Agatha H. and the Airship City (6 page)

Suddenly Agatha appeared at the Baron’s elbow. “Please, Herr Baron, don’t kill him! We need him!”

Klaus closed his eyes. “Where do they get these ideas?” he muttered. “Beetle, the loyalty of the rest of your people does you credit. They can rest assured that I have no intention of killing you. Indeed, I have use for you.”

If this was meant to be reassuring to the smaller man, it had the opposite effect. His eyes went wide and his face paled. “No!” His initial strangled whisper changed to a scream: “I’ll never submit to being one of your experimental subjects! Never!” As he said this, his hand grabbed one of the stylized, beetle-shaped cloak clasps on his chest and ripped it off. As it came free, it snapped open into the deadly shape of one of the Tyrant’s feared seeker drones. It still resembled a beetle, but this one was sleek, armored, and its’ brass needles gleamed. The Jägermonster snarled and tried to bring his weapon up, but before he could, Beetle launched the device towards Gil, Klaus and Agatha, shouting, “You won’t get me! You won’t get any of us!”

Calmly, Gilgamesh tossed the goldfish bowl up high into the air. Pivoting in place he swept a large wrench off a nearby bench and, continuing the motion, smashed the flying device in midair. Clattering and sparking, it pinwheeled back into Beetle’s face.

Gil then dropped the wrench, caught the falling fishbowl, grabbed a startled Agatha and pulled her to the ground while yelling, “Down!”

An explosion rocked the lab and blew those remaining upright to the ground. Agatha felt herself encircled by strong arms. A tiny part of her mind had time to notice the warm, spicy scent of Gil’s hair and to identify an odd sensation as that of a goldfish bowl pressing into her back.

The echoes of the explosion died down amidst the clatter of falling machinery and the tinkling of glass.

First on his feet was the Jägermonster. “Herr Baron?”

The Baron rose and dusted himself off. “Relax, Unit Commander.”

He knelt beside the swaying figure of Boris, who was trying to raise himself up and dust himself off simultaneously. “Ah— wha—sir?” the secretary muttered.

Klaus helped him to his feet. “Pull yourself together, Boris, you’re fine.” He nonchalantly looked over toward his son. “Gil?”

“I’m all right, Father.” He looked down at the girl in his arms. “And you, Miss Clay?”

“I… I think so. Where—?” It was then that she saw Dr. Beetle’s shattered and smoking spectacles upon the floor. “NO,” she shouted, “Dr. Beetle!”

Dr. Glassvitch was already kneeling over a small smoldering corpse. “Dead. He’s—”

The Baron interrupted him. “His head! How’s his head?”

Glassvitch swallowed. “T—totally destroyed, Herr Baron.” Klaus swore.

Gil looked contrite. “I’m sorry…”

Agatha twisted away from him. “Don’t touch me! You killed him!”

Klaus nodded. “Permanently. A pity, that.”

Gil looked stunned. “What? He threw a bomb at me.”

Klaus cocked an eyebrow. “A poor excuse.”

“Poor excuse?” A look of annoyance crossed Gil’s face. “He threw a bomb at me!”

The Jägermonster wandered up holding an unidentifiable organ in its hand. “Hey, I von’t say he vas shtupid, but I hain’t findin’ a lot uf brains around here!”

Boris gave the monster soldier a look of disgust, but merely added, “Can we leave, Herr Baron? My boots are sticking to the floor.”

None of them noticed Agatha bristling in the background until she snarled at them. “How dare you!” The three backed into each other before the furious girl. “How dare you? You murder one of the greatest scientists in Europe and you’re treating it like a kitchen accident?”

Gil attempted to explain, “But he threw a bomb—”

But a glare from Agatha shut him up. She went on, her voice beginning to take on the power of conviction. “The people of this city loved him! When they find out how you—”

The headache lanced through her skull like a white-hot bar of iron, causing her to scream and drop to her knees. The listeners blinked and looked towards the Baron, who shrugged.

Dr. Glassvitch hurried over to Agatha’s side and helped the quivering girl to her feet. “Forgive her, Herr Baron,” he pleaded. “She has these attacks when she gets upset.”

The Baron’s lip curled. “Pathetic.”

Gilgamesh stepped close and quietly murmured, “That doesn’t make her wrong, Father.”

Klaus looked at him, then at Agatha, then slowly rubbed his great jaw. “Hmm…” he conceded. “The populace is sometimes a problem…”

“Possibly not, Herr Baron.” Klaus wheeled about to face Dr. Merlot, who quickly realized that drawing attention to himself at this time was not the wisest of decisions, but having committed to it, chose to push on. “Very few people actually saw Dr. Beetle on a regular—
hurk!”

This last sound was caused by the Baron grasping the front of Merlot’s labcoat and effortlessly hauling him up before his face. “I despise traitors.” Klaus informed him. “I consider Dr. Beetle’s death to be your fault. Without your theatrics I might have salvaged him. I am very annoyed. So now, I’m going to put you in charge.”

Merlot squirmed futilely in the Baron’s iron grasp. “I… I don’t understand, Herr Baron.”

“You’ll oversee everything. The city, the college, the lands— everything.”

“But…” Klaus shook him once. Merlot’s teeth shut with a snap.

“And the first time you make a mistake, I’m shipping you to Castle Heterodyne.”

Merlot’s face went white. “No! All I wanted—”

Klaus released him and turned away dismissively.

“What you wanted is irrelevant. I want Dr. Beetle lying in state—for viewing—by midnight, with a hero’s funeral to be held the day after tomorrow.”

Merlot stared at the charred corpse on the floor. “But… my work… I just wanted to… do something important…”

Agatha muttered an aside to the Jägermonster. “He was trying to turn chalk into cheese.” The soldier guffawed.

Merlot’s head whipped around and found a focus for his displeasure. “Right! At least I shall get to do one useful thing today. Miss Clay—get out! Henceforth you are banned from this university. Forever!”

Agatha looked stunned. “You… you can’t do that! I’m a student and—”

Merlot drew himself up. “Of course I can do it! Haven’t you heard? I’m in charge now!”

Agatha felt her world collapsing around her. She barely registered Dr. Glassvitch’s hand on her shoulder. “It may be for the best, Agatha,” he murmured. “Without Dr. Beetle’s protection, I doubt you would like it here.”

“No!” Agatha shook her head. “How will I…?”

Glassvitch cut her off gently, and began to escort her to the door. “I’ll come and see you, I promise. But now, I think, you had better leave.”

Klaus watched the two leave. His mouth twitched. “Petty,” he muttered.

Glassvitch returned and approached him with a worried look on his face. “Herr Baron, the girl is quite distraught… Are the streets safe?”

Klaus sighed. He turned toward the Jägermonster. “Unit Commander! See the girl home.”

The soldier grinned. “Hokay!”

Klaus plowed on, “Then come right back!”

The soldier shrugged. “Oh. Hokay.”

Once out on the campus, Agatha could see that things were in disarray. There were few students in evidence, though she could see that almost every window was crowded with anxious observers. Several airships had landed in the quad, and Jägermonsters and the Baron’s clanks were everywhere. As Agatha watched, one of the late Tyrant’s own clanks rounded the corner and advanced. Agatha had time to directly compare its jerky motion to the deadly fluid movements of the Wulfenbach clanks who spun and mowed it down. Other smoking piles of parts revealed the fate of the “Unstoppable Army.” The Baron had been right. Beetle’s clanks had become quite obsolete. As Agatha turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There, looming before her was the burning hulk that had been Mr. Tock. A crew of the Baron’s mechanics was already swarming over it, and as Agatha watched, a group of hovering airships began to lower cables to their waiting hands. Agatha suspected that the giant clank would be quickly rebuilt. But it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would.

Agatha skirted the vast remains and felt tears well up as she passed between the vast gateway for the last time. “Goodbye, Mr. Tock,” she whispered.

Her mood was shattered by the business end of a machine cannon dropping towards her face, and the amplified voice of the clank behind it roaring, “HALT. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO STAY OFF THE STREETS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.”

Agatha stepped backwards and bumped into someone. Turning around, she found herself face to face with the grinning Jägersoldier she’d last seen in Dr. Beetle’s lab. “Hoy,” he called out to the clank, “she’s vit me!”

The clank paused. “YES SIR,” and with a hiss it resumed its watch position.

The soldier then looked back at Agatha and was nonplussed to see her crying. “Vot’s de matta, gurl?”

Agatha stared at him through her tears. “They sent you out to eat me!”

The monster soldier actually looked embarrassed. You could also tell that this was an unfamiliar emotion. “Hy em not gun eatchu.” This did nothing to stop the flow of tears, and after several minutes, the exasperated soldier roared, “Onless dats de only vay to shot hyu op!” Agatha’s sobbing stopped instantly , and she stared at him with wide eyes. The Jägersoldier nodded. “Now. Vere hyu liff? Let’s get hyu home,” and when Agatha continued to stare at him blankly: “MOOF!”

The walk back through the town was markedly different from the one she’d taken this morning. The number of citizens on the street was greatly reduced, and the few left were obviously determined to get home as quickly as possible. Shopkeepers were closing up, frantically pulling stock in off the sidewalks or, when they saw Agatha and her escort, abandoning it altogether and slamming shut doors and window shutters.

The only sign of fighting that Agatha saw was a shattered member of the Watch, which still twitched and feebly ticked against a wall as they passed by. More and more of the giant Wulfenbach clanks and soldiers wearing the Wulfenbach crest were to be seen assuming positions on various street corners, and with chilling silence, a small troop of Jägermonsters swarmed across the rooftops of the buildings across the street and disappeared. Shadows from the overhead fleet glided across the streets, causing the townspeople to involuntarily duck their heads and move even more quickly.

Soon enough they turned on to Forge Street, and the large former stables that housed Clay Mechanical came into sight.

Agatha turned to her companion. For the last several blocks, the Jäger had abandoned its attempts at conversation, and had been sniffing repeatedly, while a look of distracted concentration flowed across its face. “That’s it. That’s my house. Um… thanks.” With that she bolted for the main door. The Jägermonster lazily leaned against the nearest wall and watched her scurry inside. With a sigh, he shook his head and muttered, “Tch. Poor little ting.” Again he sniffed deeply, then shrugged irritably and loped off.

Inside the shop, machinist and master blacksmith Adam Clay grasped a thick chain in his massive fists and pulled. The ceiling beam that held the combined pulley system groaned, and the front of the steam tractor the chain was attached to began to slowly rise upwards.

Herr Ketter’s tractor had some leaks. Adam was pretty sure he knew where. A small collection of probable replacement parts were neatly laid out on a small bench by his side.

Adam liked this sort of job, as it didn’t involve dealing with madboy technology. Whereas Sparks were able to design and construct bizarre, physics-skirting machinery, their devices were never really able to be mass produced or even reliably duplicated by regular people. Even trained machinists eventually suffered nervous breakdowns if they were forced to try.

One of the Wulfenbach Empire’s groundbreaking ideas had been that instead of exterminating rival Sparks after defeating them, Klaus hired them. He kept them happy by keeping them supplied with materials, tools, and food, and a dedicated staff that made sure they ate it. They found themselves free of the petty concerns that had plagued their lives, such as what to actually do with that small country once they had proved that they could conquer it with nothing more than a navy composed of intelligent lobsters. He also gave them challenges, adoring minions, and on a regular basis, a large dinner celebrating their accomplishments along with a beautiful calligraphed award expressing the sincere thanks of the Empire in general and Klaus in particular.

As a result, almost any one of the Sparks Klaus had defeated over the years would have disintegrated you if you had seriously attempted to offer them their freedom, and they gleefully built and repaired the airships and the armies of clanks as well as the other terrifying monstrosities that supported the Pax Transylvania. This easily made up for the tightly guarded warehouses full of devices that made ants run backwards or could remove the rings from Saturn that they occasionally delivered in their free time.

And of course, regular science marched on, if only in self-defense.

The pulley caught. Adam grimaced and gave the chain a sharp tug, and links snapped with a sound like a gunshot, the tractor slamming back to the ground, shaking the entire building.

Adam looked at the broken chain as if it had personally betrayed him, and then he dropped it to the ground. He walked over to the tractor and quickly inspected it to make sure there was no additional damage. Seeing none, he glanced around and, reassured that he was alone, grabbed the front of the tractor in one large hand, and slowly lifted it above his head. Satisfied, he hooked a foot around the bench that contained the spare parts, slid it over to his side, selected a wrench from a loop on his belt, and began working on the undercarriage.

Adam was a construct. Whereas the term “construct” encompassed any and all biological creatures created by Sparks, Adam was an example of a “traditional old-school” construct, i.e., a patchwork collection of body parts that had been revivified by a massive dose of electricity. They were the simplest form of construct to make, and the vast majority of Sparks had started their careers by assembling one. Unfortunately, while reviving the
corpus
was simple enough, the brain remained a tricky thing, and most Patchworks, as they were called, were either dull-witted or homicidally deranged, which meant that a significant number of Sparks had their careers
ended
surprisingly soon after they started.