Agatha H. and the Airship City

by Phil Foglio

  “I AM NOT!” Gil froze, and took a deep breath. He held up a hand to forestall any further conversation and looked up at a large clock. Agatha joined him in watching the ticking progression of the second hand. After thirty seconds had passed without any movement from the clank, they both relaxed.

  It was then that Othar Tryggvassen crashed backwards through one of the doors in a shower of fragments. Looming within the doorway was Klaus Wulfenbach. His shirt and vest were in tatters, and it was obvious that Othar had managed to get in a few good punches of his own. What struck Agatha was that the expression on the Baron’s face was the closest she’d ever seen to something approaching enjoyment. “Sorry, son. I got a bit carried away.”

  Othar slammed into the floor and bounced back up. He looked remarkably unharmed. Taking in his surroundings, he snarled, “Gilgamesh! So—ALL the vipers are now in residence!”

  Gil’s shoulder’s slumped. “Get wound, Tryggvassen. I can’t believe you still talk like that.” He turned to Klaus, who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. “Father, why is he here?”

  Klaus shrugged. “I don’t think we can do any more damage to my labs.”

  “No, I mean why is he still on his feet? I know you could—” He stopped and a look of fury crossed his face. “You’ve been sizing him up as a fighter.” He glanced at Othar. “There isn’t a real mark on him. This is another stupid test! I’ll bet you let him loose on purpose!”

  Klaus examined his fingernails.

  “Nonsense!” Othar boomed. “I escaped using naught but my wits!”

  “And a knife or a key or coat hanger my father left within your reach, right?”

  “Um…” A brief moue of uncertainty crossed Othar’s face.

  Gil nodded. “That’s what I thought. Well, I can’t have you running around.” So saying he jumped and spun in midair, lashing out with his foot so that the heel solidly caught Othar’s jaw. The big man dropped to the ground.

  He pushed himself up and found himself looking up at Agatha. “Why, ‘tis the fair maiden! Have no fear! I shall rescue you from this den of evil and—”

  Gil stepped up and brutally smacked the back of Othar’s head with a large wrench, sending him face forward to the floor. “In your dreams,” he muttered as he tossed the wrench aside.

  Klaus clicked the stem of his stopwatch and looked pleased. “Well done, son.”

  Gil visibly kept himself under control as he spoke. “Father, this was very irresponsible. He should be kept locked up. You know what he could do!”

  Klaus prodded Othar’s inert form with a booted toe. “And he isn’t even damaged.”

  “Believe me, if I had my way, but I don’t want a repeat of that business with Beetle.” As he said this, he seemed to remember Agatha. And glanced towards her. Agatha was in shock. Her face was white at the casual brutality with which Gil had taken Othar down. She had seen numerous fights in Heterodyne Boys shows, and read about them in novels. This had been nothing like that at all.

  Klaus nodded at Gil’s words and his face went somber. “Yes, that was a pity.”

  Gill appealed to the heavens. “Not that anybody cares, but he did throw a bomb at me.”

  “Hold on.” Agatha stepped forward. “Is this really the Othar Tryggvassen?”

  Gil nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “But isn’t he a hero? You know… one of the good guys? How could you—”

  Gil stepped up to her and cut her off. “Miss Clay, a good assistant is one who trusts her employer. A healthy assistant is one who doesn’t meddle in things she doesn’t understand. Now please go fetch the maintenance staff.”

  Agatha looked at him for a moment, and then wordlessly whirled about and dashed off. Gil turned back towards Klaus, but the old man peremptorily held up a hand until the lab door closed behind Agatha. Then he scowled at his son. “Assistant?”

  Gil scowled. “She’s a good assistant, Father!”

  “Even Glassvitch’s assessment said otherwise, and he liked her.”

  “Her work with von Zinzer—” Klaus cut him off.

  “Von Zinzer fired her! And she was his—” Klaus stopped. He blinked a few times, and looked at Gil in a peculiar way that made the young man nervous. “Ah.” Klaus nodded. “Of course. I see.”

  Gil looked blank. “You do?”

  Klaus looked over towards the door. Conflicting emotions flickered behind his eyes. A grudging resignation won. He sighed. “You’re young, and she is quite comely…”

  Gil’s face went scarlet. “Father!” he gasped.

  Klaus awkwardly tousled his son’s hair. An act so rare that it shut Gil up as his father continued. “These things must run their course.” He caught Gil’s eye. “Discreetly, I trust.” Gil sucked in an outraged lungful of air—

  “Obviously,” Klaus mused, “it is time we found you a suitable bride.”

  “A what?” Gil squeaked.

  “Someone from one of the Great Houses preferably, though we are having some problems with the Southern border states…”

  “But… but…”

  “Yes. I shall see to it.” He turned towards Gil and spoke seriously. “These sort of negotiations take some time, so I expect you’ll be able to keep her through the summer, which—” a flicker of memory softened Klaus’ features for a moment—”is the best season for that sort of thing.” His usual sternness returned. “But I want her set aside come mid-September at the latest. We can get her a job in a library or some such in one of the northern towns easily enough, and a harsh winter will help persuade her to find someone else to keep her warm, I expect.” Klaus nodded in satisfaction and strode out of the room. Gil realized that his mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap. He felt a slight tug on his pant leg, and looked down to see Zoing staring at him with concern.

  “Ugettagurl?” Zoing inquired.

  “You heard that! He thinks I hired Miss Clay because I’m… because she…” Words failed him and he flailed his arms wildly until another memory surfaced. “AND he’s talking about marrying me off! Most of those stupid princesses have trouble remembering their own name!” He slumped in place. “This couldn’t get any worse.”

  A brawny arm snaked around Gil’s neck and jerked him back. “Nonsense!” Othar chuckled. “The Baron could find out about your actual taste in women. Now if I were to suggest a side trip to the Island of the Monkey Girls—”

  Effortlessly, Gil reached back and Othar found himself being slammed to the floor. Gil stood over him and said conversationally, “I really hate you.” With that he aimed a vicious kick that drove Othar’s head into the floor hard enough to cause the giant man to go limp. A gasp from the doorway caused Gil to spin about. Agatha, flanked by a couple of the Lackya and Mr. Rovainen, stared back at him.

  She nervously licked her lips. “They… they’re here for Othar,” she whispered.

  Gil felt his rage dissipate. He glanced down at the unconscious man at his feet, noted the bruise which was already coloring the side of his face, and a feeling of embarrassment swept over him. He stepped forward. “Miss Clay, I should—”

  Agatha’s expression was wooden, but she flinched slightly as his hand approached. Gil froze. His face darkened and he turned away, gesturing dismissively at Othar. “Clean this up.”

  “Yes, ‘Master.’” Agatha intoned.

  Again Gil froze, but it was only momentary. Without looking back, he strode from the room and pulled the great metal door closed behind him.

  The others released a gust of breath. Wordlessly, the Lackya bent down and seemingly without effort, hoisted the unconscious Othar up and began to haul him away. Agatha stood and stared at the door through which Gil had departed. Mr. Rovainen, having directed the Lackya where to take their charge, turned to the troubled girl.

  “He just struck him. Kicked him when he was down,” she whispered. Mr. Rovainen nodded approvingly, but Agatha failed to notice. “I was just starting to like him. But he… he can be so horrible.”

 
Mr. Rovainen’s voice rasped from beneath the bandages on his face, “Will you… leave his employ?”

  “Yes!” Confusion crossed Agatha’s face. “I mean—No. I… I don’t…”A bizarre sound that Agatha realized was Mr. Rovainen’s attempt at a chuckle, filled the air.

  The smaller man shook his head. “It is part of the power of the gifted. Those around them wish to aid them. To… serve them. Even when we know them to be monsters.” Within his enormous coat, he suddenly shivered, stopping himself with a jerk.

  Agatha nodded slowly. “Must he be a… monster?”

  Mr. Rovainen shrugged. “With that one, it is too soon to tell. The best thing we can do is advise them. Try to influence them.” He glanced down and casually patted Agatha’s rump. “You, at least, have methods of persuasion at your disposal that I do not.” Again he chuckled, but it was cut off sharply by Agatha grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him forward.

  “You disgusting little man,” she snarled. “Don’t you have something you should be doing? Somewhere else?”

  The harmonics in Agatha’s voice caused Mr. Rovainen to flinch, and he gasped out a feeble, “Yes.”

  With that, Agatha flung him against the nearest wall and said through clenched teeth, “Then go do it!”

  For a moment, Rovainen resisted, then caught Agatha’s eye, and with a whimper, he spun and loped off with a muttered, “Yes, Mistress.”

  Agatha stood until he was out of sight, and then stalked back to the dorm to take a shower.

  Later, around the dinner table, Agatha regaled the others with the events of the day.

  After she was finished, Sleipnir added a few castle-grown strawberries to her dish of rommegrot, and frowned. “Othar Tryggvassen. Are you sure you got the name right?”

  Agatha nodded. “I heard both the Baron and Gil say it.”

  Sleipnir looked pensive. “I can’t believe it’s the same person. Othar Tryggvassen is a hero. We’ve all heard of him. Theo even has some of the new books about him. He hides them under his bed.”

  Theo choked on a cup of tea. “How did you—?”

  “I found them when I was looking for my shoes.” Theo blushed. The others looked interested.

  The mood was altered by Zulenna standing and declaring, “If the Baron has confined him, he must have just cause, books or no. You shouldn’t believe everything you read. Anyone can say they’re a ‘hero.’”

  Nicodeamus raised an eyebrow. “I’d say it has to do with how a person acts, wouldn’t you?”

  Zulenna shrugged dismissively. “I suppose some people would allow themselves to be rescued by just anybody.” Nicodeamus rolled his eyes. Agatha also stood up.

  “Where are you off to?” Sleipnir asked.

  “I have some letters to write. There are people in Beetleburg who might have news of my parents.”

  Sleipnir noticed the dish that Agatha was loading up. Agatha shrugged. “Writing letters. Hard work.”

  “For some of us,” Zulenna said to no one in particular. Without a word, Agatha straightened up and walked back to her room and very carefully closed the door. She then leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and took a deep, slow breath. “Cat?” she whispered.

  “My name is Krosp,” said a voice from atop an armoire. Gracefully, the cat leapt to the floor where Agatha had placed the dish. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Fish.”

  Krosp sat on his haunches and gave her a thumbs up. He then reached out for the linen napkin, and tied it around his neck. Satisfied it was in place, he buried his nose in the food and began devouring it. Agatha watched this all with fascination.

  “So, what are you?” she inquired when Krosp came up for air.

  “I’m a construct. A cat with human intelligence. No milk?”

  Agatha shook her head. “I didn’t think of it. Sorry.”

  Krosp shrugged and again attacked his plate. Within minutes it was clean. He sighed, sat back, and daintily dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. “Anyway, I was declared a failure and was ‘scheduled to be terminated,’ but I escaped.”

  “A failure? But you sound pretty intelligent to me.”

  “I hid that. Which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake. But the intelligence wasn’t the point.”

  Agatha looked confused. “Then what—?”

  Krosp held up a paw. “I’m the Emperor of all cats. Think about it. Cats can go anywhere. They’re invisible. Nobody looks at them twice. Imagine if you could order them around. If you could use them as spies, messengers, saboteurs. Well, you tell me what to have them do, and I can give them their orders.”

  Agatha nodded, impressed, then she saw Krosp’s slumped shoulders. “It didn’t work,” she guessed.

  “Oh, it worked perfectly. I’m the highest-ranking cat there is. They all listen to me.”

  “Then why—?”

  Krosp whirled, his fur a-bristle, “Because they’re cats! They’re animals! They can’t grasp complex concepts! Their attention span can be measured in microseconds! Even if I can get them to understand what I want, they’re only under my command until they fall asleep, or see something move, or blink! It was a moronic idea!” He collapsed into a small, dejected shape on the bed. “Sometimes I think I was supposed to be killed because I was too embarrassing to live.”

  Agatha sat down next to him. “I understand. I feel like that a lot.”

  Krosp looked up. “You do?”

  Agatha nodded. “I… I want to make things. I see them in my head—but they never work! I got headaches! I can’t concentrate! I feel so useless sometimes. Why am I like this? I must be good for something, but I feel like my head is full of junk! I can’t do anything useful!”

  Krosp blinked. “You got me something to eat.”

  Agatha looked at him for a moment and then slumped over onto her side. “Oh of course. I see. My destiny is to serve the King of the cats.”

  The effect of these words upon Krosp were electric. Thoughts raced through his head, and then a grim resolution filled his face and he nodded once. With great gravitas, he stood and placed his right paw upon Agatha’s forehead. “I accept your fealty,” he said. “Next time, don’t forget the milk.” He straightened and looked at her seriously. “Now we have to figure out how to escape.”

  Agatha sat up. “Escape? From what?”

  “From the Baron. I can live here, but you couldn’t. Not safely.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Krosp looked at her. “You placed yourself in my service. You’re my responsibility now. I can’t guarantee your safety here, so we have to leave.”

  “Why would the Baron care about me?”

  “The Baron studies the Spark. One of the ways he studies it is by destroying it. He ‘studied’ my creator, Dr. Vapnoople.” Krosp looked away. “I couldn’t save him, but I have vowed to help save his work, and…”Krosp sighed, “and what’s left of him.” He gave Agatha a look she couldn’t interpret. “And now I must try to save you.”

  “But I don’t have the Spark. I seem to have the opposite. Nothing I build even works.”

  Krosp signed in exasperation. “What do you think you DO at night?”

  Agatha looked wary. “I don’t know. I’m asleep. What do I do at night?”

  “You build things.”

  “But there’s never anything there when I wake up.”

  Krosp folded his arms. “They always run away.”

  Girl and cat stared at each other for a minute. Finally Agatha said carefully, “Why?” Krosp shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Agatha folded her hands and continued to look at him.

  Krosp hunched his shoulders. “I chase them,” he whispered. He looked up at Agatha with lowered ears. “I can’t help it.” Now he looked annoyed. “And I can’t catch them.”

  Agatha took a deep breath and a new thought struck her. “Othar Tryggvassen, he’s a Spark. Would the Baron really hurt him?”

  Krosp considered this. “He’ll destroy his mind, certainly.
It might kill him eventually, but I don’t think he’ll go out of his way to hurt him—”

  “But Othar, he’s supposed to be a good person. He’s helped people. Why would the Baron do that?”

  “The Baron sees a bigger picture.” With that, Krosp leapt with surprising grace back atop the armoire. “I’ve got to go.” With a deft motion, he hooked the ventilator grill with a claw and popped it from the wall. Agatha snapped her fingers.

  “There’s another one of those under the bed.”

  Krosp nodded. “Think about what you want to take, if anything, and keep it with you. Opportunity will dictate our schedule.”

  “Wait. If you’re going to rescue someone, rescue Othar. I’ll be fine.”

  Krosp’s head looked out at her from the depths of the airshaft. “Othar isn’t my responsibility.” With a muffled click, he pulled the cover back into place, and was gone.

  Agatha stared at the vent for a moment and then nodded to herself. “Well. Then I guess he’s mine.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “It is a terrible thing, to see your loved ones moving, and yet know they are dead.”

  —Survivor’s report, after the destruction of the town of Berne

  Mr. Rovainen froze halfway through the door. In a dim pool of light, a familiar figure was hunched over a series of microscopes. “Dr. Vg,” he said. “Why are you still here? It is very late.”

  Vg nodded without turning to face him. “I couldn’t sleep.” He delicately placed a pipette on a dish, and sat back with a sigh. “I think I have found a way to determine the age of the Hive Engine.”

  Rovainen scuttled forward. “Really?”

  Vg removed his pince-nez and buffed them on his sleeve, always a sign that he was pleased with himself. “Yes. It will involve disassembling part of the control unit, but once we have, we can compare the crystallization rates of the brines.”

  Rovainen peered up at the massive Hive Engine that dominated the room. He nodded. “That would work.” He hesitated, then awkwardly placed a hand on Vg’s shoulder. “I have… always admired your brilliance, Doctor.” Vg was so surprised by this statement, that the shock of the blade passing through his chest was almost an afterthought. “I am so sorry,” Mr. Rovainen whispered as he gently lowered the stricken Vg to the floor.