Agatha H. and the Airship City (23 page)

—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.”

Othar strained against his bonds. “But my
work!”
he shouted. “My
mission!”

Klaus activated a device attached to a swing arm that descended from the ceiling. With a whine, a number of blades began spinning. “Yes, a bonus, that.”

“You villain!”

“Yes, yes.” Klaus muttered as he began to position the device above Othar’s head. “Normally, there would be a lot more tests. You’d have a long, productive career working for me while I studied your habits and patterns.”

“But?”

“But I’m afraid that
you
are far too dangerous.” The device’s whine took on a higher pitch. “Now look up…”

With a
clack,
the lighting changed from red to white. With a sigh, Klaus moved the device back up and turned it off. He turned towards the door with a frown. “Yes, Boris?”

The Baron’s secretary nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Herr Baron, but you
did
tell me to tell you the
moment
Herr von Zinzer said he had something.”

“Indeed I did.” He looked down at the smaller man who had been cowering behind Boris, his eyes taking in the scene before him. When he realized that the Baron was staring at him, he jerkily brought forth a sheet of paper and extended it before him.

“It’s… um… it’s all here!” The Baron made no move to take the paper, but continued to look at Moloch. The shaking of his hand increased so much that the paper itself rattled. “I… I know what I want to do, but I don’t know where to get some of these materials.” He extended the paper upwards. “It’s all here,” he repeated.

The Baron plucked the paper from Moloch’s hand and studied it. A frown crossed his features and he studied it again. After several seconds he pursed his lips and his massive eyebrows rose and all but disappeared beneath his hair. “Interesting,” he said, like a man bestowing a great compliment. “Very interesting
indeed
. Yes, some of this will be
quite
tricky.” He looked down at Moloch with new eyes. “This will take some time to assemble, but I look forward to the results.”

Moloch blinked. “Really?”

Klaus nodded. “Yes. Boris? See that these items are secured, and make sure that I am informed when Herr von Zinzer is ready for the initial test run. I wish to attend.”

Boris looked surprised. “Yes, Herr Baron.”

Klaus handed the paper back to Moloch. “I must say that I was beginning to have my doubts about you, but this… this justifies my original estimates and
then
some. What was holding you back?”

Moloch started and then shrugged. “Oh, er… it… it was that assistant of mine. I… fired her this morning. She was very distracting.”

Klaus nodded. “I see.” He turned away dismissively. “And now I must—”

Boris cleared his throat apologetically. The Baron’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Yes, Boris?”

“I’m sorry, Herr Baron, but as long as I have your attention… The city council of Hufftberg is still unhappy about the glassworks. They’re really just feeling slighted because Tarschloss got the new university.”

Klaus drummed his fingers on a nearby bench. “Tell them that I will cover the cost of a Corbettite rail terminal if they will supply the labor.”

“But didn’t the Corbettites petition us to place a terminal there already?” Klaus merely looked at him, and the secretary looked embarrassed. “Ah. Yes, I understand. No doubt they’ll see it as very generous. But if they continue to be difficult?”

Klaus whirled. “Then tell them I’ll have the Jägermonsters there in two days and the city council will
be
the labor!”

Boris smiled. “Yes,
that
should do it. Good day, Herr Baron.”

As the Baron’s secretary and a relieved von Zinzer left, Klaus leaned against a bank of controls and sighed. To Othar he remarked, “I swear, it is like running a kindergarten.”

“What is that, Tyrant?” Othar asked snidely, “Does your precious Empire give you no pleasure?”

Klaus frowned, and he straightened up. “No,” he admitted, “it gives me no pleasure. Politics always annoyed me, and now I have to play it every day. I
despise
the whole business. I haven’t seen my
wife
in years—”

Othar started violently. “Your
who?”

Klaus ignored him. “I haven’t traveled or explored—”

“Who exactly
is
this wife you mentioned?”

“At least with the Heterodynes we had the adventures. The occasional fight. We expected people to at least be able to
govern
themselves after we cleaned the monsters out for them. Well I won’t make
that
mistake again. Now I just send in the armies, then the bureaucrats with mops. Same old formula, over and over again.” He stared darkly at something only he could see, then shook himself free of his reverie and turned back to Othar. “Well, we do what we must. But I will confess that one of my few pleasures is in these rare moments of research.” He patted Othar on the head as he started up the drills again. “So hold still, and rest assured that I am going to enjoy this
very
much.”

Othar braced himself as the device began to descend, when a fussy voice from the doorway broke in. “Your pardon, Herr Baron?”

Klaus froze. Then slowly and deliberately stopped the drills, removed his goggles and then turned towards the door. “Yes?”

he asked politely.

At the door stood one of the Lackya in a state of high indignation. Standing beside him was a sullen Theopholus DuMedd.

“Sorry to disturb you, Herr Baron,” the servant said in a voice that clearly didn’t realize how annoying it was, “but young DuMedd here refused to report for grease trap duty this morning. He had hidden himself in one of the smaller machine shops.”

“I wasn’t
hiding,”
DuMedd said testily, “I was
working.”

Klaus looked interested. “Working? On what?”

“On an automatic grease-trap cleaner, Herr Baron.”

A large hand came up to try and hide a small smile that vanished instantly from the Baron’s face. “Ah—hmm. Potentially useful, certainly, Herr DuMedd, but I must insist that such things be pursued in your free time. Think of this duty as inspiration.”

DuMedd rolled his eyes. “I have a surfeit of inspiration, sir.”

Klaus turned away. “Well, if that is all—”

Suddenly Othar shouted out, “Don’t be
too
clever, lad, or you’ll be on this slab next!”

“Silence!”
Klaus roared. He swung back to Theo and fixed him with a piercing glare. “Master DuMedd is aware that he is under my
protection.”

DuMedd nodded vigorously. “Of course, Herr Baron.” He said cheerfully, “Very much aware!” With a large grin on his face he moved towards the door. “I apologize for causing you any annoyance, Herr Baron. I’ll just be getting back to those grease traps. In fact, I’ll put in a little overtime! Yes sir!” And then he was gone, the sound of his running boots echoing down the corridor was cut off by the closing of the inner door.

The Lackya did not see Klaus move, but suddenly found the lapels of his greatcoat clasped within an immense fist and a furious Klaus inches from his face.

“Idiot!” He said through clenched teeth, “You were told to never bring any of the students into this lab!”

“But, Herr Baron, the guards outside said—”

“You like to listen to them? Done! You are now a Jäger orderly until further notice!”

The Lackya went white. “No, Herr Baron! Please, I—”

“I could have you shipped to
Castle Heterodyne?”

The terrified construct visibly considered this option, then sagged in the Baron’s grasp. “Yes, Herr Baron.”

Klaus flung him away. “Get out.” The Lackya spun about and silently vanished.

“Confound that idiot!” Klaus muttered, “To jeopardize all my work with DuMedd—”

“That boy is not stupid,” Othar said. “A web of lies can unravel at the lightest touch of the truth!”

Klaus whirled, smacked aside the massive drill, snatched up a scalpel, and grasped Othar’s face in his other hand. He grinned fiercely. “This will hurt
slightly
less if you don’t move.”

A voice sang out from the doorway. “Ta-daaa! I am here!”

“GIVE ME STRENGTH!” Klaus screamed as he drove the scalpel into the table scant centimeters from Othar’s face. Composing himself, he turned about. “Bangladesh DuPree,” he acknowledged.

“That’s right! It’s
me!”
A tall, shapely young woman sashayed into the room. Her dark east Indian complexion was complimented by the crisp, white airship captain’s uniform she wore. Her long black hair cascaded down her back until it was gathered in a series of small tufts. Ornamenting her forehead, a small skull-shaped bindi glittered.