Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess

months, and had been incommunicado to someone of Ardsley’s pay grade.

Wooster had seriously considered adding knock out drops to the young master’s next cup of tea, but the last time he had tried that, he’d awoken two days later with a headache and a red rubber clown nose stuck to his face. The students aboard the Castle took their pranking seriously, and incompetence was harshly mocked.

Wooster sighed. “Very good, sir. Perhaps you’ll actually manage to damage yourself this time.”

He was startled when Gil looked directly at him and growled. “And who would care if I did?”

The act of speaking seemed to unlock something within him, and he slumped forward in his chair.

“All of the other students have either run off or got shipped back home. My father’s been locked in his lab for the last few months.” He looked up, and Wooster saw how despondent the young man before him was.

“I can’t leave, of course. I’ve got no one to talk to. I can’t do anything.” He looked at the sparking heap of clank. “Can’t do anything important, anyway.”

Ardsley was at a loss. He had never seen Gilgamesh like this. Even when he had first been revealed to the Fifty Families and the world at large, he had seemed to regard the rash of subsequent assassination attempts as an exciting challenge, and had confided to Ardsley that, “He didn’t take it personally.”

“You still have me, sir,” he ventured.

Gil glared at him fiercely enough that Wooster stepped back in alarm. “You? You’re only here—” With a jerk, Gil stopped himself. He dropped his head and a small chuckle escaped him. Wooster was extremely nervous now. This was one of those situations where prolonged laughter would be a reasonable cause to evacuate the dirigible. But when Gil looked back up, Ardsley relaxed. Gil looked calmer than he had in days.

“I’m sorry, Wooster.” He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Ardsley could see the muscles on his arms start to relax. “I know I must make your work difficult for you.” Ardsley gave a noncommittal shrug.

Gil took a deep pull from his mug and rotated his neck, producing a disquieting series of pops and crackles. “And I do appreciate having you here. Having someone I can trust...”

This was getting embarrassing, for a variety of reasons. Ardsley briskly picked up the pot and refilled Gilgamesh’s mug. “Of course you do, sir.” From long experience, Gil knew to hold his mug motionless as Ardsley efficiently topped it off with just the right amount of cream and sugar to maintain his preferred taste. “I know how you take your tea.”

Gil rolled his eyes at this, but said nothing as he sipped. Wooster took a few extra seconds to neatly wipe down his spoons. He spoke carefully. “And I am concerned for you, sir. Ever since... Miss Agatha died...” Gil had closed his eyes now. “I had not realized that the two of you were so... close.”

This was the first time he’d felt comfortable enough to broach the subject. The servants aboard the castle had been buzzing about it for weeks, of course. Even while in the infirmary, Captain DuPree had laughed about it within everyone’s hearing. Wooster had been unsure about what aspect of it the Captain had found funnier, the idea that Gil had been knocked out by his fiancee, or that he had thought he’d had a fiancee in the first place.

Ardsley had met Gilgamesh while they were both students in Paris. Thus, he was aware of the unusual history that the Captain and Gilgamesh shared[55].

It was only after a rather brutal sparring session (where Gil had taken her down in two out of three falls), that the Captain had agreed to stop talking about it altogether.

Gil looked sad. “We weren’t,” he admitted. “But we would have been.” He looked over at Wooster and impatiently waved him over to another chair. Ardsley knew better to argue when Gil was in one of these moods. He sat, and because it was expected, poured himself a mug of tea. While he did this, Gil idly balanced his full mug on his index finger. As he talked, he absent-mindedly bounced it from finger to finger. Wooster was almost certain that this was just something Gil did to keep his hands busy, and not in fact, meant to terrify him. This didn’t help.

“Do you know,” Gil volunteered, “I had resigned myself to bachelorhood?”

Wooster almost choked on his tea at this. The dynastic implications of this simple statement could shake Europa. He was also concerned as a friend. “Don’t be absurd. You’re still young.”

Gil looked down from the great height of his twenty-two years and rolled his eyes.

Wooster frowned, “And, if you’ll forgive me, sir—in Paris, you had quite the reputation for being able to secure the company of...” Wooster tried to smile innocently, “any number of young ladies[56].”

Gil looked at him evenly. “Yes, I’ll never hear the end of that.” He paused. “Ardsley, do you know how boring it is to be with someone who doesn’t understand a thing you’re talking about?”

Ardsley flashed back to a rather one-sided conversation he’d had with the newest scullery maid, fresh from the countryside, about the proper placement of various forks. It had not ended well. “I believe I do, sir.”

Gil looked him in the eye. “That’s how I feel all the time.” He paused. “I’d always hoped I’d find—not just someone to marry—but a real partner. I’d read about female Sparks all my life, but even in Paris—” he shook his head in disgust, “Paris, for pity’s sake, forget about finding a female Spark, or any girl I could just really talk to. About things I was working on, or ideas, or—”

Gil ran down at this point and sat slumped forward for several moments. Then he slowly sat back, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. “But Miss Clay—” he grimaced, “Or Heterodyne, or whatever... she had The Spark.” He looked at Wooster a touch defensively. “And she liked me. She did.” He closed his eyes. “And I liked her.”

Wooster felt that he should state the obvious. “She ran away, after giving you a slight concussion.”

Gil shrugged. “I’m not saying it would have been an easy courtship. But I believe —”

They were interrupted by the far door being slammed open. A high-pitched squeal announced the arrival of Zoing. The miniscule construct waved its blue claws frantically from within its concealing coat.

From long practice, Ardsley could sometimes actually understand parts of what the excitable creature said, but not this time. It was hooting and piping so quickly that he was completely at sea.

Gil however, listened intently and nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent, Zoing, well done.” He turned to Ardsley and a genuine grin crossed his face. “Time to work!”

Without pause, he followed Zoing out the door. Hurriedly, a concerned Wooster followed. “Seriously?” he demanded as he tried to keep up with Gil’s long strides. “Between marathon sessions in your lab, and your excessive dueling with assorted monstrosities, you’re already driving yourself to an early grave!”

They passed a large boiler that had several red lights blinking ominously across its front. As he passed, Gil casually flipped two switches and gave the side a thump. All the lights changed to green. “Well I certainly can’t stop now,” he said reasonably. “The next few days will be critical. Should I let them die just so I can get some sleep?”

Wooster frowned. “If your father finds out that you have them—”

“I don’t give a damn!” Gil interrupted fiercely. “And you should have thought of that before you helped me hide them.”

Wooster grimaced. He’d thought about little else for days. Gil continued, “Besides, with any luck, we’ll be done and have them out of here before he even—”

“Master Gilgamesh! The Baron demands that you attend him! Now!” Expressions of shock and guilt raced across Gil’s face before he damped them down and smoothly turned to face the Lakya that had appeared at the end of the hallway.

He was not reassured by the creature’s appearance. Ever since Agatha’s escape and death, the Baron had been subtly dispersing the Jagermonsters throughout the vast Wulfenbach Empire. As a result, the Lakya had been given more and more of the day-to-day duties that the Jagers had been entrusted with aboard the castle. This had resulted in an increased superciliousness amongst the dapper constructs.

There was no evidence of that now. The Lakya before Gil looked almost frantic, and was obsessively rubbing his hands together in a frantic dry washing motion that any casual observer of the footmen would have known was only a few steps below actual panic.

Gil tried to marshal his thoughts. “But—”

The hand washing increased in intensity. “Now! Right now!” The Lakya chattered its teeth together. “I have never seen him so angry!”

Gil tried again. “Um...with me?”