Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (45 page)

Wooster blindly reached back and found a chair. He slowly sank into it, shaking his head. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “You’ve known all along. They’ll be so angry…” He looked at Gil and a touch of his old smirk crossed his lips. “I suppose I’ll be in slightly
less
disgrace when I bring them Agatha Heterodyne.”

Gil did not smile back. “Yesss—” he said thoughtfully. “About that.” He leaned into Wooster and tapped his friend’s chest. “I do not intend to have Agatha escape from one potential prison by entering another.” His voice began to shift, and Ardsley grew alarmed.

“She will not be used as some political pawn against my father. She will not be enslaved for the ‘good of the empire.’” He leaned back, grinned, and playfully slapped Wooster’s face. “You knew me back at school, and perhaps you don’t take me very seriously. That would be a mistake. You
must
understand this.”

The grin turned into a snarl and Wooster found himself being hoisted into the air by his shirt. “When I come to her, she will be safe, unharmed, and free. Because I definitely
will
come, and if she is not—” Wooster felt his teeth rattle as Gil shook him once—“I will destroy ‘Her Undying Majesty.’ I will melt what is left of your miserable island into slag, and then boil the seas around you for the next thousand years!” This last was delivered at a roar. “Do you understand?”

Wooster desperately tried to see some trace of the man he thought he’d come to know over the last three years. What he could see was not reassuring. “You… you couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t?!” screamed Gilgamesh. “
Couldn’t?
I am Gilgamesh
Wulfenbach
, little man, and there is
nothing
I couldn’t do, had I cause!”

Again Gil grinned. This was even worse than him yelling. “And now… Now I
have
one!” Again he pulled Wooster up close. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes!” Screamed a terrified Wooster. “Oh God, yes! Yes, Master!”

Gil released him and he fell over backwards, but was instantly scrabbling back up.

“Much better,” Gil purred. He flung the travel bag at Wooster who clumsily caught it. “She is in, or near, Balan’s Gap. Probably in Sturmhalten Castle. Take my flyer.”

After Agatha had left, Gil had rebuilt the bizarre little heavier-than-air craft. Wooster had, out of curiosity, watched him closely enough to be able to fly it, but the basic concept had been so outlandish that he hadn’t even bothered to pass the plans back to England.

“Watch out for the new Prince, Tarvek Sturmvarous. Around him, trust nothing you think you see.” Gil clamped an iron hand on Ardsley’s shoulder, checking his flight. “Do not fail me, Wooster. For if you do…”

“I won’t, sir,” the shaken man gasped. Gil smiled and released him. Wooster bolted down the corridor and out of sight.

As soon as he disappeared, Gil sagged against the doorframe. A deep sigh escaped him. “Goodbye, Ardsley,” he whispered. “I’ll really miss you.”

He turned back to the room, and addressed the watchers who had observed everything. “Well,” he said reassuringly, “I’ve done all I can. It should be enough. My sources say that he’s one of Britain’s finest agents.”

“Thhh…” Gil’s eyebrows arced in surprise. He stepped closer. From the medical slabs where they lay, cocooned within an intricate webwork of medical equipment, a rebuilt Adam and Lilith Clay looked at him with eyes that, although drugged, showed that they were aware of their surroundings.

Adam tried again. His new vocal cords rattling from deep within his patched throat. “—Thhank hhyuu.”

Gil settled down and patted Adam’s arm. “Thank me when she’s safe.”

CHAPTER 10

SCENE; THE SEWERS BENEATH PARIS.

KLAUS; I can’t stand this anymore! It’s dark! It stinks! It’s wet, and there are monsters!

BILL; Buck up, old man! At least fighting the monsters keeps us warm!

KLAUS; You cannot imagine how much I hate you.

—SCENE 2. ACT 2.
The Heterodyne Boys and The Mystery of the Mechanical Musketeer

T
he Empire was going to war.

In one of the larger docking bays of Castle Wulfenbach, a fleet of the Baron’s heavy cruisers prepared for embarkation. The vast man-made cavern was filled with sound.

On a platform high overhead, surrounded by amplification horns, one of the Castle’s marching bands kept people’s feet moving quickly, drums and glockenspiels set the pace, as the brass filled the air with jaunty and patriotic marches.

Teams of longshoremen hoisted containers of food, fuel and ammunition. Riggermen swarmed over the exterior of the ships, freely slathering sealant upon the envelopes, checking cables, and testing exterior lights. Gasmen were checking gauges and, with a series of distinctive pops, disconnecting the gigantic rubberized canvas hoses that looped upwards towards the unseen tanks and pumps that supplied them.

A squad of overalled mechanics finished bolting down the cowling of one of the great engines and grinning, all three of them used their wrenches to beat out the traditional “Good to go” rhythm on the nearest support strut. A flagman on a nearby platform acknowledged their signal, waved them off, and then with a snap of his flags, relayed the availability of the engine to the ship’s Chief Engineer. Within thirty seconds, the engine coughed, and with an escalating whine, the six-meter-tall propeller began to slowly turn as the motor went through its warm-up sequence. The large steel cables holding the great airship in place gave a groan, and a midshipman nervously checked the gauges on his quick-release buckle.

The metal decks thundered to the sound of hundreds of soldiers, all armed with rifles and assorted equipment being marched aboard. A pair of lieutenant-engineers blew their infamous three-toned whistles, and an aisle magically cleared to allow a squad of the tall brass fighting clanks, their fearsome machine cannons held at the ready, their tall hats, with red shakos newly brushed, to stride by in perfect lockstep with a hiss and a well oiled boom.

A lift whined, and from the shadows of the cavernous ceiling, a freight platform descended. Crowded around its edge was an unfamiliar squad of soldiers garbed in peculiar facemasks and long green cloaks. At the center of the platform was a stack of cages. From within could be heard high pitched growling and the occasional yip.

Unicycle messengers darted everywhere, their tin whistles piping a warning, usually followed by cursing and threats as they spun past within millimeters of the soldiers and crewmen.

One in particular shot out from between a pair of the tall brass clanks, leapt off his machine and snagged it in midair as he skidded to a halt centimeters away from Captain Bangladesh DuPree. As he stopped, the lad simultaneously pulled a flimsy envelope from the leather satchel over his shoulder and politely tucked his pillbox hat under his arm. Everyone was polite around Captain DuPree.

Bangladesh was the center of a small crowd of people vying for her attention. Those who only heard about the Captain’s more egregious aspects would have been nonplussed. Despite the multitude of voices, she dealt with the cacophony around her, answering questions, signing papers, and receiving reports with an easy-going smile and a calm efficiency.

A radiohead, with its diminutive driver perched upon its broad shoulders, lumbered up carrying Bangladesh’s air chest. She signed for it with a flourish and a pair of airshipmen gingerly hoisted it up and carried it onboard the dirigible.

Through this controlled chaos came the Baron’s secretary. DuPree and Boris had a professional understanding. Boris disapproved of DuPree because her methods, while undeniably effective, were unnecessarily messy. But he acknowledged that she was an effective tool.

In the spirit of fairness, it should be pointed out that, when the subject came up, Bangladesh freely admitted that she also thought of Boris as a tool.

Mostly, they just tried to avoid each other.

Boris’ presence here was unexpected. Whenever Klaus came along on a deployment, he turned over his considerable executive powers to his secretary. Boris usually wasted no time in using these powers to deal with the pressing bureaucratic business of the Empire without having to spend time waylaying the Baron.

“Hey, Boris!” she called out gaily. “Where is Klaus hiding? Tell his exalted crankiness that we are almost ready to ship out.”

Outwardly, Boris ignored this over-familiarity, but with satisfaction, DuPree noted the small twitch in his left eye.

“You may tell him yourself, Captain.” Boris pointed towards one of the enclosed observation decks that lined the walls. “He wants to see you at once.”

Several minutes later, Bangladesh strode into the room. Dozens of people were vying for the Baron’s attention. Klaus had the disconcerting ability to follow multiple conversations at the same time, and thus the noise level of the room approached that of a dull roar. Klaus himself was easy to spot, towering as he did above most of the other people present.

When the Baron saw her, he imperiously held up a hand to stop the other conversations and waved her over. Suddenly, there was a palpable edge in the room. Bangladesh realized that everyone was scared and nervous. Usually she was the cause of this, but now, there was something else… these people thought that something terrible was about to happen—

Without warning, Klaus’ arms snapped out and grabbed her. One enormous hand easily trapped both of Bangladesh’s hands straight up over her head. The other scooped her up and held her securely under his arm. “Quickly!” he roared.

Bangladesh had time for one startled thought.
“I never saw it coming.”
But instead of the expected blade, several small creatures were thrust at her. They looked like some sort of weasel, with short orange fur and thin, intelligent faces. This was so surprising that she didn’t even struggle as they sniffed inquisitively at her. She noticed other things now. There were odd little devices surgically attached to the creatures’ heads and they had no less than six short legs, tipped with delicate paws.

The handlers were more of the green-cloaked soldiers she had noticed in the hangar bay. At this point, all of the creatures gave a small squeal, and everyone relaxed. One of the handlers, who Bangladesh noted with a start of surprise, had the skull-piece of a Slaver warrior attached to his cloak, pulled his animal back, and the others did the same. “She is clean, Herr Baron.”

Klaus gave a nod. “Give us some room please.” Instantly, a large circle of emptiness was created as everyone drew back from the expected explosion. Klaus gently placed Bangladesh on her feet, paused, and then withdrew quickly enough that her stiletto barely sliced the edge of his sleeve. Then to the astonishment of everyone, including Bangladesh herself, Klaus bowed in apology. “Forgive me, your Highness.”

Bangladesh was always thrown whenever Klaus deigned to remember that she was a Queen
⁵⁸
. She took another half-hearted swipe with her knife, but the moment had passed. “Don’t ever do that again!” she snarled. “What’s with the weasels?” she demanded.

Klaus straightened up, collecting the Captain’s hat from the floor as he did so. He presented it to her as he waved over the head handler, who approached warily. “They are known as ‘Wasp-eaters.’” The little creature in the handler’s hand obviously realized that it was being talked about. It looked at Bangladesh and smirked.

“We developed them to hunt down Slaver Wasps, but unexpectedly, it appears that they can also detect when someone is infected with a wasp.”

Bang was unimpressed. “What, in case you don’t notice the whole shambling, twitching revenant act?” She snorted. “Yes indeed, mighty useful.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Yes, that was my initial reaction as well.” He paused. “Until recently.” He made a small sign to a group at the far door. This was opened, and the indignant person of Count Blitzengaard strode in.

“Herr Baron!” He began sternly, “I must vigorously protest this…this invasion!” He no doubt would have gone on for a good deal longer, but the wasp-eater nearest to him had snapped to look at him, then opened its mouth wide and hissed. The Count stopped dead and stared at the creature in astonishment.

Several other handlers had drifted close, and their charges reacted similarly. “What the devil are
those
things!” the Count cried out. Two more handlers darted forward and before the Count knew what was happening, his hands were secured behind his back. “What are you doing?” he roared.

“I’m afraid you must come with us now, Sir.”

The Count stared at Klaus with wide, fearful eyes. “But I’ve done nothing wrong! I am a Royal Courier! No one is allowed to interfere with—We have Diplomatic Immunity! By your own decree!”

Klaus nodded. “You are correct, my dear Count. I assure you, we will do all we can to cure you.”

“You must—!” The Count’s brain belatedly analyzed Klaus’ statement. “Cure? Wait!” But by then, he had been carried out the far door.

Klaus glanced at Bangladesh. Her face was a mask of amazement. There were many bad things you could say about Captain DuPree
⁵⁹
, but she was second to none when it came to assessing threats.

“You mean he’s—”

Klaus nodded. “Infected by Slaver Wasps. A ‘revenant’ under the command of The Other. Yes.”

“But he… he looks perfectly normal.”

“Yes.” Klaus lowered his voice. “As do the one hundred and seventy others we have uncovered aboard Castle Wulfenbach so far.”

Bangladesh shook her head in denial. “But The Other is dead!”

Klaus shrugged. “It’s possible that we’re just discovering old infections.” He paused, “But I was never sure. Did she die? Or did she just stop? There was no way to tell.”

“But the Heterodyne Boys—” DuPree paused. The Pfennig dropped. “Wait…
‘She’?
”

Klaus nodded. He placed one of his hands upon the Captain’s back, something few other people would have dared to do, and indicated that she was to walk with him. They left the observation platform and took an otherwise empty catwalk out towards the flagship. Below them the embarkation proceedings were reaching a crescendo. Finally Klaus began to speak.