Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

CHAPTER 9

In a dark alley near the center of Balan’s Gap, a sewer cover lifted itself slightly. A guttural voice whispered, “Iz clear.” Without a sound, the cover was lifted all the way up and gently set to the side. Quickly, Dimo, Maxim and Ognian flowed upwards and assumed positions equidistant from each other. The town was quiet. The mist had continued to roll down from the surrounding mountains, blanketing the streets. Most of the buildings were dark, with only the occasional light. The streets were empty.

After a minute, Dimo quietly whispered. “Iz goot.”

A hand reached up from the sewer, clutching a stiff and unresponsive figure. Dimo grabbed it and examined it worriedly. It was Krosp. His limbs were stiff, his face set in a grimace of pain. He was filthy, and soaking wet. “Iz he any better?”

Lars levered himself up out of the manhole. “No.”

Maxim scratched his chin. “I dun underschtand vy he iz like dis. He hef no problem mit goingk into der sewer.”

Lars looked at the Jäger and shrugged. “I don’t think he really understood what a sewer was.”

The purple Jaeger chuckled. “Ho! Vell Hy guess he know now! ’Specially ven he fall in!”

Lars nodded. “Yes, he seemed fine until then.”

Maxim corrected him. “No, he vas fine ’til hyu said dot he vould need a bath.”

Dimo interrupted them both. “No, it vos ven hyu said dot he could giff himself a bath.”

Maxim grinned. “Oh, jah! Dot vas it! Becawze he iz a kitty!”

At this, all four of them reevaluated the sodden, stinking mass Dimo held in one hand, imaginations running furiously. Krosp suddenly showed signs of life. One crazed eye rolled towards Dimo. “Kill me,” Krosp whispered.

“I can’t say I blame him,” Lars conceded.

Dimo nodded. “True enough, but ve needs him.” With that he strode over to a water barrel and plunged Krosp in fully and agitated his hand thoroughly. In less than a minute, a bedraggled Krosp clawed his way out of the barrel. He shook himself and glared at the others. “Never speak of this again,” he hissed. “Or you will all die.”

During this, Maxim and Ognian had vanished. They reappeared now from opposite ends of the alley. Both looked troubled. “Zumting is wrong,” Maxim stated flatly.

Oggie agreed. “Jah. De streets iz deserted.”

Dimo looked at Lars. “Iz dot normal dese days?”

Lars shook his head. “Of course not. This is a major caravan town. The Night Market is famous for its late night specials, and the Red Quarter never closes. We were supposed to come up right between them, so we could blend in with the crowds.”

The group looked around. There certainly were no crowds now. Dimo scowled. “We moof qvick den.”

Lars looked at a set of enameled street signs riveted onto the walls at the nearest corner. He nodded. “The castle should be this way.”

Oggie grinned. “Hah. Ve valk in, ve valk out. Vill be piece of piroshky!”

It wasn’t, of course. The castle sat tall and forbidding in its crater. For the first ten decameters, the sheer stone walls were bereft of windows, decorations, or indeed, handy projections of any kind. The massive drawbridge was up. But the final straw was the seething, crackling lacework of energy that surrounded the base of the structure.

Ognian slumped against the nearest railing. “Hy’m chust gunna shot op now,” he muttered.

Krosp patted his arm. “Thanks.”

“A lightning moat,” Lars marveled. “I’ve never really seen one.”

Maxim nodded sagely. “Yah. Iz hard to gets de insurance.”

Suddenly a voice from behind caused them all to start. “About time you boys got here.”

Sitting in an embrasure was Zeetha. She continued. “Krosp, I expected. The Jaegers are...” she looked at them and nodded. “—Not much of a surprise. But you, Lars—” Here her grin widened. “What are you doing here?”

Lars looked away. “Why? Well she is a member of the show. I... we... we just couldn’t leave her.”

Zeetha looked at him fondly. “I see.” She leapt down beside them. “Well I guess there isn’t much danger—” She clapped Lars on the back. “Not if you’re here, hm?”

Then she frowned. The muscles under her hand were tight with tension. When Lars turned towards her, she was forcibly struck by the rigidly controlled fear she saw in his eyes. “Zeetha—” Lars said quietly, “I have never felt a town as dangerous as this. Something is very, very wrong here. Do you know anything?” He gestured at the empty streets. “What is going on here?”

Zeetha’s grin vanished. “Prince Aaronev is dead. A lab accident, they say, though there’s a general feeling that there must be more to it. The town is officially in mourning. No one is allowed on the streets after dark. It’s expected that the Prince’s son, Tarvek, will be the new Prince, once the Baron’s Questor is satisfied.”

Lars looked intrigued. “A Questor? Here?”

Krosp nodded. “Balan’s Gap is an important trade city because of the pass. Plus, The House of Sturmvarous is a major player amongst the Fifty Families[53]. The Baron has to be able to demonstrate that the succession here is legal and legitimate.”

Zeetha nodded. “A messenger has already been sent off to the Baron. Because of the city’s status, the Questor is expected to be here in time for the funeral. That should be in about three days. The bureaucracy is in a panic.” She indicated a large, ornate building which was doubly noticeable because most of its lights were still burning and if the evidence of its chimneys was to be believed, every fireplace in the building was going full blast. “Apparently there’re a lot of files that need to be ‘updated.’”

She continued with a grin. “The city is also supposed to be sealed. No one in, no one out, until the funeral. That’s the local tradition whenever one of the Royal Family dies.”

Dimo considered this. “Vot do dey say about Miz Agatha?”

At this Zeetha got serious. “Nothing.” Dimo started to shrug, but Zeetha interrupted him. “No, you don’t understand. Everyone is talking about everything because they’re worried. I can tell you a whole lot of gossip about the Royal Family. The guards, the servants, who’s looking after the royal horses—But about a young actress who was visiting the Royal Family when the Prince died? Nothing. Not a word. Not a whisper. It’s as if she were never there at all.”

Lucrezia’s movements were already more sure and graceful. Shurdlu and Eotain knelt before her, weeping tears of joy.

“Oh, you dear girls,” Lucrezia cooed. “You did it! I’m ever so pleased with you!”

This only sent the two into new paroxysms of joyful weeping. Lucrezia knelt next to them and gathered them within her arms.

“Oh Lady,” whispered Shurdlu. “To have you back at last...”

Eotain continued. “We have worked so hard.”

Lucrezia hugged them tighter in delight. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Yes, I know. And I missed you as well.” She released them. “Now pull yourselves together. I need you to be strong for me.”

She gracefully rose to her feet. Eotain reverently offered her Agatha’s glasses. Lucrezia looked at them blankly for a moment and then gingerly, with several attempts, slipped the loops over her ears. She looked around the room with a renewed interest, and paused as she saw Vrin huddled separately on the floor. She stepped over towards the prone woman.

“And you, Vrin, are you happy?”

“Of course, my Lady.” Vrin raised her face from the floor, but seemed incapable of raising her eyes above Lucrezia’s waist. Lucrezia realized that the woman was terrified. Interesting. She began to notice other things.

“Why is your hair cut?” Traditionally, the Geisterdamen never cut their hair.

“It... it is a mark of my shame, Lady.” When Lucrezia said nothing, she continued. “When first you sent us here, your gateway, and most of your device plans were destroyed. I... none of us could rebuild it. Even I, your High Priestess had not the skills.”

Lucrezia nodded slowly. This explained much[54]. Vrin continued. “We were cut off from you, and I couldn’t even punish the... saboteurs.”

This word caused Lucrezia to sharply draw in her breath. Vrin finally dared to look Lucrezia in the face. “But I remembered the name of Prince Aaronev. With his help, I kept our sisters safe. We rebuilt your machine—” Here she broke down and wept. Years of tightly held frustration and fear were finally allowed release, in this, her moment of triumph. “And I found the child! Everything worked! You are here and I can finally—finally beg your forgiveness!”

Lucrezia’s eyes had gone cold. “Surely I sent adequate guards. Surely you knew how to utilize them. Who destroyed my gate?”

This was the moment Vrin had feared for years. “Oh Lady,” she whispered, “It was one of us.”

Lucrezia froze. “One of you?”

Vrin huddled prostate upon the floor. “Yes Lady,” she whispered, “The Lore Mistress, Milvistle. She...” Vrin swallowed, “She doubted your divinity.”

Fury filled Lucrezia’s face. “Is she dead?”

Vrin nodded frantically. “Yes, Mistress! But...”

Lucrezia grabbed Vrin’s hair and yanked her upright.

“But—?”

“But there are signs that she did not act alone!”

“Traitors?” Lucrezia screamed. “Heretics?! Amongst my priestesses? How dare they?”

She released Vrin and stood there, a look of calculating rage upon her face. If Geisterdamen had arrived here ready to rebel, there must be rebels plotting back in The Silver City. Right below her very nose...

This line of thought was cut off by the trembling woman at her feet. “There are others about whom I have doubts, my Lady.”

That caught Lucrezia’s attention. An opportunity to work off some of the betrayal and indignation she felt would be quite welcome indeed. “Who? Tell me!”

A smooth voice, speaking in perfect Geisterese, cut Vrin off before she could speak. “I trust I am not on that list, Lady Vrin.”

All four women whirled to see Tarvek Sturmvarous standing before them. Before they could react, he smoothly dropped to one knee and bowed in supplication. “Welcome back, My Lady.” He raised his head and smiled. “Allow me to be the first of many to offer you my service.”

Vrin opened her mouth angrily, but was stopped by Lucrezia gliding forward, her face a picture of joyful amazement. “Wilhelm?” She reached Tarvek and he rose to face her, surprise, and a touch of confusion in his eyes. Lucrezia studied his face and reaching out, sensuously slid her hands down his arms. Tarvek shivered.

“I can’t believe it,” Lucrezia breathed. “Why you’re—” her tongue delicately licked at a corner of her upper lip—“You’re looking better than ever!”

The light dawned. Tarvek cleared his throat. “Ah. Forgive me, my Lady. You have confused me with my late father, Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvarous.” He stepped back and made a slight bow. “I am Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvarous, his son.”

This news caught Lucrezia by surprise. “Dead?” she whispered. “Faithful Wilhelm is dead?” She looked back up at Tarvek. “When?”

Tarvek sighed. “Just last night, I’m afraid. Like myself, he never faltered in his devotion to you, my Lady. But I’m afraid that actually finding your daughter precipitated a... crises of faith in my sister, Anevka. One that proved quite fatal to my father.”

Lucrezia closed her eyes and sighed heavily. She gently reached out and touched Tarvek’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your father.” Her eyes opened and they were as cold as space. “And now I really must kill your sister. Do bring her to me.”

Tarvek shrugged. “I have already ordered some of your priestesses to do just that.” He turned towards Vrin, who looked as if she would burst with barely suppressed rage. “That was the correct thing to do, wasn’t it, Lady Vrin?”

Vrin stared at Tarvek and opened her mouth. Her gaze shifted towards the hand that Lucrezia had delicately laid upon young Sturmvarous’ shoulder. She closed her mouth. “Yes,” she responded through clenched teeth. “Yes of course it was, Master Tarvek.”

Tarvek raised a finger imperiously. “Prince Tarvek,” he corrected her chidingly, “It is Prince Tarvek now, Lady Vrin. Do try to remember that.” Vrin stared at him for several moments, and then nodded with a jerk.

“I would suggest,” Tarvek said, turning his back to Vrin and addressing Lucrezia, “That the Lady Vrin and her retainers go and inform the rest of your priestesses that you have returned.”

Lucrezia smiled. “They’re here?”

Tarvek nodded. “A substantial number of them. When they first arrived, my father turned a cavern in the basement over to them. That is the Lady Vrin’s domain.”

Vrin reluctantly acknowledged this. “It is... a very comfortable place.” She shook herself and addressed Lucrezia. “We are divided into three shifts, My Lady, two of which were always traveling the Shadow World searching for the Holy Child, while the remaining third rested and guarded your machines.” A thought struck her. “We... we won’t have to search anymore. I don’t know where we’ll put everyone—”

She gasped as another thought struck her. She turned to Lucrezia and dropped to her knees. “My Lady,” she said, her voice quavering with emotion, “My Lady, our task has been fulfilled. May we... may we be allowed to return to The City of Silver Light?”

This question caught Lucrezia by surprise. She considered it. “Well, I don’t see why not,” she conceded.

The three Geisterdamen shrieked with joy. Eotain and Shurdlu hugged each other with almost bone-cracking force. Vrin stared up at Lucrezia with tears streaming from her eyes. Lucrezia held up an admonishing finger. “But not immediately, of course. I must repair the gateway and assemble other assistants as loyal as you have been.”

“Impossible!” Vrin swore. “There will never be anyone who loves and needs you as much as we do, Mistress!”

Lucrezia smiled. “I shall just have to make do.”

Tarvek leaned in. “Perhaps the Lady Vrin and her retainers should go to the caverns and let the others know the good news that you’ve returned, not to mention that they will be returning home.” Vrin looked at him. Tarvek continued, “plus I imagine, you’d like to smarten the place up a bit for when The Lady comes to inspect it?”

Vrin shot to her feet. “Of course! We will prepare a feast for my Lady!” She paused. “Most of the food of the Shadow World is rather disgusting, My Lady, but we make do.”

Tarvek nodded. “They’ve actually learned how to make a rather tasty cheese. We didn’t even know they’d brought cows down there—”

Vrin stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Moo-cows? Those stupid fat things? Ew. We make our ‘cheese’ from the juice of our own cob spiders.”

“Really?” Tarvek, who had eaten a lot of “cheese,” looked ill. “How fascinating.”

Lucrezia gave a snort of laughter and then looked startled.

Tarvek noticed. “Are you all right, my Lady?”

“There is so much that I have forgotten about this place,” Lucrezia murmured. “There is always so much happening, and so much of it is so delightfully ridiculous.”

The Geisterdamen formally bowed, and then darted off. Lucrezia looked after them fondly. She turned to Tarvek. “Vrin does not like you.”

Tarvek shrugged and started to walk. “She has been touchy and suspicious about everyone ever since your machinery was sabotaged. Rather unfairly, I feel, since none of our people were involved.” Lucrezia remained silent. Tarvek continued. “I shall have a suite set up for your use—”

At this point, Tarvek realized that Lucrezia was no longer by his side. He wheeled about and discovered a now naked Lucrezia delightedly examining herself in front of a large mirror. His strangled “glurk!” caught Lucrezia’s attention.

“Oh do forgive me,” she sang out as she turned and looked at herself over her shoulder. “It’s been so long since I...” she paused, and gave a peculiar laugh that sent a small chill up Tarvek’s spine, “Since I was really human, I suppose, that I have to get used to it all over again.” She ran her hands down her sides and nodded approvingly. “Yes, I can work with this.”

She turned back to Tarvek, who was resolutely facing away. Lucrezia smiled. This sort of thing was always fun. She sashayed over to him. “Now you were saying?”

Tarvek nodded. He turned, saw her lack of clothing and spun back, his face flushed. “Yes. Well. There are hidden parts of the castle. I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay out of sight for the next few days. Until after my father’s funeral. We can’t risk having the Baron’s people seeing you yet.”

Lucrezia frowned with mock severity as she oh-so-casually took his arm. She noted that he was sweating slightly. “But surely these are your lands.” She thought about this and continued more seriously. “What do you care about some Baron?”

That stopped Tarvek dead. He turned to look at her and to Lucrezia’s surprise, stayed focused on her face. “You really have been out of touch for a while. Interesting. Baron Wulfenbach means nothing to you?”

Lucrezia stared at him. She tried to stall for time and regain the upper hand by going back and picking up the clothing she had dropped. However, despite the view she provided, she saw that Tarvek was no longer flustered. The young Prince was more formidable than she had first thought.

“A Baron Wulfenbach you say? My, that does take me back. His father meant quite a lot to me, but that was such a long time ago.” She frowned in genuine annoyance now. “I wonder where dear Klaus was keeping his mother? I had thought him the last of his family.”

Tarvek looked confused. “Well, there is a son, yes, but the one we’re talking about—this is in fact the same Klaus Wulfenbach of whom I speak.”

Lucrezia’s jaw dropped. “HE CAME BACK?”

In Tarvek’s opinion, the fear and astonishment he saw in her face was the first honest emotion she had displayed. He nodded slowly. “Yes Lady. A few years after he disappeared.”

Lucrezia reeled. “Only a few—!”

She saw Tarvek studying her and caught herself. She allowed herself a small wistful smile and sighed affectionately. “That man.”

With that she pulled herself back together instantly. Tarvek was impressed. She raised her chin and smiled. “Very well. Klaus is here. How droll. He is but a Baron, how much trouble can he be?”

Tarvek stared at her. He slowly removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Please have a seat, my Lady. This... this may take awhile.”

Meanwhile, aboard the flagship of the Wulfenbach airship fleet, Gilgamesh Wulfenbach faced his current opponent.

The last three months had seen a startling change in the young man. He was unshaven. His clothes had obviously been lived in for days, if not weeks. They were tighter as well. While he had never been out of shape, he had obviously been working hard in the interim, and his chest and arms had begun to resemble the proportions of his father. His hands had acquired new bruises and scars. More importantly, there was a grim and increasingly distant quality to his eyes that was worrying to his man servant, Ardsley Wooster, as he stood safely up out of the way on an overhead catwalk and watched the fight.

Below, in a large, empty machinist’s bay, a chunky, crab-style clank clattered forward. It had obviously seen better days, its shell was battered and coated with a patina of rust. Several of its multi-jointed arms were already out of commission, and the armor plating had been peeled back in several spots.

However it still moved with a vicious speed and purpose, and the remaining knife-edged arms wove through the air with a determined malice.

Gil easily avoided several attacks, and then darted forward and thrust a long steel spike directly into a mass of exposed tubing. There was a bright blue flash, a gout of green fluid, and the clank collapsed to the deck, spraying a shower of gears across the floor.

Gil turned away. Wooster dropped gracefully from the catwalk and hurried over to a large metal dome, which when lifted, revealed an enormous stone tea pot as well as various condiments.

Wooster prepared a large mug for Gil and then turned with it in his hand. His smile faltered, and then gamely returned. Gil hadn’t moved from where he’d stepped after delivering the coup de grace to the attacking clank.

Ardsley peered into his face. Gil looked lost. Ardsley gently but firmly insinuated the mug into Gil’s hand. After a moment, Gil registered its presence with a slight raising of his brows, and took a long, slow sip before he dropped into a chair.

Wooster leaned in. “Impressive, sir. Although I believe that one actually had time to look worried.”

Gil shrugged. “It was too slow. Even after I reworked it.” Wooster shivered. Gil’s voice was even more disturbing than his appearance. Over the months, it had deepened and the disturbing, infrasound harmonics that warned listeners that its owner was enmeshed within the grip of the Spark were almost always present. He tried again. “Indeed, I don’t know why you bothered.”

This actually provoked a response. Gil looked at Wooster and frowned. “It’s one less killer loose in the Wastelands. Grantz brought another one in yesterday, yes? I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

Now, Wooster couldn’t argue with the concept behind Gilgamesh’s actions. The younger Wulfenbach had returned from his expedition to find the Heterodyne girl, determined to “clean up the Wastelands.” He had even received the blessing of the Baron, who had seen the wisdom of letting his son work off some of the rage boiling away inside him by tackling a task large enough to absorb a Spark’s sustained fury. Thus, he had allowed Gilgamesh to retain several of the extraordinary figures that Klaus kept on the Wulfenbach payroll.

In a world filled with monsters, there inevitably were people who enjoyed the challenge of taking them down. The ones who learned how to do this effectively without having to be taken down themselves, found that the Baron was an excellent provider of weapons, transport, ammunition, intelligence and health insurance. Grantz was a fine example. While Gil had never met him, he always managed to drag back a steady supply of feisty monsters and rogue clanks who suffered from a minimum of damage.

What bothered the Englishman was Gilgamesh’s follow up. “Taking a look at” the things retrieved from the Wastelands usually meant examining them, patching them up, repairing them and them beating them to their knees in single combat. The creatures that survived certainly became much more tractable, but Wooster could see that Gil’s finer qualities were being burned away at an alarming rate. He had gone so far as to try to talk to the Baron, but the Master of Castle Wulfenbach had himself been locked away in one of his laboratories for the last several months, and had been incommunicado to someone of Ardsley’s pay grade.

Wooster had seriously considered adding knock out drops to the young master’s next cup of tea, but the last time he had tried that, he’d awoken two days later with a headache and a red rubber clown nose stuck to his face. The students aboard the Castle took their pranking seriously, and incompetence was harshly mocked.

Wooster sighed. “Very good, sir. Perhaps you’ll actually manage to damage yourself this time.”

He was startled when Gil looked directly at him and growled. “And who would care if I did?”

The act of speaking seemed to unlock something within him, and he slumped forward in his chair.

“All of the other students have either run off or got shipped back home. My father’s been locked in his lab for the last few months.” He looked up, and Wooster saw how despondent the young man before him was.

“I can’t leave, of course. I’ve got no one to talk to. I can’t do anything.” He looked at the sparking heap of clank. “Can’t do anything important, anyway.”

Ardsley was at a loss. He had never seen Gilgamesh like this. Even when he had first been revealed to the Fifty Families and the world at large, he had seemed to regard the rash of subsequent assassination attempts as an exciting challenge, and had confided to Ardsley that, “He didn’t take it personally.”

“You still have me, sir,” he ventured.

Gil glared at him fiercely enough that Wooster stepped back in alarm. “You? You’re only here—” With a jerk, Gil stopped himself. He dropped his head and a small chuckle escaped him. Wooster was extremely nervous now. This was one of those situations where prolonged laughter would be a reasonable cause to evacuate the dirigible. But when Gil looked back up, Ardsley relaxed. Gil looked calmer than he had in days.

“I’m sorry, Wooster.” He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Ardsley could see the muscles on his arms start to relax. “I know I must make your work difficult for you.” Ardsley gave a noncommittal shrug.

Gil took a deep pull from his mug and rotated his neck, producing a disquieting series of pops and crackles. “And I do appreciate having you here. Having someone I can trust...”

This was getting embarrassing, for a variety of reasons. Ardsley briskly picked up the pot and refilled Gilgamesh’s mug. “Of course you do, sir.” From long experience, Gil knew to hold his mug motionless as Ardsley efficiently topped it off with just the right amount of cream and sugar to maintain his preferred taste. “I know how you take your tea.”

Gil rolled his eyes at this, but said nothing as he sipped. Wooster took a few extra seconds to neatly wipe down his spoons. He spoke carefully. “And I am concerned for you, sir. Ever since... Miss Agatha died...” Gil had closed his eyes now. “I had not realized that the two of you were so... close.”

This was the first time he’d felt comfortable enough to broach the subject. The servants aboard the castle had been buzzing about it for weeks, of course. Even while in the infirmary, Captain DuPree had laughed about it within everyone’s hearing. Wooster had been unsure about what aspect of it the Captain had found funnier, the idea that Gil had been knocked out by his fiancée, or that he had thought he’d had a fiancée in the first place.

Ardsley had met Gilgamesh while they were both students in Paris. Thus, he was aware of the unusual history that the Captain and Gilgamesh shared[55].

It was only after a rather brutal sparring session (where Gil had taken her down in two out of three falls), that the Captain had agreed to stop talking about it altogether.

Gil looked sad. “We weren’t,” he admitted. “But we would have been.” He looked over at Wooster and impatiently waved him over to another chair. Ardsley knew better to argue when Gil was in one of these moods. He sat, and because it was expected, poured himself a mug of tea. While he did this, Gil idly balanced his full mug on his index finger. As he talked, he absent-mindedly bounced it from finger to finger. Wooster was almost certain that this was just something Gil did to keep his hands busy, and not in fact, meant to terrify him. This didn’t help.

“Do you know,” Gil volunteered, “I had resigned myself to bachelorhood?”

Wooster almost choked on his tea at this. The dynastic implications of this simple statement could shake Europa. He was also concerned as a friend. “Don’t be absurd. You’re still young.”

Gil looked down from the great height of his twenty-two years and rolled his eyes.

Wooster frowned, “And, if you’ll forgive me, sir—in Paris, you had quite the reputation for being able to secure the company of...” Wooster tried to smile innocently, “any number of young ladies[56].”

Gil looked at him evenly. “Yes, I’ll never hear the end of that.” He paused. “Ardsley, do you know how boring it is to be with someone who doesn’t understand a thing you’re talking about?”

Ardsley flashed back to a rather one-sided conversation he’d had with the newest scullery maid, fresh from the countryside, about the proper placement of various forks. It had not ended well. “I believe I do, sir.”

Gil looked him in the eye. “That’s how I feel all the time.” He paused. “I’d always hoped I’d find—not just someone to marry—but a real partner. I’d read about female Sparks all my life, but even in Paris—” he shook his head in disgust, “Paris, for pity’s sake, forget about finding a female Spark, or any girl I could just really talk to. About things I was working on, or ideas, or—”

Gil ran down at this point and sat slumped forward for several moments. Then he slowly sat back, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. “But Miss Clay—” he grimaced, “Or Heterodyne, or whatever... she had The Spark.” He looked at Wooster a touch defensively. “And she liked me. She did.” He closed his eyes. “And I liked her.”

Wooster felt that he should state the obvious. “She ran away, after giving you a slight concussion.”

Gil shrugged. “I’m not saying it would have been an easy courtship. But I believe—”

They were interrupted by the far door being slammed open. A high-pitched squeal announced the arrival of Zoing. The miniscule construct waved its blue claws frantically from within its concealing coat.

From long practice, Ardsley could sometimes actually understand parts of what the excitable creature said, but not this time. It was hooting and piping so quickly that he was completely at sea.

Gil however, listened intently and nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent, Zoing, well done.” He turned to Ardsley and a genuine grin crossed his face. “Time to work!”

Without pause, he followed Zoing out the door. Hurriedly, a concerned Wooster followed. “Seriously?” he demanded as he tried to keep up with Gil’s long strides. “Between marathon sessions in your lab, and your excessive dueling with assorted monstrosities, you’re already driving yourself to an early grave!”

They passed a large boiler that had several red lights blinking ominously across its front. As he passed, Gil casually flipped two switches and gave the side a thump. All the lights changed to green. “Well I certainly can’t stop now,” he said reasonably. “The next few days will be critical. Should I let them die just so I can get some sleep?”

Wooster frowned. “If your father finds out that you have them—”

“I don’t give a damn!” Gil interrupted fiercely. “And you should have thought of that before you helped me hide them.”

Wooster grimaced. He’d thought about little else for days. Gil continued, “Besides, with any luck, we’ll be done and have them out of here before he even—”

“Master Gilgamesh! The Baron demands that you attend him! Now!” Expressions of shock and guilt raced across Gil’s face before he damped them down and smoothly turned to face the Lakya that had appeared at the end of the hallway.

He was not reassured by the creature’s appearance. Ever since Agatha’s escape and death, the Baron had been subtly dispersing the Jägermonsters throughout the vast Wulfenbach Empire. As a result, the Lakya had been given more and more of the day-to-day duties that the Jägers had been entrusted with aboard the castle. This had resulted in an increased superciliousness amongst the dapper constructs.

There was no evidence of that now. The Lakya before Gil looked almost frantic, and was obsessively rubbing his hands together in a frantic dry washing motion that any casual observer of the footmen would have known was only a few steps below actual panic.

Gil tried to marshal his thoughts. “But—”

The hand washing increased in intensity. “Now! Right now!” The Lakya chattered its teeth together. “I have never seen him so angry!”

Gil tried again. “Um...with me?”

A frantic nodding. “Especially with you!”

A peculiar calm settled upon Gilgamesh. For years he’d imagined what would happen to him if he failed to measure up to his father’s never-ending tests. Surely the reality couldn’t be worse. Probably. He nodded. “Very well.”

He turned to Ardsley and put a hand on the distraught man’s shoulder. “Wooster, go on to the lab without me. Work with Zoing. Keep everything stable for as long as you can. I...” He swallowed. “I may be gone for some time.”

Despite this acceptance, it was still a pale, nervous face that shortly peered around the slightly opened blast door to Klaus’ laboratory. “Father?” he ventured.

“GET IN HERE, YOU IMBECILE!” Klaus roared.

Gil quickly threw the door open wide and was hit with a wave of moist heat. The lab was like an oven. Even his father, who was a stickler for formal dress most of the time, was clothed in little more than rolled up shirtsleeves and a foundryman’s leather overall. Gil tried not to stare. His father was sweating, which combined with his unshaven face and the circles under his eyes, gave him a terrifying appearance.

Reflexively, his eyes swept the room and discovered it equipped with a baffling hodgepodge of chemical, electrical and medical equipment. Whatever it was that the Master of Castle Wulfenbach had been working on, it had been tortuously complicated.

Gil took in the large camp bed and the various kitchen trays, which indicated that Klaus’ residence here had been prolonged and that this project had required constant supervision. He felt a flicker of curiosity, which was then snuffed out under the force of Klaus’ rage.

Klaus grabbed Gil’s upper arm and dragged him towards the center of the room. Gil saw an ornate, and obviously handmade container, over three meters in diameter, somewhat resembling a steam boiler, but fitted out with a bewildering array of additional devices. Studying it, Gil was even more puzzled. He could identify almost all of the devices in play, but could not conceive of what possible project they could all be working on in concert.

Releasing Gil, Klaus strode up to the container and threw a knife switch on the side. A set of green lights on the bottom of what was revealed to be a fluid filled tank flared on. Klaus spun about and pointed to the tank. “Who the blazes is that?!”

Gil stepped forward. Within the tank floated a naked girl. Gil estimated that when she stood, she would be tall and full figured. A short, thick mane of curly black hair floated above her head. Her eyes were closed, and there was a curiously blank look on her face. Gil studied her intently, frantically searching his memory.

Finally he gave up and turned to his father. “I... I don’t know who she is, father. Should I?”

This only seemed to further infuriate the elder Wulfenbach. “That is the girl who’s body you brought back!”

Gilgamesh stared at her. “Girl? What girl? I didn’t—” Realization hit him. “Miss Clay?” He stepped forward. “That’s Agatha?”

“No!” Klaus roared. “That’s the girl you told me was Agatha!” He slammed his fist upon the container, which boomed in response. “Weeks of preparation! Constant monitoring! I’m finally set to decant her, and this is what I find!” He glared at Gil. “You fool!”

Gil felt his head start to reel. He stepped back. Not from the heat of his father’s rage, but from the waves of realization that were battering him with successive bursts of insight.

“She’s still alive!” Another realization. “The circus... they tricked me!” He looked at Klaus blankly. “Father—they tricked me!”

Gil hadn’t believed that Klaus could get any madder. He was incorrect. “Am I supposed to feel better because the heir to my empire was duped by a pack of carnies?”

Gil wisely realized that there was no good answer to this. Klaus turned away in disgust. Gil felt the ambient heat begin to diminish. He considered breathing.

“Fortunately,” Klaus continued, “I decided to attempt a revival.”

Gil blinked. “But... her head was—”

Klaus waved him into silence. “Yes, the brain was a complete loss. But then, I thought, a Spark’s brain can be such an obstreperous thing. But a Heterodyne, ah—that would be a useful thing to have in one’s arsenal.” He turned to look at the floating girl. “I had the body. If I could repair that, why then I could fill it with any brain I wanted.”

Gil stared. It was an audacious plan. But what left him breathless was the medical miracle that Klaus had developed solely in order to implement it. Even after this fiasco, the Baron’s scientists would be developing and refining this for years to come.

“But now—!” Klaus ended this speculation by again smashing his great fist onto the tank. “I want her back here!”

Gil felt himself nodding frantically. “I’ll—”

“No!” Klaus fixed Gil with a look of contempt. “I will take DuPree and I will fetch her myself!”

Gil blanched. He thought desperately. “Do you know where she is? It’s been months.”

This checked Klaus. “True...”

Gil tried to sound reasonable. “You’ve done some astounding work father, but you must be exhausted. You’re the one who always says that important decisions should always be made twice—once when tired, and once when rested.”

Klaus hesitated, closed his eyes and wearily rubbed his great jaw. “I do, don’t I?” He regarded Gilgamesh with an unreadable expression upon his face. “Perhaps you are—” he paused. “Yes, Boris?”

The four-armed secretary checked the knock he had been about to complete. “An important emissary from Sturmhalten has arrived, Herr Baron.”

This was unusual enough that it piqued Klaus’ interest. “Very well, show him in.”

The Count Hengst von Blitzengaard, immaculately attired in a formal traveling cloak, stepped into the lab and kept from perspiring by sheer force of will. Gil was impressed. He crisply bowed and formally presented a large black envelope, encrusted with the winged sword and gear sigil of the House of Sturmvarous.

“Forgive the intrusion, Herr Baron. I bring most grave news[57].” Klaus accepted the envelope, snapped the wax seal with a thumb and unfolded the document within. He looked at his son.

“Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvarous IV, is dead,” he announced.

Gil frowned. That meant that Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvarous was the next prince. He shook his head. There would be trouble there—

“A lab accident?” Incredulity filled Klaus’ voice. He slapped the paper. “It says here that Aaronev died in a lab accident.”

Gil shook his head. “Preposterous.”

The Count cleared his throat nervously. “The Royal Family assured the medical—”

Klaus interrupted him. “There are many things I can say against Prince Aaronev, but in the lab he was the most meticulous and procedurally brilliant—” Klaus stopped dead. Within his uniquely convoluted brain things were coming together. “It’s her!”

Gil tried to understand. “Her who, father?”

“The girl! Agatha! I know it!”

“How could you possibly—”

Klaus waved his hands impatiently. He had enough confidence in his son’s thought processes that he did not even bother with full sentences. “Circus! Passholt gone! Balen’s Gap! Time versus distance. Aaronev is a fan of Heterodyne shows—he was always Lucrezia’s slave! Of course that’s where she’d wind up!”

He turned to his secretary, who was already poised to receive his orders, notebook in hand. “”I’ll be leaving for Sturmhalten within the next three hours. I’m assigning the Seventh Groundnaut Mechanical, the Fifth Airborne, a wing of Hoomhoffers and two Bug Squads to come with. They are to be fully armed and should be prepared to encounter moderate resistance. Captain DuPree is to be in Command. I shall travel on her ship. Inform her at once. Within twenty-four hours I shall expect to be followed by a full Inspection Team. I shall want Sturmhalten probed down to the bedrock.”

Boris nodded. “Very Good, Herr Baron.”

During this, Count Blitzengaard’s face has gone white. “My Baron!” he broke in, “The people of Balan’s Gap are completely loyal to the Empire! This is an invasion! You must allow me to contact—”

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.”