Agatha H and the Siege of Mechanicsburg

by Phil Foglio

  Agatha stepped through a doorway and her breath caught in wonder. Even in ruins, the room before them was magnificent. A large airy chamber, capped with a dome that had once been painted in a riot of colors. It was shattered in places, and small shafts of outside light shone in. Two stories tall, it was surrounded by a set of chambers fronted by decoratively carved screens, a surprising number of which were still intact. The floor, though covered in dust and dead leaves, was made of inlaid marble, and in the center, a magnificently salacious statue held primacy.

  Gilgamesh stepped into the room and whistled in appreciation. “Wow. It’s the seraglio of Satyricus Heterodyne!”

  Agatha looked at her map. The area they were in was simply labeled “Bedrooms.”

  Gil continued, “Yes, I’ve seen pictures. There’s no mistaking it. The first edition of François Mansart’s Les Abominations Dangereuses de L’Architecture has an extensive collection of plates, and of course here is Alphonse Ennui’s masterpiece The Temptation of Saint Vulcania, which has the most amazing—oh. I see they’ve removed those.”

  To Agatha’s eyes it was obvious that, indeed, things had been removed from the original statue. There was no way to tell what exactly had been so outrageous that even some past Heterodyne had felt the need to remove it, but there was still plenty left to tempt the hapless saint, who looked like she was having a very difficult time resisting. Especially the thing with the feather duster. Agatha considered the possibilities and felt her face getting red.

  Gil plowed on. “It’s still a fantastic piece. It really gives you a feel for the excesses of the early Heterodynes, and . . . ”

  Belatedly, he recognized Agatha might not be the most appreciative of audiences. “Of course,” he rallied gamely, “these books were commissioned for the Storm King, so I’m sure it’s all totally exaggerated.” He glanced back at the statue. “Mostly.”

  A chilly silence was broken by Tarvek’s barely smothered snort of laughter.

  Agatha turned on him. “Oh, do you have something to add?”

  Tarvek nodded. “Yup. When you get this place back up and running, I’ll take that room over there. It has a nice view.”

  Agatha stared at him and then, to Gil’s astonishment, dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  Tarvek saw Gil’s face and companionably slung an arm over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, old man, when the harem gets too crowded you can bunk with me.”

  “Tarvek!” Agatha looked shocked. “Don’t be mean.” She leaned in close and whispered to Gil, “I promise, no matter how crowded it gets, you’ll always have your own room.”

  Gil blinked, and then grinned. “At least I’ll have someplace to go after Zola topples the empire with her marshmallow gun.” This was possibly the most diverting thing anyone had ever said in the history of the world. Even Violetta joined in the uproarious laughter.

  Finally, Agatha raised a hand. “Of course there’ll be no rooms for either of you unless we get this castle working.” She giggled at the thought. “Let’s go.”

  “Hee hee,” Tarvek snickered at Gil. “I will totally crush you.”

  Gil slapped him on the back, “Ho ho! You just try it, sir!”

  Violetta grinned. “Well, you’re all cheerful all of a sudden!”

  “Yeah!” Agatha gave a leaping skip. “I feel great!”

  Violetta hugged herself in glee. “Me too! I’m having the best time!”

  Gil looked like he was about to burst into song. “That’s ’cause this is fun!” He paused, but no invisible orchestra obliged. He shrugged. “I haven’t been adventuring in ages! I feel fantastic!”

  Tarvek nodded. “Yes! Me too!” He paused. Tarvek was one of those people who had tolerated the “romance of adventuring” right up until he had discovered hotels that served breakfast in bed. “In fact,” he giggled, “I’m unnaturally happy.”

  Violetta chucked him under his chin. “Good for you! It’s not that surprising, you’re just not used to being out of your cage!”

  Tarvek stared at Violetta’s hand like it was a snake that had given him a kiss. “Violetta. I’m . . . never this happy. I’m not allowed to be happy.” He looked ahead and saw Agatha and Gil skipping down the corridor hand-in-hand. “And it’s all of us. Why are we all like this?” An idea struck him and he chortled. “Agatha, can I see your map?”

  Agatha grinned and handed it over. “Here you go, sweetie!”

  Tarvek felt an upwelling of sheer joy and viciously pinched his cheek as he scanned the map. “Focus,” he hissed to himself. Things suddenly dropped into place. “Hey, Wulfenbach! Go check out that smashed wall over there.”

  Gil ambled over, chuckling. “Sure! If it’ll make you happy!”

  Without warning several huge, green tendrils looped down from the hole in the ceiling, encircled Gil, and then effortlessly hauled him up and out of sight. “Yeek!” He screamed joyfully.

  Tarvek did a little dance. “Yes! I was right! Hee hee!”

  Agatha whooped with laughter. “Wow! Was that a plant?”

  “Ha! Ha! Yes! Nepenthes dulces! It incapacitates prey by inducing feelings of extreme happiness! Smoke Knights use a modified form of its pollen, so at first I thought Zola was sneaking up on us.” Tarvek gave a solid kick to the shattered wall, causing a section to collapse. A much larger room was revealed beyond. “But then I saw on the map that we were near a conservatory. Of course the Heterodynes would have a specimen. The plants must have multiplied like crazy to have so pervasive an effect.”

  They stepped through the opening into a riot of greenery. Overhead were the remains of a glass-paneled ceiling, now shattered, allowing light and rain free entry. The results were startlingly impressive. At one time the conservatory had been meticulously laid out. There had once been automatic feeding systems, but they had long ago succumbed to the ruin. Stretches of the beds were choked with brown and rotting bracken, while others had dissolved into evil-smelling swamps. Even so, there were plants in abundance. A few stunted trees, whose seeds had blown in with the wind or been dropped by birds, struggled upward. There were weeds, but the majority of the plants were descendants of the odd and unusual foliage that the Heterodynes had developed or collected on their wanderings. Hundreds of varieties of fungi thrived amidst the decay, many of them phosphorescent in the dim light. Several varieties twitched at their approach, and a few tempting-looking blooms unfolded as they drew near. Prudently, these were avoided.

  The crown jewel of this riot of growth loomed in the center of it all. It was a gigantic, fleshy-looking plant, easily towering three meters high. It currently had Gilgamesh secure within its prehensile tendrils. The plant was in the process of dragging him, thrashing, towards a large maw-like blossom that gaped to reveal hundreds of thorns lining its interior.

  Gil saw Tarvek and Agatha as they entered. “Sturmvoraus,” he called, still struggling violently. “I’m still happy, but not with you!”

  Tarvek nodded. “Or it could be a single, monstrous hybrid with greatly enhanced capabilities—” At the sound of Tarvek’s voice, a cluster of smaller blooms swiveled and released their own clouds of pollen. Tendrils shivered to life and whipped out, ensnaring all three of them. “—that is viable enough to put out cultivars!” Tarvek laughed as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and attacked the vine holding his other arm. “This just gets better and better,” he shouted joyfully. “Oh, by the way, I’m being sarcastic!”

  “I think we’re going to have some trouble rescuing Gil,” Agatha sang out cheerfully. “I’m having trouble rescuing myself! Hee hee!”

  By this time Gil had been dragged to the mouth of the central blossom. “Hey guys! Getting rescued would make me really happy! Just sayin’!”

  Agatha, still held fast by the vines that wound from her ankles and up her legs, had grabbed several small, crab-like clanks from a stone garden bench. “Hold on! I’ve almost got these old pruning clanks working!”

  “Then we’d better tell Wulfenbach not to act so wooden,” sa
id Tarvek, a man who obviously didn’t tell a lot of jokes. Everyone giggled anyway.

  “Gil!” A new voice called.

  At the sound, everyone froze and looked about frantically. It was Zola, hanging from a rope and dangling about a meter above Gil, who was now completely immobilized. “Omigosh,” she beamed. “I thought you were dead!”

  Gil glanced at his waist that was now enveloped by the plant’s maw. The plant seemed to pulse and he slid several centimeters deeper. “Well . . . ”

  Zola laughed in delight. “And this time, I get to rescue you! I’m so happy!”

  Another peristaltic surge and Gil was buried up to his chest. “Oh dear, it’s really got you.” Zola looked like she was listening to someone behind her shoulder. “Hmm. Auntie Lucrezia says that if I try to pull you out, you’ll get all ripped up on the thorns.” She rolled her eyes. “And they’re poisoned, of course, which is kind of adorable.” Again she listened. “Okay, all you’ve got to do is wait until it’s eaten you all the way.”

  Gil’s façade of cheerfulness cracked slightly. “What?”

  Zola waved a hand reassuringly. “Then I’ll cut you out through the soft part.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Oh, don’t be modest. You do that kind of thing all the time. Relax. These rascals take over a year to fully absorb live prey, so you should be fine for a few minutes.” She considered him. “Though you might get a bit of a rash.” She simpered. “But I have some delightfully soothing ointment that I’ll be happy to apply to all of those hard to reach places—”

  “You keep your greasy hands off of him,” Agatha yelled.

  Zola looked down at Agatha and her smile became sharper. “You’re just annoyed that they won’t be your greedy, beau-hogging hands, you hussy! That’s because you’ll be dead, which will make me very, very happy!”

  Gil struggled to keep his mouth free. “Zola! Don’t—”

  She silenced him by gently placing a knife in his mouth. “Here. You might have to do this yourself, Gil. Remember to watch out for those thorns.”

  With that she pulled out another blade as she allowed herself to slide further down the rope towards Agatha, who was still tangled in vines. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go prune the family tree!”

  Agatha twisted frantically. “Hurry! I’m stuck!”

  “Oh,” Zola crowed, “I’m coming as fast as I can!” She suddenly realized Agatha hadn’t been talking to her. Instinctively, she twisted in midair and the blade that Zeetha had thrown missed her by centimeters.

  Higgs—observing the scene below him from the balcony on which he, Violetta, and Zeetha had just arrived—raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You missed.”

  Zeetha grinned at him, “Nah. I didn’t miss.”

  Zola dropped to the ground and grinned. “You most certainly—”

  “HA!”

  Zola spun about in time to see Agatha finish using the sword to free herself. “That’s much better,” she declared happily.

  Despite her drug-fueled bravado, Agatha was feeling nervous. She’d only been allowed to practice with actual blades a handful of times. Zeetha had hammered into her that she wasn’t really ready to use swords in any sort of combat. But Zeetha’s training had been merciless and Agatha discovered that swinging the meter of steel to be easier than she had anticipated.

  Zola watched her and snorted in amusement. “Please. Have you had any training with that thing?” Effortlessly she shimmied up her rope until she was out of reach. “You sparks really can be so stupid sometimes. After all—” she languidly produced a small pistol “—bringing a knife to a gun fight doesn’t seem very smart, now does it?” She squeezed off a shot, barely missing as Agatha stumbled sideways.

  “Well, I suppose it isn’t that much worse than bringing a gun to a clank fight.”

  Zola smirked. “A clank fight is it? Pity you don’t have any—” A vibration on the rope was her only warning. Zola looked up in time to see the crab-like pruning clank cut through her rope, dropping her to the floor two stories below.

  She smashed into an overgrown mound of brambles and large meaty fungi and her gun went spinning off into the weeds. Gamely, she shook her head. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow,” she muttered.

  Agatha found herself separated from Zola by a wall of poisonous-looking daffodils. “You’d better hope you do,” she said menacingly. “Why are you even still here? Your plans are ruined! If you stay here, you’ll be lucky to even see tomorrow.”

  Zola snarled. “Maybe I’m just determined to make sure that you don’t.” With that, she pulled a softly glowing violet-glass ampoule from her belt pouch, bit it hard enough to break the glass, and then poured the contents into her mouth before spitting out bits of broken glass from her now-bleeding mouth.

  Watching from the balcony, Violetta blanched, then frantically checked her own pockets. “Aah! She took some of my Movit14 Number Eleven!”

  Tarvek looked surprised. “Eleven? I thought it only went up to six! That’s what you gave me.”

  “Eleven would have killed you! It’d kill almost anyone!”

  Zola’s maniacal peal of laughter caused even the sparks in the room to flinch.

  “Oh, but I’m not just anyone,” she howled. “And even if it does kill me, I won’t go alone!”

  Tarvek swiveled to Zeetha and Higgs who were running towards the combatants. “Don’t mess around! Kill her!”

  Higgs nodded in acknowledgement, but Zeetha waved a hand. She was also being affected by the plant’s miasma. “Hee hee, don’t be scared. We won’t let Gil’s Parisian tart get to you. Agatha can use my sword to cut you out—”

  Suddenly Zola was there. A quick foot to his solar plexus sent Higgs into a grasping mass of thorny foliage. A stunning right cross caught Zeetha completely off guard. Her sword flew free and directly into Zola’s waiting hand. “Merci, mademoiselle,” Zola cried exuberantly. “What an excellent idea! I shall use your other sword—” She pivoted and, with a graceful lunge, buried the sword in Zeetha’s chest. “—to cut you out entirely!”

  Zeetha stared at her and silently toppled backwards. Zola stood aside and cleaned the blade with a flick of her wrist. “See? So elegant that even a Parisian tart can do it!” She swung about until she found Agatha. “Let’s do it again!”

  “ZEETHA!” Agatha screamed in terror. “Zeetha! I’m coming!”

  “Agatha! NO!” Agatha, to her surprise, found Tarvek and Violetta holding her tightly. “Stay away from her! She’ll slice you to ribbons!”

  Furiously, Agatha struggled. “Let go of me!”

  “No,” Violetta snarled. “Tarvek is right. She’ll kill you!” Her palm swiftly snaked out and smacked the side of Agatha’s head. Agatha slumped into Tarvek’s arms. “And that is not going to happen while I’m here!” She dashed towards the fray, yelling out over her shoulder, “Get her out of here!”

  Tarvek stared after her, appalled. “Violetta! You can’t—”

  “Go!” she ordered. Tarvek went.

  Higgs held Zeetha cradled in his arms. His normally taciturn face was a study in anguish. Zeetha’s had gone pale with shock and blood loss; her breathing was becoming irregular. She stared at Higgs with an expression that was full of guilt and regret. “Agatha . . . ” she barely whispered. “Protect . . . ” With a final sigh she passed out.

  Higgs face went blank.

  Panting, Zola grinned in triumph. “Aw . . . too bad, sailor boy. She just wasn’t as good as she thought she was.”

  Higgs carefully laid Zeetha out and then slowly stood up. When he turned to face her, his expression caused Zola, even in the grip of her drug-fueled high, to step back.

  “Yes,” he growled. “But I vas starting to like her.”

  With a brittle laugh, Zola raised her sword. “Please. I don’t have time for you. I’ve got to go kill that Heterodyne cow. If you’re smart, you’ll have scurried off by the time I—”

  “No.” Higgs’s punch came from nowhere and lifted
Zola off of her feet.

  She landed and flowed into a defensive crouch. “I warned you!”

  Two more hits and a kick to her midriff staggered her. I can’t even see him moving, she grasped. “Oh, that’s it! Just die!” The sword sliced sideways and caught the grim airman across the chest. A spatter of blood sprayed onto the floor.

  “Ha!” Zola spun to face him. “Got you! Now—”

  A solid hammer blow struck the side of her head. The fight went on.

  Several rooms away, Agatha swam back to consciousness to find herself slung over Tarvek’s shoulder. “Wha—?” She mumbled.

  Tarvek stumbled slightly in surprise. “What are you doing awake? Violetta must be slipping.” He gently set Agatha onto her feet. “At least you’ve stopped giggling.”

  Agatha blinked at him as a confused swirl of memories coalesced inside her head. “What did I miss?”

  Tarvek took a few seconds to check her pulse, temperature, and eyes. He nodded in satisfaction. “We missed getting killed—so far. And the best way to keep us alive is to get you to the library so we can fix up the Castle.” He peered at her again. “You do remember the Castle?”

  Agatha nodded and then her face froze. “Zeetha! She’s—”

  Tarvek had been expecting this and had a firm grip on her arm. “Agatha! Zola is after you. She wants to kill you. And you are the only chance everyone has got. Running back there won’t help anyone. You can’t outfight her. I don’t think any of us can.” A mental image of Mister Higgs smashing the Muse in half with a spanner flitted through his mind. “Probably.”

  Agatha still hesitated. He grabbed her shoulders and glared at her. “This is not a time to be pointlessly heroic. This is a time to be smart. You can beat her with smart.”

  Agatha glared at him, then nodded. “Right. Gotta fix the Castle, let it squash her.”

  Tarvek picked up the head of Otilia that he had set down on a table. “I think that’s what it will take.”

  Agatha took a step and then stopped. “Wait. Did we leave Gil . . . is he still in that plant?”