Agatha H. and the Airship City

by Phil Foglio; Kaja Foglio

  Klaus turned, holding a small bone saw. “Why you’re a Spark. What is it that makes you different from other people.”

  Othar chewed on his lower lip. “But I… I don’t actually know that.”

  Klaus smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Of course you don’t. Neither do I. But I intend to find out.”

  Despite himself, Othar looked interested. “How?”

  Klaus began holding up a series of drill bits against Othar’s skull. Othar couldn’t help but notice that they were getting progressively larger. “I will destroy selected parts of your brain,” Klaus explained, “until you no longer are a Spark.”

  “You ah—” Othar tried to maintain an even tone to his voice. “You can do that?”

  Klaus nodded. “Oh yes. Eventually.”

  Othar considered this for a moment. “And afterwards?”

  Klaus sighed. “Ah. That whole ‘quality of life’ question.” He ran a hand through his mop of hair. “I’m working very hard on that.” He smiled ruefully. “And I’m getting much better.”

  Othar strained against his bonds. “But my work!” he shouted. “My mission!”

  Klaus activated a device attached to a swing arm that descended from the ceiling. With a whine, a number of blades began spinning. “Yes, a bonus, that.”

  “You villain!”

  “Yes, yes.” Klaus muttered as he began to position the device above Othar’s head. “Normally, there would be a lot more tests. You’d have a long, productive career working for me while I studied your habits and patterns.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m afraid that you are far too dangerous.” The device’s whine took on a higher pitch. “Now look up…”

  With a clack, the lighting changed from red to white. With a sigh, Klaus moved the device back up and turned it off. He turned towards the door with a frown. “Yes, Boris?”

  The Baron’s secretary nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Herr Baron, but you did tell me to tell you the moment Herr von Zinzer said he had something.”

  “Indeed I did.” He looked down at the smaller man who had been cowering behind Boris, his eyes taking in the scene before him. When he realized that the Baron was staring at him, he jerkily brought forth a sheet of paper and extended it before him.

  “It’s… um… it’s all here!” The Baron made no move to take the paper, but continued to look at Moloch. The shaking of his hand increased so much that the paper itself rattled. “I… I know what I want to do, but I don’t know where to get some of these materials.” He extended the paper upwards. “It’s all here,” he repeated.

  The Baron plucked the paper from Moloch’s hand and studied it. A frown crossed his features and he studied it again. After several seconds he pursed his lips and his massive eyebrows rose and all but disappeared beneath his hair. “Interesting,” he said, like a man bestowing a great compliment. “Very interesting indeed. Yes, some of this will be quite tricky.” He looked down at Moloch with new eyes. “This will take some time to assemble, but I look forward to the results.”

  Moloch blinked. “Really?”

  Klaus nodded. “Yes. Boris? See that these items are secured, and make sure that I am informed when Herr von Zinzer is ready for the initial test run. I wish to attend.”

  Boris looked surprised. “Yes, Herr Baron.”

  Klaus handed the paper back to Moloch. “I must say that I was beginning to have my doubts about you, but this… this justifies my original estimates and then some. What was holding you back?”

  Moloch started and then shrugged. “Oh, er… it… it was that assistant of mine. I… fired her this morning. She was very distracting.”

  Klaus nodded. “I see.” He turned away dismissively. “And now I must—”

  Boris cleared his throat apologetically. The Baron’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Yes, Boris?”

  “I’m sorry, Herr Baron, but as long as I have your attention… The city council of Hufftberg is still unhappy about the glassworks. They’re really just feeling slighted because Tarschloss got the new university.”

  Klaus drummed his fingers on a nearby bench. “Tell them that I will cover the cost of a Corbettite rail terminal if they will supply the labor.”

  “But didn’t the Corbettites petition us to place a terminal there already?” Klaus merely looked at him, and the secretary looked embarrassed. “Ah. Yes, I understand. No doubt they’ll see it as very generous. But if they continue to be difficult?”

  Klaus whirled. “Then tell them I’ll have the Jägermonsters there in two days and the city council will be the labor!”

  Boris smiled. “Yes, that should do it. Good day, Herr Baron.”

  As the Baron’s secretary and a relieved von Zinzer left, Klaus leaned against a bank of controls and sighed. To Othar he remarked, “I swear, it is like running a kindergarten.”

  “What is that, Tyrant?” Othar asked snidely, “Does your precious Empire give you no pleasure?”

  Klaus frowned, and he straightened up. “No,” he admitted, “it gives me no pleasure. Politics always annoyed me, and now I have to play it every day. I despise the whole business. I haven’t seen my wife in years—”

  Othar started violently. “Your who?”

  Klaus ignored him. “I haven’t traveled or explored—”

  “Who exactly is this wife you mentioned?”

  “At least with the Heterodynes we had the adventures. The occasional fight. We expected people to at least be able to govern themselves after we cleaned the monsters out for them. Well I won’t make that mistake again. Now I just send in the armies, then the bureaucrats with mops. Same old formula, over and over again.” He stared darkly at something only he could see, then shook himself free of his reverie and turned back to Othar. “Well, we do what we must. But I will confess that one of my few pleasures is in these rare moments of research.” He patted Othar on the head as he started up the drills again. “So hold still, and rest assured that I am going to enjoy this very much.”

  Othar braced himself as the device began to descend, when a fussy voice from the doorway broke in. “Your pardon, Herr Baron?”

  Klaus froze. Then slowly and deliberately stopped the drills, removed his goggles and then turned towards the door. “Yes?”

  he asked politely.

  At the door stood one of the Lackya in a state of high indignation. Standing beside him was a sullen Theopholus DuMedd.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Herr Baron,” the servant said in a voice that clearly didn’t realize how annoying it was, “but young DuMedd here refused to report for grease trap duty this morning. He had hidden himself in one of the smaller machine shops.”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” DuMedd said testily, “I was working.”

  Klaus looked interested. “Working? On what?”

  “On an automatic grease-trap cleaner, Herr Baron.”

  A large hand came up to try and hide a small smile that vanished instantly from the Baron’s face. “Ah—hmm. Potentially useful, certainly, Herr DuMedd, but I must insist that such things be pursued in your free time. Think of this duty as inspiration.”

  DuMedd rolled his eyes. “I have a surfeit of inspiration, sir.”

  Klaus turned away. “Well, if that is all—”

  Suddenly Othar shouted out, “Don’t be too clever, lad, or you’ll be on this slab next!”

  “Silence!” Klaus roared. He swung back to Theo and fixed him with a piercing glare. “Master DuMedd is aware that he is under my protection.”

  DuMedd nodded vigorously. “Of course, Herr Baron.” He said cheerfully, “Very much aware!” With a large grin on his face he moved towards the door. “I apologize for causing you any annoyance, Herr Baron. I’ll just be getting back to those grease traps. In fact, I’ll put in a little overtime! Yes sir!” And then he was gone, the sound of his running boots echoing down the corridor was cut off by the closing of the inner door.

  The Lackya did not see Klaus move, but suddenly foun
d the lapels of his greatcoat clasped within an immense fist and a furious Klaus inches from his face.

  “Idiot!” He said through clenched teeth, “You were told to never bring any of the students into this lab!”

  “But, Herr Baron, the guards outside said—”

  “You like to listen to them? Done! You are now a Jäger orderly until further notice!”

  The Lackya went white. “No, Herr Baron! Please, I—”

  “I could have you shipped to Castle Heterodyne?”

  The terrified construct visibly considered this option, then sagged in the Baron’s grasp. “Yes, Herr Baron.”

  Klaus flung him away. “Get out.” The Lackya spun about and silently vanished.

  “Confound that idiot!” Klaus muttered, “To jeopardize all my work with DuMedd—”

  “That boy is not stupid,” Othar said. “A web of lies can unravel at the lightest touch of the truth!”

  Klaus whirled, smacked aside the massive drill, snatched up a scalpel, and grasped Othar’s face in his other hand. He grinned fiercely. “This will hurt slightly less if you don’t move.”

  A voice sang out from the doorway. “Ta-daaa! I am here!”

  “GIVE ME STRENGTH!” Klaus screamed as he drove the scalpel into the table scant centimeters from Othar’s face. Composing himself, he turned about. “Bangladesh DuPree,” he acknowledged.

  “That’s right! It’s me!” A tall, shapely young woman sashayed into the room. Her dark east Indian complexion was complimented by the crisp, white airship captain’s uniform she wore. Her long black hair cascaded down her back until it was gathered in a series of small tufts. Ornamenting her forehead, a small skull-shaped bindi glittered.

  Bangladesh was one of Klaus’ freelance agents. She patrolled the wilder parts of the Wastelands, and was occasionally dispatched when circumstances warranted the use of a barely controlled homicidal maniac.

  Bangladesh’s mother had been a pirate queen, ruling one of the small remote islands of the North Sea. The princess Bangladesh had been away when the island populace had revolted and her mother was slain. Determined to avenge her, Bangladesh had taken up the family business, and ruthlessly built up her own organization of air pirates, which had quickly earned a fearsome reputation throughout Scandinavia and northwest Europa. Preparations for the assault to reclaim the family island were almost complete when she had returned from an expedition only to find her fortress a burnt-out hulk, her fleet in ruins, and her crew dead or vanished. There was no clue as to who had destroyed them.

  Then and there, she took a bloody oath upon her family’s malevolent god to avenge them, but until she could discover who was responsible, she needed a job.

  To her surprise, she was recruited by Klaus Wulfenbach. Klaus had followed her career from a distance, and realized that having Bangladesh working for him would be preferable to eventually having to fight her.

  Bangladesh had accepted his offer on the condition that the Baron’s intelligence gatherers seek out those who had destroyed her base. Klaus had agreed. However there were no other similar incidents, and in the subsequent three years, Klaus had successfully found useful avenues in which to channel DuPree’s murderous tendencies for his own ends. When correctly applied, she was terrifyingly efficient.

  There was also, he had to admit, something fascinating about her. DuPree was disarmingly open about her thirst for blood and destruction, and Klaus found that he enjoyed the challenge of keeping her in check. She was also one of the very few people who displayed absolutely no fear of the Baron whatsoever. She treated him like an equal in all things, which made for a refreshing change in some respects, though her familiarity sometimes caused him great annoyance.

  She was also one of the nastiest fighters Klaus had ever seen. With some trepidation, he had asked that she instruct his son in combat techniques while he was in Paris. To her surprise, Gilgamesh had survived her instruction, and proved an apt pupil, though he had acquired several scars, some of which were physical.

  Klaus was positive that he could take DuPree in a fair fight, but was equally positive that he’d never have a chance to prove it.

  “I heard that you wanted to see me, and I knew you wouldn’t want to wait.” She got about halfway into the room when she saw Othar. A look of concern crossed her face. “Say, what are you up to here?” She looked at Klaus suspiciously. “Klaus, are you torturing this man?”

  Klaus looked embarrassed. “No—”

  “YES!” Othar shouted. “Help!”

  Bangladesh blinked in surprise. “He asked me to help!” She grinned and a blackened stiletto materialized in her hand. “A wise choice! Nobody knows more about torture then me!”

  “I believe,” Klaus murmured, “he expected you to rescue him.”

  Bangladesh pouted and the knife vanished. “What—Is he stupid?”

  “A bit.” Klaus opened a slim leather volume that had been crudely adorned with hand-drawn skulls, scenes of decapitation, flogging and other acts of violence that Klaus carefully did not look at too closely. “I noticed something interesting in your latest log book…” He looked up. “A pity about that walking gunboat, by the way.”

  “Yeah, that was over way too quick.”

  Klaus opened his mouth, and then just sighed and shook his head. “What caught my eye was this note in your Phenomena Log.”

  “The rain of marzipan?”

  “No—though that is intriguing. I meant the apparitions.”

  Bangladesh grew serious. “Yeah, those were weird.” She thought back. All trace of frivolousness was gone now. “The first time was when I was watching that gunboat burn. There was this… crackling in the air, a kind of hole in the sky opened up, and there were these people… it was like they were right next to me. One of them looked like Gilgamesh, but—” She thought. “But older than he is now. Not a lot older, but—” She patted Klaus’ great shoulders. “Bigger. Tougher. He’d been working out. And you could tell from his face that this guy didn’t go around moaning about how miserable his life was; he made life miserable for other people,” she said approvingly. “He looked right at me, like he could see me. And then he said ‘maniac.’ You know, I think maybe it was Gil, because he’s always saying pointless stuff like that.” Klaus forced himself to nod sympathetically.

  “The second person was a girl. Light hair, fair complexion, a little shorter that Gil, big hips, but in good shape, not fat. Big glasses. She was running some sort of mechanism. When they appear she’s in mid-sentence and she says, ‘—A little earlier. How’s this?’

  “A third guy, he’s shorter, darker, trim beard and moustache, kind of rumpled. Looks like a minion. He’s looking at the burning gunboat and he starts jumping up and down and shouting, ‘Yes! There they go! They made it!’

  “At this point a Geister enters from the right. The others don’t even blink. She seems to be addressing the girl, and she says, ‘Mistress—you are needed.’

  “The short guy says ‘Thanks.’ and the girl smiles and does something to the controls and the hole in the sky kind of collapses in on itself.” Bangladesh paused. “I just remembered. Gil was dressed like one of the Geisterdamen. It didn’t really suit him. Does any of that make sense to you?”

  Klaus shook his head.

  Bangladesh shrugged and continued. “Then, two weeks later, I’m investigating this burnt-out town, Furstenburg, which I did not do, when—ZAP! There’s another hole in the air. Same group of people, same situation. The girl says, ‘Okay, there’s Bang.’ Like she knows me, you know? Then she says, ‘You see your friends?’

  “The little guy looks around and says, ‘Um… no, this isn’t the right place.’

  “Gil notices that I’ve pulled my shooter and he says, ‘Hey mistress—’”

  “Mistress?” Klaus asked sharply.

  “That’s what he said. For what it’s worth, he looked kind of annoyed, and he’s saying it like he’s saying something stupid. So he says, ‘Hey mistress, she’s getting ready to
shoot you.’

  “The girl looks at me and says, ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to try—’ And then it was gone. Say, are you okay?”

  This question was asked because Klaus was staring grimly at nothing, and his hands had crushed a metal canister without his knowledge. When he spoke, it was obvious that he was trying to project a calm demeanor. “This is very important news, DuPree. Thank you.”

  To her astonishment, Bangladesh found that she was upset at Klaus’ obvious inner turmoil. She realized that she relied on Klaus’ imperturbability as a sign that all was well. Awkwardly she reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Hey. Don’t worry. What do I know? It couldn’t really have been Gil. You’ve had him caged up here for the last couple of months, haven’t you?”

  Klaus went still, and the air of worry vanished. He turned to Bangladesh and nodded. “You are correct, of course. Thank you, DuPree.”

  Bangladesh relaxed. “Always am. So. Any news about my problem?”

  Klaus shook his head. “No. I told you I’d let you know.”

  “It’s been three years.”

  “And I’ve heard nothing.”

  Bangladesh sighed, then shrugged. “Well, a group that tough can’t hide forever. I’ll be in dock for the next three days if you need me to burn down Sevastopol or something.”

  Klaus waved his hand in dismissal. His brow furrowed in thought as DuPree strode out. “This is very bad,” he said conversationally. He turned towards Othar. “Surely even you realize—”

  The examination table was empty. The restraints cut cleanly, as if by a scalpel. From behind, Klaus heard Othar’s triumphant voice, “Ha, villain! Realize that your reign of evil is at an end!”

  Klaus sighed.

  Agatha and Wooster stepped through a giant set of metal doors, and Agatha stopped in confusion. This was yet a different lab, still filled with a bewildering array of machines and benches, but the ceiling was easily thirty meters high. Almost one entire wall was covered in glass revealing a magnificent cloudscape, as well as several dozen of the Wulfenbach support fleet. On an outside ledge along the bottom, several gargoyle clanks squatted motionless. The center space was dominated, and almost filled, by pieces of a gigantic clank. With a shock, Agatha recognized a section of the exterior carapace, which was hanging from a set of enormous chains.