“That’s a fine hat,” Agatha said. “I’ve never really seen one like it. Is it from Paris[18]?”
“Ho! A common mistake!” Embi smiled. “But it is a style that was common in my youth, in a village in Africa that you’ll never have heard of.”
Agatha sat back and looked at the little man with surprise. “Then you really are a long way from home.”
Embi sighed as he picked up another beet and stripped the peel off all in one long strip. “It is true. I am an explorer. I travel these savage lands in search of the rare and exotic.” He saw the direction of Agatha’s glance and hefted the beet in his hand defensively. “We don’t have these back home.”
Agatha laughed. “But then, why are you with the circus?”
“The same as yourself. It is an excellent way to travel through these inhospitable lands.”
“Inhospitable?” Agatha glanced at the surrounding forest. “Well, the Wastelands, certainly... but I never thought of Europa as savage or exotic.”
Embi raised an eyebrow. “You know, that’s what I always said to visitors to my land.”
Agatha considered this. “I see. What’s your act?”
“Oh, some storytelling, exotic music, slight-of-hand...” Embi shrugged. “Mostly, I am short.”
Embi was obviously an adult, but even for a short man, he seemed impossibly tiny. “Is everyone short where you come from?”
“Indeed!” Embi reached into the basket. “Why, when I left home, my newest nephew was the size of this beet.” He held the vegetable a moment, and a far-away look came into his eyes. “He’ll be a great-great-grandfather now, I trust.” He sighed.
Agatha blinked as she ran the math in her head. “Wait a minute. You don’t look—how old are you?”
The little man studiously began to peel his beet. He didn’t look at Agatha. “I am... no longer sure,” he said quietly. “But one hundred and thirty, at least.”
Agatha sat back and considered this. “Is that normal for your people?”
“Ha!” Embi laughed, “No! When I was young and rash, I asked a boon of the Great Devil Goddess. In return, I took a sacred vow to see the wide world. I am to return to tell her all about it before I die.” He slumped a bit and looked at Agatha with one eyebrow raised. “To be honest, I don’t think either one of us knew just how wide the world is.”
Agatha thought about this. “But what has that got to do with your long life?”
Embi fixed her with a stern glare, and Agatha suddenly felt like a naughty six year old. “Humph! One of the problems with people in these lands is that they do not take sacred vows at all seriously!”
From the shadows between two wagons, Master Payne and Countess Marie watched as Agatha laughed, chatted, and relieved beets of their skins. After a few minutes of eavesdropping, they drew back farther behind the wagons, and the circus master turned to his wife.
“And so, my dear, what do you think?”
Marie bit lightly on a knuckle and frowned. “It’s too soon to tell. She seems very nice. Brave and good-hearted, but then that’s not the question, is it?” She studied Payne. “You’re worried about something.”
Payne gave a snort of annoyance. Among his players, he had a certain reputation for imperturbability, which he took pains to cultivate. His wife, on the other hand, was never fooled. He felt like he was onstage, attempting a conjuring trick that he hadn’t quite mastered. “Moxana has started a new game,” he said.
Marie exclaimed in surprise. “Started over? This far into the season? For Agatha? Why didn’t she just add her, like she has for everyone else?”
Payne shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Marie was intrigued. “But which piece—”
Payne interrupted her. “Not just a new piece. Not just started over—this is a completely new game. A different game, with different rules.” He shook his head. “I’m still working it out, but this Miss Clay is the center of the whole thing.”
Marie’s eyes widened. “What is she?” she whispered. “What have we done?”
Payne looked at her and gave a single, mirthless bark of laughter. “We did what we had to do. You said it yourself. We couldn’t leave her. That may have been... truer than you’d meant.”
“But we couldn’t... ah.” Marie absorbed this. “I find Determinism a very lazy philosophical viewpoint,” she groused, “But... a new game...”
Payne gently slid his hand around her shoulders. “If we hurry, we’ll be in Mechanicsburg in a little over two months. She plans to leave us there. With luck, and a bit of care on our part, she may never notice anything.”
Marie nodded, but her voice was skeptical. “Two months. With this lot?” The couple shared a significant look and shrugged in unison.
From the peaked roof of one of the wagons, Krosp watched them walk off, arm-in-arm. Well, that was interesting, he thought.
As Agatha finished peeling her basket of beets, a stout, bipedal clank carrying an enormous load of logs emerged from the forest and strutted toward them. Perched atop the large domed head was Balthazar, who waved excitedly when he saw them. “I brought wood!” he sang out. “Where do you want it, Herr Embi?”
The little man nodded approvingly and pointed to the beginnings of a fire circle that lay nearby. “One more load and you’re done for the day, lad.” He looked at Agatha’s basket and smiled. “And it looks like you are done as well, Miss Clay. Good job! There’ll be borscht tonight!”
Agatha needed no more prompting. She darted off after the clank. There was something about it that had seemed odd, and she wanted a better look at it.
The device moved slowly, and she easily caught up to it. Agatha examined it as she walked alongside. Balthazar smiled down at her from his perch. “Pretty neat clank, hey?” he said with pride.
Agatha nodded. “Indeed it is. Where did your family get it?”
“He.” Balthazar corrected her. “This is Smilin’ Stev. My dad used to be a smith for the Porcelain Count of Niktalten. He’s the guy who used to take down airships with his clockwork falcons. When the Baron beat him, Dad took Stev here as his back pay.” The boy affectionately patted the clank on the head. “He’s nothing fancy, so none of the bad people we run into think he’s worth stealing. He just pulls our cart and fetches wood and water.”
A light dawned. “Ah—That’s what confused me.”
Balthazar suddenly looked wary. “What?”
Agatha pointed at the mechanical troll’s limbs as they pistoned along. “Has your father ever opened Stev up? These joints are really complicated. And look at the way these plates overlap. I think this clank may be a bit more sophisticated than you think.”
“Dad says Stev is slow and stupid, just like Mama likes ’em.”
This pronouncement effectively broke Agatha’s chain of thought. “Wait... what?”
Balthazar smiled at her innocently. “Dad plays Punch in the Heterodyne plays[19].”
“But—”
Suddenly, Agatha realized that while she had been intent on the clank, she had been flanked by Rivet the mechanic, and André, the troupe’s music master. Rivet was assuring André that Agatha was a decent mechanic—or at least talked like one. She turned and smiled cheerfully. “Hello, Agatha!” she chirped. “Feeling bored?”
Agatha saw that escape was impossible. “This doesn’t involve root vegetables, does it?”
Rivet considered this. “No.”
18
Then, as now, Paris has always been a safe guess when outlandish or bizarre fashion is the topic.
19
Historically, the construct, Punch, had been one of the Heterodyne Boys’ constant companions, along with his wife, Judy. In the Heterodyne plays, Punch was portrayed as an oafish, freakishly strong clown. This greatly annoyed Agatha’s foster-father, Adam, who had in fact,