Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 1

The little airship was losing altitude fast. Agatha could see the wild pine forests and mountain outcrops growing ever closer, and this worried her. She had guessed that her quick patch-job wouldn’t hold for long, but she had hoped it would last long enough for the stolen ship to get her over the mountains before nightfall. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She aimed toward a promising gap in the peaks, then, locking the wheel so the course would hold, killed the engines.

She turned to the center of the gondola and tugged at a likely ring in the floor, stumbling backward slightly as the heavy hatch first stuck, then swung open as if spring-loaded. She quickly scanned the mechanism it revealed, humming softly to herself. Then, she dragged a leather roll of tools to her side, flipped it open with a deft movement, and began to work.

She wasn’t even sure what mountains they were[1], or where she was, exactly. She knew she was traveling east, toward the sun rising behind the peaks.

Agatha had been insensible on the trip from her home in the University town of Beetleburg to the great airship city Castle Wulfenbach.[2] She now realized, with some annoyance, that in all the time she had spent on Castle Wulfenbach, she had never bothered to discover the present location and route of the gigantic airship as it continued its endless patrol of the Wulfenbach Empire. This morning’s escape could have begun practically anywhere over Europa.

Well, she thought, as she slammed the hatch and re-started the engines, it hardly mattered at the moment. Putting the mountains and their turbulent air currents between herself and any pursuit seemed like her best shot at escape. Once on the ground, she could worry about where she was. For now, anywhere but Castle Wulfenbach was her goal.

“Krosp—wake up.” She called to the gondola’s other occupant, a large white cat who yawned and stretched.

“What is it, Agatha? Pursuit?”

“No, but we’re starting to lose altitude.” She tapped a fingernail against a dial face. The needle within flicked briefly, then continued in its slow decent. “Pretty quickly, too, thanks to that hole Othar[3] shot in the envelope.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that patch would hold long.” The two of them scanned the ground. Dense forest covered a jagged landscape that occasionally revealed rocky spires. Patches of late snow still clung to the higher, more shaded dells. A multitude of streams and small rivers coursed through the numerous valleys. It looked like an absolutely terrible landscape to travel on foot.

“Can we at least clear that?” Krosp stopped licking one paw long enough to gesture toward an especially craggy mountain that loomed to one side of the gap.

“I think so.” Agatha said. “I’m going to try. I’ve made some changes to the ship’s engines—they’ll give us more speed for about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Then what?”

She considered this. “Then, they’ll start to explode. But don’t worry. The envelope doesn’t have that much time left anyway, from the look of it.”

Krosp gazed at her for a long moment. “I’m reassured. Thanks.”

Agatha continued, oblivious to the sarcasm in the cat’s voice. “But it should get us over the mountains before we’re scraping the tops of the trees. That’s assuming that the winds here don’t tear us to shreds, of course.”

Krosp’s ears twitched. “...Of course.”

The wind certainly tried. Krosp’s voice was drowned out by a sudden, screaming blast that hit the tiny airship from the starboard side—knocking the cat off his feet and sending him tumbling across the deck. He landed hard against a roughly carved trunk and grasped frantically at the netting that held it firmly lashed in place. As she lunged for the ship’s wheel, Agatha spared a glance backward, reassuring herself that Krosp hadn’t been blown over the side. There was nothing she could do for him in any case. She would have to trust in the cat’s own terror and claws to keep him safely on board through the worst of it.

The airship bounced to and fro. The wind first tossed it dangerously close to the sharp mountain crags—now nearly level with the ship’s engines, then picked it up and flung it even higher into the air. For a couple of sickening seconds, the gondola was blown fully sideways as the ship shot upward, just missing the cliff below.

Through all of it, the modified engines roared in protest, driving the ship ever faster ahead. Agatha hauled on the wheel, fighting to keep the ship—not steady, that was impossible—but at least pointing in roughly the right direction through the madness. If she could keep the ship above the tearing rocks below and pointed toward the gap in the mountains ahead, there was a chance she could get them through alive.

The winds whipped her hair into tangles across her face, tearing it from the strip of greasy rag she had used to tie it back while working on the engine. At least the flight goggles someone had left hanging from the dirigible controls fit over her glasses, but vision was still difficult. There was moisture in the morning air, and a cold mist was continually forming on the goggle lenses, then streaking away as the droplets condensed and blew aside.

The air above the mountains was icy. Agatha’s gloveless hands were growing raw and numb, making it difficult to hang on to the wheel. She grit her teeth, braced her feet, and hung on. Whenever she flew higher, vicious blasts of air—full of tiny particles of ice—stung her cheeks painfully. She winced and hung on, as the winds finally seemed to cooperate, driving the airship hard forward.

Suddenly, they were on the other side, the ground below dropping away as the rocky peaks turned to scrubby, bracken-blanketed slopes, then wooded, boulder-strewn foothills.

The wind was less ferocious here, but now the engines had nearly given out. The ship was roaring along—still forward, but now heading toward the ground at an alarming rate.

A quick glance upwards confirmed that the high winds over the mountains had torn out the patch and enlarged the hole in the ship’s envelope. The little craft would not remain airborne much longer. Agatha squinted at the landscape ahead: the glare of the newly risen sun made her eyes water, but as she looked out across the approaching valley she could see fields here and there between the trees, and light flashing on the surfaces of streams and ponds. She shut down the engines, allowing the ship’s forward momentum to carry it on its course.

“Aim for that field!” Krosp shouted. He had been hiding under a blanket during the worst of the trip over the mountains, but had now returned to Agatha’s elbow.

“I’ll aim for that pond!”

The ground was approaching faster now. Too fast. Mentally, Agatha paged through the manual she had studied, then glanced down, and kicked hard at a pedal on the floor beneath the controls. A series of jolts ran through the entire vessel—the emergency chutes had engaged. With luck, they would slow the ship to the point where its passengers might have a hope of surviving a crash landing.

Her concentration was broken by Krosp’s scream of anguish. “No! Anything but that! Land in the field! The field!” He grabbed the wheel with his small furry hands, and with his full weight, dragged it to the left.

“What are you doing! Stop that!” Agatha screamed as the ship lurched sideways. She jerked the wheel back, disengaging Krosp, who fell off with a furious yowl. The sudden lack of thirteen kilograms of frantic cat-creature dragging on the wheel caused Agatha to spin it much too hard in the opposite direction.

The ship missed the pond, skittering, bouncing, and then juddering through scrub bushes like a giant sled before coming to a rest neatly among the rocks on the pond’s bank.

After some minutes, Agatha realized that she was still alive and no longer moving. This was good. For several more minutes, she lay still, clutching the edge of the wrecked gondola and noting with a detached interest how long it took for her breathing to return to normal.

Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings, and the voice of Krosp somewhere nearby. “Agatha? Agatha! Hey! Agatha! Are you okay?”

Agatha moved her head. “Uhhh... yes... I think so...”

“Can you move?” Krosp’s voice sounded close. Where was he?

She answered. “Ughr... yes, I think so...”

“Then get off me!”

The tumbled heap of the gondola’s contents shifted beneath her as she hastily rolled to one side, and Krosp, grumbling, hissing, and slightly flatter than before, clawed his way out.

Agatha sat up and gingerly swung her legs around until she was sitting on the edge of the battered craft. She eyed the chaos with chagrin. Debris was smeared across what looked like almost a hundred meters, bracketing a huge scar that had been carved into the ground. It was obvious the airship wouldn’t be going anywhere.

She glared at her companion. “Look at this! It’s completely destroyed! There’s no way I can repair all this. We’re lucky we’re even alive! Why didn’t you let me land in the pond?”

Krosp glared at her, then his green eyes narrowed and he turned away to lick one paw. “Jeez. Then I would have gotten wet.”

Agatha rolled her eyes weakly, and let it pass. After a few long breaths and a quick self-examination, she realized that she was mostly unharmed. True, her clothing was torn and singed, she was covered in small cuts and bruises, and a large scrape on her leg was still bleeding, but none of that mattered. The important thing was that she could, she discovered after some wobbly experimentation, walk. Good. When the inevitable pursuit from Castle Wulfenbach arrived, she would be long gone.

Somewhat unsteadily, she got to her feet and watched Krosp. The cat had already shaken off the panic of the crash, smoothed his fur, and was now rummaging through the remains of the airship.

“Well, so much for traveling easily.” She said in disgust.

Krosp flicked an ear. “Yes, yes, mistakes were made. Now we should see what we’ve got to work wi—hey hey!” He sounded triumphant. “You know that chest we couldn’t open? Weapons locker!”

He pulled a decoratively etched metal cylinder out of the demolished box. It was connected by bare wires to a piece of unidentifiable machinery that had been housed in a now-shattered glass casing, and another ornamental piece that looked like it had once been an inlaid wooden grip. He held it up for inspection, its damaged parts dangling forlornly from his paws.

Agatha frowned as she leaned past Krosp to examine the rest of the stash. “They all look pretty messed up. I think something in here exploded. See? This box was smashed open from the inside.”

Krosp glanced at it again. “I’ll take your word for it. Can you fix them?”

Agatha looked at him askance. “Are you serious?”

Krosp nodded. “Absolutely. You do understand that we’re in the Wastelands, right?”

Agatha swallowed. It was true. Lost though she was, she could see that plain enough. After all, “The Wastelands” was simply a convenient, catch-all term for the parts of Europa that were not under direct human control... and there was a lot of that.

At their best, the Wastelands were simply vast stretches of untouched forest and wilderness, places where humans had never held sway. The dangers in these areas were usually those of the natural world, which, admittedly, could be formidable. But at their worst, the Wastelands could be terrifying.

The Sparks that had fought each other in the chaos that came to be known as “The Long War” had unleashed upon each other a most astonishing range of creations—monstrosities born of madness and fury that had left whole towns—whole kingdoms abandoned. The Wastelands at their worst were full of hazards of all descriptions.

Agatha had heard stories of roving bands of half-human brigands, mysterious poisoned fogs, and a vast bestiary of Spark-created monsters.

There were always explorers chasing rumors of lost civilizations, hunting rare beasts, or searching for treasure. Many of the once-inhabited areas of the Wastelands were now desolate due to the actions of Sparks.

In larger cities, and in University towns like Beetleburg, there was a brisk market for Spark-made devices salvaged from such ruins. It was common for adventurous undergrads from the University to brave the abandoned laboratories and castles in search of the secrets of their past inhabitants. Agatha thought of all the times these teams of explorers didn’t come back. Then, with a shudder, she thought of the other times, when they did come back. She remembered the bizarre stories they told, and the unspeakably strange specimens they often brought back with them. Perhaps some kind of weapon would be handy...

“There were some tools, I’ll see what I can do.” She lifted a brass tube, and then another, examining them with interest and making increasingly happy “hmm...” noises. Perhaps there was enough to work with here.

Now, Krosp was all business. “Right, then. You get to work. I’ll get everything we can use and try to cover the wreckage a bit. No point in making it easy to spot from the air.” He dived back into the wrecked gondola and retrieved a full pack, obviously left by one of the small airship’s previous passengers. There was a woolen blanket attached to the pack with leather straps. Krosp unbuckled it and laid it out on a clear space near Agatha.

“You can use this as your work bench, and I’ll stack what I find over here.” He said. “Hey! Are you listening?”

Agatha nodded distractedly. She was humming now, and laying out parts from the weapons locker and the nearby engine of the airship in neat rows along the edge. She found the roll of tools she had used on the engine. As she waded back through the debris, she gathered armfuls of interesting-looking stray parts. Finally, she staggered back to the blanket and dropped the lot with a crash.

Opening the roll of tools, she extracted a medium sized hammer, a chisel and a trio of wrenches. She spent several minutes tearing select items off of the airship’s now useless engine before once again carting an armload of interesting potential components back to her makeshift base.

Only then, surrounded by a satisfyingly varied amount of raw material, did Agatha begin to work.

About two hours later, she sat back and noticed a small stack of airship biscuits on a rock beside her. They were chewy and contained flavors Agatha had never encountered before, but she was so hungry that they tasted delicious.

Looking around, she saw that Krosp had been busy. All of the smaller boxes and items had been sorted and stacked around her. She vaguely remembered finding components readily to hand. She frowned. Sparks could be dangerously oblivious when they were deep within the grip of creation. She would have to try to keep this tendency under control, at least while they were out and exposed. The ability to construct a battle clank was of no use whatsoever if an enemy could simply walk up and brain you with a rock while you were busy tightening the screws.

The bulk of the wrecked ship had almost disappeared under a covering of stones and artistically arranged brush. A movement caught her eye. It was Krosp, climbing clumsily about in a tree, trying to detach the now deflated balloon. She hurried over and between the two of them, they managed to get it down and flat on the ground.

Krosp sat and surveyed it with annoyance. “How much of this do you think you can carry?”

Agatha lifted a corner of the treated silk and aero-canvas. “Depends how much else we have to haul, but it’s pretty light stuff.”

Krosp nodded. “Cut enough for a tent, and some more to keep you warm at night. We’ll have to cover the rest. I don’t want anything visible from the air.” Involuntarily they both peered up into the sky.

She unfolded a standard airshipman’s multiplex knife, and hacked free several square meters of fabric.

Aided by Krosp, she then folded the rest and stowed it out of sight beneath the closest stand of trees.

Then, she returned to her makeshift workbench, and returned with a strange device cradled in her arms. It was about sixty centimeters long and had obviously been constructed from parts of various weapons, as well as bits of the airship control panel, the ship’s generator, and one of the emergency pack’s can openers. It was held together with balloon sealant and wire. Krosp’s shoulders sagged. “That’s the best you could do?”

Agatha hugged the weapon possessively. “It’s what I had to work with.”

“Does it actually do anything?”

“Theoretically...” the rest of her statement wilted under Krosp’s unnerving stare. “...I hope so,” Agatha admitted. She swung the stock up to her shoulder, and found a chunk of the airship rudder that had escaped Krosp’s clean-up. It was several meters up, wedged in a crack in the rocky hill. She sighted on it and squeezed the trigger.

There was a crackle of energy, a smell of burnt hair, and at least five square meters of rock vaporized in a ball of blue flame. Krosp stared aghast at the new crater in the hillside, which was already cooling with a series of pops and clinks. He turned to see Agatha gazing delightedly at the weapon. A thin wisp of smoke arose from the interior of the mechanism and spiraled gently into the morning sky. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Very impressive,” Krosp muttered. He shook himself. “Okay. We’re done here. There’s no way we can cover that up. Let’s get going.”

As Agatha turned, he noticed that a little brass trilobite, the traditional symbol of the House of Heterodyne[4], had been attached to one side. He pointed with one claw and gave Agatha a sidelong, questioning look. “Hmm?”

“I found it in one of the packs. I guess it was Lilith’s. I... well, I figured if we’re going to be wandering strangers, we should at least look like we’re good guys. Lots of people wear them these days, you know. For good luck. They even sell them to tourists in Mechanicsburg, so nobody is going to see it and think we’re really connected with the actual family.”

“Hmf.” Krosp rolled his eyes. “Except, of course, that you are.”

Agatha sighed. “True. But the point is, nobody would guess that just because I’ve got a trilobite badge. They’ll just think: oh, look, another fan of the Heterodyne Boys.”

She hefted the pack that held the small amount of useful supplies Krosp had been able to find in the wreckage. “I think we’re going to need to find help soon. There really wasn’t a lot here.”

Krosp shook his head as he surveyed the site. “We’ve got the gun, some medical supplies and a little food.”

Agatha frowned. “Not nearly enough. It won’t last long.” She remembered the exploding hillside. “And I don’t think this gun is going to be of much use unless we’re planning on hunting leviathan.”

The cat waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll eat what I catch, and save what’s in the pack for an emergency.”

Agatha looked at him critically. “I thought you’d never been off of Castle Wulfenbach[5].”

“Hey, cats are natural hunters. We’re in tune with our environment wherever we go. Come on, we’ll be better hidden in that tall grass.”

Agatha peered ahead. “Those are trees.”

Krosp shrugged. “Whatever.”

Several hours later, night was beginning to fall. A delicious smell filled the clearing where Agatha leaned forward over a small fire and deftly rotated a set of sticks, each of which impaled a plump, sizzling sausage. Across from her sat Krosp, sullen, his fur matted and covered with bits of leaves and mould, glowering at the fire.

Finally, Agatha selected a sausage and nibbled at it tentatively. Satisfied that it was warmed through, she bit off the end and chewed, sighing with enjoyment. The hike had been challenging, but Agatha’s foster-parents had always insisted that anyone who spent their days in a machine shop required a stout pair of steel-toed boots as a matter of course. Today, these had served her well.

She held out the stick invitingly. “Come on, have a sausage.”

Krosp’s glare intensified. “Obviously, I’m not hungry.” A small growling sound from his midsection only caused his tail to lash a little faster.

Agatha did not help. “Hey, hunting out in the real world is different. You’ll get something eventually.”

“Of course I will. When I’m really hungry.” Krosp’s eyes were locked upon the sausage. Agatha amused herself by moving it gently from side to side and watching his eyes track it. Then she felt ashamed. She slid the sausage off the stick and onto a flat rock between the two of them, then resolutely ignored it.

“Maybe we can find a farm. We could—”

Krosp’s eyes jerked away from the sausage and he glared at Agatha. “No! They’d ask too many questions, and even if they didn’t, they’d remember us. People look after their own first. When the Baron comes searching for us, we’d just be strangers that passed by. They’d owe us nothing.”

“No, we’ll try to get as far as possible while we can. When we run out of saus—uh—supplies, then we resort to asking for help.”

Agatha nodded slowly. She pulled her glasses off and wiped them clean with her pocket handkerchief. “That’s as well thought out a plan as we’re going to get, I suppose. But at some point, we will 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 a well-worn homespun outfit, complete with a dashing green cap. His feet were bare, but if the calluses were any indication, this was their normal state. Tears glistened at his eyes. When he realized that the two below had seen him, he froze into immobility.

Agatha waved up at him. “Hello! Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you.” She looked around. There was no sign of human habitation near by. “Where are your parents?”

The boy slumped a bit. “I don’t know. I was playing, and now I can’t find my way back.” By the end of this statement, his voice had begun to quaver.

Krosp looked at him speculatively, showing a small amount of tooth. “Really. Well, well. Our search for provisions might be over.”

Ugh. Well, the cat was a monster created by a twisted mad scientist. Apparently he had learned all about military strategy, but still needed some lessons in manners. Agatha clouted him sharply on the head. “No!”

Krosp looked offended. “What?”

Agatha lowered her voice. “We’re the good guys, remember? We do not eat children. We do not even threaten to eat children. He is not ‘Provisions.’”

Krosp’s ears flattened. “Whaaaat?! Why not? It’s up in a tree! Maybe it’s a bird!”

“He talks!”

“Lots of things talk! Maybe it’s a parrot!”

“He’s not a bird!”

Krosp looked back up at the now fascinated boy. “Squirrel?” he hazarded.

This caused the boy to burst out in a fit of giggles. The girl and cat looked up at him in surprise.

“I didn’t know you were show people!”

Krosp looked at Agatha in confusion. “Show people? What’s that? Can you eat them? Back on the Castle, Dr. Sanian had these little guys in jars, and they...” Agatha cut him off with another light cuff to the back of the head.

The boy nodded. “Whoo! Yeah! That’s a great talking cat act! Hit him again!”

Agatha glared at Krosp. “I might.”

“Hey!” Krosp stepped back and tripped over a log. He rolled over backward with his feet in the air, then leapt around in one twist and began licking a paw while glaring up at Agatha defensively.

At this the boy applauded and leapt from the tree. He hit the ground in a perfect tumbler’s roll, turned another somersault and a cartwheel, then bounced to his feet in one fluid movement. At the end of this performance, he held his arms out wide and shouted: “Ta-dah!” He held the pose, grinning, as if waiting for applause.

Agatha nodded. “So your parents are show people—” She paused. “uh... too?”

The boy nodded. “Yup. Master Payne’s Circus Of Adventure!”

Agatha was impressed. The way the boy said it, she could hear the capital letters. “So you don’t actually live around here?”

“Nope. Just passing through! Like cheap beer! Ba-dum-bum!”

Agatha blinked. “I... I beg your pardon?”

The boy shrugged. “That’s what my daddy always says. You can meet him when you take me home!”

Agatha looked helplessly at Krosp. “We’ll try.”

Krosp finished smoothing his fur, twitched his tail, and sighed. Then he effortlessly flowed up the tree. He closed his eyes and swiveled his head and ears while breathing deeply. Suddenly he froze and pointed. “I smell campfires and horses, and I can hear people calling from that direction.” He opened his eyes. “Is your name Balthazar?”

The boy nodded. Krosp made little shooing motions in the direction he’d pointed. “Fantastic. Off you go. Good luck, kid.”

Agatha hoisted up her gun and the two headed off. “All right, then. Let’s get you back to your family.”

“Huzzah!” the boy cried, throwing one fist into the air as he marched along.

Krosp stared after them and then, with a hiss, scrabbled back down the tree. He bounced directly into Agatha’s path. “Hey! Whoa! No people, remember?”

Agatha stepped around him. “I’m not going to send him off by himself.”

“Why not? He got here by himself!”

“And besides, he’s already seen us, and we do need that information.”

Krosp practically hopped up and down in frustration. “But I was going to be all sneaky!” he yowled.

The boy shook his head in admiration as he passed. “That is the greatest cat ever.”

Krosp glared at him, then sighed and followed.

Soon, they broke through a surrounding border of blackberry brush and found themselves on the flood plain near the river. The well-preserved remnants of a Roman road wound past, and an ancient stone bridge arced gracefully over the water.

Encamped there was a collection of mismatched vehicles arranged in a rough circle. Most were normal circus caravan wagons, extravagantly carved, gaudily painted and adorned with all kinds of banners and odd decorations. Traveling shows of all kinds visited Beetleburg, and Agatha had always attended as many as her guardians had allowed, but even so she was impressed by the variety before her.

One of the wagons appeared to be constructed from parts of an ornate locomotive. Steam gently poured from its large smokestack. Another had no wheels at all, but rode below a small blimp, suspended by a network of ropes. Some of the wagons were constructed of odd materials, some were built in strange configurations, but all were brightly colored, proclaiming the wonders they carried and abilities of their owners. Even now, merely paused in the middle of a field, Agatha thought it one of the most impressive-looking shows she had ever seen.

A number of people were about, tending fires or eating. The boy whooped and pointed excitedly. There sat a wagon whose shafts were gripped by a squat, troll-like clank with a huge grin and a smokestack on its head. Agatha eyed it with interest. Even at rest, the clank looked powerful enough to substitute for a team of horses. “That one’s my wagon!” He dashed forward, but was checked by a loud call to the right. “Balthazar!”

Without slowing, the boy veered about and ran straight into the arms of an obviously relieved young woman, who dropped an elaborate crutch and knelt to enfold him in her arms. “Mama!” He hugged her tightly. “I got lost!”

Agatha cleared her throat. “He’s yours then. Good.”

The woman looked up, surprised. She reached for her crutch with one hand, and thrust the boy behind her with the other. Agatha smiled awkwardly and tried to look harmless.

After a long moment, the woman relaxed and smiled back gingerly. “Yes, he is. Thank you.” She hugged the squirming boy tightly, “I was so worried.”

“We found him sitting in a tree. Um... I’m Agatha Clay.”

“Trish Belloptrix.”

Balthazar squirmed free. “She’s nice, Mama! She’s show people!”

Trish looked surprised. “Show people?”

Balthazar nodded vigorously, “Yeah! She’s got a great talking cat act!”

Trish looked at Krosp, who was rolling his eyes and gnawing on a piece of grass. “Cat act.”

Krosp waved a paw lazily. “Hey, howzit going?” he drawled.

Trish’s face hardened, and she raised an eyebrow as she reassessed Agatha. “That’s your ‘act’ is it?”[6]

Agatha pointed at Balthazar. “He called it an act. Not me. We’re not actually performers.”

Krosp shuffled from one foot to another and waved his paws in the air over his head. “And I can dance, too! Voh-dodi-o-doh...”

Trish adjusted her crutch and pulled herself erect, leaning on it lightly. Agatha noted that although the woman had just one leg and obviously relied on the crutch, her movements were graceful and controlled, like a dancer’s.

She was wearing a style dismissed in towns like Beetleburg as too rustic to be fashionable, but so elaborately embroidered that it looked more like an opera company’s version of a peasant’s dress, rather than the real thing. Still, Agatha could see that the clothing, while clean and well cared for, had been patched and mended numerous times. This was no costume, it was the everyday garb of a performer who lived her life in full view of her audience. It made sense. Most people found that traveling players were worth watching, even off stage. The general assumption was that, not being “from around here,” they were exotic and slightly dangerous. You never knew what they might do next.

Trish smiled again. This time the smile was more genuine. She chuckled as Krosp continued to hop back and forth, humming to himself and waving the blade of grass above his head. “Ah. The townies must love him.” She gestured back to the wagons. “Why don’t you come with me? We were just starting a late breakfast when I missed Balthazar. A meal is the least I can do.”

Agatha hesitated, “Well... I don’t want to be a bother...but...”

Krosp marched on ahead, grabbing the ragged end of Agatha’s skirt as he passed and pulling her behind him. “Let’s go. Food is always good.”

Trish scanned the tree line where they’d emerged. “But...where are the rest of your people?”

Agatha shook her head. “Oh, It’s just us.”

Trish looked shocked. “You’re walking around the Wastelands alone?”

Agatha nodded. “We were on an airship. It crashed.”

Trish studied her. “Pretty lucky, then.”

Agatha looked blank. “Lucky?”

Trish nodded. “That you found us. I doubt there’s another human being within twenty kilometers of here. One that you’d want to meet, anyway.”

Balthazar broke in, “And not just anyone, no! For here you will find the greatest dissemblance of heroes in all of Europa!”

Agatha and Krosp looked at him blankly. Trish patted him on the head. “That’s ‘assemblage,’ dear.” Balthazar smacked his head. “Right.”

Krosp still looked blank. He looked at Agatha. “What? Heroes? What?”

But now that they had come closer, Agatha had been studying the signs on the wagons. The scenes and characters painted there told her everything she needed to know. “Ah—it’s a traveling Heterodyne show!” she exclaimed.

Krosp looked blank. “These people are Heterodynes?”

Agatha sighed. “No, no. I told you earlier, remember? Not everyone with a Heterodyne badge is really connected... Um... Let’s see... Do you know what theatre is? Acting?”

Krosp thought about this. There was a theatre on Castle Wulfenbach. It was used to make important announcements and presentations. And, due to one of the immutable laws of nature, because there was an underutilized stage, there was a Castle Wulfenbach Amateur Theatrical Society. Krosp had snuck in one evening and sat through three performances of “My Pardon, Sirrah, But Is That Your Piston?” a farce from Prague that had left him with several dozen questions about human relationships and a rather low opinion of theatre in general. “Sort of,” he said.

“Well the Heterodynes were real people, who had real adventures, and people like hearing about them. So theatre troupes started doing plays about them, and it became really popular.[7] There are lots of Heterodyne Shows. I always tried to go see them when they came through... Er...”

Agatha faltered a bit as the weirdness of it all sank in. All those dashing stories of the Heterodyne Boys... they were about her father, a man she had never seen. Her uncle Barry—who had disappeared when she was small. These people did plays—usually rollicking adventures with lots of slapstick comedy—about her family. She caught her breath and blinked, seeing the circle of wagons in a strange new light.

“Not a bad way of putting it, miss.” Agatha turned and discovered that they’d been joined by a young man with dark curly hair, a trim chin beard and another colorfully embroidered outfit. He had the air of a man with his mind constantly running over a hundred little details, all of which he was determined to see to before he allowed himself a much-needed drink.

Trish indicated the newcomers. “This is Miss Agatha Clay and her cat. The cat talks. Miss Clay, this is Abner de la Scalla, Master Payne’s apprentice. Abner talks a lot. He also helps run things. Abner, Miss Clay and her cat found Balthazar in the woods and brought him back.”

De la Scalla made a courteous bow. “Much thanks, miss.” He turned to Balthazar. “Jump to it! Go tell everyone that you’ve been found. While you’re at it, tell them that we’re packing up and moving out as quickly as possible.” Relieved that no punishment appeared to be looming, the boy gave a quick salute and dashed off.

Trish looked surprised. “Already? But we were going to—”

“Master Payne wants us out of this valley as soon as possible. There’s something out there that’s spooking the horses.” He blinked. “Did you say the cat talks?”

Trish nodded. “He does.”

Abner looked at Krosp speculatively. “Interesting.”

Trish continued, “I promised them a meal, but we might ask Master Payne to let them join us, if only because she’s traveling alone.”

This fully engaged Abner’s attention. “Alone? In the Wastelands?”

Agatha winced. “It really wasn’t my idea. My airship crashed.”

Abner studied her. “Aeronaut, weird-looking weapon, talking cat... You’ll probably fit right in around here,” he muttered. He then glanced uneasily back toward the woods. “You wouldn’t know anything about whatever is out there, would you?”

Agatha shook her head. “We didn’t see anything, and we slept out there all night.”

“So—were you the only survivors?”

“Oh no, it was nothing like that, it was just us on board.”

Krosp’s head snapped sideways. “Whoa! I smell lunch!” He darted off.

Abner stared after him. “Did he...?” He focused more of his attention on Agatha now. “An airship, and you and... he... you were the only crew? That’s small for a craft all the way out here. Where were you coming from?”

Agatha tried to look innocent. “Is it important?”

“Could be. I see a Wulfenbach sigil on your backpack there, and the watchman in the last town said he saw Castle Wulfenbach sail past the night before last, so I’m guessing that’s where you came from. Do you work for the Baron?”

“No!” Agatha slumped. “I mean, I guess I did. For a while.”

By this time, they had reached the central area of the camp. A few of the other performers eyed her speculatively, listening in. When they heard her last statement, they looked at each other.

Abner rubbed his neck. “But you don’t work for him anymore, huh?” Agatha shook her head. “You’re on the run then.” She nodded. “Hoo, boy.”

A wiry, grizzled man in an apron scratched his chin. When he spoke, he had a slight Greek accent. “Wulfenbach, eh? He’s trouble, that one.”

Agatha whispered, “I didn’t hurt anyone. I just... left.”

The older man eyed her tattered clothing. “Looks like you ‘just left’ in a bit of a hurry.”

Behind him, a girl asked pointedly, “And how did you escape?” She was tall and blonde, with striking good looks. Her dress was obviously new, and was a fashionable cut, but the gold thread and sequins that covered it made the girl look like a flashy theatrical parody of a stylish young lady.

Agatha didn’t bother to object to the girl’s choice of words. A great tiredness settled upon her. “My parents. They... they came to get me, but they...” A shudder ran down her spine. “It was horrible. There was an outbreak of Slaver Wasps, and a fight. I... I escaped in the confusion. But my parents... I still can’t believe they’re dead.”

The mention of Slaver Wasps caused a murmur of dismay to flow through the crowd. Many people looked outright terrified. The stylish girl continued: “And you think they’ll come looking for you. When was this?”

Agatha shook her head. “Yesterday. It was only yesterday.”

Abner patted her shoulder. “You poor kid. I’m sure we could—” He didn’t get a chance to finish. The girl gripped his shoulder and spun him about. She was icily furious now. “Don’t you say another word!”

Abner looked surprised. “What?”

“This is important, and it’s Master Payne’s decision, not yours.”

“I was just—”

“Just about to say something stupid!” the girl snapped. “Get Master Payne!” The girl turned to Agatha, who was taken aback to see that her face was now as warm and friendly as any Agatha had ever seen. “You should wait here, my dear,” she said sweetly.

Abner tried a final time. “We should—”

The friendliness vanished in an instant as she rounded on Abner. “If you say another word I will kick you in the fork and set your hair on fire,” she hissed.

Abner opened his mouth. There was a pause. He closed his mouth. The two of them hurried off.

Agatha and the others watched them go. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” she murmured.

There was a snort from behind her. “The only people who don’t cause trouble are the dead.”

The speaker was a lean, well-muscled girl. Her face should have been pretty, but her expression was sullen, and there was an odd look in her eye that Agatha found uncomfortable to meet.

Her skin was a warm, golden color that Agatha found beautiful, but very unusual. She was dressed in a hard-used set of blue leather pants and a vest. Her arms were bare, except for a set of dingy gold bands around her upper arms. Agatha noted with a small, embarrassed shock, that the girl wasn’t even wearing a shirt.

Strapped across her front and around her shoulders was a sturdy leather and metal harness that held two sword scabbards on her back. The unusual handles of the swords they held bracketed her head. These at least, had been well cared for. They looked as if they had been recently polished and oiled. Her hair was twisted in a severe braid, tied in place with rags and bits of twine. For a sickening moment, Agatha thought that the girl’s hair was so dirty that it had turned green. A closer look revealed that this was apparently its natural color.

Across her forehead ran a leather circlet—a small golden face mounted in the center. This was so cleverly-worked that Agatha momentarily thought it was moving.

The green-haired girl hooked a thumb at the departing pair. “Those two have been like that with each other ever since Pix—that’s the girl in the tart dress—joined up. She’s got a hard bite, but Abner, there, he keeps trying to talk to her. I guess he likes the abuse or something.”

She was sitting on a log that had been dragged up to a fire pit, and now she moved sideways and waved Agatha over. A large iron cauldron hung from a chain and tripod arrangement. She snagged a wooden bowl from a stack and ladled in a huge helping of some sort of porridge, handing it to Agatha along with an elegantly hand-carved wooden spoon.

“She’s a great actress though,” the girl conceded. She reached down and produced a blue enameled metal pitcher. She leaned over and poured a dollop of thick cream into Agatha’s bowl. “Here. Eat.” She set the pitcher down. “I am Zeetha. Daughter of Chump.”

Agatha’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. The porridge smelled delicious, but—“Chump?”

Zeetha rolled her eyes. She looked like there was more she wanted to say, but all that came out was, “Just eat.”

Agatha thought she should at least show willing. “I am Agatha Clay. Daughter of blacksmith.”

Zeetha looked at her levelly and took a long slow breath through her nose. “No, really...” she said. “Just eat.”

The porridge was delicious. It was thick, warm and filling. Agatha thought about Krosp and his rat, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply, enjoying her breakfast’s rich nutty scent and delightful lack of rodent.

Agatha saw that Abner had been serious about moving out. People were scurrying everywhere, carrying supplies and equipment. Looking closely, Agatha saw that the chaos was, in fact, not chaos at all. What outwardly appeared to be a disorganized swarm of people would descend upon a section of the camp, and begin sorting, organizing, packing and stowing everything upon one of the waiting wagons—all with a grace and breathtaking efficiency that made the whole thing seem like it was part of a performance. She mentioned this out to Zeetha, who nodded grudgingly.

“Right the first time. This was all choreographed by Gospodin Rasmussin over there.” She pointed to a small, intense-looking man who was striding through the camp, rhythmically striking the ground with an ornately topped dance-master’s cane. As he went past, Agatha could hear that he was counting under his breath in Russian.

Zeetha grinned. “We can get the whole camp packed and ready in less than six waltzes, or three polkas, if we’re actually under attack.”

Agatha finished her breakfast just as a crew swept in and began collecting the various cooking implements. She surrendered her bowl and watched as it skimmed through the air to land in a tub of similar bowls. Agatha had a sudden realization, and guiltily looked around. “Are we the only ones not doing anything?”

Zeetha leaned back and nodded. “You’re a guest. I’m kept around to kill things, and at the moment,” she said frankly, “I’m keeping an eye on you in case I have to kill you.” She saw Agatha’s expression and shrugged. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Agatha had to admit that, up until recently, this had been the case.

Zeetha snorted. “You really escaped from Castle Wulfenbach?”

Agatha nodded. “Yes.”

Zeetha eyed her speculatively. “You must be tougher than you look.”

Agatha considered this statement. “I had help,” she admitted.

Zeetha grinned. Agatha noticed that she had disquietingly large canines. “So? That’s a mark in your favor. My people say that a good friend is like a strong sword.”

“Your people?”

The momentary jocularity left Zeetha and she slumped a bit. For a moment, Agatha thought she wasn’t going to say anything, then she sighed. “I’m from Skifander. Ever heard of it?”

Agatha blinked. She suddenly remembered a small cabin high in some heavily-forested mountains. It had snowed furiously earlier in the day, drifts piling up around the carved wooden walls. Agatha had been young, very young, and had returned from building an army of snow minions to find her Uncle Barry leaning against the cabin. Night was falling, and he was watching the stars emerge in the night sky. They had gazed at them together, and Agatha had said something about the night revealing her hidden jewels.

This turn of phrase had delighted her uncle, and that night, while they ate in front of the crackling fire, he had told her fabulous stories for half the night about—

“Skifander!” Agatha declared with a nostalgic smile. “The Warrior Queen’s Hidden Jewel! Guardian of the Red Mountain! Oh, I remember that!”

The words had an electric effect. Zeetha’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She stared at Agatha as if she had spontaneously grown a second nose.

Agatha was surprised. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Did I get it wrong? It’s been so long—”

Suddenly hands like iron gripped her arms. Zeetha’s face was centimeters from her own. Her eyes were wild. “You know where Skifander is?”

Agatha blinked—“No! I—”

Zeetha shouted her down. “WHO DOES?”

“My uncle! He told me stories—”

“Where is he?” Zeetha was frantic.

“I don’t know!” Agatha shouted. “He disappeared years ago!”

Zeetha staggered back, her eyes wide. “No!” she whispered. With a shimmer of steel, her swords appeared in her hands. “No, No, NO! NOOOO!” she screamed like an animal as the swords wove a glittering arc around them. Suddenly, Zeetha seemed to catch herself. Eyes still wild, she slammed her swords back into their scabbards and ran off, howling.

All around Agatha, objects began to fall apart. The people nearby slowly unfroze and turned to stare at Agatha.

The old man with the vest remarked, “Huh. She’s never done that before.”

A tall girl with a great mass of dark curly hair and an astonishing amount of exposed cleavage burst from the nearest caravan. “Smoke and the devil! What was that all about?”

An intense young woman in a grey leather uniform shrugged. “I have no idea. The two of them were just talking—and then Zeetha went nuts.”

The tall girl turned to Agatha, who was still stunned. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I don’t know!” Agatha wailed. “We were talking about Skifander and—”

The girl interrupted. “Wait—You’ve heard of Skifander? Really?”

Agatha looked at her. “Yes. Really.” The look on the girl’s face prompted her to ask, “Why is that so surprising?”

The tall girl slowly sat down. She studied Agatha intently for a minute and then nodded to herself. “Sorry. I’m one of the few friends Zeetha has.” Agatha thought, rather uncharitably, that she was surprised Zeetha had any friends at all.

The girl introduced herself. “I’m Olga Žiga. Listen. Zeetha was—is—from this Skifander place. Apparently it’s some ancient lost city in the jungle or a cavern or something.”

Agatha nodded. She could believe it. “Lost” civilizations were surprisingly common, even outside of the Wastelands. Two years ago, a group of students had discovered one under old Rudolf‘s Delicatessen back in Beetleburg.

“Well a few years ago, this Skifander got itself ‘discovered’ by some Spark’s expedition. When the explorers were ready to head back to civilization, the Queen decided to send one of her warriors out with them, an explorer of her own to go see what the rest of the world was getting up to. Zeetha was chosen. It was a big honor. She’s actually a member the Royal Family, though she doesn’t go on about it.

“On the journey here, she got really sick. Feverish. She doesn’t remember anything about the trip—except the hallucinations, and from her description, they were pretty awful. Floating around, furniture on the ceiling—wild stuff. Then, just as she was getting back on her feet, their airship was attacked by pirates.”

“They killed everyone else on board, but decided to spare her. Personally, I think it was her hair. It’s really naturally green, you know, and really pretty when she treats it well. They probably thought they could sell an exotic like her for a nice sum[8]. Plus, by then, she must’ve looked pretty helpless.

“Anyway, they took reasonably good care of her. That meant that by the time they got back to their fortress and let her out of her cell, she was nice and healthy. Oh, and in case I hadn’t mentioned it before, Skifander is apparently some sort of city of warriors, and Zeetha had to earn her spot on the trip by beating everyone one else who wanted to go. So, as you might guess, she’s a really good warrior.

“Well, she took them all on. All the pirates in the fortress. All of them. And she won. She killed them all. Again... All of them.”

Olga paused, and Agatha thought she looked a little embarrassed. “Like I said, a good fighter, but... thinking really isn’t her strong suit. So it wasn’t until she’d finished them all off and burned down the fortress that she realized that she’d just killed anyone who might’ve had a clue about where she’d originally come from.”

Olga sat back and sighed, smoothing her hair with a clash of bracelets. “Since then she’s been wandering all over Europa looking for a way home. She joined up with us almost two years ago.” She looked Agatha in the eye. “And you’re the first person, anywhere, who’s even heard of this Skifander.”

Agatha puffed a lock of hair up out of her face. “I see. That explains her reaction.” Agatha thought a moment. “I wish I knew more, but my uncle never said where Skifander was. He just told stories about it.”

Olga stood. “But at least you’ve heard of it. Most of the others—” she glanced around. “Well, I think at least some of the others think she was just making it all up. And... Zeetha can tell. That really wears on her. You see how she is.”

At this moment, Pix rounded the corner of a wagon. “Agatha!” she called out. “Master Payne is ready to see you!”

Olga stood. “Ah, I’ve got to pack. Nice meeting you.” She took Agatha’s hand. “I’m so glad you’ve heard of Skifander. It’s been bothering her so much. Even if you don’t know anything else... well... thank you for that.” Olga turned with a wave and vanished back into her wagon.

Agatha turned to Pix, and the two set off together. Pix looked sideways at her curiously. “You’ve really heard about Zeetha’s Skifander?”

“It was years ago,” Agatha admitted, “But my uncle traveled all over. He talked about it like it was a real place.”

Pix digested this. “And where are you heading?”

“Mechanicsburg.” Agatha replied.

“Ah. The home of the Heterodynes. That’s quite a way. You have family there?”

Agatha considered this. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Pix nodded. “Your best bet is to head west.” She gestured over the trees. “Do you have a compass?” Agatha shook her head. “Oh, well, I’ll bet we can find one for you to take with you easily enough. I’ll ask around before you go.”

Agatha nodded. A sinking feeling began to grow inside her chest. It didn’t sound like they were going to let her stay.

A shrill mechanical squeal filled the air. Next to them, a wagon covered in garish gear designs rocked to a halt, wobbling slightly as it balanced upon a single, central wheel.

A diminutive woman with dark skin and a grimy leather mechanic’s coverall swore and threw a large wrench to the ground. “What the hell is it now?” she screamed.

Agatha stepped up and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but that noise means that your gyro gear needs repacking.” The woman gave her long, blank, stare, but an older man, seated at the wagon’s controls, slapped his thigh and laughed heartily. “Aha! See? It is as I told you!”

The woman frowned and turned away from Agatha in irritation. “Ah, what does she know?”

Agatha bristled. “I know that it’s a Duchy of Blenshaf Gyro Wheel,” she said frostily. “Your wobble plate is loose, and it also sounds like you’ve neglected to replace the sponge dampers. Probably because you can’t find new ones. They’re hard to get these days. You can make an acceptable replacement out of horse dung and straw. And from the way your wheel is spalling, it’s obvious that that you don’t have the correct formula for tread gunk.”

The short woman turned back, all traces of annoyance gone. She regarded Agatha with interest. “You know Gyro Wheels,” she stated.

Agatha nodded, slightly mollified. “My dad was a mechanic. We saw these all the time.”

The man in the driver’s seat was grinning. He had fair skin, bleached yellow hair, and a wide jaw. When he grinned, it covered a fair amount of his face. He also had a mechanical forearm and hand which he raised, pushing back his cap. He leaned forward. “Say, if you are going to being sticking around, would you want a working job?”

Agatha blinked. “What?” Behind her, Pix grimaced in exasperation and covered her eyes with one hand.

“I am Captain Kadiiski. Me and Rivet—” He indicated the woman, who gave her a friendly nod, “We have the dubious honor of being the poor, put-upon mechanics for this noisy collection of divas and geeks. But I must admit, with some small embarrassment, that the Lady Rivet and myself are what you would call piston-leg men. This miserable wheel has got us smoked.”

Rivet nodded. “We could use another competent mechanic around here anyway.”

Pix spoke up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Reluctantly, Agatha agreed. “Yes, I’ve got to get to Mechanicsburg.”

Rivet once again looked at her blankly. “So what’s the problem? We’ll be performing at Mechanicsburg in a month or two. Big cheese festival.”

Agatha turned to look at Pix. “Really.” Pix rolled her eyes.

Rivet continued, “Oh yeah. And in the meantime, you’ll actually earn—”

“Rivet! Shut! Up!”

All three of them stared at Pix. Kadiiski frowned. “What is your problem of the sudden?”

“The problem,” a voice boomed from behind them, “Is that this Miss Clay cannot travel with us.”

Agatha turned and stared. Before her stood one of the largest men she had ever seen, followed by several other members of the troupe. A quick reassessment and she realized that while he was tall, he wasn’t exceptionally tall, and while he was heavy, he wasn’t excessively fat, it was just that he... loomed large. This, she realized, was a man who filled the space he was in, whatever that space happened to be. He had a broad face framed by a mane of wild reddish brown hair, as well as a full beard and moustache. His eyes were magnified in a mesmerizing way by his small, thick spectacles.

He wore layer upon layer of waistcoats, each adorned with pockets, piping, buttons and chains, none of which matched. The whole ensemble was enveloped by a huge, elaborate coat covered with embroidered stars, moons and comets. At his throat was a family sigil badge, which, strikingly, was completely blank.

The man’s voice matched the rest of him. It was solid and booming, and in this instance, grim. It was a voice which allowed no argument.

He addressed Agatha: “Miss Clay, I am Master Payne. I am sorry I must be so blunt. You did us a favor by returning young Balthazar, and we are grateful. But this is my circus, and I am responsible for the safety of the people in it. For that reason, our roads must diverge here.”

Captain Kadiiski looked at Agatha, puzzled, then turned back to Master Payne. “What is wrong with her?” he asked.

The circus master made a chopping motion with his hand, signaling an end to any discussion. “She is on the run from Baron Wulfenbach. Her reasons are her own, and I do not wish to know them. But even ordinary townsfolk might be punished simply for aiding her.” He fixed an eye on the mechanic, “And we have our own concerns, as you well know.”

The Captain stepped back unhappily, and several of the other circus members glanced at each other nervously. Payne turned back to Agatha. His face was sympathetic, but his voice remained firm. “We don’t want any trouble from The Baron, Miss Clay. We will forget that we ever saw you, but that, and wishing you luck, is the best that we can do.”

They all looked at her. Agatha took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I do understand,” she said quietly. “I’d better leave right away. Krosp?”

She looked around. The cat was not to be found. Suddenly, they heard a great yowling intermixed with swearing, and the intense young woman in grey leathers came around the corner, holding a thrashing Krosp by the scruff of his neck. She was furious.

“It ate them!” she screamed. “It ate my entire herd of mimmoths!” Every word was punctuated by a serious shake. “It took me a month just to get them to wear their little costumes! Mr. Honk had just learned to do the peanut trick! And this flea-riddled thing ATE them!”

“Sorry!” the beleaguered cat wailed.

The trainer froze. She stared at Krosp. “Did you just talk?”

The cat’s eyes swiveled to Agatha and then back to his captor. “Yes?” he ventured.

She briefly considered this, and shook him again. “Not good enough!” She declared. “But when I’m done with you—”

Master Payne stepped in. “Professor Moonsock! Release the cat! They are leaving us.”

The Professor glared at the large man, but she instantly let go. Krosp landed on his feet, then dashed behind Agatha’s skirt. “We’re leaving?” he asked.

Agatha nodded. “I... I’m sorry about your mimmoths, Professor. Um... Goodbye, Herr de la Scala. And, um,” she looked back at the two mechanics, “thank you for the offer.”

She then turned to the Pix, who was looking away with her jaw set hard. The girl had been rude and unfriendly, and yet, Agatha felt an odd sense of disappointment. She found didn’t want to go without saying something. “Goodbye Pix. You... you really are a good actress.”

She turned towards the woods and blinked hard. “Let’s go, Krosp.” Without a look back, she marched off into the surrounding forest, Krosp trailing behind.

The others watched them go. Guilt showed on many faces, but not Pix’s. She stared at the ground woodenly as the pair departed.

Abner kicked a stone at his feet. “That was cold. The least you could’ve done was given her a kind word,” he said to her back.

Pix whirled on him and Abner stepped back as he saw the tears flowing from her eyes. “Oh? Why?” she snarled, “She’s doomed! Didn’t you hear? She’s in the Wastelands alone! I... I liked her! She seemed... I don’t know, like someone I could have talked to! But I don’t care! I don’t want to get near Wulfenbach or anybody like him! No matter how nice, or smart, or, or interesting she is, she’d bring him and his monsters right down on our heads. You know she would! So she can’t stay here and now she’ll die. Well I’ve seen lots of people die and friendship and kindness never helped them.”

Abner looked sick, “But that’s so—couldn’t we—”

Pix punched him in the chest. “You are such an idiot!” she screamed and stamped off.

Abner stared after her, holding his hand to his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite his attempts at conversation, Pix had never said much about her life before the Circus. He had already suspected it hadn’t been a happy one—Pix had been alone when she joined, with no friends or family to leave behind. Now, he wondered what had happened to her, that her reaction to Agatha had been so fearful, and so vehement.

Payne also watched her go. He patted his apprentice on the back. “The Countess will give me hell about this,” he rumbled. “But Pix is right, if a bit overdramatic. Now, let’s move out.” When next he spoke, his voice boomed out over the entire camp. “And we move On Stage!”

All across the camp, people exchanged worried looks. Many glanced nervously at the sky. Traveling “On Stage” was dangerous.

Agatha realized that she had to stop moving, at least for a little while. She had come to the edge of the woods, and the ground ahead of her was a wide field of broken stone. She had marched over the previous hill on automatic-pilot, but this rough ground would require more attention than she currently felt capable of mustering. With a deep sigh, she sat on a boulder and contemplated the rocks ahead. They looked sharp.

Krosp gingerly settled next to her. Agatha realized that he’d been trying to talk to her, but she had been walking in a fog, and nothing had registered. He tried again. “Well. That could have gone better.”

Agatha gazed blankly up at the sky and sighed again. “I know you said that people would look after their own, but I never thought we could harm people just by talking to them.”

Krosp frowned. “They did seem a bit jumpy...” he waved it away. “But we were planning on avoiding people anyway.”

Agatha nodded. “I know, but the way they were talking about the Wastelands... and they’re people who actually know their way around out here... Krosp, I don’t know if we can do this alone.”

Krosp twisted in place to gaze back the way they had come. Even in the midday sun, the forest behind them looked dark. He slumped slightly. “I don’t see that we have a lot of choice.”

Agatha stood up. “No. No choice at all, really.”

At that moment, a hellish noise rolled through the woods. Loud mechanical grinding and thumping sounds were mixed by the wild, thin shrieks of horses and the confused shouts of people.

Leaping to her feet, Agatha ran back through the woods. Krosp ran behind her, shouting at her to wait. They quickly arrived at the crest of the hill and stopped, brought up short by what they saw. Master Payne’s circus was on the move at last, but it had definitely chosen the wrong direction.

A large, crab-like clank was breaking noisily through a last bit of forest and lumbering towards the wagons. Agatha had heard of such things—machines of war abandoned or lost in the Wastelands. This one had most likely been lying dormant for years. Its metal surface was rusted and pitted. Lichen and small bushes grew from cracks in its carapace. One of its mechanical fore-claws had been torn off some time in the past, but this did not stop the clank from wrecking havoc with the remaining stump of jagged metal. Exposed and damaged wiring crackled at the torn joint.

The wagon drivers had seen it approaching, and were attempting to disperse, but between the spring-swollen river and the walls of the valley, there simply wasn’t enough space for them to turn easily en masse.

To make matters worse, the clank’s rusty mechanism ground against itself painfully, producing ear-splitting grinding and shrieking noises. The noise was driving the horses into a frenzy. Drivers were yelling and swearing, cracking their whips furiously. Others risked being trampled as they hung onto bridles and tried to physically drag the horses about. Two wagons had already tipped over, and as Agatha watched, another went down, dragging its horses onto their sides, where they thrashed and screamed trying to break free.

As the old contraption cleared the trees, a great cracked lens, set into the face of the clank, began to glow. With a flare, a focused stream of green flame shot out and set a trapped horse aflame. The panic increased, and the wagons trying to escape rammed themselves into an impenetrable tangle.

The clank lurched toward the terrified people. “Wow.” Observed Krosp. “That’s not good.” He frowned. “Wait. Don’t they have any defenses? They’re scattering like geese!”

Suddenly, a lone cart drove wildly away from the group, straight along the road toward the attacker. The clank, apparently attracted by whatever moving object was closest to it, paused as the cart swept past it and away down the road. It then swiveled about on its six legs, shot out a billow of smoke, and began to pursue the escaping wagon. Agatha realized that the road would lead both cart and clank directly beneath the ridge where she and Krosp stood.

“That must’ve been what was out in the woods.” She said. “What’ll we do?”

Krosp looked at Agatha like she’d lost her mind. “It’s coming this way! What we do is run!”

Agatha gripped her gun. “No! I’ve got to help!” So saying, she leapt over the edge of the ridge and skidded down the rocky slope toward the valley floor. While the incline wasn’t dangerously steep, she found that she was traveling faster than she had expected—and the weight of the gun she held in both hands made for some challenging problems in applied momentum.

When she reached the bottom, the wagon was hurtling towards her. Its canvas back had been charred by a close shot of the clank’s green fire, and smoke poured from the remaining covering. In the back of the wagon, Agatha saw Olga, huddled down low, gripping a strut.

The wagon slowed as the horses reached a rise in the road. The clank raised its intact claw up high, then swept it down hard. At the same time, Agatha raised her newly-built gun to her shoulder and fired.

The claw smashed onto the back of the wagon, causing it to collapse and sending the rear wheels spinning off to either side. The passengers flew from the damaged vehicle, flailing in midair. An explosion erupted from the back of the clank and its rearmost right leg blew free. The giant machine rocked wildly for a moment, found its balance, and then spotted the wagon’s driver on the ground. The man was groggily beginning to sit up when he turned to see the great clank looming over him. He screamed as it prepared to grab him with its rusty claw.

Agatha ran forward, trying to get between the man and the clank. If it followed the closest moving object, perhaps she could lure it away... but as she darted in front of the man, the clank took another step, and she was knocked to the ground. She looked up and realized that she had fallen directly beneath the device.

It was a terrifying moment. The great clank squealed above her and its heavy legs pounded the ground around her as it shifted its weight. Agatha swung her gun straight up and fired it directly into the clank’s undercarriage. The resulting blast took her breath away and she gasped as she scrambled to her feet.

The clank wobbled and staggered to the side. Agatha barely avoided one of the huge legs as she reached the man on the ground and hauled him to his feet. He stared up at the smoking device that lurched drunkenly above them.

“It’s still going!” he marveled.

Agatha yanked him out of the way of a falling bit of metal. “I hit the main engine.” She could hear the increasing distress of the mechanism. “It’s finished, it just doesn’t know it yet.”

Olga was still crumpled where the wreck of the wagon had thrown her. Agatha ran toward her with the man close behind. “You!” Agatha shouted as she ran. “Olga! Get up!” The crab clank, smoke pouring from its carapace, was slowly swiveling towards them. “Get up! Get—Ah!” The two runners jerked to a halt. As they came close they could see that Olga had landed head-first on a jagged patch of exposed rock. She was quite obviously dead. The man dropped to his knees. “Olga!” he moaned, “oh no!”

Suddenly a sound behind them made them turn. There was the clank, smoke and sparks now pouring from its joints, its gigantic metal claw descending towards them.

“LOOK OUT!” Agatha shouted. At the last second, she shoved the distraught man aside.

Agatha screamed as the claw closed, and the great lens flared. A green flash of energy lanced from the eye of the clank, igniting its captive’s skirt, hair and flesh in a ball of greasy flame. It dropped its victim and began to turn—

But the repeated firing of the clank’s heat weapon had been too much. The resilient, Spark-created energy source that had powered the damaged machine through its final rampage finally gave way, and the crab clank exploded. Flaming machine parts flew through the air, as the great metal legs slowly crashed to the ground like falling trees.

Krosp raced toward the wreckage, shouting for Agatha. At the same moment, a group from the circus wagons appeared, running up the road toward the man who was staring, horrified, at the charred figure at his feet.