Agatha H. and the Airship City

by Phil Foglio

  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?”

  “Certainly.”

  “This is my space?”

  “Yours and yours alone, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your other work. Later today you can clear it off and set it up for your requirements.”

  Agatha turned towards the bench and slowly ran her hand along it. She put her tea down, quickly picked it back up, found a large gear and used it as a coaster. She turned back to Gil. “Thank you. I’ve never had… I mean, at the University I couldn’t… they…”

  Gil awkwardly patted her on the arm. Their eyes met and locked. Gil felt his breath stop as he realized that Agatha’s eyes were the largest and deepest he’d ever seen.

  Agatha saw eyes that regarded her as someone with thoughts and ideas that were worthwhile. Eyes that saw her as she had hardly dared to see herself. The moment seemed to last forever until a small gasp of pain broke the spell. Whirling about, the two saw Wooster trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, while attempting to dislodge one of Zoing’s claws from his foot. Gil opened his mouth to say something, looked at Agatha, and instead, gently pulled her away from the gyrating figures, over to a large series of bookshelves. “You will also be in charge of my library.”

  Scores of books filled the racks, books of every type. Large leather tomes framed and braced with metal clasps, scrolls in intricately decorated bamboo cases, roughly bound manuscripts and notebooks were mixed in with scores of the cheaply printed textbooks that were emblematic of university students. Agatha noted that while the sciences predominated, books on an astonishing range of subjects were present, many showed signs of use, such as cracked spines or thickets of bookmarks sticking up from the pages. One rack in particular caught Agatha’s eye. These books, cheap though they were, obviously were part of a set, and a familiar set at that. “You collect the Heterodyne Boys books?”

  Gil looked embarrassed. Agatha pulled down The Heterodyne Boys and Their Pneumatic Oyster. “These are so much fun!” A thought struck her. “Oh, of course! Your father is in these, isn’t he?”

  Gil mumbled, “I… uh… I don’t really remember…”

  “Of course he is! Here we go…

  ‘Hey Klaus, what are you doing in that vat?’

  ‘You put it under the hatch you great idiot! Help me out!’

  Punch scratched at his massive head. “Wull, iffen you hadn’t been running away…’”

  Agatha stopped. “Oh. Oh dear.”

  Gil gently took the book from her and tucked it back onto the shelf. “Yes, well… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention these.”

  “Of course.” Another set of books caught Agatha’s eye. They were gaudily bound in red, white and blue, and looked quite new. “What are these?” She read a title: Trelawney Thorpe, Spark of the Realm?

  Gil’s face lit up. “Ah, these are terrific! Total British propaganda, of course, but really good!”

  This last comment was clearly heard by Wooster, who paused while carrying a large, thrashing sack over his shoulder. He frowned. “Oh, I say sir—as I have told you before, Miss Thorpe is a real person.”

  “Yes, yes, and I’m sure that these stories are just as accurate as the Heterodyne series.”

  Wooster wagged his finger. “Ah, but these publishers are British.”

  Gil gave up. “Of course.” He turned back to Agatha, who was sliding several of the volumes around on the shelf. “Fee
l free to borrow any you like,”

  Agatha pulled a book out from behind the others. “This one must’ve slipped back—” The title caught her eye: “—In the Seraglio of the Iron Sheik?”

  Wooster waggled his eyebrows. “A favorite, I believe.”

  Agatha did not actually see Gil move, but suddenly there was a different book in her hand. “I’d recommend that you start with this one.”

  “The Glass Dirigible? Sounds interesting.”

  Gil glared at his servant. “Wooster, take Zoing and help him clean the flight lab.” A blue claw punched through the sacking and missed closing on Wooster’s ear by several millimeters. Wooster sighed. “Very good sir.”

  Agatha looked up. “But about that seraglio one—”

  Quickly Gil reached up and pulled a large lever. “Oh, Hey! What do you think of this?”

  With a hiss, part of the wall folded back to reveal a series of figures. They were animals, dressed in formal evening wear, arranged as an orchestra, equipped with instruments. From the center, a small figure, which looked disturbingly like the Baron, rose from a hidden cavity with a pneumatic hiss, and raised a slim baton. After a brief pause, the tip of the baton glowed, and the orchestra began to play a light waltz. Small statues that Agatha had thought were merely there to hold lighting fixtures began to sing a melodic counterpoint. Agatha began to notice the little details, how the rabbit playing the piccolo managed to twitch aside its ears every time the trombone slide approached from behind, the small mice with penny whistles that occasionally popped out of the bells of various horns. She was entranced until she felt a light tap upon her shoulder. Gil bowed. “Would milady care to dance?”

  Agatha shyly curtsied. “I would.” She felt Gil’s strong hands grasp her hand and shoulder, but resisted slightly. He looked at her enquiringly. “But later, I want to see how it works.”

  Gil smiled. “I expected nothing less,” and with that she allowed him to swirl her around in time to the music. Never had Agatha felt so grateful to Lilith as she did then, for the endless dance lessons that she had endured, acting as a prop for Lilith’s male students. Seeing that she was no novice, Gil nodded in appreciation, and increased the complexity of the steps. With a gleam in her eye, Agatha returned the favor, catching Gil off guard, but with a delighted laugh, he carried through on the change, and, locked together, they swirled around the floor in a graceful arabesque that, when the music ended, deposited them exactly where they had started. But now they were closer to each other, their eyes again locked, their hands grasping the other’s, and their breathing slightly faster than even the exertions they had completed would account for.

  With a hiss, the orchestra bowed in unison and went still. After a moment, they both, reluctantly, released each other’s hands. “That…” Agatha ventured, “that was wonderful dance music. Who wrote that?”

  Gil smiled modestly. “I did. When I was a student in Paris.”

  “If that’s any indication, you really liked Paris.”

  Gil nodded. “I loved it. It’s beautiful. You can be anything you want there.” He glanced at Agatha and visibly pulled himself back from the past. A calculating look flashed across his face. He crossed over to a large wall cabinet and, reaching inside, pulled out a large globe of blue glass which was mounted upon a small brass figure of a man holding it, Atlas fashion, upon his shoulders. Several nozzles and connectors were placed upon the exterior, and a small brass trilobite was mounted upon a band that ran down the center. “This is a genuine Heterodyne artifact I found at a curiosity shop. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to figure out what it is yet. What do you think?”

  Agatha looked at the device for a moment and then looked at Gil over her glasses. “It looks like a lamp.”

  Gil frowned and pulled it back. “It is not a lamp. I’ve been fiddling with it a bit. But nothing I run through it seems to do much. Unless it just takes an enormous amount of power, I must be doing something wrong.” He displayed several sides of the object to Agatha. “I’d like to open it up, but as you can see, there’s no visible screws, hinges or access plates. I’d hate to take a chance on breaking it just to find out what it does.”

  Agatha nodded. “Your father knew the Heterodynes. Maybe he would know what it is.”

  “I’m sure he would, but where’s the fun in that? I’ll get it eventually.”

  As Gil was placing the globe back in the cabinet, Agatha’s eye was caught by a large ceramic tube festooned with cables that seemed to be surrounded by charred equipment. “What’s this?”

  Gil’s eyes lit up. “Lightning generator. Watch.” So saying, he activated a small control unit and instantly a bolt of electricity crackled through the air and a copper globe vaporized into molten fragments.

  Agatha whistled in admiration, but Gil was shaking his head in annoyance. He held up his hand with the control unit and clicked it a few times, but nothing happened. “It still needs work. At the moment it takes way too long to recharge.”

  Agatha took the control unit and peered up at the glowing tip of the generator while flicking the switch a few times herself.

  Over the next half hour, Gil showed Agatha the layout of the labs and explained the procedures she’d need to know. Eventually they came to a large room that looked to Agatha like a gymnasium, complete with several racks of fencing swords. There, the battered, spider-like clank that dominated the middle of the room looked even more out of place than it ordinarily might have. It had a large humanoid torso, with a single left arm, which clutched a dueling saber. Its lower half consisted of four triple jointed legs, which were crouched down, bringing the torso almost to the floor. The only ornamentation that Agatha could see was a small, cherry-red heart, which was located in the center of the clank’s chest.

  “That looks nasty,” She remarked.

  Gil nodded. “It is. I wanted a more… realistic fencing clank to practice with. The ones the students use are kind of tame, don’t you think?”

  Agatha frowned. “I don’t fence, actually.”

  Gil looked at her speculatively. “You should. It comes in useful.” He picked up a foil and tossed it to Agatha, and nodded in satisfaction at the way she snagged it out of the air. “Plus it’s fun. You should ask Zulenna to teach you. She’s really good.”

  “Zulenna doesn’t like me.”

  Gil grimaced. “Ah. That stupid ranking game of hers. That girl needs a good smack upside the head.”

  “I tried that. It didn’t work.”

  Gil stared at her. Agatha’s face reddened, and she concentrated on swinging her sword about. “I’m not proud of it, but she was asking for it. She was insulting my parents.”

  Gil nodded. “That sounds like Zulenna, all right. Well, she’s going to do some occasional work for me here, so I’ll expect you to be civil to her, and I’ll expect the same of her. Is that clear?”

  Agatha nodded. “Yes, Master Wulfenbach.”

  Gil rolled his eyes. “Please, call me Gilgamesh.”

  “Yes, Master Gilgamesh.”

  “Miss Clay—”

  At that moment, Agatha’s sword tip smacked into the small red heart of the fencing clank. With a burst of steam, the device reared up on its multijointed legs. Three slots irised open, and an additional three arms sprang forth. One was equipped with a Japanese sai, one carried a small but lethal-looking hand axe, and the last terminated in a circular sawblade, which began to spin faster and faster until the gleaming teeth faded into invisibility.

  Agatha stared entranced until Gil pulled her aside as the axe swept through where she had been standing. “Amusing,” she commented. “How do you shut it off?”

  Meanwhile Gil had grabbed a sword and was blocking the clank as it lashed out again with its own weapons. “You hit the

  heart again!”

  “Oh. Well that seems pretty straight forward.”

  Gil moved to block the clank’s sawblade and found his sword trapped within the sai. With a quick twist, the blade was snapped. He dro
pped the weapon and found Agatha ready with another. He swept it up and deflected the other three arms in a flurry of motion. “Straight forward, yes, but it’s a really good fencing clank.”

  A small oilcan flew through the air and smacked onto the heart. The clank froze, and with a hiss, began to relax. Gil turned in surprise and looked at Agatha. “I don’t fence,” she explained. “So how is this thing more realistic?”

  “Ever traveled the Wastelands?”

  “No, but I’ve heard… oh.”

  “Uh-huh. But there are still some problems…”

  With a roar, the fencing clank snapped back into action. Gil pushed Agatha back as the sawblade swung through the air in front of them. “There’s a forty-three percent chance of spontaneous restart within thirty seconds,” Gil shouted.

  “Okay,” Agatha acknowledged. “That’s a problem.” She scooped up a small wrench and fired it at the heart. Casually, the clank brought up its axe and deflected the missile before it could hit.

  “That’s not the problem,” corrected Gil, “that’s a design feature. The problem is that it learns from its previous encounters.”

  Agatha looked impressed. “But that’s great.”

  Gil pushed her aside and a sword blade ripped through his sleeve. “Thanks. But I’m afraid that with all the test fighting I’ve been doing, I’ve been reaching the limits of my ability.” He leaped back as a pointed leg slammed into the ground where he’d been standing. Agatha studied the fight for a moment and then stepped forward.

  “Miss Clay? What are you doing?” Gil lunged towards her, but was beaten back by a flurry of steel. Meanwhile Agatha calmly walked up towards the clank, and gently tapped the device’s heart.

  Again it froze and began to power down.

  Agatha blew out her breath in relief and turned towards Gil. “No attack, no response,” she explained.

  Her grin faltered when she saw the look of fury upon Gil’s face. “You could have been killed!”

  “I… It was an experiment—”

  “I will not tolerate lax procedures in this lab!”

  Agatha flushed. “You’re just mad because I beat it twice.”