Agatha H. and the Airship City

Gil felt his rage dissipate. He glanced down at the unconscious man at his feet, noted the bruise which was already coloring the side of his face, and a feeling of embarrassment swept over him. He stepped forward. “Miss Clay, I should—”

Agatha’s expression was wooden, but she flinched slightly as his hand approached. Gil froze. His face darkened and he turned away, gesturing dismissively at Othar. “Clean this up.”

“Yes, ‘Master.’” Agatha intoned.

Again Gil froze, but it was only momentary. Without looking back, he strode from the room and pulled the great metal door closed behind him.

The others released a gust of breath. Wordlessly, the Lackya bent down and seemingly without effort, hoisted the unconscious Othar up and began to haul him away. Agatha stood and stared at the door through which Gil had departed. Mr. Rovainen, having directed the Lackya where to take their charge, turned to the troubled girl.

“He just struck him. Kicked him when he was down,” she whispered. Mr. Rovainen nodded approvingly, but Agatha failed to notice. “I was just starting to like him. But he… he can be so horrible.”

Mr. Rovainen’s voice rasped from beneath the bandages on his face, “Will you… leave his employ?”

“Yes!” Confusion crossed Agatha’s face. “I mean—No. I… I don’t…”A bizarre sound that Agatha realized was Mr. Rovainen’s attempt at a chuckle, filled the air.

The smaller man shook his head. “It is part of the power of the gifted. Those around them wish to aid them. To… serve them. Even when we know them to be monsters.” Within his enormous coat, he suddenly shivered, stopping himself with a jerk.

Agatha nodded slowly. “Must he be a… monster?”

Mr. Rovainen shrugged. “With that one, it is too soon to tell. The best thing we can do is advise them. Try to influence them.” He glanced down and casually patted Agatha’s rump. “You, at least, have methods of persuasion at your disposal that I do not.” Again he chuckled, but it was cut off sharply by Agatha grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him forward.

“You disgusting little man,” she snarled. “Don’t you have something you should be doing? Somewhere else?”

The harmonics in Agatha’s voice caused Mr. Rovainen to flinch, and he gasped out a feeble, “Yes.”

With that, Agatha flung him against the nearest wall and said through clenched teeth, “Then go do it!”

For a moment, Rovainen resisted, then caught Agatha’s eye, and with a whimper, he spun and loped off with a muttered, “Yes, Mistress.”

Agatha stood until he was out of sight, and then stalked back to the dorm to take a shower.

Later, around the dinner table, Agatha regaled the others with the events of the day.

After she was finished, Sleipnir added a few castle-grown strawberries to her dish of rommegrot, and frowned. “Othar Tryggvassen. Are you sure you got the name right?”

Agatha nodded. “I heard both the Baron and Gil say it.”

Sleipnir looked pensive. “I can’t believe it’s the same person. Othar Tryggvassen is a hero. We’ve all heard of him. Theo even has some of the new books about him. He hides them under his bed.”

Theo choked on a cup of tea. “How did you—?”

“I found them when I was looking for my shoes.” Theo blushed. The others looked interested.

The mood was altered by Zulenna standing and declaring, “If the Baron has confined him, he must have just cause, books or no. You shouldn’t believe everything you read. Anyone can say they’re a ‘hero.’”

Nicodeamus raised an eyebrow. “I’d say it has to do with how a person acts, wouldn’t you?”

Zulenna shrugged dismissively. “I suppose some people would allow themselves to be rescued by just anybody.” Nicodeamus rolled his eyes. Agatha also stood up.

“Where are you off to?” Sleipnir asked.

“I have some letters to write. There are people in Beetleburg who might have news of my parents.”

Sleipnir noticed the dish that Agatha was loading up. Agatha shrugged. “Writing letters. Hard work.”

“For some of us,” Zulenna said to no one in particular. Without a word, Agatha straightened up and walked back to her room and very carefully closed the door. She then leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and took a deep, slow breath. “Cat?” she whispered.

“My name is Krosp,” said a voice from atop an armoire. Gracefully, the cat leapt to the floor where Agatha had placed the dish. “What’s for dinner?”

“Fish.”

Krosp sat on his haunches and gave her a thumbs up. He then reached out for the linen napkin, and tied it around his neck. Satisfied it was in place, he buried his nose in the food and began devouring it. Agatha watched this all with fascination.

“So, what are you?” she inquired when Krosp came up for air.

“I’m a construct. A cat with human intelligence. No milk?”

Agatha shook her head. “I didn’t think of it. Sorry.”

Krosp shrugged and again attacked his plate. Within minutes it was clean. He sighed, sat back, and daintily dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. “Anyway, I was declared a failure and was ‘scheduled to be terminated,’ but I escaped.”

“A failure? But you sound pretty intelligent to me.”

“I hid that. Which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake. But the intelligence wasn’t the point.”

Agatha looked confused. “Then what—?”

Krosp held up a paw. “I’m the Emperor of all cats. Think about it. Cats can go anywhere. They’re invisible. Nobody looks at them twice. Imagine if you could order them around. If you could use them as spies, messengers, saboteurs. Well, you tell me what to have them do, and I can give them their orders.”

Agatha nodded, impressed, then she saw Krosp’s slumped shoulders. “It didn’t work,” she guessed.

“Oh, it worked perfectly. I’m the highest-ranking cat there is. They all listen to me.”

“Then why—?”

Krosp whirled, his fur a-bristle, “Because they’re cats! They’re animals! They can’t grasp complex concepts! Their attention span can be measured in microseconds! Even if I can get them to understand what I want, they’re only under my command until they fall asleep, or see something move, or blink! It was a moronic idea!” He collapsed into a small, dejected shape on the bed. “Sometimes I think I was supposed to be killed because I was too embarrassing to live.”

Agatha sat down next to him. “I understand. I feel like that a lot.”

Krosp looked up. “You do?”

Agatha nodded. “I… I want to make things. I see them in my head—but they never work! I got headaches! I can’t concentrate! I feel so useless sometimes. Why am I like this? I must be good for something, but I feel like my head is full of junk! I can’t do anything useful!”

Krosp blinked. “You got me something to eat.”

Agatha looked at him for a moment and then slumped over onto her side. “Oh of course. I see. My destiny is to serve the King of the cats.”

The effect of these words upon Krosp were electric. Thoughts raced through his head, and then a grim resolution filled his face and he nodded once. With great gravitas, he stood and placed his right paw upon Agatha’s forehead. “I accept your fealty,” he said. “Next time, don’t forget the milk.” He straightened and looked at her seriously. “Now we have to figure out how to escape.”

Agatha sat up. “Escape? From what?”

“From the Baron. I can live here, but you couldn’t. Not safely.”

“What are you talking about?”

Krosp looked at her. “You placed yourself in my service. You’re my responsibility now. I can’t guarantee your safety here, so we have to leave.”