Agatha H. and the Airship City

contentment as a researcher or lab assistant. Theoretically it could also go the other way around, but as the supply of meek, quiet, sensible Sparks was vanishingly low to start with, it had, so far, remained merely a tricky essay question on the “Ethics of Revivification” final exam at Paris’ Institut de L’Extraordinaire. These revived Sparks were so useful that the Baron actively encouraged his more hysterical fellow Sparks to “give themselves a makeover.”

“That’s as may be,” said Sleipnir, “though I’ve heard it whispered that the Lady Heterodyne had quite a temper in her before.”

They emerged just at the climax of Theo’s story. Agatha was sorry she’d missed the rest, as it apparently involved a gigantic mechanical dragon that was currently being dragged off to Mars via some sort of water portal, pulling the Heterodynes in behind it aboard a rowboat. Suddenly the portal shut with the SMACK of Theopholus’ hands coming together, causing his rapt audience to jump and then squeal in appreciation.

Then one of the boys announced that he was hungry and the others joined in. At this the dark-clad servants swooped in and began seating the children at the table.

Agatha was forcibly reminded of how hungry she was at this point by her stomach growling loud enough to be heard by Sleipnir, who laughed and showed her where to sit at one of the long tables.

There was a quick round of introductions, but Agatha found herself distracted by a flurry of activity from a small group of children who had not sat down, but had, to Agatha’s surprise, produced several odd-looking devices. These proved to be controllers of some sort, as with a crash, several primitive clanks rolled, or in one notable case lurched, into the room from what was obviously an attached kitchen.

First came a tall, spindly device that made sure everyone had knives, forks and spoons. Unfortunately, it delivered them with such speed, that as it swept past, it left a small forest of utensils imbedded into the wooden tabletop, still vibrating. Agatha couldn’t help but notice that the tabletops looked brand new, and were held in place by spring-locked brackets for easy replacement. Suddenly, this made a lot of sense.

Next came the lurching clank, which was loaded with a precarious tower of ever shifting china soup bowls. To everyone’s astonishment, it stepped up onto the tabletop itself, and proceeded to spill bowls onto the table in an endless cascade. After the first panic, everyone realized that the bowls wound up undamaged, upright, and perfectly positioned upon the table. Agatha stared at the wildly flailing mechanism and saw how the “falling” bowls were actually skillfully guided down by a series of well-coordinated taps. Everyone understood now, and the table spontaneously erupted in applause right up until the clank strode over the edge of the table and crashed to the floor, sending shattered bowls across half the room. An eight-year-old girl with bluish-black hair and prominent eyebrows dropped her controller and began to cry. A servant knelt to comfort her while several of the others quickly swept up the mess.

The third clank looked like a small tanker car on treads. It lumbered up and a pipe swiveled out. The pipe gurgled and Theo, with a lightning fast move, twitched his bowl under the pipe in time for a stream of hot soup to pour forth. The bowl filled perfectly, and Theo closed his eye and sniffed appreciably, which is why he failed to see the pipe swing towards his head with a dull BONK. A small child with a swarthy complexion swore in Greek and made an adjustment on the controller. The pipe elevated, the clank advanced, and the process repeated. By the time the device had swung around the table and got to Agatha, a fourth clank, held aloft by an ingenious collection of balloons and propellers had made several trips back and forth delivering baskets of fresh hot bread, racks of condiments and ramekins of fresh butter.

Agatha ducked under the pipe and examined the soup, which smelled incredible. It was a rich chicken soup, filled with an array of finely sliced vegetables, several of which Agatha was unfamiliar with. A bowl of thick yellow spatzle noodles was handed to her by Sleipnir. Agatha took her cue from the others and spooned a ladle full into her soup.

The children were wiping down their clanks and congratulating each other. The girl with the bowl-dispenser clank was still snuffling a bit, but had rallied.

“That was pretty amazing,” Agatha said. “Does that sort of thing happen at every meal?”

“Are you joking?” DuMedd muttered sottovoce, “We’d be dead in a week.” He twitched a thumb and Agatha noticed several small holes in one of the walls. “You’re lucky you missed last Monday’s Swedish meatballs.”

Agatha thoughtfully turned back to her meal. The soup itself was tangy and delicious and Agatha found that she had emptied half her bowl before she looked up. “You were hungry,” Sleipnir allowed, and poured Agatha a large glass of a thick, white liquid from a broad-based pitcher. Agatha sniffed it and a brief taste confirmed that it was tangy, like buttermilk, but sweet.

“That’s called lassi,” Sleipnir said as she lowered her own half-emptied glass. “It’s a fermented milk drink that Theo brought.”

Further down the table, DuMedd waved a hand in acknowledgement. “Everyone’s expected to provide a few dishes from their homeland. Makes for a nice bit of variety,” he explained.

Agatha found herself chewing a spicy vegetable that required the rest of her lassi to quench. She demurely wiped her lips with the heavy linen napkin from her lap. “You know, I’m quite fond of the Heterodyne Boys stories, but I’ve never heard that one with the dragon before.”

Theo grinned and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I just made it up. You liked it?” He had a deep voice that made Agatha’s ears tingle.

Agatha nodded. “My favorite story is The Heterodyne Boys and the Race to the West Pole.”

A short young man with a noble prow of a nose spoke up. “You have an ear for the truth. That one really happened.” He became aware of the rest of the group looking at him. “Well, mostly,” he added defensively.

Agatha cocked an eyebrow at him. “Right.”

“No, no! It is true! My father built the Mechanical Camel!”

Agatha blinked. “Your father is—?”

The young man drew himself up proudly. “The Iron Sheik. Yes. And I am his son, Zami Yahya Ahmad ibn Suliman al-Sinaji.” He smiled. “But you may call me ‘Z.’”

Agatha sat back in her chair and regarded him with wide eyes. “Golly. I’m not used to thinking of the Heterodyne Boys and the people in the stories as… as real people.”

Zami shrugged. “As real as you or I.”

At this point, a large dish of various cheeses began to make the rounds. None of them looked familiar, and Sleipnir made a few helpful suggestions. Most of them were delicious, but one of them caused Agatha to choke, as she was convinced that she was eating someone’s unwashed foot. The others at the table, who had been watching her surreptitiously, snorted in laughter at her expression. “Give it up, O’Hara,” said Sun Ming, a slim Asian girl seated next to DuMedd. “No one else but you likes that stuff.”

Sleipnir morosely took the remaining chunk of the offending cheese off of Agatha’s plate. “You are all heathens, who wouldn’t know the ambrosia of the gods from a cod’s head and I pity you all, sure enough.” She popped it in her mouth and chewed.

Agatha found herself laughing with the rest. While the circumstances behind her being here were alarming, she found that she enjoyed the company of these people more than she had ever enjoyed the company of the students at the college.

A thought struck her and she looked around. Between the older and younger children, they occupied just two of the vast tables in the common area. There were easily another twenty of these, all unoccupied, except for a cluster of the servants who sat near the younger children, keeping an eye on them while they supped on their own bowls of soup. “I can’t help but notice that there aren’t a lot of students here,” Agatha observed. A few of the others nodded.

“You came at a quiet time,” DuMedd explained. “The Baron insists that those with lands that need planting in the spring should help oversee the process personally, and actually assist if they’re old enough.”

A tall young man with wildly disheveled hair who’d been introduced as Nicodeamus Yurkofsky chimed in. “He says that it gives them a better appreciation of where their power comes from and who’s actually keeping them fed.”

Agatha thought about some of the members of Royalty that she had seen come through the Tyrant’s labs throughout the years. “I’ll bet they love that,” she said carefully.