the burning light when she learned that we had failed to protect the Child. She purged the Commanders. The Artisans. We feared she would purge us all.

“After the burning, she embarked upon a Great Building. Nonstop we worked. Almost two hundred of our sisters died before she was finished. Then came the greatest punishment of all.

“Three thousand of The White Elite were selected. Warriors, scientists, adjudicators, facilitators—none of the clans were spared. We were assembled and then marched through the One-Sided Door and exiled here, to The Shadow World.”

Vrin looked tired now. “Our only task is to search this wretched place until we find the missing child.” The other two Geisterdamen again gently stroked her shoulders. Vrin reached up and softly patted their hands. “We have been here... through fourteen winters now, with no one we could trust but ourselves.”

She released the other women’s hands and leaned towards Agatha. “Even if we found her, I... suspect we will never be allowed to return to the City of Silver Light. No one ever returns through the One-Sided Door, though many swore they would try. We will die here.” Suddenly, she straightened up and her gaze hardened. “But if we do succeed, our sisters back home may once again see The Lady in her Joyous Aspect, and once again live in happiness.”

Agatha paused, but that seemed to be the end. “There’s a lot of that I don’t understand.”

Vrin stood up, and a sardonic smile briefly crossed her face. “Hardly surprising. Apparently here in The Shadow World, one’s Gods rarely show up on a daily basis.” She glanced at the surrounding cell. “I cannot say I blame them.”

Agatha thought. “But what does—did Prince Aaronev have to do with all this?”

Vrin hesitated, and then shrugged. “In this world, the Lady was known to the people as Lucrezia Mongfish.” She paused, but Agatha resisted the temptation to interrupt.

Vrin nodded approvingly. “She had many allies. Some secret, some not. Prince Aaronev was always amongst the foremost of these. He was one of the leaders of a cabal of Sparks and their followers. All of them he pledged to Our Lady’s service. As a reward, he was entrusted with her most sacred devices.” Vrin paused. “He was really killed because of you?”

Agatha nodded. “He had placed me in some sort of machine. Anevka didn’t want it activated.”

Vrin shook her head. “I must confess,” she admitted ruefully, “I had never fully... trusted him. Apparently I did him a great disservice. I know that some voices in his Order grumbled at serving Our Lady. They claimed that furthering her agenda was not a part of their original charter or some such. With Aaronev gone, I do not know whether the Order’s loyalty will fade as well. Some embrace The Lady, but...”

She sighed and leaned back. “But his children are our biggest threat now. Anevka anyway. Tarvek is annoying, but spineless.” She looked around the cell. “It would be simpler to stay in here forever.”

Agatha puffed a lock of hair out of her face. “You may get your wish.” She waved the lockpick. “Any of you want to have a go at this?”

Vrin shook her head. “None of us are artificers. I think you’d have better luck giving it to your little contraption.”

Agatha sat back and looked at her. “That’s not a bad idea!”

She squatted down before the little clank, which looked at her curiously. She held up the lock pick. “Here! Can you use this to get out of here?”

She handed the tool to the clank. The clank took the pick and examined it with interest. Then it dashed over to an iron drain grate in the stone floor. It jammed the end of the pick under the grate and with a twist, popped it off the floor. Then, with a sound that sounded suspiciously like “wheeee”—it dropped down into the darkness, taking the lock pick with it.

Everyone looked blankly at the hole, but nothing happened. Vrin looked at Agatha reproachfully. “I wasn’t being serious,” she said.

At that moment, there was a “chunk,” from the door, which swung open. Standing in the dim light stood Tinka.

She stepped forward. “Mi—mi—Miss Clay must come—come—come with me now. Y—y—you others stay—stay here, please.”

Agatha and Vrin looked at each other. “The guards,” Vrin said carefully. “Where are the guards?”

Tinka’s head jerked towards her. “They—they are sleeee—sleeping.” Her head snapped back to Agatha. “Miss Clay wi—wi—will come with me n—n—now.”

Vrin nodded reasonably. “Of course. Eotain. Shurdlu. Smanga tik tik.”

With a sudden burst of speed, the two Geisterdamen bracketed Tinka and grabbed her arms. The mechanical girl swiveled to look at each of them in turn. “Oh. You—you—you are very fast.”

“Zoda hoy,” Shurdlu affirmed.

There was a bright blue flash and the two spider riders dropped senseless to the floor. Tinka snapped forward and her palm smacked against Vrin’s forehead and delivered another electric shock before the woman had taken two steps. As she collapsed to the floor, Tinka turned to Agatha. A thin wisp of smoke came from her outfit. “Now they—ey—ey will sleep too.” She stepped closer to Agatha. “Miss Cl—Cl—Clay will co—come with me now.”

Agatha nodded. “All right. But first...” She deliberately took a minute to lay the stunned Geisterdamen into more comfortable positions before she accompanied the mechanical girl out of the cell. Tinka paused to twist the key in the cell door lock.

Agatha saw three uniformed men, who were obviously guards, slumped upon the floor. Tinka went to the far door, looked out, and then beckoned Agatha to follow.

Despite Tinka’s jerky movements, they moved silently through the surprisingly empty halls. Earlier, there had always been a servant going somewhere or doing something, but now, it seemed like they were the only living things moving through the castle. Agatha regarded the Muse with a slight feeling of dread.

Agatha felt a rush of relief when they stopped at an ornate door and Tinka knocked softly. The door opened to reveal Tarvek, who beamed upon seeing Agatha. Tinka tried to perform a curtsey, but banged her head into the doorframe. “Hi—high—Highness. I—I—I have brought her.”

They stepped into the room and Agatha gave a start as she saw—“Moxana!”

The automaton gracefully nodded towards her. Tarvek practically clapped his hands in glee. “Yes! Isn’t she marvelous?” He gestured to the other mechanical. “Tinka went out of the castle, found your circus, and brought her back here—all by herself! It’s extraordinary!”

Agatha looked at the malfunctioning clank with mixed feelings. “Tinka and Moxana were always close.”

Tarvek nodded. “Having Moxana here will make repairing Tinka ever so much easier. Especially—” and here one could see that there was a very real possibility that Tarvek would combust from sheer glee—“She even brought me some of Van Rijn’s notes!” And to Agatha’s shock, he produced the battered folio that Moxana had given her.

“That was in my wagon!” she protested.

Tarvek ignored her. “I’m going to find the other Muses. I’m going to rebuild them all!”

Agatha turned to Tinka. “But,” she asked. “Why? Why did you bring him Moxana? Master Payne said you were stolen. These people damaged you.”

The mechanical nodded. “T—th—that was unfortunat—t—te. But soon all will be—be—be well. Because while here I learned that Prince Tarvek isssszzz—erk! The one we—we—we were made for.”

Agatha turned to Tarvek. “Made for?” She shook her head. “If they were made for anyone, they were made for The Storm King.”

Tarvek paused, and then shrugged modestly. “Yes, well, I am The Storm King.”

On the face of it, this was rather analogous to someone admitting that he was the White Rabbit of the Equinox. Agatha decided to treat Prince Tarvek the way that she always treated Professor Rollipod back at the University[49].

“Do tell!” She cooed. “That’s very nice! Would you like some juice, your majesty?”

Tarvek looked at her with a tired annoyance. “Stop it. I don’t think I’m old Andronicus Valois. But I am his direct descendant, through my mother, which is why my last name isn’t Valois. The lineage has been guarded and preserved by the Sturmvarous family for ten generations, and if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll make you sit through a recitation of the entire genealogy.”

Agatha couldn’t stop looking at him, but she tried to do so differently. If true, this was astonishing news. There hadn’t been a Storm King for almost two centuries. Occasionally, one appeared in some of the more obscure Heterodyne Plays, but they weren’t popular, if only because too many people found the idea of a new Storm King to be too implausible.

Tarvek continued, eyeing her carefully. “It’s quite the family secret. You can imagine what would happen if it got out. But apparently these two—” he indicated Tinka and Moxana, “—Trust you, so I shall as well.”

Agatha nodded slowly. “I think I know something about having explosive family secrets.” She paused. The memories of what she talked about at dinner were weirdly distorted, but accessible. “That is, if I still have them...”

Tarvek looked embarrassed. “Of course you do. I won’t tell, my sister wants you dead, and no one will believe the servants.”

Agatha analyzed this, and was not completely reassured. Tarvek ran what he’d said through his head and came to a similar conclusion. “A living Heterodyne heir is too important to risk. But even if you weren’t a Heterodyne, I...” He looked at her earnestly. “I’d want to get you as far away from my sister as possible.”

Agatha nodded gratefully. “Won’t there be repercussions from her having... killed your father?”

Tarvek looked uncomfortable. “Quite possibly. It depends how perspicacious the Baron’s Questor[50] is, but Anevka can be very... convincing.” Seeing Agatha’s face, he tried to dispel the mood. “But that is not your problem. My father’s unexpected death has placed me under some obligations that I must deal with as soon as possible[51].”

Tarvek continued. “Tinka will guide you out of the castle.” He pulled an official looking note from an inner pocket of his coat. “This will insure that you are conveyed safely back to your friends at the circus. My father sent them packing early this morning, but I managed to have them detained outside of the city walls.”

Agatha took the note. “I’d better get there quickly. They’ll be very worried. You won’t have problems with your sister, will you?”

“Will I have problems with my...” Tarvek’s mouth quirked upwards. “You must be an only child. My sister will be furious, of course. But she requires maintenance, and for that she needs me. She’ll scream and throw things and demand that I let her kill someone, but the servants know to stay away from her at times like that.”

“That’s... good?” Agatha ventured.

Tarvek sighed. “In our household, that’s as good as it gets.” He stared at nothing for a moment, then visibly pulled himself together. Now, when he looked at Agatha, she was struck by the air of authority he displayed. “But by the Law of Succession and the Right of Inheritance, I am the Prince of Sturmhalten now. Protector of Balen’s Gap and Defender of the East. My sister will be controlled. As for you...” He considered Agatha as if he had never seen her before.

Agatha found herself flushing slightly under his scrutiny. Then, to her astonishment, he bowed. “Allow me to be the first to formally acknowledge you as the future Lady Heterodyne. It is my sincere hope, when everything is settled, that you would consider returning to Sturmhalten.”

Agatha’s eyebrows went up. “Returning?”

Tarvek smiled. “Oh yes, with a Heterodyne back in power, we’ll want to strengthen political ties with Mechanicsburg. But more importantly...” Here he faltered at bit and rubbed his neck. How annoying, he was acting like a tongue-tied schoolboy at his first dance. “I... um... I mean I personally... I would very much like it if you... came back... here... and wanted to aid me in reconstructing the Muses.”

“Me?” Agatha was startled. “Why me?”

Tarvek gently patted Moxana’s chair. “Moxana claims that you are a very strong Spark. I myself have found you intelligent, personable, quite comely—” Tarvek reddened as he realized what he’d said. “—And unlike my sister, or indeed most of the Sparks I have met, refreshingly sane.” Most of the last of this came out in a bit of a rush.

Agatha regarded the young man. To her surprise, she realized that his recitation of her assets had pleased her excessively. Again she felt a tingle run down her back. Working closely with Prince Sturmvarous could be interesting. Any mechanic with a scrap of curiosity would jump at the chance to work with actual Muses. She frowned. She did have to consider the realities of the household however. There was no question that Anevka was very dangerous. Tarvek seemed to sense her thoughts.

“I’m not saying stay now. In fact, I insist that you get as far away as you can from my sister’s influence for the moment. Give me time to work on her.” He smiled. “You’d only have to come back when you thought it was safe. If you’re really worried, I’ll build you a... a death ray or something.”

Agatha went slightly weak at the knees and she had to take a deep breath. “I... I think I might like that,” she said carefully.

Tarvek beamed. “Wonderful!” He gently took Agatha’s elbow. Another tingle ran up her arm from where his hand touched her skin. “But now, I’m afraid, you must be going, and I have things that must be done.”

Agatha took a step towards the door and then stopped. “Wait! What about the Geisterdamen?”

Tarvek frowned. “What about them?”

Agatha paused, unsure how much she wanted to reveal. She spoke carefully. “They claimed to...” Oh dear. How awkward. The word “worship,” while accurate, would no doubt lead to a very complicated discussion. A discussion Agatha realized that she would have to have, but possibly, not when she should be fleeing for her life from a mechanical homicidal maniac. “...know my mother.”

Tarvek frowned. “Yesss... I had heard a little about that, but I never really paid attention...” He looked at Agatha. “If Lucrezia Heterodyne was your mother...” He blinked. “Good lord. You must be this... child person they’re always going on about. Fascinating.” He pondered this for a second, and then forcibly shook himself, and again took Agatha’s elbow. “Rest assured that I’ll take good care of them. I’ll definitely try to find out a bit more about this... mythology they’ve built up. But now you really must be going!”

Agatha saw the sense in this, and soon Tinka was leading her through the now gloomy corridors of the castle. Tinka carried an ornate hand-cranked electric candelabra, that served more to distort the shadows and keep Agatha on edge than light their way. She tried to make conversation.

“It’s so quiet,” she whispered. “Where is everybody?”

“Most of the ser-servants are con-confined to the servant wing-ing-ing. The old P-P-Prince is dead. There are... pro... pro... procedures that must be observed. Tinka continued. “Prince Tarvek will take care of it. All will be well-ell-ell.”

Agatha had her doubts about the simplicity that Tinka seemed to take for granted. “I really think it’s a good thing that I’m leaving.”

“Our Prince agrees.” Tinka nodded and her head fell off. Her body took another step, froze, and then toppled forward to the carpet. Agatha gave a small scream of surprise.

From a shadowed alcove, the three Geisterdamen stepped forth, Eotain casually wiped her blade clean on the curtain. “Forgive us for taking so long to find you,” Vrin said with a slight smile.

The three didn’t look like they were going to attack her. Agatha pointed at the Muse’s head. The eyes blinked frantically. “You didn’t have to do that.” She looked at them again. “How did you get out?”

“Thanks to you.” Vrin brought her hand out into the light. Agatha’s small pocket-watch clank cheerfully waved the lock pick when it saw her. “Your little automunculous apparently went down the drain, climbed back up outside the cell door, and opened it from without.”

Agatha felt odd. “Oh good,” she said weakly. “It worked.”

Meanwhile Shrdlu had picked up Tinka’s head and brought it to Vrin. Tinka’s eyes were still blinking, and the mouth moved. Faintly, her voice could still be heard. “Miz-zirk—no—no—get away—zt! Now! Clax—!”

Vrin casually dropped the head to the floor. Agatha winced. “Where was this thing taking you?”

Agatha saw no reason to lie. “Out of the castle. Prince Tarvek wants me gone before the Baron sends someone to investigate his father’s death.” She paused. “He said he was going to take care of you too.”

Vrin looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Oh, I can well imagine that he would have ‘taken care of us.’” She nodded. “He is certainly correct about one thing. If The Wulfenbach Empire will be interfering here, then we must hurry.” She turned away. “Come with us.”

Agatha didn’t move. “I hate to leave Tinka like this—”

Vrin cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “You must leave with us.” She paused and visibly forced herself to be a bit less autocratic. “This is but a mechanism. We have permanently damaged nothing. It was already broken, and this is but another minor repair that Prince Tarvek can easily perform. You are the one that is in danger now, and I assure you, child, your safety is our chief concern.”

Agatha saw the logic in this, and so the four headed off. “This isn’t the way we were going,” Agatha quickly pointed out.

Vrin snorted, but didn’t slow down. “Sturmhalten Castle is not so much a castle, as a structure that contains secret passages. I don’t know where the tik tik was taking you, but I know where we must go now.”

Agatha followed for a moment, then asked, “So the late Prince Aaronev was a follower of... your Lady?”

Vrin frowned. “Supposedly. To hear him tell it, in his youth, they were... romantically involved.” She shrugged, “Or so he claimed. Our Lady never deigned to verify it, one way or the other. But in fairness, he always spoke of her with the proper reverence.” She was again silent, but Agatha could see that this was a topic she felt strongly about, and indeed, she shortly continued.

“But this entire family—” she shook her head. “All of them are as twisted and duplicitous as a sack of oiled snakes. One can never trust anything they say, even when they are speaking an obvious truth. I believe that Aaronev secretly hoped to learn how to use The Lady’s shk-mah for his own ends!”

She eyed Agatha expectantly, and seemed disappointed that this revelation had less impact on her than Vrin had expected.

“Ah,” Agatha said. “Her Shik Whatzis, you say. The impudence.”

Vrin glowered at her. “I believe the ignorant call them Slaver Wasps.”

Agatha stumbled, and only avoided slamming to the ground face-first because Eotain and Shrdlu grabbed her arms without breaking stride.

Agatha dug her heels in and dragged the whole group to a halt. “My mother was The Other?”

Vrin looked surprised. “You didn’t know?” She nodded. “Oh. Well, yes. Lucrezia Mongfish was the being known to The Shadow World as The Other.” She said this as if it as common knowledge[52].

This time Agatha did stop. “No! I can’t believe it! The Other was responsible for the revenants. The death of... of thousands! All the destruction—!”

The Geisterdamnen circled her, and looked at each other in confusion. Agatha ignored them. “But wait—” She reviewed her histories. “No—The Other attacked Castle Heterodyne and kidnapped Lucrezia Heterodyne. That’s how the whole thing started!”

Vrin gently clasped Agatha’s hand and pulled her down the hall. “Really? How interesting.”

Agatha’s head was so a-whirl with this latest revelation that it was several moments before she was again aware enough to take stock of her surroundings. The room the party was now half way through was large and dimly lit.

“This looks familiar...”

Vrin interrupted. “It is the castle chapel. We do much of our work here.”

Agatha shuddered as she remembered what had happened the last time she was here. “And what is it you do?”

Suddenly the three white ladies turned on her and forced her down into what Agatha realized was the same device that Prince Aaronev had strapped her into earlier that evening. She protested and thrashed mightily as she was buckled in. Vrin stood before a control panel. “We do what we always do. We serve the Goddess!” And she threw the switch.

A great cloud of electricity erupted around Agatha, enveloping the chair and its occupant. She felt a tingling dancing across her flesh for several seconds, and then, from behind her, the apparatus she was strapped into began to roar and vibrate. There was a great final scream of tortured machinery—and then only the sound of turbines winding down. Everywhere lights changed from red to green, and relays could be heard clacking down in sequence.

Agatha opened one eye. Nothing. She looked at herself. Nothing had changed. She looked around. She was still in the chapel. She was beginning to think it had all been some sort of pointless joke when she saw the three Geisterdamen. They were standing reverently, heads bowed, eyes closed, their hands intricately folded before their chests. Praying, Agatha realized. Next to them was a clock-like device. Its single hand was sweeping backwards and just as Agatha figured this all out, the hand hit zero. A great organ note boomed forth as a fresh wave of power cascaded down the device and poured directly into Agatha. Her head slammed back and she screamed as the energies swirled around her.

Suddenly the power cut off. Released from its grasp, she limply slumped forward. Throughout the apparatus, smoke poured from vents. Busbars had melted and fuses had overloaded.

The three Geisters opened their eyes and stared at the motionless girl before them. Shrdlu sighed. “I think we have killed another one.”

“NO!” Vrin violently shook her head in denial. “No! I was so sure! I am sure! This was the girl!” She looked at Agatha. “Have I erred? Can it be the machine itself that is flawed?”

A small moan came from the seated figure. All of the Geisters started in surprise. “She’s alive!” Vrin smacked the other two into action. “Get her out of there!”

Quickly, the restraints holding Agatha were removed. But even when released, she remained limp and made no voluntary motion. Suddenly she gasped and her eyes flew open to stare blankly at the three women leaning in towards her. “Hfgm,” she burbled.

Eotain looked distraught. “Well, at least she’s alive. Surely that counts for something—”

“Silence!” Vrin snapped. She grabbed Agatha’s jaw and pulled her face towards her own. “Can you understand me?” She spoke in the Geisterdamen’s own language.

Agatha looked at her owlishly. “Gominal,” she whispered. Vrin dropped her hand, turned away and sighed.

Shurdlu shrugged. “Another vegetable.”

Eotain looked unsure. Agatha was staring at the three now and feebly thrashing about in her seat. “I don’t know...” Eotain said slowly. “This one seems... different.”

Vrin’s head snapped up. Cold fury was reflected on her face. “No. She is gone.” Agatha’s hand twitched towards her, and clasped her sleeve. With a casual back hand, Vrin cracked Agatha across the face, spilling her out of the machine. “She is useless to us.”

Without another thought, she turned away, her mind already planning ahead. “Come,” she said to the others. “We must leave this place quickly.”

Shurdlu looked troubled. “You will leave The Lady’s devices in the hands of those children?”

“For the moment, we must. But we will be back. And then they will—”

“You did it!” This declaration stopped all three of the women dead. They whirled in surprise to find Agatha standing tall.

But... they all hesitated. It... wasn’t Agatha. The body language was all wrong. The girl before them looked directly at them and they involuntarily stepped back. A fire burned in her eyes that sent a shock of recognition through Vrin.

Agatha’s face was set in a delighted grin as she jerkily examined her arms. “You did it,” she repeated in delight. “I can’t believe it! You actually found her!” The Lady Lucrezia twirled in place and hugged herself in glee. “I’m back!”