Her mood was shattered by the business end of a machine cannon dropping towards her face, and the amplified voice of the clank behind it roaring, “HALT. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO STAY OFF THE STREETS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.”
Agatha stepped backwards and bumped into someone. Turning around, she found herself face to face with the grinning Jagersoldier she’d last seen in Dr. Beetle’s lab. “Hoy,” he called out to the clank, “she’s vit me!”
The clank paused. “YES SIR,” and with a hiss it resumed its watch position.
The soldier then looked back at Agatha and was nonplussed to see her crying. “Vot’s de matta, gurl?”
Agatha stared at him through her tears. “They sent you out to eat me!”
The monster soldier actually looked embarrassed. You could also tell that this was an unfamiliar emotion. “Hy em not gun eatchu.” This did nothing to stop the flow of tears, and after several minutes, the exasperated soldier roared, “Onless dats de only vay to shot hyu op!” Agatha’s sobbing stopped instantly , and she stared at him with wide eyes. The Jagersoldier nodded. “Now. Vere hyu liff? Let’s get hyu home,” and when Agatha continued to stare at him blankly: “MOOF!”
The walk back through the town was markedly different from the one she’d taken this morning. The number of citizens on the street was greatly reduced, and the few left were obviously determined to get home as quickly as possible. Shopkeepers were closing up, frantically pulling stock in off the sidewalks or, when they saw Agatha and her escort, abandoning it altogether and slamming shut doors and window shutters.
The only sign of fighting that Agatha saw was a shattered member of the Watch, which still twitched and feebly ticked against a wall as they passed by. More and more of the giant Wulfenbach clanks and soldiers wearing the Wulfenbach crest were to be seen assuming positions on various street corners, and with chilling silence, a small troop of Jagermonsters swarmed across the rooftops of the buildings across the street and disappeared. Shadows from the overhead fleet glided across the streets, causing the townspeople to involuntarily duck their heads and move even more quickly.
Soon enough they turned on to Forge Street, and the large former stables that housed Clay Mechanical came into sight.
Agatha turned to her companion. For the last several blocks, the Jager had abandoned its attempts at conversation, and had been sniffing repeatedly, while a look of distracted concentration flowed across its face. “That’s it. That’s my house. Um… thanks.” With that she bolted for the main door. The Jagermonster lazily leaned against the nearest wall and watched her scurry inside. With a sigh, he shook his head and muttered, “Tch. Poor little ting.” Again he sniffed deeply, then shrugged irritably and loped off.
Inside the shop, machinist and master blacksmith Adam Clay grasped a thick chain in his massive fists and pulled. The ceiling beam that held the combined pulley system groaned, and the front of the steam tractor the chain was attached to began to slowly rise upwards.
Herr Ketter’s tractor had some leaks. Adam was pretty sure he knew where. A small collection of probable replacement parts were neatly laid out on a small bench by his side.
Adam liked this sort of job, as it didn’t involve dealing with madboy technology. Whereas Sparks were able to design and construct bizarre, physics-skirting machinery, their devices were never really able to be mass produced or even reliably duplicated by regular people. Even trained machinists eventually suffered nervous breakdowns if they were forced to try.
One of the Wulfenbach Empire’s groundbreaking ideas had been that instead of exterminating rival Sparks after defeating them, Klaus hired them. He kept them happy by keeping them supplied with materials, tools, and food, and a dedicated staff that made sure they ate it. They found themselves free of the petty concerns that had plagued their lives, such as what to actually do with that small country once they had proved that they could conquer it with nothing more than a navy composed of intelligent lobsters. He also gave them challenges, adoring minions, and on a regular basis, a large dinner celebrating their accomplishments along with a beautiful calligraphed award expressing the sincere thanks of the Empire in general and Klaus in particular.
As a result, almost any one of the Sparks Klaus had defeated over the years would have disintegrated you if you had seriously attempted to offer them their freedom, and they gleefully built and repaired the airships and the armies of clanks as well as the other terrifying monstrosities that supported the Pax Transylvania. This easily made up for the tightly guarded warehouses full of devices that made ants run backwards or could remove the rings from Saturn that they occasionally delivered in their free time.
And of course, regular science marched on, if only in self-defense.
The pulley caught. Adam grimaced and gave the chain a sharp tug, and links snapped with a sound like a gunshot, the tractor slamming back to the ground, shaking the entire building.
Adam looked at the broken chain as if it had personally betrayed him, and then he dropped it to the ground. He walked over to the tractor and quickly inspected it to make sure there was no additional damage. Seeing none, he glanced around and, reassured that he was alone, grabbed the front of the tractor in one large hand, and slowly lifted it above his head. Satisfied, he hooked a foot around the bench that contained the spare parts, slid it over to his side, selected a wrench from a loop on his belt, and began working on the undercarriage.
Adam was a construct. Whereas the term “construct” encompassed any and all biological creatures created by Sparks, Adam was an example of a “traditional old-school” construct, i.e., a patchwork collection of body parts that had been revivified by a massive dose of electricity. They were the simplest form of construct to make, and the vast majority of Sparks had started their careers by assembling one. Unfortunately, while reviving the
As a result, there was a well-established tradition of such constructs being viewed with suspicion at best, discriminated against with impunity, and made the butt of jokes in sensationalist novels, such as those chronicling the adventures of the Heterodyne Boys. Their loyal construct companions, Punch and Judy, were portrayed as oafish clowns. Music halls and traveling shows across Europa also embraced this interpretation, and the two were solidly established as the personification of low humor. Constructs tended to avoid popular entertainments.
Refreshingly, the Baron had long let it be known that blatant discrimination against constructs was officially frowned upon within the Empire, and he backed this policy up with force.
But this was a rule that was often ignored in the small towns and rural villages that rarely saw the Baron’s forces or polysyllabic words. As a result, constructs moved into the larger, more cosmopolitan towns and cities. There they were reluctantly embraced. Those like Adam and his wife, who, with a bit of effort, could pass as human, tried to do so.
And thus Adam and Lilith lived happily amongst the general populace of Beetleburg, and were respected members of the community. Adam impressed many with his ability to repair the simpler Spark creations, and did regular piece-work for the Tyrant. Lilith played the piano, giving lessons in music and dance, and provided entertainment at various functions. There were those in town who knew what they were, but usually they were constructs themselves.
Suddenly the door slammed open behind Adam, and before he could react, he found a sobbing Agatha clutching at his chest. “Oh, Adam,” she cried, “I’ve had the most awful day in existence! Dr. Beetle is dead! And I was robbed! And I’m not allowed back in the University! Ever!”
Adam strained to keep his balance, and the arm holding up the tractor began to shake. Agatha continued, “I can’t think of anything that could make it worse!” Sweat began to form on Adam’s brow as he tried to gently disengage Agatha from his shirt with one hand.
The door to the inner house opened, and Agatha’s mother appeared. “What is all the noise out here?” She blinked at the scene before her. “Agatha? You’re back? What’s wrong child? Come here.”
To Adam’s great relief, Agatha turned to his wife. “Oh, Lilith, Dr. Beetle is dead!”
Shock crossed Lilith’s face. “What? How?”
“He was killed in his lab by Baron Wulfenbach!”
At the sound of Wulfenbach’s name, Adam gave a start, dropping the tractor, again shaking the building.
Lilith’s eyes widened. “Baron Wulfenbach! Here?”
Agatha looked at her in surprise. “Yes. He’s taken the town. You didn’t notice?”
Lilith looked embarrassed. “I’ve been canning all morning—” she looked at Agatha again, “Klaus Wulfenbach. Are you sure?”
