Agatha H and the Siege of Mechanicsburg

by Phil Foglio

  She stared intently at a small electronic device that was sitting on the bench before her. She selected a large monkey wrench and, with a fluid movement, smashed the device sharply and precisely, causing the case to disintegrate without damaging the components inside. With a satisfied nod, she picked them up and began inserting them into the end of the brass tube. “We’ll have to leave notes for the others. They’re smart, and Theo and Sleipnir care about Von Pinn too, I imagine. Once they find their way back here, they should be able to get started on her without us.”

  Agatha turned to face them. Idly, she swung the copper and brass wand through the air, testing its weight. “Our first priority is repairing the Castle.” She pointed to a small collection of equipment piled up on a bench. “I’ve gathered what I think I’ll need to transfer the part of its consciousness that’s in Otilia’s body back into its main system.” She looked over to the shattered hulk of the Muse. “That’s assuming we can find a place to hook you up . . . ”

  The clank jerked its head up. “I-I can show/guide you. But even with the four of you, you have t-t-too many/much equipment. I am too large and heavy. To transport this/me/me/me alone will require—”

  As the Muse was talking, Agatha snapped a switch on the wand. It sparked to life and a crackling bolt of energy burned between the points of the hook. With a deft swing, Agatha sliced the Muse’s head cleanly off and caught it before it hit the ground. She turned to the others. “I have that covered. Any other problems?”

  In the shocked silence there was a burst of static and then the head tucked underneath her arm spoke. “N-n-no. We are good.”

  The great flying armada that accompanied Castle Wulfenbach was slowly regrouping. Mechanicsburg’s newly reactivated Torchmen clanks had driven it away like a swarm of bees fighting off an invasion of wasps. It now hovered two-and-a-half leagues8 to the north of the town as it saw to its reorganization and repair.

  A squadron of damaged ships flashed a departure signal, then peeled off towards the already overtaxed repair yards at Sturmhalten. Other ships were covered with swarms of rigger-rats, busy replacing canvas or repairing hulls even as they hung at dizzying heights above the ground.

  Aboard one small, unobtrusive vessel, an inner door burst open. The occupants of the room, who had been examining a large map of the town and its surroundings, leaped in surprise. One produced a knife, seemingly from thin air.

  In the doorway stood Boris Dolokhov, second in command to Baron Wulfenbach and the man currently running the Empire of the Pax Transylvania while its master recuperated in hospital. Boris had a reputation as being perennially annoyed, but the man who stood framed in the doorway now radiated a controlled fury that had those who saw him, seasoned fighters all, slowly rising to their feet and flexing their claws. Boris’s normally fastidious appearance was marred by several bruises on his face and one of his four arms hung limp. His suit was tattered and looked as though he had been in a fight. Several fights.

  General Khrizhan, who was easily the most level-headed of the three Jägermonster generals, gave him a wary nod. “Gospodin Dolokhov. How did hyu find us?”

  Boris removed a handkerchief from an inner pocket and delicately dabbed it at his lip. “Your messenger told me.”

  The three generals glanced at each other. Khrizhan raised his chin defensively. “He vould not.”

  The Baron had been declared hors de combat, and Boris was in the process of coordinating the current situation vis-a-vis Mechanicsburg. There had been a sudden disruption at the door, and a Jägermonster officer had sauntered in. “Hey dere, Meester Boris bug man!”

  Boris swore under his breath. Then a sudden realization made him frown. “Wait a minute . . . ” The Jägers had been created by the Heterodynes. Because of this, the news of Agatha’s existence had been carefully kept from them. In advance of the empire’s sally into this neighborhood, every Jägermonster that served the empire had been plausibly dispatched to far-flung locations. He flipped through a stack of troop movement reports. “What are you even doing here? All of you Jägers are supposed to be up north.”

  The Jäger carefully collected a stack of paperwork, then sat on it. “Heh. Yez, vell, sveethot, ve gots a message for hyu.” He smiled at Boris. “Ve quit.”

  Boris carefully adjusted his pince-nez. “I don’t have time for jokes.”

  The Jäger shrugged insouciantly. “No joke, sport. Iz a message direct from de generals.”

  “Obviously I need to talk to them. Where are they?”

  The Jäger laughed uproariously. “Vell dey ain’t got time to vaste talkin’ to hyu.” He unwound himself from his chair and leaned over to gently pat Boris’s cheek. “Iz hyu disappointed ve ain’t gunna be around anymore?” He smiled toothily. “Tell hyu vat. Hy let hyu get vun punch in to treasure in hyu old age.” He then cracked his knuckles. “Or ven hyu vakes op.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Boris dragged his fourth arm into view. Grasped firmly in his hand was a severely beaten and battered Jäger, whom he allowed to drop with a thud to the deck. “Oh,” he allowed, “not right away . . . ”

  The generals stared down in shock until Zog, the oldest, threw his head back with a roar of delighted laughter. He tossed the knife in his hand upwards with a flourish, and it performed a delicate pirouette before sliding cleanly into the scabbard at his hip. “Hyu haz earned the right to a tok.” He turned to the astonished Khrizhan and smacked him on the arm. “Alexi! Get some tea for our guest.” He reached back and spun a chair into place at their table. “Zo tok.”

  As the injured Jäger was taken away, Boris nodded, took a seat, and fastidiously adjusted his cuffs. A tall glass of tea was quietly set down before him. Zog sat opposite and studied him openly. In his opinion, Boris was under a great deal of stress. More so than usual. The man did periodically take over the reins of the Baron’s empire without trouble, but these were, unquestionably, extraordinary times.

  Boris took a deep breath in through his nose. “You say you are leaving the Baron’s service.”

  Zog nodded. “Dere iz a Heterodyne. Dot vos the contingency.”

  “She is not official. She has not taken the Castle. The Doom Bell has not rung.”

  Zog ground his teeth together in annoyance. “Feh! Technicalities! Ennyvay, ve half not entered de town, yah?”

  Boris rolled his eyes. “You mean your troops haven’t climbed up a set of stairs!”

  Zog was unpleasantly surprised. “Oho!” He blustered, “Vot hyu—”

  He was interrupted by Boris slamming two of his hands on the table. “No! Nonono! We cannot fight! Not now!” He looked at the other generals. “We need you. The empire needs you.”

  Zog waved a hand dismissively. “De Baron haz gots lots of troops. Thousands.” He smiled. “Sum ov dem might even gif us a goot fight.”

  To his disappointment, Boris did not rise to the bait, but nodded seriously instead. “Granted. But everyone knows that the Jägers serve the House of Heterodyne. If you acknowledge this girl prematurely, it could fuel trouble all over Europa.”

  Zog shrugged and scratched at his chin. “Yah, dot’s true. Could be ve’s in for goot times. Lotsa fightin’. Lotsa fun.”

  Boris folded his arms. “Oh really? And how will your new Heterodyne like that sort of chaos—if she takes after her father and uncle?”

  Zog looked like he had bitten into a particularly bitter bug. He glanced at his compatriots. General Goomblast considered this. “Her papa?” He wiggled a hand to indicate that it was an open question. Then he sighed, “But she does seem more like her oncle den her papa, yah?”

  The others nodded. General Khrizhan cleared his throat and tried to look reasonable. “Hyu said ‘prematurely’?”

  Boris took a sip of tea. “I did.” He looked at the three old generals. “Wait. Wait until she takes the Castle. Wait until the Doom Bell rings. Wait until the Baron formally releases you back into her service.” He spread his hands. “Let the people of Europa see that the Law of the Wu
lfenbach Empire still holds.”

  Zog frowned. “Und let de pipple see dot de Heterodyne submits to dose laws, hey?”

  Goomblast clicked his claws together. “Brodders, Meester Boris makes a goot point.”

  Zog’s fur bristled. “Empire law . . . ”

  Khrizhan leaned in. “Dun alvays tink ov youself, Zog. Dis vay, Meez Agatha ken choose her first var.”

  Zog’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at his fellow general with new respect. “Ooh, dot is very true, Alexi.” He leaned in to Boris and explained, “A gurl haz gots to be picky about her first var.” He glanced back at the other generals. “Remember de Lady Roxalana?”

  To Boris’s astonishment, he saw the other two generals blushing. He opened his mouth to ask, then realized he really did not want to know9.

  As Zog chuckled, Goomblast stepped up and made a formal bow. “Hokay, Meester Boris, maybe ve do dis hyu vay.”

  Boris let out a sigh of relief. “Excellent.”

  Goomblast held up a delicate finger. “Eef hyu agrees to certain trade concessions ve is gun discuss now.”

  Sweat broke out on Boris’s forehead. Still, it could have been a lot worse—

  A voice rang out from behind the group. “Sirs, if you agree to this, the Lady Heterodyne will die.”

  Everyone spun about to see a tall, jaunty man sitting in the window. Boris started to his feet, unwelcome recognition obviously showing on his face.

  The man in the window continued. “Do forgive me for letting myself in, generals. I am Ardsley Wooster. You might recognize me as Gilgamesh Wulfenbach’s manservant, but in actuality, I am an agent of British Intelligence!”

  General Goomblast impatiently waved a hand. “Yez, yez, efferbody knew dot. Now vat vos dot about de Lady Heterodyne?”

  Wooster sighed. Apparently, his secret had been safe . . . with everyone. Oh well. “I regret to say that Herr Dolokhov is not playing straight with you.”

  Boris gave a desperate shout and tried to leap forward, but was easily kept in check by one of Khrizhan’s large hands. “Keep talking, Herr Wooster.”

  Wooster nodded. “What he isn’t telling you is that, if you stand by and do nothing, there won’t be a Mechanicsburg to return to. The Baron plans to destroy the Castle and your Lady Heterodyne.”

  Khrizhan stepped forward. “Dis is a serious charge.”

  From inside his leather coat, Wooster produced a thick oilskin courier packet. He tossed it to the general. “Here are orders. Troop movements and instructions for the attack and its aftermath.”

  Khrizhan snapped open the packet and began flipping through the papers within. Suddenly he paused, then began to scowl as he flipped faster. Within seconds, papers were blizzarding throughout the room as he screamed in rage.

  Boris broke free and advanced, fists balled in rage. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  Wooster leaned back out the window and grabbed a rope that was hanging beside him. “Destabilized Britain’s greatest rival and aided an innocent girl,” he replied smugly. “A mighty good day’s work, I’d say.”

  Boris screamed in frustration. “She’s not innocent, you dupe! She’s the Other!”

  Wooster looked serious. “I believe you’re wrong, but if she is, then rest assured that Her Majesty will take an interest.”

  “You damned spy,” Boris screamed. “I’ll kill you!” But as he leapt forward, Wooster simply fell backwards into the open sky. Everyone rushed to the window and peered downward in time to see Wooster pull a small personal flight unit from inside his coat. It was too small to actually fly anywhere, but the British agent was now in a controlled fall that was taking him back towards the town below. A last faint “dosvedanya” wafted upwards.

  As Boris stared at the receding figure, a large hand fell on his shoulder. A great feeling of peace washed over Boris. He really had done his best. He closed his eyes and wished his coat was not ripped. “All right,” He said evenly, “Fine. If you’re going to kill me, just do it quickly.”

  There was a pause. Then, to his surprise, a second hand grasped, lifted, and turned him around until he faced the trio of menacing monsters who regarded him from troubled faces. Zog nodded. “Perhaps. But first . . . ” He gently set Boris down onto his feet. “First hyu weel tell uz about Meez Agatha and de Other. Ve iz listening.”

  CHAPTER 2

  One would think that sparks—being on the whole, psychotic megalomaniacs with little regard for human life and poor impulse control—would have no friends or indeed any use for people. Quite often they believe this themselves, and can often be heard making dramatic statements to this effect. The reason these diatribes are heard by more than just the occasional potted plant or captured hero is this: sparks quite frequently find themselves surrounded by people whether they want to be or not. We are not just talking about the stereotypical traveler whose cart breaks down during a storm and thus must seek shelter at the lone castle glimpsed through the trees and so finds himself at a timely ringside seat for the revelation of the latest abomination of science (although there is no denying this happens far more than is statistically probable). No, your seriously steeped-in-madness dabbler in the esoteric sciences usually finds themself taxed with a rag-tag collection of hangers-on, typically consisting of minions, constructs, adventurers, and those unique, unclassifiable, individuals whose raison d’être appears to be to remind us of what a strange world it is. Even more interestingly, it appears that the greater the spark, the more of these individuals they spontaneously accumulate.

  Philosophers and other underemployed persons have theorized this is a natural phenomenon, and is simply “Nature’s Way” of trying to insulate the world from the direct effects of sparks by constantly distracting them. The argument goes that if they were left alone to their own devices (so to speak), they would soon reduce all of human existence to naught but mathematical formulae, and I do not believe that I am speaking figuratively. This theory goes a long way towards explaining the enormous collection of odd persons that have, over time, accreted around Baron Klaus Wulfenbach.

  Those who believe this phenomenon does represent some sort of cosmic defense mechanism, and that the greater the spark, the greater the number of distracting persons required to prevent them from bringing about Armageddon, noted with trepidation the number, quality, and sheer strangeness of the people that had already begun to fall into the orbit of the young Lady Heterodyne less than a week after she had publicly revealed herself in Sturmhalten and became known to Europa as a whole. From this, they had drawn rather alarming conclusions. All of which, it turned out, seriously underestimated the events to come.

  —An excerpt from the Introduction to Professor Thaddeus Brinstine’s What the Hell Was That? Trying to Understand The Legacy of the Long Wars (Transylvania Polygnostic University Press)

  Airman Higgs reached out and grasped a mildewing set of draperies. These disintegrated into tatters with a firm tug, allowing a wan, dust-filled shaft of light to illuminate the hallway. The doors that punctuated the walls were more elaborately carved than any others they had seen in the Castle, and some effort had been made to soften the usual style of decor they had found throughout the rest of the building. Oh, there was still a plethora of fanged monstrosities threatening hapless humans, but here, at least, everybody involved seemed unnaturally cheerful. Higgs nodded in satisfaction. “I’m betting this is where we need to be.”

  The others looked at each other in confusion. Zeetha glanced out the window. “But we haven’t gone down anywhere near far enough. We’re still above ground.”

  Sleipnir had opened the nearest door and peeked inside. “These look like they’re all bedrooms. Pretty fancy ones too.” She raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Read your ‘map’ wrong?”

  Higgs regarded them blankly. Then he gave a slight sigh. “Thought you folks were smart.” He started walking. “The Castle told Herr von Zinzer here that the Great Movement Chamber was so secret that even the Heterodyne Boys never knew about it. Bu
t Miss Agatha found the Lady Lucrezia’s secret lab in a set of small rooms hidden underneath it.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket and gave it a ruminative suck. “Sparks are like balloon bees.10 They like to spread out to fill as much space as they can. If the Lady Lucrezia was set up in those small rooms, it’s because she didn’t know about, or couldn’t get to the larger room right overhead.”

  He gave the wall a gentle rap as he kept walking. “A place like Castle Heterodyne—even if you was the boss—I’m betting you’d want to get away from it occasionally and to do that, you’d have to put your secret room somewhere the Castle couldn’t see. The Great Movement Chamber was as deep as the Castle’s perception went, so they stowed it below that.”

  He stopped outside a bedroom door that, even compared to the others, was ostentatious in the extreme. Gargoyles and assorted monstrosities frolicked in all directions and the door itself sported inlaid panels of gold and jade. “And the only person who’d know about it would be the Heterodyne.”

  “Oh!” Sleipnir snapped her fingers. “The Heterodyne Boys’ father was killed by their mother. He might not have had the opportunity to pass that knowledge down to his son.”

  “This does make sense,” Theo chimed in. “From stuff I’ve heard from my family, Lucrezia could get anything she wanted from her husband, Bill Heterodyne.” He pushed open the great door and revealed an extremely ornate room, complete with a bed that could easily have comfortably slept a half-a-dozen people. “And knowing her, I’ll bet she even convinced him to give her the master bedroom.”

  The room was large, but one could see that, even in ruins, it conveyed a feeling of comfort and power. The outer wall was dominated by a large set of cracked windows and a set of French doors that at one time must have led out to a balcony. This had been ripped away, but there was still a breathtaking view of the town spread out below. In addition to the bed, there was a parlor, a row of elegantly carved armoires, and a spacious, sunken marble tub. The walls were paneled from top to bottom in a reddish wood that even under the dust and grime of almost two decades conveyed richness and extravagance. The walls were hung with numerous paintings.