Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (28 page)

The inside of the wagon was stuffed with various props and stage mechanisms. In a cleared space in the center was a small, fancifully carved and decorated wheeled throne. A closer examination revealed the seated figure of a women, dressed in an exotic outfit and adorned with extravagant golden jewelry from several different cultures.

The cabinet before her was richly ornamented with various inlaid woods and gilded finials. Within easy reach of the seated figure were brightly painted wooden boxes held shut by intricate golden clasps. Directly before her was a game board, almost a meter square.

However, the nature of the game itself was not easy to discern. Looked at one way, it was a chess board. A slight shift in perception, and it could be for the East Indian game, Pachisi.

At this point, an astute observer would realize that there were easily a dozen different possibilities, depending upon the pieces employed. At the moment, the board was littered with pieces from a half a dozen different games haphazardly arranged in an unrecognizable pattern.

Krosp stared and then turned to Abner. “Moxana is a clank?”

Abner smiled. “Of a sort.” He reached over and released a set of clasps upon the front of the cart. The front lowered upon hinges, revealing a large empty section, except for the axle of the cart, and an intricate arrangement of rods and wires connected to various spots on the underside of the game board. “She’s actually a puppet. Run from down here.”

Krosp peered at the area and frowned. “Seems a bit small.”

Abner swung the panel closed and refastened the clasps. He then twisted a few bits of decoration, and the clasps were hidden from casual observation. “Indeed it is. That’s why we don’t put her out these days. Originally, she was run from the inside by a dwarf named Kurtz. He was killed three years ago by some bad clams.”

Krosp looked surprised. “Bad clams?”

Abner nodded, “Yes, they had axes. Anyway, no one else could fit inside.”

Krosp looked at the cart again. “Embi. Or Balthazar.”

Abner pulled a rag off a nearby chest and ran it over the figure as he talked. “Yes, I have high hopes for Balthazar, but at the moment his endgame is terrible.”

Krosp blinked. “Endgame?”

Abner nodded. “Moxana is supposed to be a clank that can play chess.”

Krosp studied the top of the board with a skeptical eye. “This doesn’t look like any chess set-up
I’ve
ever seen.”

Abner shrugged. “Chess is what
we
used her for. But yeah, Master Payne says that the board can be used for almost twenty different games that he’s familiar with, and probably a bunch more that he isn’t. But in these parts, if you want to impress someone, you play them at chess.” He sighed. “I’ve taught Embi the basics, but chess just isn’t his game. Can’t really wrap his head around it. The man’s a demon at Omweso, though. That’s a game he brought with him from Africa. There’s this board, with a bunch of little indentations—”

Krosp interrupted. “But I’ve heard people talk about her—it—like it was alive!” He leapt up to the board and gingerly poked at the seated figure. It remained motionless. He noticed that although it had fully articulated eyelids with long full eyelashes, which were closed, as well as a small perfectly sculpted nose and ears, the figure had no mouth. He batted at it again.

Abner looked embarrassed. “Well we all tend to talk like she is. Kurtz was a really good puppeteer. Before you knew it, you’d ignore him and be talking to the puppet. The audience always loved it, so we did it a lot. Got into the habit of telling her our problems, asking advice, you know…”

Krosp folded his arms. “No, not really. She’s got no mouth. How did she offer this advice?”

Abner looked at Krosp and frowned. When he spoke, it was carefully. “She… can do more than play games. When we thought the populace wouldn’t get too spooked by it, she did oracular readings. Tarot cards, pendulum divination, there’s this ‘Ching’ thing from the orient that uses sticks—Kurtz was pretty good at the woo-woo stuff, but—” Abner looked like he’d said too much.

“But—” Krosp prompted.

The man sighed. “It was Kurtz who started it. He said that sometimes… Moxana made her own moves, and that they always…meant something. Something more than he could see.”

Krosp studied the figure again. “And you buy this?”

Abner shook his head. “I don’t know. I was a lot greener in those days, and Kurtz always loved to spin a good story, but…these days, whenever things get a little strange, we say ‘Moxana’s rearranging her board.’” He blew out a breath and grinned. “I guess that’s pretty silly, eh? Kurtz loved messing with people.”

Krosp looked at Abner for a moment, took a deep sniff and then studied the mechanical figure again. He noted that although most of the figure had a fine coating of dust, the game board was sparkling clean.

He turned back to Abner. “Interesting.” He paused, “You know, I play chess. I could run her for you.”

Abner looked startled. He quickly looked at Moxana and then back to Krosp. “But—”

Krosp continued smoothly, “You
would
like to have her on display again, yes?”

Abner stammered, “Well… yes… of course… but—”

Krosp nodded as if it was settled. “We’ll have a few games later. You can see how good
my
endgame is.”

Abner acquiesced weakly. “Of course. Later…”

Krosp grabbed his hand and gave it a few hearty pumps. “Good! It’ll be more use than my shoveling dung, I’m sure!” Abner was aware of claws pricking his fingers. He saw the hunter’s gleam in the cat’s eyes. Krosp pulled his paw back, gave it a quick lick and rubbed it over his head. “And now, I’d better go find Agatha. She’s helpless without me, you know.”

With that he hopped down and strolled out the door. Abner stared after him and frowned. Behind him there was a faint whirr and several quick, quiet clicks.

Turning he saw several chess pieces set up upon the board. He made a quick analysis and blew his lips out in a puff of self-disgust. “Check.” He eyed the silent mechanical figure and turned to leave. “Yes, thank you. I got that.”

Several weeks passed. The circus worked its way through a series of small kingdoms that actually bothered to maintain the roads.

As a result, they made good time, and occasionally were able to play two shows a day in two different towns.

True to his word, Krosp proved to be a surprisingly good chess player. Easily beating everyone in the troupe except for Master Payne, who confided in the cat that “People hate to play against a magician, they’re never sure if they lost because I beat them or because I was able to pull a queen out my nose when they weren’t looking.”

Krosp nodded sympathetically, then lashed out with lightning speed and batted at the sleeve that Payne
wasn’t
gesticulating with, knocking free the rook of Krosp’s that he’d hidden there. The cat snagged it in midair and placed it back on the board. “Yes,” he agreed, “I can see how other people would find that frustrating.”

Payne harrumphed and sat back, which is the only reason he saw the tip of Krosp’s tail nudging one of the cat’s pawns forward.

The two played every day thereafter
³⁴
.

Zeetha continued Agatha’s training. This was in two parts. In the morning Agatha was run around, and in the evening, after dinner, she watched while Zeetha went through her own exercises.

While she leapt and swirled, she gave a running commentary about what she was doing, technical terms and the history of the swords themselves.

They were called
Quata’aras
, and instead of a pommel that was an extension of the blade of the sword, they had a perpendicular handle, which put the blade in a line with the wielder’s forearm. Agatha considered that, from an engineering perspective, this would give the weapons a lot more power. Zeetha moved with such grace that she easily masked this power, until she made a delicate move and cut down a nearby tree. Agatha very much wanted to be able to move like that, and itched to try her hand with the weapons themselves.

One morning, after an exciting, impromptu performance the previous evening, when Zeetha had deftly bisected an attacking swarm of overly large yellow jackets on the wing, Agatha was awakened by the now-familiar nose beep and found that she was expected to run around the camp while lugging a small blacksmith anvil.

Agatha balked. “When do I get to learn to use a sword?”

Zeetha paused. “You’re not ready to even touch a Quata’ara yet.” Agatha opened her mouth, but her memory flashed back to the time on Castle Wulfenbach, when one of the Baron’s students, Zulenna, had demonstrated just how much she had to learn about Europa-style fencing, which was the sword-style Agatha had known about all her life.

With a sigh, Agatha bent her knees and lifted the anvil off the ground. She turned to see Zeetha looking at her, her lower lip pushed out in a moue of disappointment.

“Oh wait,” Agatha said, “let me guess. This was where I was supposed to insist you let me wield a Quata’ara, even though you, my Kolee, have told me I’m not ready. Possibly I’m supposed to harbor some day-dream that I have a magical affinity for these swords, which will allow me to side-step all this tedious training.

“No doubt this would have led to some hilarious, but painful lesson reaffirming that I am, in fact, not yet ready to touch the swords. I’ll skip that, if I may.”

She was about to say more, but the flush working its way up Zeetha’s face stopped her cold. Without another word, she hugged the anvil to her chest and fled. With a roar, Zeetha followed.

That night, a bruised and nearly comatose Agatha lay face down on her bunk, attempting to formulate a philosophical worldview that would make the pain more bearable. This was proving quite difficult, possibly because it hurt to think.

Agatha tried to review the day, but beyond a certain point, her memories faded into a red fog. All she could remember was finally being allowed to drink what felt like liters of water and being too exhausted to eat. Oh, and the Jägers. She remembered them.

Even though Master Payne had announced that they were joining the circus, they’d hardly been in evidence. They were seen, lurking about on the fringes of the camp. They occasionally came in for something to eat, or an awkward conversation, but no one knew where they slept.

It was obvious that they were not used to dealing with people they weren’t trying to kill, and were still trying to figure it out. They never appeared in a town, and sometimes they weren’t seen from one day to the next, especially when other travelers joined the circus at an overnight camp, or were traveling in the same direction.

But they’d been there today. Their usual lazy, insouciant grins replaced by a grim watchfulness. It seemed like every time Agatha had come around a corner, one or the other of them had been somewhere nearby. There had even been one time when she’d been staggering along, the anvil now strapped to her back, when she had stumbled. From nowhere, a pair of strong green hands had caught her and gently set her back onto her feet.

It was shortly after that that Zeetha had released her for the day.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Zeetha’s head popped up through the ladder well. Agatha twitched, but otherwise did nothing.

Zeetha prodded her with a finger, possibly to see if she was still alive. She looked guilty. “How are you doing? I—ah… I was told I might’ve worked you a bit more than I should’ve today.”

Agatha shrugged. It hurt. “I’m sorry I was disrespectful, Kolee,” she whispered.

Zeetha grimaced and proceeded to light several candles and lanterns. She then unbuckled her harness, slipped off her swords and hung them from a peg. The small cloth bag she carried proved to contain several ceramic jars. She opened them one after the other and laid them out in a row on a nearby shelf. Strong herbal scents began to fill the room.

Without a word, she stripped Agatha of her clothes, moving her gently, but pitilessly. When she was done, small stars were lazily pinwheeling past Agatha’s vision.

Zeetha selected a jar, scooped out a handful of creamy paste and rubbed it into her hands. The smell of paprika grew stronger.

She knelt beside Agatha and began vigorously kneading the paste into her shoulders. Agatha’s eyes bugged out and a small “eeee” escaped her lips. The ointment started out soothing, but proceeded to get warmer and warmer until by the time Zeetha was kneading it into her lower back, her shoulders and arms felt like they were on fire. Zeetha ignored Agatha’s squeaks of pain and methodically worked her way down Agatha’s back.

Suddenly, she spoke. “When
I
asked my Kolee for the sword, she told me I wasn’t ready. But when I asked again, she gave it to me.

“It was so heavy, I was convinced she’d slipped me one made of lead.” She shifted slightly and started working down Agatha’s left leg.

She spoke slower now. “I was younger than you are now, of course. I needed two hands to hold it, and within thirty seconds I had chopped down my aunt’s favorite fruit tree, broken two floor tiles and my toe.”

She switched to Agatha’s right leg and worked her way back up. “Everybody does that at least once. Challenges their Kolee. Tries to prove that they’re Ashtara’s Chosen One.” She was silent as she selected another jar and started from the beginning.

Agatha’s teeth snapped together in shock. This time the contents of the jar felt like ice, and she imagined great scalding clouds of steam erupting from her tortured skin. It took her a few seconds to realize that the pain was fading as well, as if it too were being boiled away. She gave a small groan of relief.

Zeetha gave a small smile. “Like I said, we all do it. The stories are always trotted out at family get-togethers, and everybody always has a good laugh. My teacher’s teacher always said—” and here Zeetha’s voice took on a reedy quality, “There’s no better way to keep a warrior from getting killed than to have her almost do it to herself.”

She paused halfway up Agatha’s right leg. She was silent long enough that Agatha looked over her shoulder to see what was wrong. Zeetha knelt there, tears flowing down her face. She looked at Agatha and sniffed.