Фил Фоглио - Agatha H. and the Siege of Mechanicsburg

She stared intently at a small electronic device that was sitting on the bench before her. She selected a large monkey wrench and, with a fluid movement, smashed the device sharply and precisely, causing the case to disintegrate without damaging the components inside. With a satisfied nod, she picked them up and began inserting them into the end of the brass tube. “We’ll have to leave notes for the others. They’re smart, and Theo and Sleipnir care about Von Pinn too, I imagine. Once they find their way back here, they should be able to get started on her without us.”

Agatha turned to face them. Idly, she swung the copper and brass wand through the air, testing its weight. “Our first priority is repairing the Castle.” She pointed to a small collection of equipment piled up on a bench. “I’ve gathered what I think I’ll need to transfer the part of its consciousness that’s in Otilia’s body back into its main system.” She looked over to the shattered hulk of the Muse. “That’s assuming we can find a place to hook you up . . . ”

The clank jerked its head up. “I-I can show/guide you. But even with the four of you, you have t-t-too many/much equipment. I am too large and heavy. To transport this/me/me/me alone will require—”

As the Muse was talking, Agatha snapped a switch on the wand. It sparked to life and a crackling bolt of energy burned between the points of the hook. With a deft swing, Agatha sliced the Muse’s head cleanly off and caught it before it hit the ground. She turned to the others. “I have that covered. Any other problems?”

In the shocked silence there was a burst of static and then the head tucked underneath her arm spoke. “N-n-no. We are good.”

The great flying armada that accompanied Castle Wulfenbach was slowly regrouping. Mechanicsburg’s newly reactivated Torchmen clanks had driven it away like a swarm of bees fighting off an invasion of wasps. It now hovered two-and-a-half leagues8 to the north of the town as it saw to its reorganization and repair.

A squadron of damaged ships flashed a departure signal, then peeled off towards the already overtaxed repair yards at Sturmhalten. Other ships were covered with swarms of rigger-rats, busy replacing canvas or repairing hulls even as they hung at dizzying heights above the ground.

Aboard one small, unobtrusive vessel, an inner door burst open. The occupants of the room, who had been examining a large map of the town and its surroundings, leaped in surprise. One produced a knife, seemingly from thin air.

In the doorway stood Boris Dolokhov, second in command to Baron Wulfenbach and the man currently running the Empire of the Pax Transylvania while its master recuperated in hospital. Boris had a reputation as being perennially annoyed, but the man who stood framed in the doorway now radiated a controlled fury that had those who saw him, seasoned fighters all, slowly rising to their feet and flexing their claws. Boris’s normally fastidious appearance was marred by several bruises on his face and one of his four arms hung limp. His suit was tattered and looked as though he had been in a fight. Several fights.

General Khrizhan, who was easily the most level-headed of the three Jдgermonster generals, gave him a wary nod. “Gospodin Dolokhov. How did hyu find us?”

Boris removed a handkerchief from an inner pocket and delicately dabbed it at his lip. “Your messenger told me.”

The three generals glanced at each other. Khrizhan raised his chin defensively. “He vould not.”

The Baron had been declared hors de combat, and Boris was in the process of coordinating the current situation vis-a-vis Mechanicsburg. There had been a sudden disruption at the door, and a Jдgermonster officer had sauntered in. “Hey dere, Meester Boris bug man!”

Boris swore under his breath. Then a sudden realization made him frown. “Wait a minute . . . ” The Jдgers had been created by the Heterodynes. Because of this, the news of Agatha’s existence had been carefully kept from them. In advance of the empire’s sally into this neighborhood, every Jдgermonster that served the empire had been plausibly dispatched to far-flung locations. He flipped through a stack of troop movement reports. “What are you even doing here? All of you Jдgers are supposed to be up north.”

The Jдger carefully collected a stack of paperwork, then sat on it. “Heh. Yez, vell, sveethot, ve gots a message for hyu.” He smiled at Boris. “Ve quit.”

Boris carefully adjusted his pince-nez. “I don’t have time for jokes.”

The Jдger shrugged insouciantly. “No joke, sport. Iz a message direct from de generals.”

“Obviously I need to talk to them. Where are they?”

The Jдger laughed uproariously. “Vell dey ain’t got time to vaste talkin’ to hyu.” He unwound himself from his chair and leaned over to gently pat Boris’s cheek. “Iz hyu disappointed ve ain’t gunna be around anymore?” He smiled toothily. “Tell hyu vat. Hy let hyu get vun punch in to treasure in hyu old age.” He then cracked his knuckles. “Or ven hyu vakes op.”

Without breaking eye contact, Boris dragged his fourth arm into view. Grasped firmly in his hand was a severely beaten and battered Jдger, whom he allowed to drop with a thud to the deck. “Oh,” he allowed, “not right away . . . ”

The generals stared down in shock until Zog, the oldest, threw his head back with a roar of delighted laughter. He tossed the knife in his hand upwards with a flourish, and it performed a delicate pirouette before sliding cleanly into the scabbard at his hip. “Hyu haz earned the right to a tok.” He turned to the astonished Khrizhan and smacked him on the arm. “Alexi! Get some tea for our guest.” He reached back and spun a chair into place at their table. “Zo tok.”

As the injured Jдger was taken away, Boris nodded, took a seat, and fastidiously adjusted his cuffs. A tall glass of tea was quietly set down before him. Zog sat opposite and studied him openly. In his opinion, Boris was under a great deal of stress. More so than usual. The man did periodically take over the reins of the Baron’s empire without trouble, but these were, unquestionably, extraordinary times.

Boris took a deep breath in through his nose. “You say you are leaving the Baron’s service.”

Zog nodded. “Dere iz a Heterodyne. Dot vos the contingency.”

“She is not official. She has not taken the Castle. The Doom Bell has not rung.”

Zog ground his teeth together in annoyance. “Feh! Technicalities! Ennyvay, ve half not entered de town, yah?”

Boris rolled his eyes. “You mean your troops haven’t climbed up a set of stairs!”

Zog was unpleasantly surprised. “Oho!” He blustered, “Vot hyu—”

He was interrupted by Boris slamming two of his hands on the table. “No! Nonono! We cannot fight! Not now!” He looked at the other generals. “We need you. The empire needs you.”

Zog waved a hand dismissively. “De Baron haz gots lots of troops. Thousands.” He smiled. “Sum ov dem might even gif us a goot fight.”

To his disappointment, Boris did not rise to the bait, but nodded seriously instead. “Granted. But everyone knows that the Jдgers serve the House of Heterodyne. If you acknowledge this girl prematurely, it could fuel trouble all over Europa.”

Zog shrugged and scratched at his chin. “Yah, dot’s true. Could be ve’s in for goot times. Lotsa fightin’. Lotsa fun.”

Boris folded his arms. “Oh really? And how will your new Heterodyne like that sort of chaos—if she takes after her father and uncle?”

Zog looked like he had bitten into a particularly bitter bug. He glanced at his compatriots. General Goomblast considered this. “Her papa?” He wiggled a hand to indicate that it was an open question. Then he sighed, “But she does seem more like her oncle den her papa, yah?”