Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess by Phil Foglio, Kaja Foglio

ways. Payne smiled. The lad was getting pretty good.
    As Payne stepped out of the shadows, Abner reached his hand around behind his back and handed the circus master a steaming mug of his favorite bitter apple tea. Payne frowned. “Save it for the paying customers, lad.” He then smiled and took an appreciative sip. “How do things look?”
    Abner shrugged. “A good crowd, sir. The whole town is here. It was market day, so I’d be surprised if there’s anyone living between here and the river who isn’t out front.” Balthazar ran past carrying a red crate. Abner watched him go. “—and if that’s what I think it is, it means we’re almost out of ‘Mimmoths On A Stick.’”
    That was good news. Like most shows, the circus made most of its profits from the sales of treats, remedies, charms, and small souvenirs.
    “And the troupe?” Payne asked, although he already knew the answer.
    “On edge. They’re calming down now that the show’s under way.” A huge roar of laughter went up on the other side of the curtain wall. Payne eyed his apprentice. “And how are you doing?”
    Abner took a moment to consider his answer. “It… it’s like a storm brewing. I know something is going to happen. I just want to get it over with.”
    An odd breeze rippled the fabric of the walls. Payne cast his eyes upward. “Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered.
    Abner nodded. “But I think we have a chance. As long as whoever shows up is someone who will listen to us…” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe nothing will happen at all.”
    Payne looked at him askance. “Do you really believe that?”
    Abner shook his head. “No sir.”
    Payne again looked upwards in time to see the great black shape blotting out the stars. “Good. Because it’s show time .”
    As always, the Circus Master’s timing was impeccable. With a crash, huge rows of electric arclights snapped on overhead, blinding performers and audience alike. The Wulfenbach airship had silently drifted down over the crowd—unseen until it was less than ten meters overhead. Soldier clanks stood outlined in the cargo bay doors, and the great steam cannons slowly tracked about. A loudhailer crackled, easily carrying over the noise of the crowd below.
    “ATTENTION! THIS IS THE WULFENBACH AIRSHIP ISLAND QUEEN . EVERYONE IS TO STAY WHERE THEY ARE. PLEASE CO-OPERATE, AND NO ONE WILL BE HARMED.”
    In less then thirty seconds, the ship had settled low enough for a crew of airshipmen to leap to the ground. The ship fired its compressed air harpooncannons, driving six great mooring stakes into the ground, thick lines trailing upward. Onboard, the great capstans rumbled to life, the hawsers thrummed taut, and the enormous ship began to sink down to earth.
    On the ground, the airmen took up positions around the anchor lines, drew the swords at their belts, and assumed guard positions.
    From the cargo bays, great metal ramps rolled out and slammed to the earth with a single resonant crash. The thunder of three dozen giant brass and steel soldier clanks marching down the ramps filled the air. In the center of the group strode Gilgamesh Wulfenbach and Captain Bangladesh DuPree 12 , bickering like a couple who’d had a lot of practice.
    “’No one will be harmed?’” she demanded. “How am I supposed to work here?” As DuPree considered success to be measured by the number of bodies she left behind, Gil thought any impediment to her efficiency was a thing to be encouraged.
    “These people may know nothing,” he pointed out.
    Dupree rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t start that again. I found the crash site, the place where she slept, and tracks of a caravan intercepting her. We followed those tracks and hey presto, a traveling show! She’s here.”
    Gil didn’t try to dispute this. DuPree was a phenomenal tracker. “Yes, yes, but this time we want the job done without incident. There’s politics involved.”
    DuPree grimaced. Usually, when she heard the word