you don’t take me very seriously. That would be a mistake. You
The grin turned into a snarl and Wooster found himself being hoisted into the air by his shirt. “When I come to her, she will be safe, unharmed, and free. Because I definitely
Wooster desperately tried to see some trace of the man he thought he’d come to know over the last three years. What he could see was not reassuring. “You... you couldn’t!”
“Couldn’t?!” screamed Gilgamesh. “
Again Gil grinned. This was even worse than him yelling. “And now... Now I
“Yes!” Screamed a terrified Wooster. “Oh God, yes! Yes, Master!”
Gil released him and he fell over backwards, but was instantly scrabbling back up.
“Much better,” Gil purred. He flung the travel bag at Wooster who clumsily caught it. “She is in, or near, Balan’s Gap. Probably in Sturmhalten Castle. Take my flyer.”
After Agatha had left, Gil had rebuilt the bizarre little heavier-than-air craft. Wooster had, out of curiosity, watched him closely enough to be able to fly it, but the basic concept had been so outlandish that he hadn’t even bothered to pass the plans back to England.
“Watch out for the new Prince, Tarvek Sturmvarous. Around him, trust nothing you think you see.” Gil clamped an iron hand on Ardsley’s shoulder, checking his flight. “Do not fail me, Wooster. For if you do...”
“I won’t, sir,” the shaken man gasped. Gil smiled and released him. Wooster bolted down the corridor and out of sight.
As soon as he disappeared, Gil sagged against the doorframe. A deep sigh escaped him. “Goodbye, Ardsley,” he whispered. “I’ll really miss you.”
He turned back to the room, and addressed the watchers who had observed everything. “Well,” he said reassuringly, “I’ve done all I can. It should be enough. My sources say that he’s one of Britain’s finest agents.”
“Thhh...” Gil’s eyebrows arced in surprise. He stepped closer. From the medical slabs where they lay, cocooned within an intricate webwork of medical equipment, a rebuilt Adam and Lilith Clay looked at him with eyes that, although drugged, showed that they were aware of their surroundings.
Adam tried again. His new vocal cords rattling from deep within his patched throat. “—Thhank hhyuu.”
Gil settled down and patted Adam’s arm. “Thank me when she’s safe.”
CHAPTER 10
SCENE; THE SEWERS BENEATH PARIS.
KLAUS; I can’t stand this anymore! It’s dark! It stinks! It’s wet, and there are monsters!
BILL; Buck up, old man! At least fighting the monsters keeps us warm!
KLAUS; You cannot imagine how much I hate you.
The Empire was going to war.
In one of the larger docking bays of Castle Wulfenbach, a fleet of the Baron’s heavy cruisers prepared for embarkation. The vast man-made cavern was filled with sound.
On a platform high overhead, surrounded by amplification horns, one of the Castle’s marching bands kept people’s feet moving quickly, drums and glockenspiels set the pace, as the brass filled the air with jaunty and patriotic marches.
Teams of longshoremen hoisted containers of food, fuel and ammunition. Riggermen swarmed over the exterior of the ships, freely slathering sealant upon the envelopes, checking cables, and testing exterior lights. Gasmen were checking gauges and, with a series of distinctive pops, disconnecting the gigantic rubberized canvas hoses that looped upwards towards the unseen tanks and pumps that supplied them.
A squad of overalled mechanics finished bolting down the cowling of one of the great engines and grinning, all three of them used their wrenches to beat out the traditional “Good to go” rhythm on the nearest support strut. A flagman on a nearby platform acknowledged their signal, waved them off, and then with a snap of his flags, relayed the availability of the engine to the ship’s Chief Engineer. Within thirty seconds, the engine coughed, and with an escalating whine, the six-meter-tall propeller began to slowly turn as the motor went through its warm-up sequence. The large steel cables holding the great airship in place gave a groan, and a midshipman nervously checked the gauges on his quick-release buckle.
The metal decks thundered to the sound of hundreds of soldiers, all armed with rifles and assorted equipment being marched aboard. A pair of lieutenant-engineers blew their infamous three-toned whistles, and an aisle magically cleared to allow a squad of the tall brass fighting clanks, their fearsome machine cannons held at the ready, their tall hats, with red shakos newly brushed, to stride by in perfect lockstep with a hiss and a well oiled boom.
A lift whined, and from the shadows of the cavernous ceiling, a freight platform descended. Crowded around its edge was an unfamiliar squad of soldiers garbed in peculiar facemasks and long green cloaks. At the center of the platform was a stack of cages. From within could be heard high pitched growling and the occasional yip.
Unicycle messengers darted everywhere, their tin whistles piping a warning, usually followed by cursing and threats as they spun past within millimeters of the soldiers and crewmen.
One in particular shot out from between a pair of the tall brass clanks, leapt off his machine and snagged it in midair as he skidded to a halt centimeters away from Captain Bangladesh DuPree. As he stopped, the lad simultaneously pulled a flimsy envelope from the leather satchel over his shoulder and politely tucked his pillbox hat under his arm. Everyone was polite around Captain DuPree.
Bangladesh was the center of a small crowd of people vying for her attention. Those who only heard about the Captain’s more egregious aspects would have been nonplussed. Despite the multitude of voices, she dealt with the cacophony around her, answering questions, signing papers, and receiving reports with an easy-going smile and a calm efficiency.
A radiohead, with its diminutive driver perched upon its broad shoulders, lumbered up carrying Bangladesh’s air chest. She signed for it with a flourish and a pair of airshipmen gingerly hoisted it up and carried it onboard the dirigible.
Through this controlled chaos came the Baron’s secretary. DuPree and Boris had a professional understanding. Boris disapproved of DuPree because her methods, while undeniably effective, were unnecessarily messy. But he acknowledged that she was an effective tool.
In the spirit of fairness, it should be pointed out that, when the subject came up, Bangladesh freely admitted that she also thought of Boris as a tool.
Mostly, they just tried to avoid each other.
Boris’ presence here was unexpected. Whenever Klaus came along on a deployment, he turned over his considerable executive powers to his secretary. Boris usually wasted no time in using these powers to deal with the pressing bureaucratic business of the Empire without having to spend time waylaying the Baron.
“Hey, Boris!” she called out gaily. “Where is Klaus hiding? Tell his exalted crankiness that we are almost ready to ship out.”
Outwardly, Boris ignored this over-familiarity, but with satisfaction, DuPree noted the small twitch in his left
