Agatha H. And the Clockwork Princess (44 page)

Klaus cut him off. “No contact.” To Boris he added, “With anyone.” The Count drew his breath in outrage, but before he could speak, Klaus verbally steamrollered him. “Whereas I am confident in the loyalty of the people of Balan’s Gap, I suspect there may be a threat to the populace of the Empire as a whole. Under those conditions, I may send in an Inspection Team protected by sufficient troops to ensure their safety and insure compliance. Boris will cheerfully recite the relevant passages from the treaty that Prince Aaronev signed when the city was annexed as he escorts you to your quarters. Good day.”

With that, the Count felt several hands clasp his shoulders and gently but irresistibly pull him from the room. As the door shut, Gil looked at his father and spoke seriously. “Are you planning on
leveling
Sturmhalten?”

Klaus frowned. “If I must.”

Gil felt overwhelmed. “This is all about Agatha, but she’s done
nothing!
”

Suddenly Klaus looked tired. “There is a possibility that she has done
everything!
”

Gil paused. His father was not known as an alarmist. “Explain, please.”

Klaus paused. He considered his son for a moment.

Encouraged, Gil continued, “Father, if you’d let me just
talk
to her—”

But this had been the wrong thing to say. “Absolutely not,” Klaus declared flatly. “That family is utterly poisonous, and this girl may be the worst of all.”

Gil was lost. “But you liked the Heterodynes! You worked with—”

Klaus paused in the doorway. “Not the Heterodynes. The House of Mongfish. Your Agatha’s mother was the worst of them. I couldn’t stop her, but if I act quickly, I may be able to stop another war.” With that he strode off down the corridor.

Gil started to follow him when a frantic Zoing raced around the nearest corner and squealed excitedly. Gil impatiently listened, and several seconds later was running at full speed back down the corridor.

He burst into the lab to find a sweating Wooster desperately dashing amongst the various devices, trying to adjust them. He was failing most spectacularly. All of them were blinking red. Many of them were shuddering and venting great gouts of steam.

He saw Gil and waved his hands. “Gil! Thank goodness! I don’t know what to do!”

Gil strode forward and began twisting valves and re-routing cables. “Bleed the pressure here! Counter the loss by heating here…” Both Wooster and Zoing leapt into action as Gil continued to shout directions while performing his own corrections. Within several minutes, green lights shown instead of red, and with a sigh, Gil replaced a final clogged filter. He slumped. Wooster allowed his shoulders to droop slightly, and Zoing fell over sideways.

“Nice one, Herr Boffin” Ardsley muttered and then looked mortified at the slip.

Gil smiled. He hadn’t heard Ardsley use the phrase since college, when they were both students. He nodded, but otherwise ignored it. “Unfortunately, it’s even more unstable than I’d feared. I’ll have to monitor it closely for—” He stopped aghast. “I can’t—” He stared at Wooster and the Englander could see that Gil was deeply distressed. “I… I can’t leave!”

“Does Sir need to go somewhere?”

Gil’s face took on one of those intensely blank looks that Wooster had come to recognize. Within his head, Gil was frantically thinking. Assessing, sorting, imagining and computing possibilities faster than his friend would have ever believed possible. Wooster braced himself. Whenever this happened, it meant that things were about to get very interesting and very nerve-wracking, very, very quickly. This time, Gil outdid himself.

He blinked, and swiveled his head towards the waiting valet. “It will have to be you,” he said hollowly.

Wooster swallowed. “Me? Sir, what are you talking about?”

Even more worrying, Gil was again in deep thought. “But how to
ensure
…”

Wooster felt a prickle of fear. This was—

Suddenly, Gil was right in front of him. His face centimeters from his. His large, powerful hands gripping his upper arms. “Wooster,” Gil said very intently, “This is very important. Do you fear me?”

Wooster had braced himself for any number of things, but this was not one of them. “Sir?”

Gil gave him a small shake. “No, really. Be honest.”

Wooster considered the question carefully. Suddenly he realized that Gil was holding him so that his feet were not actually touching the floor. That helped clarify things. “Ah—a little, I confess.”

Gil searched Ardsley’s face. He nodded. “I can work with that.” Then he grinned. “Miss Clay—Agatha Heterodyne—she’s
alive!
”

Wooster’s jaw dropped at the news. “Alive!”

Gil nodded in delight. “Yes! She found people to help her and she tricked me!” He paused as another thought struck him. “
And
Captain DuPree no less! Hee hee, she’ll be
furious!
”

Wooster nodded. “But—that’s
wonderful
, sir.”

“Yes, but there’s a problem.”

“Your father,” Wooster surmised.

Gil nodded. As he spoke he pulled down a large leather travel satchel and began placing useful things inside. “That’s right. He knows, and he’s going to go get her himself.”

Wooster frowned. “That… could be bad.”

Again Gil nodded and pulled open a cabinet containing maps. He sorted through them quickly and tossed a series of them into the bag. “Bad indeed. So I’m sending you to her.”

“Me?” Wooster didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

Gil pulled down a magnetic compass he’d been experimenting with. He hesitated, and then gently switched it on. Instantly his entire body was forcefully spun about until it was facing towards Magnetic North. Regretfully, he switched it off and placed it back on the shelf. “Yes, I want you to get to her first. Warn her. Hide her.”

Wooster looked lost. “Where? In my room?”

Gil sighed and closed the bag with a snap of fasteners. “Don’t be ridiculous. After you reported that she had escaped, you were ordered, if the opportunity presented itself, to do everything within your power to get Agatha to England.”

Wooster felt the floor drop out from under him. “I—Wh—What?”

Gil continued blithely. “This will enable you to do so.”

Wooster stared at him.

Gil rolled his eyes. “Please. You don’t work for me, you work for British Intelligence. You did when we met back in Paris. It’s why I recommended you for duty aboard Castle Wulfenbach, it’s why I made you my valet, so I could keep an eye on you. My father certainly didn’t object. To be honest, for a while I thought you might be one of his little tests.” Gil shrugged. “It’s been an enjoyable game, and I’m sorry I have to end it, but this is quite important.”

Wooster blindly reached back and found a chair. He slowly sank into it, shaking his head. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “You’ve known all along. They’ll be so angry…” He looked at Gil and a touch of his old smirk crossed his lips. “I suppose I’ll be in slightly
less
disgrace when I bring them Agatha Heterodyne.”

Gil did not smile back. “Yesss—” he said thoughtfully. “About that.” He leaned into Wooster and tapped his friend’s chest. “I do not intend to have Agatha escape from one potential prison by entering another.” His voice began to shift, and Ardsley grew alarmed.

“She will not be used as some political pawn against my father. She will not be enslaved for the ‘good of the empire.’” He leaned back, grinned, and playfully slapped Wooster’s face. “You knew me back at school, and perhaps you don’t take me very seriously. That would be a mistake. You
must
understand this.”

The grin turned into a snarl and Wooster found himself being hoisted into the air by his shirt. “When I come to her, she will be safe, unharmed, and free. Because I definitely
will
come, and if she is not—” Wooster felt his teeth rattle as Gil shook him once—“I will destroy ‘Her Undying Majesty.’ I will melt what is left of your miserable island into slag, and then boil the seas around you for the next thousand years!” This last was delivered at a roar. “Do you understand?”

Wooster desperately tried to see some trace of the man he thought he’d come to know over the last three years. What he could see was not reassuring. “You… you couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t?!” screamed Gilgamesh. “
Couldn’t?
I am Gilgamesh
Wulfenbach
, little man, and there is
nothing
I couldn’t do, had I cause!”

Again Gil grinned. This was even worse than him yelling. “And now… Now I
have
one!” Again he pulled Wooster up close. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes!” Screamed a terrified Wooster. “Oh God, yes! Yes, Master!”

Gil released him and he fell over backwards, but was instantly scrabbling back up.

“Much better,” Gil purred. He flung the travel bag at Wooster who clumsily caught it. “She is in, or near, Balan’s Gap. Probably in Sturmhalten Castle. Take my flyer.”

After Agatha had left, Gil had rebuilt the bizarre little heavier-than-air craft. Wooster had, out of curiosity, watched him closely enough to be able to fly it, but the basic concept had been so outlandish that he hadn’t even bothered to pass the plans back to England.

“Watch out for the new Prince, Tarvek Sturmvarous. Around him, trust nothing you think you see.” Gil clamped an iron hand on Ardsley’s shoulder, checking his flight. “Do not fail me, Wooster. For if you do…”

“I won’t, sir,” the shaken man gasped. Gil smiled and released him. Wooster bolted down the corridor and out of sight.

As soon as he disappeared, Gil sagged against the doorframe. A deep sigh escaped him. “Goodbye, Ardsley,” he whispered. “I’ll really miss you.”

He turned back to the room, and addressed the watchers who had observed everything. “Well,” he said reassuringly, “I’ve done all I can. It should be enough. My sources say that he’s one of Britain’s finest agents.”

“Thhh…” Gil’s eyebrows arced in surprise. He stepped closer. From the medical slabs where they lay, cocooned within an intricate webwork of medical equipment, a rebuilt Adam and Lilith Clay looked at him with eyes that, although drugged, showed that they were aware of their surroundings.

Adam tried again. His new vocal cords rattling from deep within his patched throat. “—Thhank hhyuu.”

Gil settled down and patted Adam’s arm. “Thank me when she’s safe.”

CHAPTER 10

SCENE; THE SEWERS BENEATH PARIS.

KLAUS; I can’t stand this anymore! It’s dark! It stinks! It’s wet, and there are monsters!

BILL; Buck up, old man! At least fighting the monsters keeps us warm!

KLAUS; You cannot imagine how much I hate you.

—SCENE 2. ACT 2.
The Heterodyne Boys and The Mystery of the Mechanical Musketeer

T
he Empire was going to war.

In one of the larger docking bays of Castle Wulfenbach, a fleet of the Baron’s heavy cruisers prepared for embarkation. The vast man-made cavern was filled with sound.

On a platform high overhead, surrounded by amplification horns, one of the Castle’s marching bands kept people’s feet moving quickly, drums and glockenspiels set the pace, as the brass filled the air with jaunty and patriotic marches.

Teams of longshoremen hoisted containers of food, fuel and ammunition. Riggermen swarmed over the exterior of the ships, freely slathering sealant upon the envelopes, checking cables, and testing exterior lights. Gasmen were checking gauges and, with a series of distinctive pops, disconnecting the gigantic rubberized canvas hoses that looped upwards towards the unseen tanks and pumps that supplied them.

A squad of overalled mechanics finished bolting down the cowling of one of the great engines and grinning, all three of them used their wrenches to beat out the traditional “Good to go” rhythm on the nearest support strut. A flagman on a nearby platform acknowledged their signal, waved them off, and then with a snap of his flags, relayed the availability of the engine to the ship’s Chief Engineer. Within thirty seconds, the engine coughed, and with an escalating whine, the six-meter-tall propeller began to slowly turn as the motor went through its warm-up sequence. The large steel cables holding the great airship in place gave a groan, and a midshipman nervously checked the gauges on his quick-release buckle.

The metal decks thundered to the sound of hundreds of soldiers, all armed with rifles and assorted equipment being marched aboard. A pair of lieutenant-engineers blew their infamous three-toned whistles, and an aisle magically cleared to allow a squad of the tall brass fighting clanks, their fearsome machine cannons held at the ready, their tall hats, with red shakos newly brushed, to stride by in perfect lockstep with a hiss and a well oiled boom.

A lift whined, and from the shadows of the cavernous ceiling, a freight platform descended. Crowded around its edge was an unfamiliar squad of soldiers garbed in peculiar facemasks and long green cloaks. At the center of the platform was a stack of cages. From within could be heard high pitched growling and the occasional yip.

Unicycle messengers darted everywhere, their tin whistles piping a warning, usually followed by cursing and threats as they spun past within millimeters of the soldiers and crewmen.

One in particular shot out from between a pair of the tall brass clanks, leapt off his machine and snagged it in midair as he skidded to a halt centimeters away from Captain Bangladesh DuPree. As he stopped, the lad simultaneously pulled a flimsy envelope from the leather satchel over his shoulder and politely tucked his pillbox hat under his arm. Everyone was polite around Captain DuPree.

Bangladesh was the center of a small crowd of people vying for her attention. Those who only heard about the Captain’s more egregious aspects would have been nonplussed. Despite the multitude of voices, she dealt with the cacophony around her, answering questions, signing papers, and receiving reports with an easy-going smile and a calm efficiency.

A radiohead, with its diminutive driver perched upon its broad shoulders, lumbered up carrying Bangladesh’s air chest. She signed for it with a flourish and a pair of airshipmen gingerly hoisted it up and carried it onboard the dirigible.