Agatha H. and the Airship City (8 page)

No, the problems had really begun when those two soldiers had stolen her locket. Agatha’s last coherent thought as she succumbed to sleep was “I wish I could get my hands on them.”

In a small, cheap rooming house, the objects of Agatha’s thoughts were reaping the results of that morning’s encounter. Moloch paced back and forth in the tiny room, as a lean man wearing a long white apron over his suit examined Omar. Moloch’s brother was stretched out unconscious upon the room’s single bed. The doctor removed his stethoscope and leaned back with a hiss of annoyance.

Moloch turned towards him. “Please, Herr Doctor, can’t you help him? What’s wrong with him?”

The doctor tugged at his small beard in frustration. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this. This man should be in a hospital.”

Moloch shuddered. “Oh no, I saw enough of them in the war.”

“I don’t mean one of those butcher shop field hospitals. Ours is fully equipped and your brother needs—”

“What? What does he need? What could they do? You don’t even know what’s wrong with him!”

The doctor opened his mouth, hesitated, and then nodded reluctantly. “Yes. No fever, no chills. No respiratory problems, no sweating, no convulsions—But… it’s like he’s… shutting down, like…”

“Like a boiler when you’ve blocked the air intakes.”

The doctor looked at him with mild surprise and nodded. “Yes. Well put, young man.”

Moloch ignored the compliment and leaned over the unconscious man. “Ach, Omar,” he muttered, “you’re a jerk, but you’re all I have left. Fight it!” He slapped his brother’s face but got no response.

Behind his back, the doctor’s look of worry increased. “How long has he been like this? Days? Weeks?”

Moloch shook his head. “He started to feel dizzy, um… a little before twelve hundred. He got more and more disorientated and collapsed around fifteen. Towards the end he had trouble talking, and I… I don’t even think he knew who I was. He passed out around sundown.”

The doctor looked shaken. “That quickly? Dios,” he muttered. “How do you feel?”

Moloch looked surprised at the question. “Me? Okay, I guess, why?”

“I’m trying to decide if I should have you moved to the hospital along with your brother.”

“What? But I’m not—”

The doctor was paging through a book he had removed from his medical bag. He stopped and looked Moloch in the eye. “Listen, von Zinzer, was it? This could be some sort of plague.”

Moloch went white. “Plague?”

The doctor nodded. “The big question is how contagious it is. Aside from hospitalization, my other option is to quarantine the pair of you in this inn. You talk to anyone other than the innkeeper?”

“No, there weren’t any customers when we—”

“Praise be for that. Where do you work?”

“Nowhere. I mean, we just hit town this morning.”

The doctor made a small grunt of satisfaction at this news and made another checkmark in his book. “Mm. Probably something you picked up outside then. Eat anything unusual? Find anything odd?”

“Odder than Beetle Beer? No, we—”Suddenly Omar convulsed upon the bed. A strangled groan came from his mouth. Moloch and the doctor were at his side instantly.

“Omar?” Omar’s head whipped from side to side twice, froze in position, and a deep final breath rattled from him as he sagged back into stillness. Moloch knew he was dead even before the doctor checked his brother’s pulse and then drew the sheet over his head. In the silence, the sound of something hitting the floor echoed through the small room with unnatural loudness. In death, Omar’s hands, which had been clutched for hours, had relaxed, and Agatha’s locket had dropped to the floor.

The doctor reached down, examined it briefly, and handed it over to Moloch. “I’m sure it gave him some comfort.” Moloch looked at him blankly, the locket clutched in his hand. The doctor continued, “I myself don’t know whether the Heterodyne Boys will actually come back someday, but I do believe that we should live our lives as if they were. People like your brother, who try to make the world a better place, do so by the very act of trying. I’m sure the Heterodynes would have been proud of him.”

Moloch looked woodenly at the locket and then back at the doctor, who changed the subject as he donned his hat and greatcoat. “I’m afraid I must be going. Now listen up, soldier. I’m confining you to this room. I’ll have a medical disposal team up here before dawn for your brother. You can relax, our Dr. Beetle doesn’t permit unauthorized resurrectionists in this town. You’ll be fed and examined for the next week and after that you’ll be free to go. So sit tight soldier, and we’ll do our best.” And with that he slipped out and shut the door behind him.

Moloch grimaced. “Reckon Omar and me have seen your ‘best.’” He turned to glare at the sheet-covered form. “You idiot!

Your last act on earth is to steal from a townie and leave me stuck holding the evidence waiting for her to report me. That’s making the world a better place, huh? Leaving me stuck like a sitting duck!” In his fury he threw the locket against the wall where it smashed open with a bright blue flare and the sounds of gears scattering. A smell of ozone filled the room and brought Moloch up short. “What the…?”

He bent down and gingerly picked up a few bits of the locket. It had contained a pair of portraits, a handsome-looking man and woman. But hidden behind the portraits were the smashed remains of delicate machinery. Machinery that Moloch was totally unfamiliar with.

He muttered as he gathered together the bits from the floor. “Too complicated to be a watch. Not a music box. I’ve never seen anything like this…” A chill swept over him. “This is madboy stuff.” He examined it again. “But what did it do?” He raised his eyes and found himself looking at Omar’s body.

With a cry he leapt back, scattering bits of locket across the floor. After a moment, he gingerly picked up the larger pieces and examined them again, to ascertain that it was indeed broken. Of this there could be no doubt.

“This is what killed Omar,” he muttered. “He started acting strange right after he stole it from that girl…” A new thought emerged. “The girl! She was wearing it and it wasn’t killing
her
. She must have… turned it on, somehow. She knew it’d do him, the black-hearted—wait! Wasn’t there a note?”

He turned the locket over and indeed there was lettering engraved upon the back:

If found, please return to Agatha Clay Clay Mechanical Forge Street, Beetleburg. REWARD

Moloch grabbed his greatcoat and slung it on as he left the room. “A reward, huh? I’ll give her a reward a’right, and she’ll be making no reports when I’m done with her either.”

Agatha was very small. She ran into a large room filled with tools and machines and things that she didn’t understand, but knew were full of magic, mystery and excitement. At the center of this collection sat the master of the magic, her uncle Barry. He was a large shadowy figure hunched over a workbench, where something full of gears and springs grew under his tools. “Hey, Uncle Barry,” Agatha cried as she entered. “I learned a trick!”

The large man paused and slowly turned to look at her. Even now his face was in shadow. A small set of spectacles glinted in the light from his bench. “A trick?” he enquired.

Agatha nodded, and jumped up and down in place with excitement. “Yeah! You know how when you’ retryin’ to think and there’s noise and stuff botherin’ you? Well I found out I can make other noises in my head and it makes the botherin’ noise stop! And then I can think real good! Listen!” With that she stopped jumping, serenely folded her hands and began to hum, no, to whistle? To buzz? No… It was all of these and yet none of them, a soft melodic sound that you couldn’t call music, but…

The effect of this performance upon Uncle Barry was electric. He stiffened in shock and the handle of the screwdriver clutched in his hand cracked. His voice was strained. “You… no! It can’t be!” Agatha hummed on obliviously. “You’re only five years old! You’re too young! You’ve got to stop!” His large hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her. Agatha kept on humming. She could no longer stop, even as her uncle cried, “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! I don’t—”

A particularly violent jerk snapped Agatha awake. She was slumped over a table—another jerk—someone was grabbing her hair!

She twisted around enough to see that her assailant was one of the soldiers who had accosted her this morning! Without thinking she swung her left hand and the large spanner she was grasping connected with Moloch’s jaw and sent him crashing to the ground.

Agatha blinked in surprise and examined the tool in her hand. “Where did this come from?” she muttered, and then noticed that the hand holding it was black with grease and dirt. With a cry, she saw that both of her hands were dirty up to the elbow, as was her underwear—

Her underwear? But she was in the middle of Adam’s shop floor! A wild look around showed her that tools were scattered and parts were littered across the floor. Heat still radiated from the great welding torch and, most astonishing, the tall double doors to the street were wide open.

As Agatha hurried to close them, she saw that outside, in the first light of dawn, a small crowd had gathered to help the ironmonger across the way right his wagon, which appeared to have been overturned in the night.

Slamming the doors closed and surveying the disheveled workshop and the unconscious soldier, Agatha could only mutter to herself, “What’s happened?”

CHAPTER 3

“When lightning hits the keep the wise man does not sleep.”

—Traditional folk saying

In the early dawn light, the streets of Beetleburg were quiet. Most of the populace peered out through shuttered windows or from behind curtains. Beetleburg was a town under occupation, the Tyrant was dead, and no one was sure what the future held.

A few brave shops were open, carters still moved necessary supplies through the streets under the watchful eyes of Wulfenbach forces, but the heart of the town, the University, was closed. Crowds of students and teachers filled coffee shops and taverns discussing the events of the previous day. These conversations fell silent whenever the tall brass clanks of Baron Wulfenbach passed by outside. Their machine cannons constantly moved from side to side as they slowly strode down the center of the streets.

Human officers patrolled the area as well, identifiable by the flying castle badge they wore. They regulated traffic, politely answered questions and put a human face upon the occupation.

The inhuman face was supplied by the Jägermonsters, who had, during the night, stopped several bands of looters, seized fourteen people who had attempted to leave the city under cover of darkness, and apparently captured a large saurian that had been prowling through the city’s sewers for some time. Several of these (including the saurian) were on display in the Square of the Tyrant.

The most talked about incident had occurred when a small band of Jägers had blithely walked into the Thieves’ Market. Instead of closing it down, they wound up dickering furiously with Blind Otto for some hats. After they left, it was discovered that they had managed to steal the boots off of Otto’s feet. Blind Otto was said to be, grudgingly, impressed.

The death of the Tyrant had stunned the populace. There was a great deal of confusion as to which event, the Master’s death or the town’s occupation, had come first. So far there was little anger. Dr. Merlot had been correct in his assessment that for the populace at large, the presence of the Master had been more of a reassuring concept than a day-to-day experience. The actual takeover of the town had been quick, and the hand of its new master lay lightly so far. Civic leaders had been honored with an audience with the Baron himself, and the ones who survived the experience moved with a new purpose.

The greatest disturbance had appeared, unexpectedly, in the western part of town. The Baron, his son Gil, Boris, several clanks, a very brave and opportunistic doughnut seller, and a squad of Jägermonsters stood in the center of the street and watched with interest as a large, crude clank, belching black smoke and moving with a ponderous slow step, lurched around the corner. To the trained eye, it was obvious that the device had been built out of a large steam tractor, with the addition of a pair of large solid legs. A single manipulator claw was folded up beneath the prow. At each step, the device paused and swung its front end from side to side.

The Baron, his hands clasped behind him, observed the device with genuine pleasure. “Well well well.” He murmured,
“This
is interesting. Boris?”

His secretary, who was munching on a doughnut, took a sip of coffee, delicately wiped his lips and gestured in the direction of the machine simultaneously. “Not one of ours, Herr Baron. Nor is it from outside the town. It has caused some minor damage, but I believe that to be unintentional.” The Baron nodded.

The clank was now halfway down the street, and appeared to register their presence. The whistle perched upon its top gave a brief hoot, and it began to advance steadily towards them.

“Purpose?”

“It
appears
to be looking for someone.”

“Indeed?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Boris turned to a Jägermonster standing nearby who was gnawing on a sausage. “Sergeant? Go up to it.”

The soldier spit out a chunk of sausage in surprise. “Vat?
Me?”

Boris nodded. “Yes, you. Go up to it.”

The soldier glowered at the shorter man. “I don’ take schtupid orders from you.”

“I don’t
give
them. Now go do something
useful
.
”

The Jäger grinned. “Ho! So I can
sqvish
you den, hey, bugman?”

Boris and the Jägermonsters despised each other. Boris, a naturally fussy man, found their permanently disheveled lifestyles an affront to everything he believed in. The Jägers thought him a self-important, officious prat. Boris had yet to give any Jäger an order that was not automatically questioned. This had escalated until the famous incident where a Jägermonster who was on fire had to be ordered several times, in writing, to put himself out, after which Klaus had stepped in. There were still arguments, but now there was a time limit.