“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?”