Little Agnes and the Ghosts of Kelpie Wharf

by Stella Drexler

beside the Brass Canary. “Ah,” he said in a deceptively light voice. “I see you commandeered a ship for your journey. I don't remember this one being part of our fleet.”

  She scowled. “I did not commandeer it. It was offered to me.”

  They continued to bicker as she led him unerringly towards the outcropping of rock that concealed the entrance to the underground lair. Her father continued to scold her for her lack of foresight as they descended into the sepulchral dankness of the tunnels. A large, hairy beast lay prone in the tunnel, blocking the light of the antechamber.

  Dr Crowley lifted a questioning eyebrow at his daughter.

  She scuffed her toe sheepishly. “Ah. We must have forgotten this one,” she admitted in a small voice.

  He rolled his eyes, seizing the Shug monkey's wrist and dragging him along as they continued towards the laboratory. “Bloody hell, Agnes. Everywhere you go, I end up having to clean up after you.”

  She stomped her foot. “I told you! I am not the one who made the monsters! I just protected myself and tried to save the village.”

  “Bang up job, darling.”

  When they reached Antonin's laboratory, her father forgot to be cross with her. His gleaming eyes took in the surroundings and innovations with keen fascination. Agnes thought perhaps the venerable old genius was rather impressed. He likely would have enjoyed the mad doctor's company, had Vic not prematurely thrust him into the arms of the local constabulary. She resolved to tell him off for it later.

  “This is the matter transporter?” Unlike Agnes, he had recognised the apparatus instantly, though he had, admittedly, lost out on the entertaining exploration of the lab's additional offerings. He stared at the device for several long moments. His hands flew over the operator panel. “Ah, yes. I see how it works.”

  He did not ask her advice on its proper operation, though she thought she was quite more suited to the current task, considering her familiarity with the machine. Nevertheless, she did not argue as her father reversed the directional dial and pressed the button. Instantly, light flooded the empty chamber and faded to reveal a pile of monsters. “Very good. Very good indeed,” he muttered to himself. “Agnes!”

  She did not require direction. She knew precisely what he expected of her. She dragged the bodies out of the chamber and piled them unceremoniously on the floor. Somewhere, she sensed Vic's commiseration as he prepared the next delivery of transmuted sailors, which her father zapped presently back to the laboratory. When they'd all returned, her father turned his attention to the transmutation device. Or rather, turned his attention to locating it.

  Agnes opened her mouth and lifted her hand to direct her father towards the proper machine, but he lifted a hand to forestall her. He was quite keen to explore the laboratory and its accoutrements. He located the monster-maker quite quickly, and his eyes gleamed in admiration as he stroked its bulbous barrel and its polished brass bits.

  Presently, Agnes grew bored with the proceedings. She stepped stealthily to the side, picking up one of the hand-held wave guns she hadn't gotten an opportunity to examine. She aimed it at the Shug monkey and fired. He grunted in his sleep as his ears, already quite long and pointed, grew to twice their length, terminating in sharp, deadly tips.

  Dr Crowley spun on her in irritation. “Agnes! Put that down now.”

  She sighed, dropped the gun at her side. It clattered against the hammered metal floor. “Fine.”

  “I am ready. Bring me the first monster.”

  “The device is on wheels, you know.”

  “That is beside the point. Step lively.”

  She huffed as she dragged the Shug monkey to the gurney. Her father did not assist her in hoisted it up onto the flat, thin mattress. When the creature was strapped down, her papa directed the beam directly over him and yanked gleefully down on the lever. The beam of light flashed over the body, and Crowley watched curiously as it faded.

  The sailor, quite roguish-looking in his torn clothes but otherwise quite ordinary in appearance, blinked up at them in hazy confusion. He looked around, then down at this bound wrists. He rolled his eyes between them. “What's going on? Am I in hospital? Did something happen to the ship?”

  “No. You were brought here by a matter transporter and turned into a monster by a mad scientist,” Agnes explained, bored already.

  The sailor seemed not to know what to say. He eyed Dr Crowley uneasily.

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “Not that mad scientist. A different one. This one just changed you back.”

  “Right.” He didn't seem to believe them, for apparently he did not retain the memories of his Shug monkey self. All the better for him, likely. “Can I go?”

  “How do you feel?” Crowley asked, bending over him in interest.

  “I feel fine. Fit. Seaworthy. Can I go?”

  “You'll have to queue up by the matter transporter. We can't take you all in our ships,” Agnes explained, waving her hand in the general direction of the chambers, where the pile of monsters still lay prone. “You're the first.”

  He stared at them in confusion as they unbuckled the restraints. “I don't really understand.”

  “You will in a moment,” Crowley promised.

  “If you don't mind terribly, you could help,” Agnes told him sourly, gesturing towards the pile. “This will be much easier with two.”

  “Agnes,” Crowley warned.

  “What? It counts as doing it on my own if I dupe the help into it myself,” she protested.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Get on with it, then.”

  The sailor assisted her to drag the next monster to the gurney and watched in horrified fascination as the man underwent the same treatment. Things progressed more rapidly as the sailors emerged from their monster selves and presented their crewmen for treatment. Agnes did not mind; she faded into the background, trying not to be noticed by her father as she took up her ministrations upon Antonin's unexplored store of exciting innovations.

  The ostensible serenity of the moment did not last, for nothing truly good lasts forever.

  The monsters were stirring, and only half had been put right again.

  Dr Crowley did not bother with the fight. He watched, unmoved, as his daughter and the newly restored sailors battled their kin. Agnes fended off a dozen revenants, werewolves, vampires, demons and reptilian beats with her stun gun. The sailors punched and kicked and struck out with whatever they could lay their hands upon. Crowley sighed in irritation; there was little time for this, and the monsters couldn't very well be put back to rights when they were stampeding about, smashing up the equipment he needed.

  At length, he heaved a long-suffering sighed and stepped forwards. “Everyone human, duck!”

  He did not give them the opportunity to obey. Instead he drew the tiny, flat metallic disc he kept in his tool belt for just such occasions, depressing the single button in the centre of the device and releasing a concussion wave so powerful, the walls around them shook violently, threatening to come unhinged.

  “There now. I prefer to work in peace, not in all that bedlam,” he said in satisfaction, peering around as the sailors stared, wide-eyed at the fallen monsters around them. Some were the bit worse for wear, but they hurried to complete the task they'd begun, dragging their brethren to the doctor for transmutation.

  Agnes marched over to him and glared. “What is that? Where did you get it?”

  He smirked. “I invented it, of course, darling. Those grenades you nicked were merely prototypes. A single use concussion bomb is of little use to anyone. These can be used more than once, provided they are afforded the opportunity to recharge after each use.”

  She hurried forward with wide eyes, but he slapped her hand away and held the device over his head. “And don't think I haven't taken precautions against your thievery. We aren't finished here. As you were.”

  Soon the sailors outnumbered the monsters, and they made quick work of turning those remaining to rights. When they had done, Dr Cr
owley allowed Agnes to return them home in the matter transporter in droves of a half-dozen or more. The last sailor waved at them through the glass with an expression that could not be considered grateful. No, in fact, it appeared as though he had never been happier to see the last of someone.

  “Well,” Crowley said. “I think our work here is done. Let us be off. There is after all, an exposition going on, and I am much sought after.”

  Agnes looked around the lab in dismay. “Can't we just take a few of these--”

  “No. You will have none of them. Consider it merited punishment.”

  “I helped!”

  “Nevertheless, you are aware that you are not permitted to meddle with mad scientists without supervision. How many times do we have to have this conversation, Agnes?”

  She sighed in disappointment, but she did not argue. “Sorry, Papa.”

  “See that it does not happen again.”

  They did not speak any further as they traversed the dark tunnels beneath the monster island, each perhaps contemplating the treasures they'd left behind in the lab or the unfair punishments they'd received for merely attempting to solve a very interesting mystery—and doing a bang up job of it, by the way. She should have at least gotten to keep the nose gun. It would have been quite the hit at their next cocktail party.

  As he climbed into his gondola and Agnes took her place at the helm of the Brass Canary, her father called out to her. “Oh, and Agnes, one more thing.”

  She glanced sharply at him,