by Kaja Foglio
Agatha glanced back at them and her eyes hardened. “It was his idea,” she said. “I wanted the Castle to throw the both of you out.”
Gil tried to step forward but Agatha was striding ahead and Zola was too much of an anchor. He ground his teeth. “Well excuse me! I can help you, you know,” he snapped.
Agatha was unimpressed. “Yes, that’s what he said, too.”
Gil narrowed his eyes at this. “Well, I can’t wait to meet him.” And possibly kill him, kill him, kill him, he thought.
“He’s a sneaky, manipulative, fast-talking smoothie,” Agatha said tartly. “You’ll like him.”
This conversation was proving extremely unsatisfying. But then, what did she want to say to Gil? That she still dreamed of him at night? That she never wanted to see him again? That maybe they could work out something in the dark?
She cut that thought off with a savage inner snarl. She mentally braced herself to speak, and found she couldn’t look straight at him.
She began hesitantly: “Look…Gil, I really—”
“EEEEE! GIL!”
The scream made her jump. Zola had been ensnared by a rusty set of mechanical arms that had descended from a set of holes in the ceiling. They were dragging her toward a gaping pit in the floor.
“HELP!” she squealed.
Gil jumped on cue. “Coming!” With the aid of an old iron curtain rod, he pried the arms apart and dragged Zola to safety. He then left her to walk by herself while he returned to Agatha, brushing broken pieces of machinery out of his hair.
“Sorry about that. You were saying?”
Agatha was torn. She didn’t like the way he leapt to Zola’s rescue as though it was his sole purpose in life. The idea that the two apparently shared a long history of adventures together before she had even met him annoyed her. On the other hand, watching him in action had perhaps been worth the interruption. The evident strength and speed he displayed sent a shiver down her spine.
She carefully examined the tips of her boots while she tried again. “Well, it’s just that—”
“GIL!”
This time, Zola had ventured too close to what looked like an elaborately framed picture of a large fanged mouth and had been pulled halfway inside by some unseen mechanism. Once again, Gil dashed away to pull her out, leaving Agatha in mid-sentence.
By the time Gil stumbled back, Agatha had been examining a large painting of Mechanicsburg’s Red Cathedral long enough to count all five hundred and fifty one gargoyles on the façade, none of which dared return her gaze.
“You were about to say?”
Agatha turned away from him. She couldn’t do this now, after all. It was too ridiculous. “Oh, never mind,” she said.
Then Gil’s hands were on her shoulders. He spun her firmly around and glared directly into her eyes. His voice was intense. “No. No ‘never mind.’ Listen, you—”
“GIL! HELP!”
One of the many clocks in the corridor had unfolded itself into a vaguely human-shaped clank and had grabbed Zola with one great, articulated hand. Zola thrashed and squealed in terror. Professor Tiktoffen was pulling on one of her legs, trying to get her free but had only succeeded in removing her boot.
Agatha was on it in an instant, ferociously smashing it to bits with a heavy wrench. She reminded herself that this…whatever it was… was her property and part of the Castle, but she didn’t care. It felt good to smash something. Zola dropped to the floor and stared wide-eyed. Agatha thrust the wrench savagely back into a loop on her belt and stalked back to Gil.
They came to the end of the corridor. Agatha recognized the area.
“Um…I’d have…” Gil began.
“Oh, no,” Agatha snarled back. “It was so very much my turn.”
Gil nodded approvingly. “Mm. Good job. You’ve been practicing.”
“Well, the place is all full of monsters and traps—and if I stood around looking all pink and pretty and squealing for help, I’d never get anywhere.”
“Agatha—” Gil gently tilted her chin upward. They looked at each other for a long moment. “You—”
“AIEEEE!”
Both of them sighed.
Gil held up a hand. “No, no! Relax! I’ll get this one.” He turned towards the noise and froze.
Agatha came up behind him, and there was Zola, pressed into a corner, shivering and hugging herself in fear. Advancing toward her was brightly colored spider, easily as large as an adult hand. When Gil and Agatha arrived, it paused long enough to make a small lunge toward them, audibly snarling, before turning back to its original prey.
Gil stepped back. “Wow. You know, on second thought, you go ahead.”
Agatha shook her head. “What? No way. She’s your…um…your whatever she is. This one’s yours.”
Gil made a face. “Are you kidding? Look at that thing! Anyway, it’s in your house—”
“Yesterday you took out a whole army of clanks!”
“That was a small army. This is a big spider!”
“Well, those things’ll jump on your boots, run up your leg, and bite your butt!” Agatha shuddered. “You get it!”
“No way! When you stomp one that big, it makes this horrible crunching noise—”
“Ugh! Stop!” Agatha went pale. “That’s disgusting!”
Gil nodded. “I know!”
During this exchange, they had recoiled away from Zola and the spider and closer and closer to one another. Now, their shoulders were pressed up against each other, which both seemed to find reassuring. “Well…” Agatha whispered, “We’ve got to do something.”
“I know,” Gil whispered back. Zola’s eyes were now staring at them from within a silk cocoon. The spider was brandishing something that looked unsettlingly like a knife and fork.78 “This is just embarrassing everybody.”
At that moment, Moloch von Zinzer walked in through a door carrying a sturdy pole with a trigger mechanism built onto one end. The other end sported a large mechanical hand. This he closed hard upon the shrieking arachnid with a sickening crunch.
“Ooh, nice.” A small woman dressed in shades of grey and purple had followed him and was admiring his work.
Von Zinzer shrugged as he retracted the mechanical hand-on-a-stick. He examined the green slime that now coated its palm and tossed it away. “Yeah, you don’t want to touch those things.”
“Poisonous?”
Von Zinzer shook his head. “Nah, just really, really icky.”
Zola had fainted, apparently from sheer disgust. Gil decided to leave her tied up for now. He turned back to her rescuer. “Von Zinzer! You’re the patient?” Gil beamed, relief flooding through him. He had known the mechanic briefly back on Castle Wulfenbach and was confident that the man was no rival. “Well, that’s—”
Von Zinzer blanched. “What? No! Am I changing color?” He examined his hands.
Gil drew back. “Changing—is that what this is about?”
“Well, yeah.” Von Zinzer and the purple girl nodded.
“Sweating? Fever? Delusional?”
“Yeah.”
Gil rubbed his jaw. “Vericus Panteliax’s Chromatic Death,” he pronounced. “Interesting.” “Chromatic Death?” the girl looked alarmed. “As in dead death?” Gil waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, it sounds worse than it is. Did the patient get anything weird into an open wound?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he was poisoned. Someone tried to kill him with a dart while he was in the Great Hospital. And then we knocked over a whole rack of stuff and he fell on the broken glass and then—”
Gil frowned. “Poisoned in the hospital? Sifu is going to love hearing that.” He thought for a second. “Chromatic Death seems a bit…”
“Flashy?”
“No, actually, it’s a bit of an imprecise choice for an assassin. It’s too easy to spot and cure, especially if you’re already in a hospital. Do you have any open wounds? Swallow anything? Hold still, you.” Gil took the girl’s hand and checked her fingerna
ils, then pulled up her eyelid to get a close look at her eyes.
“No!” she said quickly. “And I’m Violetta, by the way, not ‘you.’”
“Violetta. Good.” He looked around the room. “This is a medical lab? Fine. See if you can find me…let’s see…a large syringe, some Ichor of Somnia, at least one hundred grams of Hesperidial Salts, some kind of disinfectant, oh, and a hammer.”
Von Zinzer jumped to attention. “Oh, yeah! On it!”
Gil turned back to Violetta. “And stick Zola here in a safe place for a while, okay? In another room, if possible.”
Tiktoffen stepped forward. “I think I can handle that, sir.” He lifted Zola, sticky web and all, and carried her out of the room.
Agatha put her hand on his arm and he turned.
“Okay, let’s look at this friend of yours,” he said to her.
Agatha held her other hand up to stop him. “No.”
Gil was surprised. “What? But you said—”
“First I’m going to have a look at you.” She steered him toward a nearby workbench. Violetta disappeared through the door she and von Zinzer had come through. She returned with a small, standard-issue Wulfenbach medical kit—probably something von Zinzer had been carrying, Gil thought—and a basin of water; then disappeared again, leaving Agatha and Gil alone together. Agatha turned her back to him while she washed her hands.
“Now, remove your shirt, please.” Her voice was brisk.
Gil cleared his throat. “Look, I’m sure I’m fine. Shouldn’t I be looking at this person who’s really sick?”
Agatha half-turned toward him. She was picking through the medical kit. “You just said he’s not as bad as we thought. Whereas you just got shot, threw a clank across the room, were severely disoriented, and are now insisting you’re fine. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd? If it was your patient…”
Gil considered this. “I’ll get my shirt off.” He turned away to hide his embarrassment and searched for something to say. “So…you’ve had medical training?”
Agatha glanced over her shoulder and quickly turned back to the workbench. “Took a lot of classes. Observed a lot of procedures. Did a lot of assisting in the university labs…” she said.
“But they never let you practice.”
“Nope.” Agatha tried not to sound bitter. She stole another glance at him over her shoulder; then turned fully around, her eyes lowered pointedly to his wounded shoulder. She was clearly avoiding his eyes.
When Gil had removed his shirt, he had felt the ring around his neck turn on its chain until it hung down his back and now he wondered if she had noticed it. He wondered if she recognized it, and what she felt if she did…
“Well, you’re pretty smart,” he said, finding it difficult to speak, “so…so you’ll probably be fine.”
“Thank you,” she said, and began to examine the bandaging Zola had applied. Her hands were cool and every touch sent an electrical jolt through him. Her fingertips were slightly rough. She likes to work with machines. He thought of the devices she had built in his lab, the times they had spent working together under the influence of the Spark. It was all he could do to hold still while she examined him. He wanted to sweep her into his arms…
Her hands brushed the chain around his neck, and he heard her breath catch. She tentatively touched it again, like she was reassuring herself of its existence, then she moved on.
The silence stretched out for several minutes. Gil stared at the ceiling. His cheeks were burning. Finally he stole a glance down, just as Agatha glanced shyly up. Their eyes met, and held. He caught her upper arm and pulled her closer. He could feel her hand resting gently on his chest and his breath stopped.
Finally, she looked down again, and spoke. “Gil—you…you were right.”
This was not what Gil had expected to hear. “What?”
“You were absolutely right. And I felt so bad and I’m really sorry.”
Gil was confused. Right about what? Wanting to marry her? Bringing her to his father? Entering the Castle? “Ah—What about, exactly?”
“Othar.” Agatha stepped away and waved her hands in front of her. “I was so mad at you—you threw him out that window—and then, within the hour, I threw him out of an airship, too!”
Gil waited. “And you felt bad for throwing him—”
“I felt bad for yelling at you!”
Gil understood. “Oooh. Yeah, it’s okay. Othar does that to people.” He pulled her toward him again. “And listen, while we’re talking about annoying people, let’s talk about Zola.”
Agatha tried to pull away. “Oh. Yes, I suppose we should go and—”
He held her firmly and tried to look her in the face. “No. What I mean is, she’s just someone I knew in Paris. I came into the Castle to find you. At least—I hoped it was you.”
Agatha kept her head turned away from him, looking at the floor. “I really want to believe that…” she said.
Gil pulled the ring back around his neck and tapped it. “I thought you were dead.” He felt his hand shaking. “And there was so much that I wanted to say to you. Needed to say…and I thought I never could.” Agatha turned to meet his eyes again, and he put one hand to her cheek. She wasn’t trying to get away, now. “And then my father told me that you were alive…and I just—when I thought you were dead, I just—”
His voice faltered. “Please. You’ve got to believe me. Please.”
“I…do believe you,” Agatha said. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, resting her cheek on his bare chest.
Gil had more to say but it all flew out of his head as he wrapped his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair. His lips were close to her ear and he whispered to her. “But it is you! I’m so glad. I know about the Other—your friend, Zeetha, told me some of what’s going on. She said…”
He remembered the green haired girl’s sharp-toothed grin. “The best thing to do is get it all out of your system first, so you can start talking to each other intelligently.”
Gil closed his eyes. “…She said a lot of things. But I’ll help… somehow, we’ll find a way to—” he faltered. He just wanted to stay that way—to lose himself in the scent of her hair.
Agatha’s breath was warm against his chest as she spoke: “I’m sorry I…upset you—I wouldn’t…couldn’t risk getting captured again and I was so scared.” Gil tightened his arms protectively around her. “Tricking anyone who came after me into thinking I was dead was the only thing we could think of. And then…then it was you who came to get me—and with that crazy pirate girl—and all those clanks—and I didn’t know what to think.”
Agatha lifted her head. Her hand brushed the ring lightly. Gil saw tears in her eyes. “But if you were really unhappy when you thought I was dead, then you’ll understand why you need to leave. Now.”
Gil’s entire body had been awash in a growing bliss but at this pronouncement, it changed to cold shock. “Leave? But I’m here to help you!”
Agatha hugged him tighter. “You can help me. This place is too dangerous. I need you to get yourself and Tarvek, somewhere safe. Away from the Castle.”
Gil stared at her in horror. “Tarvek?” his voice rose to a shout. “Tarvek Sturmvarous? That smug, condescending snake?” Spark harmonics were creeping into his voice.
Agatha looked up at Gil in surprise. “You know him?”
“I most certainly do! Of course someone tried to kill him! Who wouldn’t want to kill him? Where is the little toad? I’ll—”
Gil realized that Agatha was now bent backwards, trapped against the workbench while he leaned over her, ranting. Before he could let her up, a voice rang out behind him: “Gilgamesh Holzfäller! It is you!”
Gil turned where he was, still pinning Agatha to the bench. And indeed, there was Tarvek Sturmvoraus himself, standing in the doorway. He was wild-eyed, swaying, and a vivid turquoise all over his mostly naked body. “I knew I’d heard your degenerate bleating! You get away from her, y
ou swine!” He lunged forward and would have fallen to the ground if von Zinzer and Violetta hadn’t darted forward and caught him. Gil and Agatha stepped away from each other and stared.
“Sorry,” von Zinzer grunted. “Couldn’t stop him!”
Violetta nodded. “We couldn’t find a hammer!”
Tarvek was glaring at him. “I can’t believe you! Every time I see you, you’re…you’re en déshabillé and up to the same tricks! Have you no shame?” He shook von Zinzer and Violetta off and staggered forward, waving a trembling fist at Gil. “You stay away from Agatha! She…she is a nice girl! Not part of your harem of nightclub tarts and pirate doxies!”
Gil wasn’t really listening. Tarvek was blue. That wasn’t right…
“Agatha,” Tarvek was saying, earnestly waving a finger under her nose, “If this cad insults you with his lewd advances again, just give him a good smack with one of these lovely fish and I will—I will—” his voice weakened as he collapsed face-first to the ground.
“Tarvek!” Agatha’s voice was frightened. She fell to her knees at his side. Gil knelt beside her and laid a hand on the back of Tarvek’s neck. He was out cold. “This is not good,” Gil muttered.
Agatha was frantic. “You said it sounded worse than it was!”
“I was wrong!” He grabbed Tarvek under one arm. “Help me get him up off the floor! Hurry!”
Agatha helped him move Tarvek onto a weathered table that looked as if it had once been used for patients or—considering their location—victims. “This isn’t Chromatic Death! What did this idiot get himself into?”
Agatha bit her lip. “Then, what is it? You sounded so sure.”
Gil stepped back. “This is Hogfarb’s Resplendent Immolation. It’s similar, but a lot more rare.”
Tarvek was rambling. “I’m…I’m sorry, Agatha. Um—I’ll thrash him later, ‘kay? …don’ feel so good…”
Agatha looked worried. “Resplendent Immolation…what on Earth is that?”
Violetta was looking over his shoulder. “Um—this is another ‘sounds worse than it is,’ right?” She didn’t sound very hopeful.