Agatha H. and the Airship City

“Ah. You haven’t been properly introduced.” Gil reached down, lifted the small creature up and deposited him on a nearby bench. Try as she might, Agatha could only see the tips of large blue claws peeking out of fleece-lined cuffs and two long-jointed antenna. Everything else that might have given a clue as to the little creature’s nature was hidden beneath layers of clothing.

“This is Zoing.” The little creature clicked its heels and bowed slightly. Gil continued, “Zoing, this is Miss Agatha Clay. She will be helping us now.”

Zoing studied Agatha for a moment and then turned back to Gil. “Schmeka tee?”

Gil shook his head. “No, that’s still your job.” He paused, then looked guilty. “Although, I couldn’t find you a moment ago, and I believe Mr. Wooster is fixing us some now.”

Zoing squealed like a penny whistle and, faster than Agatha would have believed, leapt off the bench and scuttled away, furiously waving its claws.

Gil rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll hear about that,” he sighed. A crash of crockery from the next room seemed to verify this.

“What is it?” Agatha asked.

“My friend,” Gil replied tersely as Wooster gave a yelp of pain.

“I’m sorry, I meant—”

An entire china cabinet collapsed now. Gil held up a hand and, closing his eyes, took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. What sounded like a fire alarm went off, and then was silenced, if the noises were any indication, by being pummeled with a live animal. Gil resolutely ignored it. “It’s understandable. He’s a construct. I made him when I was younger.”

“He was eight,” Wooster informed Agatha. Unruffled and impeccable, he set a laden tea tray down upon a bench. From the next room could be heard a frantic hammering, as if from inside an overturned cauldron.

“Eight?”

Gil shrugged. “Even my father was surprised.”

Wooster handed Agatha a sturdy triangular mug. She tasted it and realized that the mixture was exactly as she preferred it. Wooster hadn’t bothered to check her response, but was pouring another mug.

“As well he should have been. Eight is very young. Most of the gifted break through in their teens—or even later. Master Gilgamesh is a very strong Spark indeed.”

Gil accepted his mug with a shrug. “This is Ardsley Wooster. He does my bragging for me.”

Wooster smiled. “I had the pleasure of meeting Master Gilgamesh while we were both students in Paris. After graduation, he kindly arranged for me to be his assistant here. This was before I knew who he was, of course.” Wooster looked down in surprise. A third mug of tea had apparently materialized in his hand. He shot Gil an exasperated look.

Gil smirked and raised his mug. “You should have seen his face!”

Wooster raised his mug in return, and took a sip. “Very sneaky, sir. Most amusing.”

Gilgamesh took Agatha’s elbow and steered her towards a series of work stations. “To start with, you’ll be giving me general assistance when I require it. When it isn’t required…” They stopped before a small bench that was littered with old tools and scraps from other projects. “You have permission to work on your own projects here, as long as they don’t interfere with your other duties.”

Agatha looked at Gil, the hand holding her tea mug frozen midway to her mouth. “My own… I can work on my own projects?”

“Certainly.”

“This is my space?”

“Yours and yours alone, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your other work. Later today you can clear it off and set it up for your requirements.”

Agatha turned towards the bench and slowly ran her hand along it. She put her tea down, quickly picked it back up, found a large gear and used it as a coaster. She turned back to Gil. “Thank you. I’ve never had… I mean, at the University I couldn’t… they…”

Gil awkwardly patted her on the arm. Their eyes met and locked. Gil felt his breath stop as he realized that Agatha’s eyes were the largest and deepest he’d ever seen.

Agatha saw eyes that regarded her as someone with thoughts and ideas that were worthwhile. Eyes that saw her as she had hardly dared to see herself. The moment seemed to last forever until a small gasp of pain broke the spell. Whirling about, the two saw Wooster trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, while attempting to dislodge one of Zoing’s claws from his foot. Gil opened his mouth to say something, looked at Agatha, and instead, gently pulled her away from the gyrating figures, over to a large series of bookshelves. “You will also be in charge of my library.”

Scores of books filled the racks, books of every type. Large leather tomes framed and braced with metal clasps, scrolls in intricately decorated bamboo cases, roughly bound manuscripts and notebooks were mixed in with scores of the cheaply printed textbooks that were emblematic of university students. Agatha noted that while the sciences predominated, books on an astonishing range of subjects were present, many showed signs of use, such as cracked spines or thickets of bookmarks sticking up from the pages. One rack in particular caught Agatha’s eye. These books, cheap though they were, obviously were part of a set, and a familiar set at that. “You collect the Heterodyne Boys books?”

Gil looked embarrassed. Agatha pulled down The Heterodyne Boys and Their Pneumatic Oyster. “These are so much fun!” A thought struck her. “Oh, of course! Your father is in these, isn’t he?”

Gil mumbled, “I… uh… I don’t really remember…”

“Of course he is! Here we go…

‘Hey Klaus, what are you doing in that vat?’

‘You put it under the hatch you great idiot! Help me out!’

Punch scratched at his massive head. “Wull, iffen you hadn’t been running away…’”

Agatha stopped. “Oh. Oh dear.”

Gil gently took the book from her and tucked it back onto the shelf. “Yes, well… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention these.”

“Of course.” Another set of books caught Agatha’s eye. They were gaudily bound in red, white and blue, and looked quite new. “What are these?” She read a title: Trelawney Thorpe, Spark of the Realm?

Gil’s face lit up. “Ah, these are terrific! Total British propaganda, of course, but really good!”

This last comment was clearly heard by Wooster, who paused while carrying a large, thrashing sack over his shoulder. He frowned. “Oh, I say sir—as I have told you before, Miss Thorpe is a real person.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m sure that these stories are just as accurate as the Heterodyne series.”

Wooster wagged his finger. “Ah, but these publishers are British.”

Gil gave up. “Of course.” He turned back to Agatha, who was sliding several of the volumes around on the shelf. “Feel free to borrow any you like,”

Agatha pulled a book out from behind the others. “This one must’ve slipped back—” The title caught her eye: “—In the Seraglio of the Iron Sheik?”

Wooster waggled his eyebrows. “A favorite, I believe.”

Agatha did not actually see Gil move, but suddenly there was a different book in her hand. “I’d recommend that you start with this one.”

“The Glass Dirigible? Sounds interesting.”

Gil glared at his servant. “Wooster, take Zoing and help him clean the flight lab.” A blue claw punched through the sacking and missed closing on Wooster’s ear by several millimeters. Wooster sighed. “Very good sir.”

Agatha looked up. “But about that seraglio one—”

Quickly Gil reached up and pulled a large lever. “Oh, Hey! What do you think of