Agatha H. and the Airship City

that it learns from its previous encounters.”

Agatha looked impressed. “But that’s great.”

Gil pushed her aside and a sword blade ripped through his sleeve. “Thanks. But I’m afraid that with all the test fighting I’ve been doing, I’ve been reaching the limits of my ability.” He leaped back as a pointed leg slammed into the ground where he’d been standing. Agatha studied the fight for a moment and then stepped forward.

“Miss Clay? What are you doing?” Gil lunged towards her, but was beaten back by a flurry of steel. Meanwhile Agatha calmly walked up towards the clank, and gently tapped the device’s heart.

Again it froze and began to power down.

Agatha blew out her breath in relief and turned towards Gil. “No attack, no response,” she explained.

Her grin faltered when she saw the look of fury upon Gil’s face. “You could have been killed!”

“I… It was an experiment—”

“I will not tolerate lax procedures in this lab!”

Agatha flushed. “You’re just mad because I beat it twice.”

“I AM NOT!” Gil froze, and took a deep breath. He held up a hand to forestall any further conversation and looked up at a large clock. Agatha joined him in watching the ticking progression of the second hand. After thirty seconds had passed without any movement from the clank, they both relaxed.

It was then that Othar Tryggvassen crashed backwards through one of the doors in a shower of fragments. Looming within the doorway was Klaus Wulfenbach. His shirt and vest were in tatters, and it was obvious that Othar had managed to get in a few good punches of his own. What struck Agatha was that the expression on the Baron’s face was the closest she’d ever seen to something approaching enjoyment. “Sorry, son. I got a bit carried away.”

Othar slammed into the floor and bounced back up. He looked remarkably unharmed. Taking in his surroundings, he snarled, “Gilgamesh! So—ALL the vipers are now in residence!”

Gil’s shoulder’s slumped. “Get wound, Tryggvassen. I can’t believe you still talk like that.” He turned to Klaus, who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. “Father, why is he here?”

Klaus shrugged. “I don’t think we can do any more damage to my labs.”

“No, I mean why is he still on his feet? I know you could—” He stopped and a look of fury crossed his face. “You’ve been sizing him up as a fighter.” He glanced at Othar. “There isn’t a real mark on him. This is another stupid test! I’ll bet you let him loose on purpose!”

Klaus examined his fingernails.

“Nonsense!” Othar boomed. “I escaped using naught but my wits!”

“And a knife or a key or coat hanger my father left within your reach, right?”

“Um…” A brief moue of uncertainty crossed Othar’s face.

Gil nodded. “That’s what I thought. Well, I can’t have you running around.” So saying he jumped and spun in midair, lashing out with his foot so that the heel solidly caught Othar’s jaw. The big man dropped to the ground.

He pushed himself up and found himself looking up at Agatha. “Why, ‘tis the fair maiden! Have no fear! I shall rescue you from this den of evil and—”

Gil stepped up and brutally smacked the back of Othar’s head with a large wrench, sending him face forward to the floor. “In your dreams,” he muttered as he tossed the wrench aside.

Klaus clicked the stem of his stopwatch and looked pleased. “Well done, son.”

Gil visibly kept himself under control as he spoke. “Father, this was very irresponsible. He should be kept locked up. You know what he could do!”

Klaus prodded Othar’s inert form with a booted toe. “And he isn’t even damaged.”

“Believe me, if I had my way, but I don’t want a repeat of that business with Beetle.” As he said this, he seemed to remember Agatha. And glanced towards her. Agatha was in shock. Her face was white at the casual brutality with which Gil had taken Othar down. She had seen numerous fights in Heterodyne Boys shows, and read about them in novels. This had been nothing like that at all.

Klaus nodded at Gil’s words and his face went somber. “Yes, that was a pity.”

Gill appealed to the heavens. “Not that anybody cares, but he did throw a bomb at me.”

“Hold on.” Agatha stepped forward. “Is this really the Othar Tryggvassen?”

Gil nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“But isn’t he a hero? You know… one of the good guys? How could you—”

Gil stepped up to her and cut her off. “Miss Clay, a good assistant is one who trusts her employer. A healthy assistant is one who doesn’t meddle in things she doesn’t understand. Now please go fetch the maintenance staff.”

Agatha looked at him for a moment, and then wordlessly whirled about and dashed off. Gil turned back towards Klaus, but the old man peremptorily held up a hand until the lab door closed behind Agatha. Then he scowled at his son. “Assistant?”

Gil scowled. “She’s a good assistant, Father!”

“Even Glassvitch’s assessment said otherwise, and he liked her.”

“Her work with von Zinzer—” Klaus cut him off.

“Von Zinzer fired her! And she was his—” Klaus stopped. He blinked a few times, and looked at Gil in a peculiar way that made the young man nervous. “Ah.” Klaus nodded. “Of course. I see.”

Gil looked blank. “You do?”

Klaus looked over towards the door. Conflicting emotions flickered behind his eyes. A grudging resignation won. He sighed. “You’re young, and she is quite comely…”

Gil’s face went scarlet. “Father!” he gasped.

Klaus awkwardly tousled his son’s hair. An act so rare that it shut Gil up as his father continued. “These things must run their course.” He caught Gil’s eye. “Discreetly, I trust.” Gil sucked in an outraged lungful of air—

“Obviously,” Klaus mused, “it is time we found you a suitable bride.”

“A what?” Gil squeaked.

“Someone from one of the Great Houses preferably, though we are having some problems with the Southern border states…”

“But… but…”

“Yes. I shall see to it.” He turned towards Gil and spoke seriously. “These sort of negotiations take some time, so I expect you’ll be able to keep her through the summer, which—” a flicker of memory softened Klaus’ features for a moment—”is the best season for that sort of thing.” His usual sternness returned. “But I want her set aside come mid-September at the latest. We can get her a job in a library or some such in one of the northern towns easily enough, and a harsh winter will help persuade her to find someone else to keep her warm, I expect.” Klaus nodded in satisfaction and strode out of the room. Gil realized that his mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap. He felt a slight tug on his pant leg, and looked down to see Zoing staring at him with concern.

“Ugettagurl?” Zoing inquired.

“You heard that! He thinks I hired Miss Clay because I’m… because she…” Words failed him and he flailed his arms wildly until another memory surfaced. “AND he’s talking about marrying me off! Most of those stupid princesses have trouble remembering their own name!” He slumped in place. “This couldn’t get any worse.”

A brawny arm snaked around Gil’s neck and jerked him back. “Nonsense!” Othar chuckled. “The Baron could find out about your actual taste in women. Now if I were to suggest a side trip to the Island of the Monkey Girls—”

Effortlessly, Gil reached back and Othar found himself being slammed to the floor. Gil stood over him and said conversationally, “I really hate you.” With that he aimed a vicious kick that drove Othar’s head into the floor hard enough to cause the giant man to go limp. A gasp from the doorway caused Gil to spin about. Agatha, flanked by a couple of the Lackya and Mr. Rovainen, stared back at him.

She nervously licked her lips. “They… they’re here for Othar,” she whispered.