Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (30 page)

He had certainly planned on getting to know her better, but every time he saw an opportunity, he found himself holding back. There was something that was keeping him from pursuing the girl, and it was starting to bother him. He was beginning to fret that he was actually falling in love with her.

The very thought made him twitch.

When the haggling was done, and people were sorting through their prizes, Agatha came up to Lars, and knelt next to him.

She looked nervous. “This is for you,” she said. She handed Lars a small device. “I noticed you still used a tinderbox.”

Lars examined the device. He twisted the knob and a small flame puffed into being. He twisted it back and it disappeared.

“It’s to thank you for helping me move stuff back to camp.” Agatha said quickly. Lars noted that her face was quite red.

“Thank you, Agatha. That’s mighty nice of you.” Lars sighed to himself. He’d been given numerous devices such as this by helpful circus members over the years. He continued to use the more primitive methods because some of the towns he scouted looked suspiciously at anyone who wielded a device more complicated than a knife.

But with the eye of a man who’s hobby was women, Lars could see that Agatha was… interested in him. This made his hesitation even more inexplicable.

He made a show of putting the firestarter into his belt pouch. Agatha smiled. “So,” Lars said, “while I have you here, may I ask an impertinent question?”

Agatha looked wary. “I suppose…” she said uncertainly.

Lars leaned in and talked quietly. “Do you have a
boyfriend
waiting for you in Mechanicsburg?”

This had clearly not been on the mental list of questions that Agatha had been anticipating. “Oh, no,“ she replied. “I was told that I have family there.”

Lars nodded. “Any boyfriends
anywhere?
”

Agatha looked away. “No, I… No. Not anywhere. Not ever,” she whispered.

Lars leaned back. “Really. Because, that madboy from the airship that came to get you? He seemed
awfully
upset when we told him that you were dead.” Lars looked away, but continued to watch her from the corner of his eyes. “And
I’d
heard—”

“I don’t care what you
heard—”
Agatha snapped, “But we weren’t… we weren’t
anything!
” She looked away. “He was probably just disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to drag me back to the Baron in chains.” She glared at Lars. He noted that her eyes glistened. “And what business is it of
yours
, anyway?”

Lars crossed his arms and gave her a leering grin. “Well, when I’m up on stage
kissing
you—” He was pleased to see a flush of color bloom upon her face, “It’ll be good to know that I don’t have to keep one eye out for some jealous guy jumping up onstage and causing trouble—and yes, it
has
happened.” He smiled at a memory. “Now
that
was one heck of an onstage pie fight.”

Agatha looked contrite. “I see.” She shook her head and smiled. “No, you won’t have to worry about
that.
”

Lars clapped his hands together and stood up. “Great! Then I can start
acting
less, and enjoy myself more!” And with that, he strode off towards his wagon.

Later that night, in her wagon, Agatha sat hugging a large pillow, as Zeetha slowly brushed out her long golden hair. For what, by Zeetha’s estimate, was the thousandth time, Agatha asked her, “But what did he
mean
by that?”

Zeetha rolled her eyes and grinned “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” she lied.

CHAPTER 6

Lucrezia: You, sir, should remove your pants.

Stranger: Indeed?

Judy: Indeed, it’s time. We have all laid aside modesty but you.

Stranger: I… wear no pants.

Lucrezia: (Terrified, aside to Judy.) No pants? No pants!

—
The Heterodyne Boys and The Socket Wench of Prague

(Act 1. Scene 2d)

W
hat it meant was that the Heterodyne shows became a lot more… interesting. There was a tension between Lars and Agatha now that was quite evident to the audience, and the final onstage kiss usually produced a cathartic eruption of applause and cheering that could last for minutes.

Agatha’s nights were full of peculiar dreams, and she actually found herself welcoming Zeetha’s morning exercises.

The frustrating thing was that off stage, her relationship with Lars seemed like it was being directed by two different people. One day he would be friendly and attentive, and the next, strangely distant.

Agatha kept trying to figure out if she was doing something wrong, but was unable to discern any pattern to Lars’ behavior.

Finally, in desperation, she mentioned her predicament to Zeetha. The green-haired girl pondered for a moment and then nodded. “An excellent choice. He’s experienced enough that he’ll be able to show you a good time, nice enough that he’ll be gentle, and independent enough that there should be no hard feelings when you move on.”

Agatha, red-faced, seized upon the one part of this analysis that seemed conversationally safe. “What do you mean ‘Move on?’ Why should I—”

Zeetha interrupted. “
You’re
the one who said that you were only with us until Mechanicsburg. That’s just a little over a month from now.”

Agatha opened her mouth in surprise. “But… but I thought…” She paused. What
was
she thinking?

Zeetha had been polishing her swords. She stopped now and leaned in, putting a firm hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “Hey. This—” she gestured vaguely at the surrounding circus—“This is not where you belong.”

Agatha frowned. “What do you mean?”

Zeetha looked troubled. “Explaining things other than fighting isn’t really what I’m good at. But I’m your Kolee. I know you.” She waved away any potential objection. “Not story stuff, like your favorite color or how you shaved the cat when you were six years old or… or crap like that. But I
know
you, Agatha Clay… if that’s your real name—” Agatha started. Zeetha made a calming motion with her hand.

“No, no. That stuff isn’t important. See, I know what
kind
of a person you are. Better than anyone here.” She paused, “Except maybe for the Countess and Master Payne. They’re even sharper than they look.

“But you, you’re not like these people. Sure, they’re Sparks, but you… you’re a whole different level. You just haven’t had a reason to show it yet.” She sat back and cocked her head to the side. “When you do, you won’t fit here anymore.”

“But…” Agatha looked around. “But they like me here. I like acting. I like traveling. I…” she looked down shyly. “I am honored to be your zumil.”

Zeetha leaned in and gently beeped her nose. “You will always be my zumil, silly girl.” She stood up and stretched. “But a warrior must learn that nothing ever stays the same, which is why the things we want in life must be grabbed before they slip away. In this case, the thing you want to grab is Lars.”

“But I’m not really sure that I want to grab his—” Agatha realized what she was saying, and put her head in her hands, profoundly grateful that Zeetha was the only one listening.

Zeetha laughed and tousled Agatha’s hair. “Relax, no one’s expecting you to marry him.” She frowned slightly. “But he
is
acting uncharacteristically shy.”

Things got odder. Onstage, Lars took every opportunity to get close to her. To touch her arm, to run his hand along her jaw. His eyes smoldered, and their climactic kiss was beginning to dominate Agatha’s dreams, as well as some of her daytime musings.

But off stage, Lars remained formally polite, when he could be found at all. Increasingly, he took every opportunity to leave the troupe, for any number of perfectly plausible reasons. It was evident that he was utilizing the tricks he’d learned to avoid confrontations in a half a hundred towns. It was only obvious because he was using them all for the same audience.

Agatha tried to dismiss her feelings and distract herself by working. After all, aside from this irrational infatuation, she enjoyed her day-to-day life quite a bit, and there was always something to keep her busy.

Great strides were made on the Silverodian. One quiet, foggy morning, Agatha actually managed to produce a tortured set of hoots and squeals from the pipes, which caused everyone to run out, weapons in hand. But this, along with the work the various troupe members piled upon her, was not enough, and the Sparks around her began to feel the result.

Almost all of the Sparks in the show found themselves being questioned by Agatha about their work. These sometimes turned into marathon sessions that left them feeling, as Augie put it later, “As if she turned me upside down, poured all my theories out onto the ground, examined them, kept the good stuff, and pointed out the rubbish.”

Indeed, there was a bit of a Renaissance amongst the lesser Sparks, as a number of theories and concepts were aired out and scrutinized. There were also, it has to be said, some hard feelings, as a few cherished ideas were thoroughly disproved, sometimes in embarrassing detail
³⁶
.

The result was a quietly rising tide of chaos and small disruptions. Small, but to those who knew to watch for such things, quite noticeable.

And thus it was that one evening, in a small village with an insatiable appetite for candied mimmoths, after the show had ended and the troupe had bedded down for the evening, Lars found himself strongly invited to have a drink with Master Payne and The Countess.

The inside of their wagon was done in a tasteful blend of dark inlaid woods, rich fabrics and stained glass. Within the compact space, souvenirs and trophies gleaned from decades of travel caught the eye, and everywhere, there were cards.

Playing cards from throughout history and hundreds of cultures were carefully mounted upon every flat space large enough to accommodate it. Elegant cards made from starched silk, impossibly thin slices of wood, decorated with gilt and crushed gems, alongside a thousand different varieties of paper and parchment adorned with everything from crudely drawn symbols to excruciatingly detailed miniature oil paintings.

As they made small talk and settled into place, Payne nonchalantly pulled a series of cords and levers. It quickly became evident that the wagon was a marvel of compact engineering. It seemed that almost every surface swiveled, unfolded or slid out to become or to reveal something else. By the time the old magician was done, a table, complete with tablecloth and settings, had appeared, as had several plates of snacks, along with a bottle of wine and three glasses. As Payne leaned back and adjusted his cuffs, a small arm swung down and a tiny music-box-like mechanism played a jolly tune as it deftly removed the cork from the bottle before swinging back up and out of sight.

The Countess offered Lars a savory egg-cream tart as Payne carefully poured him a glass of deep red wine. “A little something the Countess put up a year or two ago. Do let me know what you think.”

Lars sipped. He was suddenly reminded of a Spring Festival. The air was cool and fresh, the sun—clear, but not too bright. The music, the laughter, the first kiss of a shy girl—

He shook himself, and examined the drink in his hand. He slowly nodded in appreciation. “That’s mighty good stuff, m’lady.” Marie looked pleased.

Payne steepled his fingers together. “So Lars, perhaps you’ve noticed that things around here have been a bit…” He looked at his wife.

“Higgelty-piggelty,” she said promptly.

Payne frowned. “…Chaotic,” he suggested.

Lars shifted uneasily. “I have, sir. But that doesn’t have anything to do with me…” He looked at the two of them. “Does it?”

“The
direct
cause appears to be Miss Clay.” Lars looked to the side. Marie continued. “She seems to be…” She looked at Payne.

“Agitated?” He said.

“Frustrated,” she corrected. The two of them swung their gazes upon Lars. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“I didn’t touch her,” Lars said defensively.

Again the two glanced at each other. Payne harrumphed awkwardly, and tried to assume his best man-of-the-world demeanor. He opened his mouth—

“Why in Heaven’s name not?” Marie asked. Payne rolled his eyes.

Lars saw that the Countess was looking at him expectantly. This was when he fully realized just how difficult it would be to extract himself from the encircling furniture. He blew out a breath, took a deep drink, and sat back.

“It… It’s not that I don’t want to,” he found that this discussion was easier if he kept his eyes focused on the wineglass in his hand. “I’d… kind of planned on it. But… do you remember Doktor Spün and his Cylinder of Touch
³⁷
?”

Payne nodded. Hiring Doktor Spün had been one of his rare personnel mistakes. His firing had been cathartic however, even if it had taken awhile to put out.

“That damned thing was beautiful. You wanted to touch it. To feel it.
I
wanted to. But I knew—I
knew
that it was a bad idea. I had that walking into a bad town feeling. I
told
you at the time, remember?”

He took another sip of wine, and finally raised his eyes to Payne’s. “I… I get the same feeling from Agatha. I want to touch her. Red fire, I want to… but, then I get the feeling that if I get too close, there’s going to be trouble.”

Payne slowly sat back, and thoughtfully poured the young man another glass of wine. He then turned to the Countess. “I’ve seen Moxana’s game. I can’t argue with that.”

Marie regarded Lars and slowly tapped her chin. “You’ve never…dallied with a girl possessed of the Spark, have you?”

Lars looked surprised. “No, m’lady. All the town girls I…” he paused, “—talk to, are regular folk. There’s never been any available ma—uh—
gifted
ladies with the show.” He thought about this. “You think that’s it?”