Agatha H. and the Airship City (24 page)

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.

“It… that’s Mr. Tock!”

High above, Gilgamesh’s head and shoulders popped out from inside a cavernous hole in the massive chest plate. Agatha saw a large clock mechanism hanging beside it, waiting to be placed within. “Ah, Miss Clay! Wooster, do show her in!”

Tossing aside a large wrench, Gil clambered out onto a precariously balanced ladder, which began to fall backward. Agatha gasped, then blinked as Gil calmly stood on the falling ladder until it passed a hanging chain, which he snagged with one hand, as he kicked at the ladder with one foot. The ladder swung back into place with a
thunk,
just as Gil touched the ground next to Agatha and Wooster. “Today I’ll just show you around the lab and let you settle in.”

“Shall I fetch some tea, sir?”

Gil looked around and, not finding what he was looking for, shrugged and nodded. “That would be excellent, Wooster, thank you.” With a short bow, Wooster glided away. Agatha looked up at the immense clank.

“What are you doing with Mr. Tock?”

Gil blinked. “I’m fixing him, of course.” He patted a gigantic toe affectionately. “He’s too much a part of Transylvania Polygnostic’s history and tradition.” He then turned serious. “Dr. Beetle may be dead, but the University his family built will continue as he wanted it to.”

Agatha smiled. “That’s good.” They stood looking at each other awkwardly for a minute. Agatha looked around. “So how many labs do you have?”

Gil smiled. “Four. You’ve seen the flight lab, and you—” he coughed discretely—”saw the entrance to the chemical lab. This is the large mechanical lab, and my private lab and library are through those doors.”

“You really need four different labs?”

Gil snorted. “My father has forty-three onboard the airship, plus two ground-based complexes. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a model of efficiency.”

Agatha felt a light tug on her skirt and, looking down, saw a single eye staring at her from under an oversized hat. “Hello again.” Agatha smiled.

“Ah. You haven’t been properly introduced.” Gil reached down, lifted the small creature up and deposited him on a nearby bench. Try as she might, Agatha could only see the tips of large blue claws peeking out of fleece-lined cuffs and two long-jointed antenna. Everything else that might have given a clue as to the little creature’s nature was hidden beneath layers of clothing.

“This is Zoing.” The little creature clicked its heels and bowed slightly. Gil continued, “Zoing, this is Miss Agatha Clay. She will be helping
us
now.”

Zoing studied Agatha for a moment and then turned back to Gil. “Schmeka tee?”

Gil shook his head. “No, that’s still your job.” He paused, then looked guilty. “Although, I couldn’t find you a moment ago, and I believe Mr. Wooster is fixing us some now.”

Zoing squealed like a penny whistle and, faster than Agatha would have believed, leapt off the bench and scuttled away, furiously waving its claws.

Gil rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll hear about that,” he sighed. A crash of crockery from the next room seemed to verify this.

“What
is
it?” Agatha asked.

“My
friend,”
Gil replied tersely as Wooster gave a yelp of pain.

“I’m sorry, I meant—”

An entire china cabinet collapsed now. Gil held up a hand and, closing his eyes, took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. What sounded like a fire alarm went off, and then was silenced, if the noises were any indication, by being pummeled with a live animal. Gil resolutely ignored it. “It’s understandable. He’s a construct. I made him when I was younger.”

“He was
eight,”
Wooster informed Agatha. Unruffled and impeccable, he set a laden tea tray down upon a bench. From the next room could be heard a frantic hammering, as if from inside an overturned cauldron.

“Eight?”

Gil shrugged. “Even my father was surprised.”

Wooster handed Agatha a sturdy triangular mug. She tasted it and realized that the mixture was exactly as she preferred it. Wooster hadn’t bothered to check her response, but was pouring another mug.

“As well he should have been. Eight is
very
young. Most of the gifted break through in their
teens
—or even later. Master Gilgamesh is a very strong Spark indeed.”

Gil accepted his mug with a shrug. “This is Ardsley Wooster. He does my bragging for me.”

Wooster smiled. “I had the pleasure of meeting Master Gilgamesh while we were both students in Paris. After graduation, he kindly arranged for me to be his assistant here. This was before I knew who he was, of course.” Wooster looked down in surprise. A third mug of tea had apparently materialized in his hand. He shot Gil an exasperated look.

Gil smirked and raised his mug. “You should have seen his face!”

Wooster raised his mug in return, and took a sip. “Very sneaky, sir. Most amusing.”

Gilgamesh took Agatha’s elbow and steered her towards a series of work stations. “To start with, you’ll be giving me general assistance when I require it. When it
isn’t
required…” They stopped before a small bench that was littered with old tools and scraps from other projects. “You have permission to work on your own projects here, as long as they don’t interfere with your other duties.”

Agatha looked at Gil, the hand holding her tea mug frozen midway to her mouth. “My own… I can work on my own projects?”