by Phil Foglio
Agatha did her best, relying heavily on the people around her, but it was difficult managing discussions when they began to drift into cross purposes. It was a discord she had begun to think would never end, when a loud, familiar voice demanded to know what she was doing, by Ashtara’s holy daggers, no less.
Agatha looked up. She was where she had been for the last hour, despite the horde around her, flat on her back, rethreading a particularly troublesome drive chain on a small steam walker. A dollop of dirty oil hit her forehead and oozed its way down her nose. Above her, she saw Zeetha staring down at her and looking remarkably well for a person who’d been perforated by a meter of Skifandrian steel scant hours ago. Agatha bounced to her feet and enveloped the green-haired girl in a fierce hug. “You made it!”
Zeetha shrugged from within Agatha’s arms. “Of course,” she said breezily, but her grin faltered when Airman Higg’s face flickered across her memory. She pulled herself free and hung her head. “The Zumil begs forgiveness of her Kolee.”123 Agatha looked startled. Zeetha plowed on. “I did not take Zola seriously. She bested me and could very well have killed us both. For this, I ask forgiveness, but also beg that you learn this lesson: even your Zumil can still make mistakes.”
Her face was red and her eyes were closed, so she was surprised when she felt Agatha’s arms again encircle her in a fierce hug.
“The next time we fight her,” Agatha whispered into her ear, “we do it together.” Zeetha returned the hug until Agatha patted Zeetha’s back and pulled back in surprise. “Where are your swords?”
Zeetha’s happiness evaporated. Her fists tightened. “I have to take things easy,” she muttered. “The doctor said I will get them back when I am healed.”
Agatha whistled in surprise. “I’ll bet that was a fight.”
Zeetha remembered the pain and the shame of being face down on the infirmary floor with Higg’s knee in the small of her back, his untouched face looking down at her with a slightly bored expression. Zeetha shook her head. “It wasn’t, really.” Which had rather been the point. She studied the crowd that was suddenly busy looking elsewhere. She turned back to Agatha. “This seems rather chaotic.”
Agatha nodded her head. “I know. I’m trying to help, but another attack could hit us at any moment, and we’re not ready.”
Zeetha nodded. “Yesss, I can see that. Delegate.” She pointed to Van. “He knows more about the town and its resources than you do. Let him deal with that.” She pointed to Krosp. “He’s supposed to be this big military genius? Let him prove it.” She pointed to Mamma Gkika. “Have him work with her. She probably knows all about the defensive and offensive capabilities of the town. Let the people around you do their jobs.” Agatha saw the three Zeetha had indicated were nodding in agreement.
“So what do I do?”
“At the moment? You come with me.” And she dragged Agatha out of the workshop and into a street.
“Wait! Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private,” Zeetha, still walking briskly, said with determination. “You are in serious need of some princess lessons.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. This is important.” Zeetha was clambering up a pile of twisted clanks. With a grunt of satisfaction, she pried a weapon from some cold, metal fingers and tossed it down to Agatha, who managed to catch it, despite its surprisingly heavy weight. “First lesson,” Zeetha declared. “Every princess needs a battle-axe.” She nodded in satisfaction. “That’ll do until we find something more impressive.”
“Ah,” said Agatha with a smile. “That kind of princess.”
Zeetha jumped down and again snagged her arm. “Come on, I saw some armor in a burning museum that’s to die for.” They were off again.
Agatha swung the axe up onto her shoulder. “But I was working.”
Zeetha interrupted her. “Like a mechanic.”
“I am a—”
“Not anymore.” Zeetha sighed. “You were flat on your back, so everyone assumed they could walk all over you. They say my mother used to do this. She would try to kill every rogue fafflenarg beast124 herself, even though she had an army. She’s a war queen, for pity’s sake.” Zeetha poked Agatha in the chest. “You are a war queen and you’ve got me and your boys and Krosp and a whole town that wants you to succeed at leading it. You need to remember that and be the leader that they need. ”
“Well, of course.” Agatha fidgeted. “But I like building stuff.”
Zeetha rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. And when you have a month—ha! a week—you can rebuild the whole town.”
Agatha stared at her and licked her lips. “Do you . . . do you think they’ll let me?”
“At this point, I think they’re counting on it. But now is not the time. Let the mechanics fix the clanks. There are hundreds of them here, but there is only one Heterodyne and that’s you.”
They came to a building that had obviously once been some sort of military office that had been repurposed. Agatha saw a sign declaring it to be the Mechanicsburg Museum of Armor and Military Science before Zeetha dragged her inside.
After they remained inside for several minutes, Dimo and Maxim, who had been surreptitiously following them, stepped out into the street and looked around. Seeing nothing worthy of their attention, they draped themselves on the front steps. Dimo pulled his cap down over his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the sun. Maxim pulled out his saber and examined it critically. He tsked at a deep notch in the blade and then pulled a whetstone and an oiled silk cloth out from a pocket and began sharpening it. Several minutes after that, Ognian appeared, with three two-liter steins, obviously full, clasped in one clawed hand. He set Dimo’s down beside him and then passed one to Maxim. The two clinked the steins together and drank deeply. Ognian came up for air and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as he leaned back on his elbows.
Maxim frowned into his stein. “Hy tink dey haz dun sompting to der beer vile ve vos gone.”
Ognian stuck out his tongue. “Puh. Hyu sound like my ol’ poppa.” He dropped his voice down an octave or so. “Dey chust ain’t usin’ de right kind of blood in de blood sausages dese days, blah, blah, blah . . . ” He took another swig. “Drink der beer hyu gots in hyu hand, brodder, not der vun in hyu head.”
He looked up and saw Mamma Gkika striding down the street in full military rig, heading straight towards them. He nudged the somnambulant Dimo with a clawed foot. “Drink op vile hyu ken, brodder, someting’s comink.”
When she got close enough, Gkika called out, “Hoy! Hyu!”
Slumping back with the air of a world-weary sophisticate, Ognian tipped his stein in her direction. “Hello, dere, Mamma.”
Gkika blinked. This was not the reaction she was used to getting once she was in uniform. “Vere iz our gurl?” She looked up at the museum. “She in dere?”
Ognian nodded. “Ho, yez. Iz ve under attack?”
Gkika stepped up. “Not yet, but—”
Ognian raised a hand as he sipped his beer. “Den ve ain’t lettink hyu in.”
Gkika’s jaw dropped. “Vot?!” Maxim looked nervous.
Ognian sighed. “She’s in dere haffink sum gurl tok vit her green-haired friend. She vos not born und raised as a daughter of der Heterodynes. Vot she iz doink now—becomink der Heterodyne—iz a leedle like ven vun becomes a Jäger, hy tink. Even for a schmot gurl like her, iz bound to be a leedle hard. But she vill be ranting und frothing un goink all krezy—like soon enuff.”
Gkika stared at him like a person who had just seen a dog quote Plato. She decided to deal with it by ignoring him. “Pah! Hy vant to see her now!”
Ognian didn’t appear to move, but his triple-bladed halberd was suddenly blocking Gkika’s way. “Later,” he said.
“Vot iz dis,” Gkika screamed. “Hy iz a general!”
“Hiz not hyu, Mamma, ve’d do dis to any general. Ve vos detached.” He patted his chest. “Hy iz a vild Jäger.”
Off to one side, Dimo cleared his throat.
“Maxim,” he asked of the Jäger dithering at his side, “vould hy regret tipping back mine hat?”
Maxim considered this. “Dunno. How bored did hyu say hyu vos?”
He wasn’t that bored, apparently, as he simply lay back and listened to the roars and squeals surrounding him. It was obvious to him Mamma was on edge and that a little workout might prove therapeutic. Finally, there was naught but gurgling. Dimo carefully raised his cap to see Mamma standing, panting slightly, with a snarl on her face. Maxim was firmly pinned under her boot heel. Ognian hung from her fist, his eyes bulging as she finished winding his beloved halberd around his neck. Dimo tsked. That was going to be tricky to fix. He rolled to his feet. Mamma saw him and her eyes closed to slits. She looked about for a weapon, then saw she still had Ognian in her hand. She hoisted him slightly and nodded in satisfaction.
The two stared at each other.
A window on the front of the building banged open and Zeetha leaned out. “What is going on? Oh! Mamma!” She waved excitedly. “Oh, this is perfect! You’ve got to come up here and see this!” She then examined the scene before her. A look of uncertainty came into her eyes. “Guys?”
Dimo instantly relaxed and cheerfully waved back, as did the other two. “Hello, Mizz Zeetha,” they chorused. Seeing that all appeared to be well, Zeetha waved again and closed the window.
“Vell,” Ognian said in a faint voice, “hy guess hyu kin go in now.”
Mamma looked at him and seemed to see him for the first time. She took a deep breath and effortlessly twisted the halberd open. “Hyu iz goot boys. Hyu go ahead und keep on lookink after her.” She spared a glance for Dimo, “But dun do nottink too schtupid, hokay?”
“Yes, Mamma,” they said.
With a nod of satisfaction, Gkika wheeled about just as Zeetha was opening the front door. “Und speaking of schtupid,” she roared at the startled girl, “vot iz hyu doink out of bed? Hyu gots a whole bunch of healink to do und dun hyu forget it!”
“I know, I know! But Agatha needs me, and you patched me up enough that I can at least give her advice.” She looked away. “Anyway, that Higgs already made me promise to take it slow, and he . . . he hid my swords.” She looked down. “I feel naked,” she whispered.
Gkika laughed in admiration. “Dot boy! Alvays vit der tricks!”
“You know him well?”
Gkika nodded. “Ho, yez indeed.”
They climbed up a short set of stairs and entered a large open area. The ceiling was easily eight meters high, and the room was lined with weird and improbable suits of armor, all of them, according to neat little cards, harvested from the various armies that had attempted to invade Mechanicsburg. In the center was a series of displays showing automated historical dioramas that, at the drop of a coin, sent minuscule invaders fleeing in terror before assorted Heterodyne creations.
Zeetha screwed up her courage. “Could you . . . tell me about him?”
Gkika turned serious. “No vay, kiddo. If he vants hyu to know ennyting about heem, he’ll tell hyu himself. And ennyting hyu hear from odder pipple? Onless hyu hears it from him, dun believe a vurd of it” That said, she changed the subject. “Now vere iz de Miztrezz? Hy gots to talk to her about dot Storm King of hers.”
“Tarvek?” Gkika nodded. “Oh, he’s a piece of work.” She looked at the rows of armor. “But we could’ve used his opinion here.” They approached a large door and Zeetha slid it open. “On the other hand, we’re pretty happy with what we found.”
Gkika’s jaw dropped. “Gott’s leedle feesh in trowzers!”
Elsewhere, the man under discussion felt a small wave of nausea pass through him. This was not a result of being discussed, but from being forced to listen to Othar describing Agatha’s proposed duties as his “spunky girl sidekick.” This was being eagerly lapped up by the townspeople gathered around, even by the man who appeared to be in charge, a man who’s name Tarvek had, until now, only seen on a list of hereditary functionaries. He found that . . . interesting.
Herr von Mekkhan cleared his throat. “Well, Herr Tryggvassen, we would be very honored if you were to stay and help out.”
“But of course,” Othar preened. “As I was saying, with proper training your new Heterodyne will make a splendid hero! Being around will allow me to show her the ropes and—”
Tarvek gratefully turned to Violetta who had been about to tap his shoulder. “Thank goodness, I cannot listen to any more of this.” At Violetta’s startled look, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, I knew you were there.” His look sharpened. “Why aren’t you with Agatha?”
“She sent me to look for you.”
Tarvek blinked. “She did? Whatever for?”
“Well, at first she thought maybe you’d run off because of her kissing Wulfenbach. I said there was no way a weasel like you would give up that easily. Then she said in that case, if you were gone, it must mean you’d run into something either really important or really dangerous, because, um . . . ” Violetta looked embarrassed. “She said ‘if he’s that much of a weasel, then he’d know it’s to his best advantage to stick close to me.’”
Tarvek stared at her in shock. “Agatha said that?”
“Um, yeah. Sorry.”
Tarvek smiled. “No, no— This is marvelous! She might be better at political intrigue than I’d dared hope!”
Violetta shrugged. “She’ll be fantastic, assuming she lives. Let’s go already.”
Tarvek slumped down. “Oh, sure. Great idea. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Violetta stared. “Wait. Are you telling me you can’t get away from a bunch of town guards?”
Tarvek just looked at her and then he sighed. “Fine. Let’s try a ‘down and up.’ That might work.”
“Seriously?”
“GO!” Without any noticeable transition, Tarvek was off, running at top speed down the street, Violetta hot on his heels.
“Hey,” a guard yelled. “Get back here!”
“If you putting in this much effort is some kind of joke—” Violetta threatened.
“Just run,” Tarvek said. Half a block away, they saw an open manhole and, without touching the sides, the pair slid down into it and landed in a fetid stream. Pale, ghost-like lizards watched them pass and lazily began to follow. Tarvek led the way, taking random twists and turns, and then suddenly gripping a pipe and swinging upward, slamming a metal grill aside with his feet.
They scrambled up into a dusty basement. A last glance backwards showed a startled Violetta that the pale lizards had gotten a lot closer than she had thought they were. She shivered as she followed Tarvek up a set of rickety stairs. Instead of going out the street door, he turned and began running up another flight of stairs and then a third and then a fourth. At the top of these stairs was a small wooden door that opened out onto the roof. Violetta bypassed the lock without even slowing down. “Was all this rigmarole necessary?”
The door swung open and they plowed into the waiting arms of Othar. “Now where are you going? We still have to find Agatha.” He examined a thunderstruck Violetta. “Ah! I see you’ve found me another assistant!”
“But . . . but how,” she sputtered.
Tarvek hung from Othar’s fist like a man who’d played this part before. “This is why he’s a hero. He’s very good at this.”
There was a bit of involuntary screaming as Othar leaped off the top of the building and deftly bounced off walls and ledges before touching down with all three unscathed. “You want the Lady Heterodyne?”
Violetta said, with eyes shut tight, “She told me to bring him to her right away!”
Othar smiled genially. “Ah, but she didn’t know that Othar Tryggvassen—Gentleman Adventurer (to his horror, Tarvek found himself mouthing the words as Othar spoke)—was here!”
Tarvek thrashed in midair. “Let us go, you cretin! We should get to her quickly!”
Othar regarded him. “Actually, I’m from Norway.”
Tarvek clenched his teeth. “I have important military
information! We’ll need to re-think all of the town’s defenses if any of us are going to get through this alive!”
“Ho,” said a new voice, “sounds like hyu vants to talk to me, den!”
They had rejoined Van’s group and, from the side, a Jäger stepped forward. Unlike most of the Jägerkin, this one took care with his uniform and his hat was polished and worn at a rakish angle. “Vat kind of information hyu gots, kiddo?”
Tarvek glanced over at Van, who bobbed his head. “This is Jorgi, he’s our liaison with the Jägers.”
Jorgi nodded. “Ve talks vit all der odder monsters too.”
Tarvek considered this and then nodded. “Very well, but this is . . . too open.”
Jorgi nodded back. “Hokay. Ve see.” He turned to Van “Hy’ll take dis guy vit me.”
Van leaned in. “Are you sure? He’s—”
Jorgi raised a clawed hand while looking at Tarvek. “Hy know exactly who he thinks he iz.”
Tarvek swallowed and any plans about trying to escape from the Jäger were dismissed. “What about my aide-de-camp,” he said, indicating Violetta, who was still hanging from Othar’s fist.
Jorgi examined her. “Hyu vos Burghurmeister Zuken’s assistant. I dunno . . . ”
“You’d better take me, you slug,” she hissed at Tarvek. “I want you where I can see you.”
Tarvek considered this and then turned to Othar. “I should mention that Violetta here is a Smoke Knight.”
Othar looked surprised. “Really? I’ve heard of those.” He examined a furious Violetta. “That does explain why she almost managed to escape several times. It was very impressive.”
“Yes,” Tarvek acknowledged, “she shows great promise.” He caught a small knife that was aimed at his face. “And, she’ll deny it, but as far as you’re concerned, she’s a huge fan.”
