Without a word, the green-haired girl took Agatha’s hand and pulled her into the forest. She was carrying a stick about two meters long—its sharp, fresh smell proclaimed it a newly-trimmed sapling. Soon they stepped into a small glade, and Zeetha released her hand and turned to face her. The look she gave Agatha was serious.
Agatha crossed her arms against the morning chill. “Zeetha? What is going on? This outfit—?”
Zeetha smiled. “Remember? You start your warrior training today. That is a close approximation of traditional Skifandrian novice garb.”
Agatha shivered. “Skifander must be in the tropics, then.” She rubbed her arms and looked at the sky. Birds began to call in the trees overhead. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”
Zeetha shook her head. “My concern is that I may be too late.” She stepped closer. “Know, Agatha Clay, that the warrior tradition of the royal house of Skifander is old, proud, and jealously guarded.
“In this life, I am allowed to train one other besides my own daughters. I have chosen you. The bond between us will be stronger than that of friends. Of family. Of lovers. As of now, we are ‘Koleedok-zumil.’”
Agatha looked hard at Zeetha and thought a moment. This sounded serious—what was she getting into? “What does that mean?” she asked.
Zeetha paused. “Ah—it’s kind of hard to translate. Sort of like ‘teacher and student.’ Sort of like ‘cause and effect.’” With a sudden, fluid movement, she brought the stick around and knocked Agatha to her knees. “Mostly like ‘grindstone and knife.’”
Agatha was stunned. “What are you doing?”
Zeetha twirled the stick about her fingers. “Testing your reflexes. You’re supposed to try to stop me. Try again!” She swung her stick.
About an hour later, Zeetha sighed deeply and sat on her heels next to Agatha, who had resorted to huddling on the ground with her hands over her head. “Pathetic,” she pronounced. “No stamina. You can’t dodge. You can’t block. You allow anger to drive your attacks, and you can’t even run away properly.” She stood back up. “The good news is that you’ve got fast reflexes, and I’m greatly encouraged by the fact that I haven’t been able to hit you exactly the same way twice.”
Agatha stirred slightly. “So... this death thing that training is supposed to prevent... why is it bad?”
This earned her another smack across the rump. “And a poor attitude.” Zeetha stretched her arms toward the sky, then squared her shoulders. “Lucky for you, I like a challenge!”
“This is lucky?” Agatha’s voice was barely there.
“Sure! Nothing’s broken, is it?” Zeetha turned to go. “That makes it a good first day. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
As Zeetha left, Krosp, who had been watching for some time, hopped from the wagon and sauntered up to Agatha. He gave her a sniff and then nudged her with his foot. “How’d it go?” he asked.
Agatha raised her face and her eyes were despairing. “Krosp,” she wailed. “Help! She’s going to kill me.”
Krosp’s whiskers twitched disapprovingly. “It sounds like she’s going to toughen you up. Good! These are the Wastelands! You’ve got to be strong! You’ve got to be quick! If you want to stay alive, you’ve got to make sacrifices.”
Agatha slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. “Gosh. I—”
“And tomorrow, be a little more careful when you leave, okay? You almost woke me up.”
Agatha told herself later that she probably wouldn’t have actually hit him with it... she had just grabbed the rock without thinking. A good-sized rock, actually. It wasn’t until she had raised it high over her head with a vengeful roar that Zeetha voice sounded behind her. “Hey! You’re moving!” Zeetha set down a dish of oatmeal and looked pleased. “I’m really impressed!”
Agatha flinched, and dropped the rock onto her foot. As she clutched her foot in pain, Zeetha explained. “The point of the first day of training is to drive you to your absolute limit. To see just how far I can force you.” She gestured to the rock. “You’re not as weak as I thought.”
The ramifications of what Zeetha was saying began to sink in. “No!” Agatha whimpered. “I am weak.”
Zeetha laughed merrily, and swung the stick up with a flourish. “And you’re sneaky! I admire that!” Down came the stick. “But you won’t fool me again!”
Agatha, squealing, gamely tried to defend herself from the fresh volley of blows. Krosp looked on with detached interest as she staggered off—Zeetha trotting happily behind to deliver the occasional smack.
The cat stretched, then picked up Agatha’s cereal. He ventured a taste, nodded in approval, and began to eat. “Mm! Delicious. She’ll be sorry she missed this!”
Some time later, a large, shaggy raven crouched on the edge of Professor Moonsock’s wagon, peering hopefully at the prone figure of Agatha on the grass below. She hadn’t moved for a long time, which looked promising. Perhaps she was dead. The raven swooped down to land on her thigh. No reaction. Good. It took a peck at her. Still no reaction. Very good. Encouraged, the bird prepared to dig in—when a pebble whizzed out from under the nearest tree and caught it hard just above its tail. The raven gave an outraged “squark” as it flapped hastily into the air, circling around to settle back onto the roof of the cart. It could wait. Countess Marie strode forward. She rolled her eyes at the comatose girl before her and shook her head. “Come along, Agatha. I know you’re not dead.”
A muffled voice escaped the moss. “You cannot prove that by any verifiable method.”
Zeetha had let it be known that she had taken Agatha under her wing, and would be working her hard. There were no objections. In fact, this fit neatly with the order Master Payne had quietly given his troupe the night before. Grateful as the circus members were for Agatha’s help, she was nevertheless a stranger. Until they bid her fare-thee-well at Mechanicsburg, she was to be kept busy and worked hard, hard enough that she would have neither time nor energy to get into trouble, or ask too many questions.
Marie was used to dealing with actors who had over-indulged the night before, and was infamous for her ability to get them on their feet and on stage without mercy. Agatha’s condition, while not self-imposed, was familiar enough. She reached down with one hand, and effortlessly hauled the girl to her feet. “Let’s get you moving.”
Clean, dressed, and with a decent meal inside her, Agatha was soon willing to admit the possibility that life might be worth living.
Marie smiled. “We’ll have you help out with a little of everything. That will give us a chance to see where you’ll be the most use. To start with, I believe Embi could use an assistant.”
Agatha swallowed the last of her oat bread and honey, then wiped her hands. “Who is Embi?” she asked.
The Countess smiled. “Ah! With all the excitement we’ve had the last few days, you haven’t had a chance to meet everyone. Now, it’s high time you experienced the true glamour and excitement of show business!”
Several minutes later, a man no taller than Balthazar—with skin so dark it was almost black—plopped a second huge basket of beets at her feet as he sang out “Aaaand this batch of glamour here!” He then sat down beside her and pulled a paring knife out of his astonishingly tall hat.
Agatha was all-too-familiar with the job before her[17]. She sighed, and set to work with a will. She was soon surprised to find the task more pleasant than usual, for Embi had a friendly air about him and the conversation flowed comfortably.
17
Lilith, Agatha’s foster mother, had been an exuberant proponent of the preserving, canning, drying and pickling of various fruits and vegetables. Agatha had once complained that this might make sense if the Clays managed a farm, but in fact, they lived in town, and all of the produce they processed was purchased from local green-grocers. Lilith had said nothing at the time, but that night, Agatha awakened and discovered that, after midnight, her parents’ forge served as a gathering place for constructs she had never seen before. These were twisted, bizarre creations. Things that could never feel comfortable out in public, despite the Baron’s laws enforcing tolerance. They labored in the many unseen jobs offered by the University. Despite their often horrific appearance, Agatha found them to be intelligent, well-read, and urbane, in their own strange way. It was these creatures who received the bulk of the preserved food. The Clays always refused direct payment, but Agatha now understood the source of the many odd and useful things that appeared overnight upon the Clay’s doorstep.