Agatha H and the Siege of Mechanicsburg

by Phil Foglio

  Gil rolled his eyes. “Of course it can’t hover.”

  “Ah-HA!”

  Gil sighed. “Lots of things fly without gasbags. You have absolutely no grasp of aeronautics, do you?”

  They heard a crash and a grunt from behind them and whirled around to see Othar Tryggvassen leap up from where he had knocked Captain Vole to the ground. “Wulfenbach! We meet again! I have found you at last!” He glanced at Tarvek. “And your degenerate clone!”

  “His what?” Tarvek sputtered. “How dare you!”

  Gil nodded in satisfaction. “Thank goodness. I hate having to justify myself.” He then took a deep breath, snagged Tarvek’s sleeve, and ran. “Curses! Foiled again,” he shrieked.

  Othar looked like a ten-year-old child being given a second Christmas. “What?”

  “We must flee,” Gil continued as he hustled Tarvek along, “for it is none other than Othar Tryggvassen—Gentleman Adventurer—vanquisher of eeeeevil!”

  “Hey now,” Othar huffed as he pursued them, “you make it sound absurd!”

  Gil swung the two of them into the cockpit of the flyer. “We will make a daring escape in my amazing flying machine!”

  Tarvek struggled like a cat spotting an impending bath. “Not the flying machine! Not the flying machine!”

  “I think not, villain!” Othar swung up to the flyer just in time to have Tarvek flung directly into his path. The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs while Gil swept his hands across the activation switches.

  “I need to drag you back to your father,” Othar roared. “My sister—”

  “You did something to his sister?” Tarvek tried to stand up. “What is the matter with you?”

  Gil patted both men on the back. “Don’t worry! Tarvek is really good at machinery, and Othar here is a master of escape!” Suddenly, both Tarvek and Othar realized they were connected at the wrists by a pair of shackles. “So if you work together, I know you’ll be okay!”

  The two men looked up in time to see Gil standing several meters away, a hanger door control in his hand. He gave a wave, hit the switch, and the floor opened up beneath them. Gil watched them go and shook his head. “I’ll be very curious to hear how they do,” he mused.

  “Dot no goot schneak!” Vole stumbled up beside Gil and peered down, rubbing his head. “Goot job, boss. Vell let’s get goink. Eef we’z gunna schtart a civil var, ve’s gotz to get crackin’.”

  “Gil studied him. “Yesss . . . About that . . . ” and with a sigh, he shoved Vole out into space.

  A gasp from behind caused him to turn as he was closing the hatch. Bang stared at him in shock. “What did you do that for?”

  “Oh, he should be fine,” Gil assured her. “They haven’t even gotten the engine started yet and, due to his aerodynamic profile, Vole is falling faster—”

  Several years of experience caused Gil to instinctively dodge the knife that sliced through the air towards him and catch it with a snap of his wrist. He looked at Bangladesh with a puzzled look on his face. “Now what? Don’t tell me you’re mad that you didn’t get to push him.”

  Another knife cut the air several centimeters from where his nose had been. “I liked that one!”

  Gil stared at her. “You . . . like him? Vole? You like . . . ” Then it all came together in his head and he gave a whoop of laughter as Bangladesh’s face grew progressively redder. “Of course you do!” he gasped in glee. “He’s a bloodthirsty, treacherous killing machine! Oh, this is priceless!” He easily avoided her hatchet and pinched her cheek. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you have a booooyyyfriend.”

  Exhibiting a level of control that a part of Gil’s mind filed away as “worrying,” Bang took a deep breath and carefully adjusted her cap. “Yeah, well you should talk, twerp. What about all the trouble you’re causing over this Heterodyne wench?”

  Gil sobered up. “Point taken.” That said, he reached into a pocket and produced Tarvek’s notebook, which he had deftly lifted from the distracted prince’s pocket. “The first thing I need to do is look at this formula.” He nodded and strolled into the next room. “Zoing? Start clearing a space on chemical table three, and get me—”

  DuPree’s hand dropped onto his shoulder. “Oh no you don’t. I’m still working for your father, apparently, and it sounds like he wants you brought in now.”

  Gil snapped the book closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You’d better believe it. Now get moving.”

  Gil shrugged off her hand. “Not you, Sturmvoraus’ notes. They’re encrypted.”

  Bangladesh gave Gil a small shove in the center of his back. “Too bad, so sad,” she sang out. “Now get moving.”

  Gil paused, faced her, and gently took her hand. “DuPree, please,” he said earnestly, “I need you to stay here with me.” Effortlessly, he swung the captain through the air and slammed her to the deck. “And let me work!” He received a quick boot in the face in response. Gil somersaulted backwards in time to avoid the second, fetching up next to a bench laden with dusty bottles. “Seriously, DuPree, this is very—” A particular bottle caught his eye. “Oh! Silver of Vixonite!118 I thought I was going to have to make more of this from scratch. That’s going to make this a lot easier!”

  He twitched his hand to avoid Bang smashing the bottle with her fist, sending it into the air. “Careful, ” he admonished her. “This formula is difficult enough without you breaking stuff.”

  “How do you know that? I thought you said you couldn’t read those notes.”

  Gil caught the bottle as it dropped. “I said they were encrypted. I didn’t say I couldn’t read them.” He turned away and, as Bang attacked him, slammed his boot into her solar plexus, sending her crashing back into another bench. “Now, would you see if we have any distillation of Monahan’s Viniferous MusEelixir left?”

  “I’ll distill you!” With a snarl, Bang grabbed a bottle and flung it at Gil’s head. Gil plucked it from the air, examined the label, and nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect! Thanks. And next to that should be a bottle of—” Another flask smacked into his waiting hand. “—Calaxia Oil! That’s right! You’re getting better at this. Remember that time you gave me concentrated Pellicax’s Twist instead of Saint Michael’s Toes and your whole ship blew up?”

  He blinked and ducked as a lab bench sailed overhead and crashed into the wall behind him. “No, no, I’ve already got one of those.” He checked the book again and frowned as he fished in his work vest for a screwdriver. “Now this part sounds tricky . . . ” Absent-mindedly, he brought the screwdriver up in time to parry the knife Bang was attempting to drive into his eye. He sighed and looked at her. “Look, I’ll admit this kind of thing is occasionally fun, but this is not the time, okay?”

  “Oh, it’s always the time for what I’m going to do to you!”

  Gil sighed. “Zoing?”

  A pair of steel claspers came swiftly down and seized Bangladesh’s shoulders and, holding her tightly, hoisted her into the air. Astonished, she craned her neck and saw the diminutive construct piloting a large metal mantis-looking clank which had been covered in graffiti rendered in a juvenile hand declaring sentiments such as “Arthropods rule!”

  “Gotone,” Zoing chirped in glee. “Toldyuit begoood!”

  Gil looked a bit embarrassed. “Yes, yes, you were right, I was wrong.”

  Upon hearing this, Zoing did a peculiar little waggling dance of victory. “EEEEE!”

  “Hey! Cheating!” Bang declared. “This is cheating. This . . . what is this thing?”

  “Oh, I built it for Zoing a long time ago.”

  Zoing leaned down. “Izfor pickingup gorlz!”

  Bang’s jaw dropped. “It’s for what?”

  Gil rubbed his neck. “Well, when I was a kid, we heard some of the older guys talking . . . but we were kind of . . . um . . . unclear on the finer points, and, well . . . ”

  Zoing waved his claws in triumph. “Itworkz! Itworkz!”
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br />   Bang stared at the two of them, pity evident in her gaze. “That is just like you. Sooo pathetic.”

  Gil squirmed in embarrassment. “Just strap her down somewhere, okay?”

  “Somewhere” turned out to be a fully functional medical table, equipped with heavy-duty straps and controls that allowed it to be swiveled in any direction. A shackled Bang stared up at Gil in contempt. “Seriously pathetic.”

  “I assure you this table is purely for medical purposes.”

  “That’s what makes it pathetic.” She glanced over at the bench that Zoing was fastidiously tending. “What are you working on that’s so important, anyway?”

  “Something that should protect us against slaver wasp infection.”

  Bang’s interest sharpened. “But that guy whose notes you’re following. That was the Prince of Sturmhalten. You’re following his formula? Sturmhalten’s at the whole center of this thing. The royal family was neck deep in it.”

  “I know,” Gil acknowledged, “That’s precisely why I think this has a chance of working. They’d want to protect themselves.”

  Bang snorted. “They’re wasting their time aren’t they? Sparks can’t be infected. Something about their brain chemistry. That’s why the Other just kills them.”

  Gil looked at her askance. It was always disturbing when Bangladesh displayed an understanding of anything more complicated than which was the sharp end of an object. “That was, in fact, the case,” he admitted. “Until it wasn’t. Apparently one of the Other’s pet sparks managed to develop a wasp that could infect sparks, and we think someone got close enough to use it on my father.” A sharp intake of breath showed Bang was still paying attention. “We don’t know how long they’ve had this technology, and I’m sure my father wasn’t supposed to be their first test, but everything got upset when Agatha was found.

  “Tarvek believes this formula will immunize us against slaver wasps. I’m sure you can see how vital that would be, especially if my father is infected. One of the reasons I stayed was that this has to be tested, and we’re the best—” He turned towards the table, and stopped as he realized that, aside from Bangladesh’s coat, boots, and pants, it was vacant. He sighed. “DuPree, are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

  She slammed into him from his lower left, one of the few directions he had not been prepared for. “Oh, I’m listening.” She punched the back of Gil’s head, causing his face to bounce against the steel deck. “You’ve become weirdly infatuated with this girl, who might be the Other full time, as opposed to only part time.” She ground her knees into the small of his back. “And you were locked away with her in Castle Heterodyne, along with Prince Squealy, who you’re now all chummy with when, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve hated him. Which was understandable because, at the moment, he’s at the top of your father’s Most Wanted List, precisely because he knows all about slaver wasps, since his entire family was working with the Other and her scientists.

  “Now you’re using one of his formulas to mix up a miracle cure for something that’s never even been a problem before now—and you expect me to drink it!” She rested her knees on his inert shoulders. “I think that about covers it.”

  With a brutal snap, Gil’s heel slammed into the back of her head. “Yes,” he said. “And no.” Bang’s eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped forward. “Okay, enough of this,” Gil muttered as he crawled free. He levered himself to his feet and grabbed the flask of precipitate sitting on the bench. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, this is important. I need you to stay free.” So saying, he poured half of the bottle into her mouth. Bang came to with a start, coughing and spitting. Gil patted her on the back. “Sorry about that,” he said, not really sorry at all. “But I’m going to drink it as well—” Bang began to twitch. “—in a minute.”

  He stared in fascinated horror as Bangladesh continued to twitch and shudder while her skin began to throw off small sparks of static electricity. “That’s pretty interesting,” he said.

  Bang threw her head back and screamed. “I knew she’d got to you! I really should kill you!”

  “No, no,” Gil said reassuringly. “I think this is supposed to happen.” Hurriedly, he picked up Tarvek’s notes and began to flip through the pages. “Here we go,” he muttered. “Table H: Temporary Side Effects . . . Oh! I see!” He looked up at Bangladesh’s crackling epidermis. “It’s changing your ionic balance. What an ingenious solution.”

  “Head . . . feels like it’s going to explode.”

  Gil patted her arm. “Don’t worry. That means it’s working. It should fade in a minute or so.”

  “That’s very comforting,” Bang nodded jerkily. “Need to sit down,” she mumbled. Gil fetched a chair, which Bang gratefully took and then brought down on his head.

  She then grabbed the flask. “I don’t know whether to pour the rest of this down your throat or down the sink.” She studied his dazed face. “Which would annoy you more?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Q: Why does the Heterodyne prefer the company of Jägermonsters to that of hunting hounds?

  A: Because a hound feels shame when it does something wrong.

  —A “witticism” found scrawled within the margins of the original manuscript of Anatole du Lac’s Chronicles of the Court of the Storm King (Property of The Storm King Collection of the British Museum)

  Gil’s ironically designated “flying machine” fell screaming from the bottom of Castle Wulfenbach and plummeted towards the mountains ringing the Valley of the Heterodynes. Technically, it must be acknowledged that the machine itself fell silently, with the aforementioned screaming being supplied by Tarvek, who was hammering at an unresponsive control panel. Othar peered at the wings, which gave a desultory flap. “It is working,” he observed thoughtfully.

  “But not enough!” Tarvek stared at him wild-eyed. “We’re still falling!”

  “Then panic is a luxury we cannot afford.”

  Othar’s calm logic brought Tarvek to his senses. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m positively serene. Now, do you know anything about this machine?”

  Othar frowned. “Don’t you?”

  “No! I wouldn’t voluntarily go near a thing like this with a three-meter pole! There’s no gasbag! It . . . it’s like some giant, creepy flapping bug!”

  Othar put his hands on his hips. “That’s serene, is it?”

  “I really don’t like flying!”

  “Oh, very well,” Othar said as he sighed. “Pay attention.” Which was when Captain Vole landed on Othar’s head feet first, slamming him to the deck.

  “Got heem,” he crowed. “Pretty schneeky, yah?”

  Tarvek felt his sanity crumbling—and not in a good way. “He was the person Wulfenbach said could get us out of this!”

  A moue of worry was beginning to pucker Vole’s face when an enormous fist sank into his stomach, doubling him over. “Ho ho!” Othar laughed as he bounced back to his feet. “You won’t take me down that easily, evildoer!”

  He doesn’t have to, Tarvek thought to himself, gravity is doing it for him. He suddenly realized the shackle binding the two of them together was gone. “How—?”

  “To a Gentleman of Adventure, chains only exist as a manifestation of earthly desire. Therefore—”

  This philosophical revelation was cut short by Vole inserting his fist between Othar’s jaws. “Peh! Hyu goody two—shoes types iz all vit de beeg mouths. Shot dem op, end hyu go down just fine!”

  Tarvek glanced over the side and saw this was evidently correct. “Stop hitting each other,” he pleaded.

  Othar spat out a claw and frowned as he delivered a right cross that flattened one side of Vole’s head. “I think not, creature of evil.”

  Tarvek stared at the two of them whaling away at each other and his face twitched. “Fine! Don’t let me bother you!” He spun back to the engine, slammed open the access panel, and peered within. “Crude,” he sneered. “All power and no finesse . .
. in a sort of brilliant way . . . a crude, lowlife, debauched way— Ah-ha! Wrench!”

  He looked around and saw Vole about to bring a wrench down on Othar’s skull. He deftly plucked it from the Jäger’s grip. “Thank you.” This so startled Vole that Othar was able to uncoil with an uppercut so strong it added several centimeters to Vole’s height before he collapsed, unconscious.

  Othar turned, dusting his hands, saying: “Now, about this falling business—” just as Tarvek pulled the starter cord and the engine howled to life.

  The wings blurred and the machine surged forward. It bounced off the side of the mountain and tumbled through the air. The two men fought the controls and the machine stabilized in time to careen through the upper branches of several of the taller trees. It broke through into the cleared space surrounding the town and was instantly fired on by Wulfenbach troops, who assumed it was a Heterodyne device, as well as by the town’s defenders, who identified it as some sort of Wulfenbach deviltry. An early hit to the rear stabilizers actually proved to be beneficial as it caused the ship to jink and lurch in such a way the subsequent barrage mostly whistled harmlessly past with only the occasional hit.

  It was the last of these that finally sent the machine tumbling from the sky to within the town walls. It slammed into the steeply pitched copper-tiled roof of the Lightning Futures Exchange119 and came to a halt. Tarvek just had time to breathe a shaky sigh of relief before the machine began to slide down the roof. It tipped off into space and began to drop the four stories to the ground below. Tarvek again desperately pulled the starter cord—for the final time, as it snapped off in his hand. However, this was enough to rouse the wings to a final crescendo of effort that arrested the machine’s fall sufficiently to deposit them gently on the cobbled square, at which point the wings ripped free and careened about, smashing windows, destroying market stalls, and raising a great cloud of dust before coming to rest in a fountain where they lay at such an angle that the water began to flow out across the pavement.