by Phil Foglio
Agatha frowned. “Oh, come on. Surely, over time some of you have made similar comments, or worse. You grew up together.”
“True enough,” Sleipnir admitted, “but there is this pecking order thing…”
“Meaning?”
Ming gently patted her shoulder. “Welcome to the bottom of the heap.”
The next few days were quiet ones.
Von Pinn gave Agatha a wide berth.
Agatha returned to her room one evening to discover that Zulenna had moved out.
The biggest change was in Agatha’s sensations. Every day brought new smells, tastes and nuances of sounds that occasionally threatened to overwhelm her. Foods that she had grown up with revealed startling new flavors. For a few days, Agatha felt like she was starving. At meal times she ate until she felt ready to burst, but within the space of two hours, she would be prowling the kitchens looking for more. She worried about her clothes, but over the course of several days, they seemed to get looser, despite everything she was eating. Sleipnir actually got annoyed over this, until she confirmed Agatha’s claims with a tape measure.
A noisy room became a rich aural tapestry of underlying rhythms. The most distracting was her sense of touch. She was aware of the textures of the clothing she wore, the surfaces of the tools in the lab. A prolonged shower left her gasping on her knees.
It was a difficult few days. Sleipnir was concerned. Agatha saw a medic, who examined her and found nothing wrong, and suggested that she was simply over-stimulated by being in a new, exciting situation. Agatha certainly had to admit that was a plausible possibility.
And, most glorious of all, Agatha’s headaches, the Damoclean sword that had always checked her emotions, had stopped.
She noticed it the second day. By the third, she had actually tried to induce one and failed. That night, Sleipnir had found her in her room weeping. She’d never been able to have a good, solid cry, and by the time she was done, she felt wrung out like a rag and slept for twelve hours. After that, while her sensations and emotions remained much sharper than before, everything began to become much more manageable. Thankfully, Agatha found her appetite beginning to diminish.
The crises had passed.
Moloch proved to be adept at finding his way around a lab. The inventory was completed. Agatha tried to create something that would interest the Baron, but these attempts always ended in failure. The biggest problem was caused by Agatha herself, who continued to sleepwalk each night, ending up in the lab, sprawled over one of the workbenches.
On this particular morning, she was awakened by Moloch tossing his coat on top of her. “I wish you’d build something we could use instead of just messing up the place.”
Startled, Agatha thrashed around a bit scattering tools and machine parts to the floor as she pulled the coat on. She glanced at a clock. “You’re late. Did you oversleep?”
Moloch shook his head. “I wish. I got summoned before the Baron. He’s getting impatient. He wants to see something.”
“But what about those plans we’ve been working on the last couple of days?”
“He took one look at them and told me to stop cribbing D’Omas’ designs. It’s like I told you, every madboy has a style like… like a painter—and the Baron can recognize them.”
Agatha drummed her fingers on the bench. “Well… I do have some ideas of my own…”
Moloch waved his hand in dismissal. “Those tiddly little clockwork things that don’t work? Forget it. I’m supposed to be a Spark, not an idiot toymaker. I hand him plans for something like that and I’ll be shipped off to Castle Heterodyne within the hour. We need something Big. Impressive.”
“Well… Maybe stylistic similarities run in families. We could say that you’re D’Omas’ natural son.”
Moloch grinned ruefully. “Not a bad idea, but D’Omas’ taste in women was… well… let’s just say it was lucky for him he could build his own. A lot of people knew it too. There were reasons why the public didn’t like him. No, there’ll be no D’Omas heirs showing up, except preserved in glass jars.”
“Yech. Any ideas on escaping?”
“Only if I want to throw myself out a window, which I’m not ruling out, by the way. But for the moment, the plan is to get out alive.”
Moloch paced back and forth several times and then whirled to face Agatha again. “You were there when that clank in Beetleburg was built. That’s what we need. You must remember something!”
Agatha shrugged apologetically. This was an old subject. “No. I woke up after it was gone. I don’t know anything. I could do some research—”
Moloch slammed his fist down onto the bench hard enough to send several tools flying. “Stuff that!” he screamed. “You didn’t see the Baron’s face this morning! I need something now!” He loomed menacingly over Agatha. “I don’t think you’re really trying.”
Apprehensive, Agatha tried to back up, and found herself bumping into another bench. “You said yourself that I’m no Spark! What do you expect me to—”
Moloch gripped her shoulders. “Think, you stupid cow! You have as much to lose as I do!”
Agatha shook herself free and glared at Moloch. “Wrong! My parents are long gone and in hiding. Even the Jägermonsters can’t find them. You no longer have a hold on me, so if you want my co-operation, I suggest you change your attitude, or… or…”
A change had come over Moloch’s face. His eyes looked dead. He reached out and, grabbing the lapels of the coat Agatha was wearing, hauled her forward. “Or what? You’ll kill me too? Wrong. You’re gonna help me out one more time. A lab accident, I think. That should buy me some more time…”
Horrified, Agatha watched as he raised his fist, and suddenly Moloch’s eyes widened and he screamed and dropped her. A quick glance down revealed the white cat biting and clawing at the inside of one of Moloch’s legs. As he danced away, trying to dislodge it, Agatha regained her balance, reached behind her and felt her fingers close around the handle of a large mallet.
Gilgamesh Wulfenbach strolled down the corridor, his brow furrowed in thought. Eventually he nodded. “Oh very well, I’ll concede the point, it does appear alarming, but you shouldn’t be afraid of it, I’m rather sure it’s just a goldfish.”
Beside him Zoing frantically waved his claws and discoursed at length in high-pitched squeals.
CRASH! A lab door slammed open beside them and the inert form of Moloch von Zinzer was booted out into the corridor. A second later his labcoat was flung over him. Gil and Zoing turned to see a furious Agatha standing in the doorway, clutching a broken mallet. “You pathetic thug! Don’t you dare threaten me again! Come near me and I’ll put you in a glass jar!” It was now that she noticed Gil and his companion for the first time.
“Lover’s spat?” Gil inquired.
“I quit!” Agatha snarled. “I don’t care if you put his brain into a jellyfish!”
Gil frowned. “But you made such a cute couple—” Without visible effort he dodged the mallet handle that sailed past his head.
“You know perfectly well he is not my lover! Now send me home! I have to find my parents!”
Gil looked serious. “Yes, your parents. I can certainly understand your concern. We still haven’t been able to find them. The Jägermonsters haven’t been able to find them, none of your neighbors has seen them. According to the University records you don’t have any other family in Beetleburg. Do you have any other family anywhere?”
“I have an uncle, but he… he disappeared over ten years ago.”
“Not much help then. Did they have any enemies?”
“Enemies?” Agatha looked shocked. “No!” Then certain things she had seen and heard over the years assumed a possible new significance. “At least, I don’t know of any. Why?”
Gil sighed. “It is not uncommon, when my father takes over new territory, that during the confusion, some people take the opportunity to… settle old grudges.”
“That’s… that’s terrible.”
“F
oolish, certainly. My father prides himself on maintaining law and order within the Empire, it’s kind of the whole point really, and we come down very hard on things like this. Up until now, we’ve been assuming that your parents were hiding from us, but now we also have to consider the possibility that something has happened to them.”
“Why? What’s changed?”
“One of the things I did was place public notices throughout Beetleburg advising the Clays that we had you in our possession and providing an address where they could anonymously send you a message to at least let you know that they were safe. So far there’s been nothing.”
“I… I have to go back! I—”
Gil interrupted. “And do what? My worry now is that if someone is responsible for your parents’ disappearance, they might be after you as well. Until we find your parents, I’m afraid my father will insist on you being kept here under protective custody.”
“That’s outrageous! He can’t—” Agatha suddenly stopped as she realized who she was talking about.
Gil nodded grimly. “He most certainly can. Now I can understand you not wanting to work with Herr von Zinzer—” Gil nudged the prone mechanic with the toe of his boot—”But I’m afraid everyone aboard the Castle is expected to justify their weight—” Agatha opened her mouth—”Would you consider working with me?”
Agatha’s mouth hung open for a second, then closed with a snap. Her eyes narrowed. “…Why?” she finally asked.
Gil ticked off points on his fingers. “I found your daily reports to be concise and well-written, you very efficiently re-organized the parts warehouse, and, most important, your suggestions regarding my flyer’s engine increased its efficiency by seventeen percent.”
Agatha looked pleased. “Seventeen percent? Really?”
Gil nodded. “Really. And I believe that by working together, we could do even better. Interested?”
“Yes! Yes I am!”
Gil smiled. “Good.” He casually reached down and with one hand hauled Moloch up by the collar. “I shall deal with Herr von Zinzer here. Be at my lab this afternoon.”
Agatha drew herself up and performed the traditional bow. “Yes, Herr…” she paused.
“Doctor,” Gil supplied.
“Herr Doctor Wulfenbach.”
Gil coughed discretely. “Ah, there is one thing, Miss Clay… If you’re going to be working with me, I’d appreciate it if you wore more clothes.”
For the first time Agatha became aware of her appearance and with a strangled “Eep!” vanished inside the lab.
Gil puffed out his breath and grinned. A slight movement at the end of his arm caused him to set his face in sterner lines, and he briskly slapped Moloch’s face several times until the man began to thrash feebly. “All right you, let’s go.”
Moloch’s eyes opened, rotated in different directions, focused upon Gil and then snapped open in terror. His feet began to move, but as they weren’t touching the ground, nothing happened. When he became aware of this, he seemed to give up, and with a sigh, went limp. Gil cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not a very good soldier, are you?”
Moloch shrugged. “That’s why I became a mechanic, sir.”
Gil nodded. “Now I believe this little charade has played itself out, hm? You are not a Spark.”
Again Moloch spasmed within Gil’s grasp. “No! Sir! I… I can explain!”
“Sh—sh—shhh! Relax.” With an alarming smile Gil gently lowered Moloch to the floor, and reached around to drape a friendly arm over Moloch’s shoulders. Another smile and Gil had gently propelled him down the hallway. “I want to help you.” Zoing gathered up Moloch’s coat and scuttled along behind.
Inside the lab, Agatha leaned against the door, her head swimming. She looked over and saw the large white cat, which had bitten Moloch, sitting on the nearest bench glowering at her. “He listened to my suggestions! He actually tried out my ideas—and they worked! Nobody has ever listened to me!”
She hugged herself and did a quick jig over to the bench. The cat continued to stare. “And he asked me to work with him! Do you understand what that means, you beautiful leg-biting cat? Everybody knows that the labs on Castle Wulfenbach do the real, cutting-edge science! The stuff the universities only dream about doing! And I’ll be working with the Baron’s son! Doing real science, in a real lab, with someone who actually listens to me!” Overcome with emotion she scooped the surprised animal up and swung him around. “What do you think of that?”
The cat frowned and leaned into her and pointed at her with an oddly shaped paw. “I think,” he said clearly, “that you’d better be very, very careful.”
CHAPTER 7
“With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. But wait, I thought, why not give it the ability to spit acid? Or a few extra claws? Or, yes! A total disregard for the sanctity of human life! That will show them!”
—A typical last entry from the journal of an emergent Spark
Agatha stared at the cat. “Oh,” she said carefully, “I’m dreaming again. How disappointing.” The cat rolled its eyes. “You work with mad scientists and you’re surprised at a talking cat? I’m the one who’s disappointed.”
Agatha gently placed the cat back onto the lab bench. Instead of dropping to all fours, it remained on its hind legs, which Agatha now saw didn’t look like normal cat legs at all.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. You really talk. You just startled me.” The cat nodded briskly. “Right. Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m here to help you.” Agatha nodded back. “Help me. Okay.” She paused. “Do I need to get you some boots?”
The cat glowered at her and his tail lashed back and forth in annoyance. “I don’t do the boot thing, so knock it off. I’m serious. We can’t talk now.” His ears flicked towards the door. “Someone will be here soon.”
Agatha opened her mouth—the cat raised his hand peremptorily.
“Tonight. Your room. Bring something to eat.” He leaned forward. Agatha found herself doing the same. “And be careful around young Wulfenbach. He’s up to something. He knows that you’re a Spark and—”
“WHAT?” The cat looked surprised at Agatha’s outburst. “I am not a Spark,” she said.
The cat frowned. “What? Of course you are!”
Years of worrying about the state of her mental health found voice and Agatha slammed her hand down on the bench, hissing: “Don’t you make fun of me, cat. I—”
The cat swiftly but gently smacked her nose with his paw. Agatha’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “Shhh,” the cat said, and gestured her closer. Gingerly Agatha leaned in and the cat put its muzzle up to her ear. “You talk in your sleep,” he whispered. Agatha reared back.
Suddenly there was a clack and the door to the corridor swung open. With a fluid motion, the cat flowed off the bench and under a stack of gears leaving Agatha alone. She whirled to face the door and saw Ardsley Wooster, his head discreetly averted, holding forth his large coat. “Good morning, Miss Clay. Master Gilgamesh informed me that you would require a cover-up as well as an escort back to your quarters. This afternoon I am to show you the way to the location of your new duties.”
Klaus Wulfenbach was in a genial mood. He strode down the center of the corridor, marginally aware of the crowd that carefully broke before him and stood aside as he passed. Coming up to a large, reinforced door, he nodded to the Jägermonsters that were lounging before it. The nearest picked up a small book and leafed through it at random, then looked up. “Vat is de sqvare root uf 78675?”
Klaus nodded in approval, thought for a moment, and then replied: “345.”
The Jäger carefully checked the book before him and then grinned. “Dot is correctly incorrect. In hyu go.” The other Jäger moved and spun the locking wheel on the door until it opened with a chunk.
Klaus stepped inside and waited until the door was
shut behind him. He unlocked another door and then entered a small laboratory lit only with red lights. Humming a tune, he removed his greatcoat and began donning protective equipment. A small sound caused him to look over his shoulder and smile genially. “Ah, good afternoon.”
In the center of the room, strapped down to a massive examination table, lay Othar Tryggvassen. His muscles strained against the bonds holding him. When this proved to be useless, his head thumped back against the neckrest and he settled for glaring at the Baron.
Klaus scanned a report in his hands. “Didn’t sleep well? Quite understandable. Today is going to be a very exciting day.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm, you twisted fiend!”
Klaus shrugged good naturedly. “Quite all right. I’m used to it.” Silence descended, broken only by Klaus quietly humming a waltz as he began to check a row of surgical instruments.
“No matter how you torture me,” Othar declared, “I won’t talk.”
“If only that were true,” Klaus muttered.
Othar stared at his back for several minutes. “So. What is it you want to know?”
Klaus turned, holding a small bone saw. “Why you’re a Spark. What is it that makes you different from other people.”
Othar chewed on his lower lip. “But I… I don’t actually know that.”
Klaus smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Of course you don’t. Neither do I. But I intend to find out.”
Despite himself, Othar looked interested. “How?”
Klaus began holding up a series of drill bits against Othar’s skull. Othar couldn’t help but notice that they were getting progressively larger. “I will destroy selected parts of your brain,” Klaus explained, “until you no longer are a Spark.”
“You ah—” Othar tried to maintain an even tone to his voice. “You can do that?”
Klaus nodded. “Oh yes. Eventually.”
Othar considered this for a moment. “And afterwards?”
Klaus sighed. “Ah. That whole ‘quality of life’ question.” He ran a hand through his mop of hair. “I’m working very hard on that.” He smiled ruefully. “And I’m getting much better.”