Agatha H. and the Airship City

Agatha frowned. “I would think that would make her a little more willing to get along, not less.”

Sleipnir sighed. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? But Zulenna is determined to keep her position.”

“What position?”

The other girls looked embarrassed. A dark-haired girl named Yvette explained. “Most of us came here as children, non? So there was established a pecking order.”

“Sleipnir explained a bit about that,” Agatha said.

A quiet blonde named Gunload spoke up. “When she first got here, Zulenna ranked pretty high, if only because she was used to bossing people around. But as we all got older, things changed. Zulenna’s family is just royalty. She’s not here as a hostage, but because they’re genuinely loyal to the Baron.”

Sleipnir nodded. “Her being royalty is all that Zulenna has, so she tries to make the most of it.” She looked Agatha in the eye. “Be careful. She’ll not forgive you for this.”

Agatha frowned. “Oh, come on. Surely, over time some of you have made similar comments, or worse. You grew up together.”

“True enough,” Sleipnir admitted, “but there is this pecking order thing…”

“Meaning?”

Ming gently patted her shoulder. “Welcome to the bottom of the heap.”

The next few days were quiet ones.

Von Pinn gave Agatha a wide berth.

Agatha returned to her room one evening to discover that Zulenna had moved out.

The biggest change was in Agatha’s sensations. Every day brought new smells, tastes and nuances of sounds that occasionally threatened to overwhelm her. Foods that she had grown up with revealed startling new flavors. For a few days, Agatha felt like she was starving. At meal times she ate until she felt ready to burst, but within the space of two hours, she would be prowling the kitchens looking for more. She worried about her clothes, but over the course of several days, they seemed to get looser, despite everything she was eating. Sleipnir actually got annoyed over this, until she confirmed Agatha’s claims with a tape measure.

A noisy room became a rich aural tapestry of underlying rhythms. The most distracting was her sense of touch. She was aware of the textures of the clothing she wore, the surfaces of the tools in the lab. A prolonged shower left her gasping on her knees.

It was a difficult few days. Sleipnir was concerned. Agatha saw a medic, who examined her and found nothing wrong, and suggested that she was simply over-stimulated by being in a new, exciting situation. Agatha certainly had to admit that was a plausible possibility.

And, most glorious of all, Agatha’s headaches, the Damoclean sword that had always checked her emotions, had stopped.

She noticed it the second day. By the third, she had actually tried to induce one and failed. That night, Sleipnir had found her in her room weeping. She’d never been able to have a good, solid cry, and by the time she was done, she felt wrung out like a rag and slept for twelve hours. After that, while her sensations and emotions remained much sharper than before, everything began to become much more manageable. Thankfully, Agatha found her appetite beginning to diminish.

The crises had passed.

Moloch proved to be adept at finding his way around a lab. The inventory was completed. Agatha tried to create something that would interest the Baron, but these attempts always ended in failure. The biggest problem was caused by Agatha herself, who continued to sleepwalk each night, ending up in the lab, sprawled over one of the workbenches.

On this particular morning, she was awakened by Moloch tossing his coat on top of her. “I wish you’d build something we could use instead of just messing up the place.”

Startled, Agatha thrashed around a bit scattering tools and machine parts to the floor as she pulled the coat on. She glanced at a clock. “You’re late. Did you oversleep?”

Moloch shook his head. “I wish. I got summoned before the Baron. He’s getting impatient. He wants to see something.”

“But what about those plans we’ve been working on the last couple of days?”

“He took one look at them and told me to stop cribbing D’Omas’ designs. It’s like I told you, every madboy has a style like… like a painter—and the Baron can recognize them.”

Agatha drummed her fingers on the bench. “Well… I do have some ideas of my own…”

Moloch waved his hand in dismissal. “Those tiddly little clockwork things that don’t work? Forget it. I’m supposed to be a Spark, not an idiot toymaker. I hand him plans for something like that and I’ll be shipped off to Castle Heterodyne within the hour. We need something Big. Impressive.”

“Well… Maybe stylistic similarities run in families. We could say that you’re D’Omas’ natural son.”

Moloch grinned ruefully. “Not a bad idea, but D’Omas’ taste in women was… well… let’s just say it was lucky for him he could build his own. A lot of people knew it too. There were reasons why the public didn’t like him. No, there’ll be no D’Omas heirs showing up, except preserved in glass jars.”

“Yech. Any ideas on escaping?”

“Only if I want to throw myself out a window, which I’m not ruling out, by the way. But for the moment, the plan is to get out alive.”

Moloch paced back and forth several times and then whirled to face Agatha again. “You were there when that clank in Beetleburg was built. That’s what we need. You must remember something!”

Agatha shrugged apologetically. This was an old subject. “No. I woke up after it was gone. I don’t know anything. I could do some research—”

Moloch slammed his fist down onto the bench hard enough to send several tools flying. “Stuff that!” he screamed. “You didn’t see the Baron’s face this morning! I need something now!” He loomed menacingly over Agatha. “I don’t think you’re really trying.”

Apprehensive, Agatha tried to back up, and found herself bumping into another bench. “You said yourself that I’m no Spark! What do you expect me to—”

Moloch gripped her shoulders. “Think, you stupid cow! You have as much to lose as I do!”

Agatha shook herself free and glared at Moloch. “Wrong! My parents are long gone and in hiding. Even the Jagermonsters can’t find them. You no longer have a hold on me, so if you want my co- operation, I suggest you change your attitude, or… or…”

A change had come over Moloch’s face. His eyes looked dead. He reached out and, grabbing the lapels of the coat Agatha was wearing, hauled her forward. “Or what? You’ll kill me too? Wrong. You’re gonna help me out one more time. A lab accident, I think. That should buy me some more time…”

Horrified, Agatha watched as he raised his fist, and suddenly Moloch’s eyes widened and he screamed and dropped her. A quick glance down revealed the white cat biting and clawing at the inside of one of Moloch’s legs. As he danced away, trying to dislodge it, Agatha regained her balance, reached behind her and felt her fingers close around the handle of a large mallet.

Gilgamesh Wulfenbach strolled down the corridor, his brow furrowed in thought. Eventually he nodded. “Oh very well, I’ll concede the point, it does appear alarming, but you shouldn’t be afraid of it, I’m rather sure it’s just a goldfish.”

Beside him Zoing frantically waved his claws and discoursed at length in high-pitched squeals.

CRASH! A lab door slammed open beside them and the inert form of Moloch von Zinzer was booted out into the corridor. A second later his labcoat was flung over him. Gil and Zoing turned to see a furious Agatha standing in the doorway, clutching a broken mallet. “You pathetic thug! Don’t you dare threaten me again! Come near me and I’ll put you in a glass jar!” It was now that she noticed Gil and his companion for the first time.

“Lover’s spat?” Gil inquired.

“I quit!” Agatha snarled. “I don’t care if you put his brain into a jellyfish!”