CHAPTER 9

Q: Why does the Heterodyne prefer the company of Jägermonsters to that of hunting hounds?

A: Because a hound feels shame when it does something wrong.

—A “witticism” found scrawled within the margins of the original manuscript of Anatole du Lac’s Chronicles of the Court of the Storm King (Property of The Storm King Collection of the British Museum)

Gil’s ironically designated “flying machine” fell screaming from the bottom of Castle Wulfenbach and plummeted towards the mountains ringing the Valley of the Heterodynes. Technically, it must be acknowledged that the machine itself fell silently, with the aforementioned screaming being supplied by Tarvek, who was hammering at an unresponsive control panel. Othar peered at the wings, which gave a desultory flap. “It is working,” he observed thoughtfully.

“But not enough!” Tarvek stared at him wild-eyed. “We’re still falling!”

“Then panic is a luxury we cannot afford.”

Othar’s calm logic brought Tarvek to his senses. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m positively serene. Now, do you know anything about this machine?”

Othar frowned. “Don’t you?”

“No! I wouldn’t voluntarily go near a thing like this with a three-meter pole! There’s no gasbag! It . . . it’s like some giant, creepy flapping bug!”

Othar put his hands on his hips. “That’s serene, is it?”

“I really don’t like flying!”

“Oh, very well,” Othar said as he sighed. “Pay attention.” Which was when Captain Vole landed on Othar’s head feet first, slamming him to the deck.

“Got heem,” he crowed. “Pretty schneeky, yah?”

Tarvek felt his sanity crumbling—and not in a good way. “He was the person Wulfenbach said could get us out of this!”

A moue of worry was beginning to pucker Vole’s face when an enormous fist sank into his stomach, doubling him over. “Ho ho!” Othar laughed as he bounced back to his feet. “You won’t take me down that easily, evildoer!”

He doesn’t have to, Tarvek thought to himself, gravity is doing it for him. He suddenly realized the shackle binding the two of them together was gone. “How—?”

“To a Gentleman of Adventure, chains only exist as a manifestation of earthly desire. Therefore—”

This philosophical revelation was cut short by Vole inserting his fist between Othar’s jaws. “Peh! Hyu goody two—shoes types iz all vit de beeg mouths. Shot dem op, end hyu go down just fine!”

Tarvek glanced over the side and saw this was evidently correct. “Stop hitting each other,” he pleaded.

Othar spat out a claw and frowned as he delivered a right cross that flattened one side of Vole’s head. “I think not, creature of evil.”

Tarvek stared at the two of them whaling away at each other and his face twitched. “Fine! Don’t let me bother you!” He spun back to the engine, slammed open the access panel, and peered within. “Crude,” he sneered. “All power and no finesse . . . in a sort of brilliant way . . . a crude, lowlife, debauched way— Ah-ha! Wrench!”

He looked around and saw Vole about to bring a wrench down on Othar’s skull. He deftly plucked it from the Jäger’s grip. “Thank you.” This so startled Vole that Othar was able to uncoil with an uppercut so strong it added several centimeters to Vole’s height before he collapsed, unconscious.

Othar turned, dusting his hands, saying: “Now, about this falling business—” just as Tarvek pulled the starter cord and the engine howled to life.

The wings blurred and the machine surged forward. It bounced off the side of the mountain and tumbled through the air. The two men fought the controls and the machine stabilized in time to careen through the upper branches of several of the taller trees. It broke through into the cleared space surrounding the town and was instantly fired on by Wulfenbach troops, who assumed it was a Heterodyne device, as well as by the town’s defenders, who identified it as some sort of Wulfenbach deviltry. An early hit to the rear stabilizers actually proved to be beneficial as it caused the ship to jink and lurch in such a way the subsequent barrage mostly whistled harmlessly past with only the occasional hit.

It was the last of these that finally sent the machine tumbling from the sky to within the town walls. It slammed into the steeply pitched copper-tiled roof of the Lightning Futures Exchange¹¹⁹ and came to a halt. Tarvek just had time to breathe a shaky sigh of relief before the machine began to slide down the roof. It tipped off into space and began to drop the four stories to the ground below. Tarvek again desperately pulled the starter cord—for the final time, as it snapped off in his hand. However, this was enough to rouse the wings to a final crescendo of effort that arrested the machine’s fall sufficiently to deposit them gently on the cobbled square, at which point the wings ripped free and careened about, smashing windows, destroying market stalls, and raising a great cloud of dust before coming to rest in a fountain where they lay at such an angle that the water began to flow out across the pavement.

Aboard the craft, Tarvek and Othar slowly raised their heads and looked about. When they saw they were provisionally safe, Othar stood tall and clapped Tarvek on the back. “Say,” he said appreciatively, “you’re better at this than I’d thought!” He hauled Tarvek to his feet. “We’ll make a proper hero out of you yet, young villain!”

“I hate, hate, hate flying,” Tarvek groaned. He had yanked his shoulder out from under Other’s hand and tentatively slid a leg up on top of the machine’s gunwale, when a voice yelled from behind them.

“Halt!” They turned to see several members of the Mechanicsburg Defense Force¹²⁰ approaching cautiously, rifles leveled. Their leader sat astride a compact brass theropod of some sort that was badly in need of polishing. He spoke firmly, but it was obvious he was nervous. “Surrender and you’ll be taken safely into custody until we can send you back to your Baron. Resist and we’ll shoot!”

Othar gave a great bark of laughter and posed dramatically. “Never fear, good people! I am no agent of Wulfenbach. I am Othar Tryggvassen—Gentleman Adventurer!”

Tarvek rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure, that’ll sway them.” Then he looked at the townspeople, and his surety faltered. All of them were now staring at the two of them with awe in their eyes.

“The Othar?” the leader asked. “We’ll take you to the Lady Heterodyne right away!”

One of the townspeople nudged the other. “I’ll bet she’ll be thrilled!”

“Of course she will,” Othar breezily assured them. He then reached back into the airship. “Oh, and you’ll want to dispose of this.” He hauled a comatose and battered Vole into view.

The townspeople gasped and then stared at Othar with even more respect. “Holy Katzenjammer,” the leader muttered. He then turned to the youngest man beside him. “Run to the yards. Get a monster wagon¹²¹ over here. On the double!”

One of the soldiers noticed Tarvek and his face fell in disappointment. “Huh. I always heard that Othar Tryggvassen had these cool, spunky girl sidekicks.”

Tarvek’s nostrils flared in barely contained rage. “I am not this oaf’s sidekick, I am—” Tarvek suddenly realized that claiming to be the Storm King, hereditary enemy of the Heterodynes, might not be the most politic of declarations at this time. He quickly switched gears. “I am the chief political advisor to your Lady Heterodyne!”

The members of the Defense Force glanced at each other. “We’ll let her decide that,” the leader pronounced and, after Othar had nonchalantly slung the still-inert Vole, over his shoulder, the squad formed around them, and off they marched.

It was one of the larger balconies off of the eastern side of Castle Heterodyne, affording a fine view of the Greens, the large park that abutted the grounds of the Great Hospital. This is not to say the rest of the town was without visual interest, as a fair amount of it appeared to be either burning or involved in some sort of fighting. However, in the opinion of the observers, that was somebody else’s problem at the moment.

They were a collection of ex-prisoners, who were still marveling at the fact they were free and in no more danger of their heads exploding at any given moment than any other citizen of Mechanicsburg. An apparent invasion was of academic interest at best.

Squinaldo, a dark-skinned man adorned with disturbing tattoos, pulled an iron pot out of a battered chimeneya, sniffed the contents, gave a grunt of satisfaction, and poured out a dollop of steaming liquid into the odd assortment of mugs and cups that had been collected. He then passed them out. “Heya,” he declared, “it ain’t much, but it’s hot!”

Professor Mittelmind snagged a cup with a grin. “Much thanks! Your concoctions are always a treat.”

He raised the cup to his lips, but Squinaldo peremptorily raised a hand. “Hoy! Hold on.” Mittelmind raised his eyebrows. “Wait for everybody else.” The professor recognized the importance of the occasion and, soon enough, all had some sort of drink container in hand. Squinaldo raised his mug on high. “To the Lady Heterodyne,” he shouted. “Once again, we are free!”

“Huzzah,” the others cheered before downing their drinks.

“Delicious,” Mittelmind declared. He licked his lips. “And it isn’t even poisoned.”

Squinaldo sniffed and swirled his drink in his mug. “I am a new man.”

Sanaa vaulted up onto the balustrade, swung her feet out into empty space and just basked in the sunlight. Professor Mezzasalma clacked up beside her, rested his elbows on the stones, and dreamily rubbed his neck where the hated collar had recently been. Sanaa glanced at him. Professor Mezzasalma had been one of the more stable prisoners and had always treated newcomers well. She was pleased he had made it out alive. “So, what are your plans, Professor?”

Mezzasalma opened his eyes in surprise and considered this. His metallic feet tapped out the quick quadrille that indicated he was thinking. “To tell you the truth, I am not sure,” he said slowly. He glanced over at Mittelmind and Squinaldo. The older man was theatrically clutching at his throat and staggering about, much to the amusement of the others. He smiled. “I never really thought I would get out of here.”

From the doorway, an excited voice called out, “Professor!” And a moment later, Mittelmind found himself embraced by a puppy-like Fräulein Snaug. “Astonishing,” he said with a laugh. “You’re still alive!”

“And you’re still a twisted mockery of science, sir!”

Mittelmind chuckled in delight and hoisted her into the air. “Sauce!” Behind her, Moloch stepped onto the balcony and set down a loaded toolbox with a sigh of relief.

Seeing him, Sanaa grimaced and hunched her shoulders. “Oh, geez,” she muttered. “It’s him.”

Mezzasalma looked at her with concern. “Is there a problem?”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Ugh. It’s that Moloch guy. From the kitchen? He’s just such a total spaz and it’s obvious that he’s stupid in love with me. He’s so ridiculously useless.”

Mezzasalma spent several seconds glancing back and forth making sure that Sanaa wasn’t joking. “You’re . . . we’re talking about Herr von Zinzer?”

The man under discussion now clapped his hands and signaled for attention. Instantly, every eye was on him. “Listen up, people. The Castle’s given me a map of the town’s defenses. Most of them are broken or disconnected, but it doesn’t sound like anything we can’t handle.”

Doctor Wrench spat and folded his arms. “Hey. What part of ‘free’ do you not understand? We’re done here.” He paused and looked up at the looming Castle face in resignation. “Or is the Castle gonna kill us anyway?” At this, the others looked up in trepidation.

Moloch had clearly been expecting this. “Nope. Me and the Castle talked this out. You are totally free to go.” The others stared at him. Wrench looked nonplussed. Moloch gave them a second to think about this. “And where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? Go work for the Wulfenbachs? That worked out real well for some of you already, didn’t it?” Many of them looked pensive. Moloch nodded. “Get back into piracy? Reopen that little back-alley resurrectionist business? Yeah, no.

“So I’ve been authorized to offer all of you a place here in Mechanicsburg.” They stared at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, this whole place is steeped in mad science crazy and there’s a new boss who’s going to have to do a whole bunch of rebuilding.”

Their gazes swiveled in unison out over the besieged town. “But they’re fighting the empire,” Squinaldo pointed out.

Moloch conceded the point. “Yeah, but here, even if the Baron wins, you’ll just be one of her minions. It won’t be your fault.”

There was sullenness on several faces. Moloch continued, “And I’m sure that, as you’re all experienced sparks, you’d have minions of your own.” There was now a guarded enthusiasm. “You’ll be paid, fed, and guaranteed housing . . . outside the Castle.” Mittelmind cleared his throat. Moloch rolled his eyes, and went on, “Which has promised not to kill any more of us for fun.” He took a deep breath. “So when this is over, I expect all of you to come back inside and help collect and bury the dead.”

The great construct R-79 sneered at this. “Bury the dead? That seems like a waste. Surely we could use them to—”

Moloch shocked everyone by striding over and smacking the behemoth upside the head. “NO!” R-79 stared at him, fury rising in his face. “You madboys can do whatever sick stuff you want on your own turf.” He pointed back within the Castle. “But any one of them could have been you or me! You got lucky and you’ll acknowledge that by treating the ones who didn’t get lucky with respect. Got it?”

R-79 stared down at the smaller man who met his gaze full on and unblinking. The giant relaxed and nodded. “For luck,” he rumbled. “Where we go first?”

Moloch nodded back and clapped him on the arm, as high up as he could reach. “Into town. There’s plenty of work everywhere.”

Without a word, the rest of the ex-prisoners began following Moloch. Sanaa realized her jaw was resting lightly on her chest. “Hmmm, yesss . . . ” Mezzasalma said with an amused drawl. “A total spaz. I can see how his attentions must be very embarrassing for you.”

Aboard Castle Wulfenbach, Gilgamesh slowly swam back to consciousness. There was an ache across his face that experience told him would be about the size of Bangladesh’s fist. There was an awful taste in his mouth. He was lying on a padded bench of some sort and—he opened his eyes and came face to face with a wasp weasel less than fifteen centimeters away. The two stared at each other, and then the weasel screamed.

Gil recoiled, smacking his head on the bench, and saw the now-thrashing weasel was being held in the iron grip of his father, who stood ominously over him, even more stony-faced than usual. “Ah,” he said in a leaden tone, “it is as I feared.” Only now Gil became aware there were others in the room: the military and governing elite who tended to congregate around his father in times of crisis. What was it now? Suddenly, the weasel lunged and its toothy jaws snapped closed mere centimeters from his face. The implications crashed in on Gil and he saw the sick judgment on all of their faces.

His father turned towards them. “There is no longer any doubt. The girl is clearly—”

“NO!” Gil leapt to his feet—or, rather, would have, if he hadn’t been chained by his ankles to the table. As a result, he crashed face-first to the floor at his father’s feet. He could imagine the pained expression of barely concealed embarrassment on the Baron’s face as his gigantic hand gently, but firmly, pulled him to his feet. “Please refrain from any more foolishness,” his father said in a low voice. “You will only be confined until I can give this problem my full attention.” He turned to a mixed squad of troopers and clanks. “Take him to the Red Level. Place him under airtight Code Five restraint.”

The lead clank’s head swiveled towards Gil and its lenses swiveled as it examined him. “Force parameters?”

“Try not to kill him,” Klaus said slowly, “but he must not be allowed to escape.” Gil found himself shocked. This was becoming deadly serious. The clanks closed in on him and steel hands fastened gently, but inexorably, on his wrists and neck. Only then did his father face him fully. “Gilgamesh, my son, you have my word: no matter what happens, I will do everything in my power to help you.” He turned away. “But now I must deal with the Heterodyne girl and her accomplices. They, at least, cannot be allowed to live.”

“Father, no! I’m not wasped! How can I be? Agatha doesn’t even have that technology. She couldn’t have wasped me!”

Klaus paused and turned back to him. Gil blinked. There was something in his father’s face . . . “She herself didn’t have to do it. You were infected before you even met her.”

Before the calm certainty of his father, Gil tried to take a step back, only to discover he could not. “I . . . no . . . ” He considered his words. “That’s not possible.” He stared into his father’s eyes. “Is it?”

Klaus continued to regard him even as he snapped his fingers and held open his hand. An uncharacteristically arrogant gesture was the observation that skittered through Gil’s mind before an aide placed a notebook bearing the Sturmvarous sigil on its embossed leather cover into his hand. He held it up. “These documents were found in a secret lab in Sturmhalten Castle. According to them, you were infected with a new strain of wasp designed to control sparks while you were in Paris.”

Gil shook his head. “Sturmvarous said that the spark wasps were untested—”

“I warned you against Sturmvarous years ago,” Klaus declared hotly. “He and that Heterodyne girl have played you for a fool!”

“But-but when could he have . . . ?”

“It was done through an agent. That family never does its own dirty work if they can help it. Someone you encountered serendipitously . . . ”

“Zola,” Gil whispered.

“This is my fault,” Klaus muttered. “I knew there were risks in sending you to Paris. They’d obviously been planning this for years.”

Gil thought back to his discussion with Zola inside Castle Heterodyne. “Longer, sir. Much longer, if correct.” Gil shook his head. “But you’re overlooking the fact that DuPree was in Paris at the same time. She was with Tarvek a lot more than I ever was. You said she was clean, and if they knew about me, they certainly wouldn’t have passed her up. It would have been easy.”

Klaus nodded. “An excellent point. She will no doubt provide valuable insight— if she lives.”

Gil felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “What do you mean, if—”

“She brought you to me and collapsed.” He looked at Gil questioningly. “She appears to have been poisoned.”

Gil desperately wished he was free enough that he could sit down. “Poisoned?” He shook his head. “No. Nothing in that formula should have done that.”

“Formula?” His father asked casually.

Gil continued, his mind grinding up to full speed. “And . . . and even if Sturmvarous’ people did do something to me, I cannot believe that Agatha—”

“Son!” The anguish in Klaus’ voice snapped Gil out of his reverie. “Listen to yourself! I understand you think you love this girl and I understand that you can’t help it. But she is more a child of the Mongfish family than a Heterodyne.” He paused. “Although, looking at the vast bulk of their history, the Heterodynes aren’t any better, really. Actually, they’re far, far worse. But your Agatha is her mother’s daughter and with that family, you can believe nothing.”

“But it’s absurd to think she could have planned all this! She was first brought here by mistake! We— you, father, you brought here! She was unconscious! She didn’t ask us to bring her here. She begged us to send her home. I’m supposed to be possessed? I’m supposed to be her thrall? She never told me to do anything!”

And standing there beside the Baron: Boris Dolokhov, a man possessed of an eidetic memory, started in shock. Yes, she had.

It had happened back in Beetleburg, when the Baron had stepped in to take the town away from the tyrant, Tarsus Beetle, who had been secretly experimenting with forbidden slaver wasp technology.¹²²

It had been the first time Boris—or the Wulfenbachs—had encountered Agatha. She had been employed as one of Beetle’s lab assistants, serving under the Doctors Merlot and Glassvitch, and had been present when the Baron had given his son an impromptu test, during the course of which, he had demanded the schematics to a particularly impenetrable device:

Merlot looked around, then quickly turned to Agatha. “The plans, Miss Clay! They were on the main board. Where did you put them?”

Agatha looked surprised. “Oh,” she said. “They’re in with—” She swung her attention to the storage room door in time to see a rivet pop out of one of the door’s straining cross braces. She swung back and smeared a grin across her face. “A—heh. They’re in the files in the storage room, Doctors. How about everyone goes and has a nice cup of tea while I dig them out?”

Gil strode forward and pushed her aside. “Bah! I’ll get them myself! I’m sure your pitiful filing system will be simple—” He turned the handle of the storage room door and yanked, even as Agatha shouted, “NOOOOOOO!”

Replaying the scene in his memory, by Boris’s reckoning, an argument could be made that Agatha’s initial suggestion alone (that they all retire for tea), should have been enough to trigger an obedience response from someone wasped. However, to be fair, she was nervous and hesitant. But when Gilgamesh had reached for the closet door, her scream of “No” had been full-throated and desperate. It should have frozen him in place without question. After almost twenty years of fighting revenants and those ensorcelled by the Other, Boris knew the mechanics of how they worked. Klaus should have known this as well. Klaus’ memory was just as sharp as Boris’s and, as experience had taught him, the Baron missed nothing.

Boris snapped back to the present and glanced at the Baron. A fist of ice gripped his heart as he saw Klaus regarding him. He stared and saw a glimmer of—was that relief?—flicker across the Baron’s face before he appeared to dismiss Boris from his mind and swung back towards his son.

“And yet,” he said in response to Gil’s last point, “here she was. On board Castle Wulfenbach. In your lab. A very unlikely coincidence—and I mistrust coincidences. Now, all of Europa is in danger. We will talk more when I return.”

Klaus turned away and a small, hidden part of him noted, and immediately tried to forget as unimportant, that Boris had already left. Like a man who has done all he could, the Lord of Europa strode from the room.

Back in Mechanicsburg, there seemed to be an endless line of people vying for Agatha’s attention. Mechanicsburg citizens relaying the status of the defenses and the ongoing repairs. Enemy soldiers brought before her while weeping, begging her to accept their surrender and help save comrades still engaged with the town’s numerous traps and defenses. A running military analysis was provided by Krosp, who was clearly in his element. A delegation from the Great Hospital, led by Doctor Sun himself, who requested an impossibly long list of supplies as well as a safe place to process the casualties.

Agatha did her best, relying heavily on the people around her, but it was difficult managing discussions when they began to drift into cross purposes. It was a discord she had begun to think would never end, when a loud, familiar voice demanded to know what she was doing, by Ashtara’s holy daggers, no less.

Agatha looked up. She was where she had been for the last hour, despite the horde around her, flat on her back, rethreading a particularly troublesome drive chain on a small steam walker. A dollop of dirty oil hit her forehead and oozed its way down her nose. Above her, she saw Zeetha staring down at her and looking remarkably well for a person who’d been perforated by a meter of Skifandrian steel scant hours ago. Agatha bounced to her feet and enveloped the green-haired girl in a fierce hug. “You made it!”

Zeetha shrugged from within Agatha’s arms. “Of course,” she said breezily, but her grin faltered when Airman Higg’s face flickered across her memory. She pulled herself free and hung her head. “The Zumil begs forgiveness of her Kolee.”¹²³ Agatha looked startled. Zeetha plowed on. “I did not take Zola seriously. She bested me and could very well have killed us both. For this, I ask forgiveness, but also beg that you learn this lesson: even your Zumil can still make mistakes.”

Her face was red and her eyes were closed, so she was surprised when she felt Agatha’s arms again encircle her in a fierce hug.

“The next time we fight her,” Agatha whispered into her ear, “we do it together.” Zeetha returned the hug until Agatha patted Zeetha’s back and pulled back in surprise. “Where are your swords?”

Zeetha’s happiness evaporated. Her fists tightened. “I have to take things easy,” she muttered. “The doctor said I will get them back when I am healed.”

Agatha whistled in surprise. “I’ll bet that was a fight.”

Zeetha remembered the pain and the shame of being face down on the infirmary floor with Higg’s knee in the small of her back, his untouched face looking down at her with a slightly bored expression. Zeetha shook her head. “It wasn’t, really.” Which had rather been the point. She studied the crowd that was suddenly busy looking elsewhere. She turned back to Agatha. “This seems rather chaotic.”

Agatha nodded her head. “I know. I’m trying to help, but another attack could hit us at any moment, and we’re not ready.”

Zeetha nodded. “Yesss, I can see that. Delegate.” She pointed to Van. “He knows more about the town and its resources than you do. Let him deal with that.” She pointed to Krosp. “He’s supposed to be this big military genius? Let him prove it.” She pointed to Mamma Gkika. “Have him work with her. She probably knows all about the defensive and offensive capabilities of the town. Let the people around you do their jobs.” Agatha saw the three Zeetha had indicated were nodding in agreement.

“So what do I do?”

“At the moment? You come with me.” And she dragged Agatha out of the workshop and into a street.

“Wait! Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private,” Zeetha, still walking briskly, said with determination. “You are in serious need of some princess lessons.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. This is important.” Zeetha was clambering up a pile of twisted clanks. With a grunt of satisfaction, she pried a weapon from some cold, metal fingers and tossed it down to Agatha, who managed to catch it, despite its surprisingly heavy weight. “First lesson,” Zeetha declared. “Every princess needs a battle-axe.” She nodded in satisfaction. “That’ll do until we find something more impressive.”

“Ah,” said Agatha with a smile. “That kind of princess.”

Zeetha jumped down and again snagged her arm. “Come on, I saw some armor in a burning museum that’s to die for.” They were off again.

Agatha swung the axe up onto her shoulder. “But I was working.”

Zeetha interrupted her. “Like a mechanic.”

“I am a—”

“Not anymore.” Zeetha sighed. “You were flat on your back, so everyone assumed they could walk all over you. They say my mother used to do this. She would try to kill every rogue fafflenarg beast¹²⁴ herself, even though she had an army. She’s a war queen, for pity’s sake.” Zeetha poked Agatha in the chest. “You are a war queen and you’ve got me and your boys and Krosp and a whole town that wants you to succeed at leading it. You need to remember that and be the leader that they need. ”

“Well, of course.” Agatha fidgeted. “But I like building stuff.”

Zeetha rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. And when you have a month—ha! a week—you can rebuild the whole town.”

Agatha stared at her and licked her lips. “Do you . . . do you think they’ll let me?”

“At this point, I think they’re counting on it. But now is not the time. Let the mechanics fix the clanks. There are hundreds of them here, but there is only one Heterodyne and that’s you.”

They came to a building that had obviously once been some sort of military office that had been repurposed. Agatha saw a sign declaring it to be the Mechanicsburg Museum of Armor and Military Science before Zeetha dragged her inside.

After they remained inside for several minutes, Dimo and Maxim, who had been surreptitiously following them, stepped out into the street and looked around. Seeing nothing worthy of their attention, they draped themselves on the front steps. Dimo pulled his cap down over his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the sun. Maxim pulled out his saber and examined it critically. He tsked at a deep notch in the blade and then pulled a whetstone and an oiled silk cloth out from a pocket and began sharpening it. Several minutes after that, Ognian appeared, with three two-liter steins, obviously full, clasped in one clawed hand. He set Dimo’s down beside him and then passed one to Maxim. The two clinked the steins together and drank deeply. Ognian came up for air and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as he leaned back on his elbows.

Maxim frowned into his stein. “Hy tink dey haz dun sompting to der beer vile ve vos gone.”

Ognian stuck out his tongue. “Puh. Hyu sound like my ol’ poppa.” He dropped his voice down an octave or so. “Dey chust ain’t usin’ de right kind of blood in de blood sausages dese days, blah, blah, blah . . . ” He took another swig. “Drink der beer hyu gots in hyu hand, brodder, not der vun in hyu head.”

He looked up and saw Mamma Gkika striding down the street in full military rig, heading straight towards them. He nudged the somnambulant Dimo with a clawed foot. “Drink op vile hyu ken, brodder, someting’s comink.”

When she got close enough, Gkika called out, “Hoy! Hyu!”

Slumping back with the air of a world-weary sophisticate, Ognian tipped his stein in her direction. “Hello, dere, Mamma.”

Gkika blinked. This was not the reaction she was used to getting once she was in uniform. “Vere iz our gurl?” She looked up at the museum. “She in dere?”

Ognian nodded. “Ho, yez. Iz ve under attack?”

Gkika stepped up. “Not yet, but—”

Ognian raised a hand as he sipped his beer. “Den ve ain’t lettink hyu in.”

Gkika’s jaw dropped. “Vot?!” Maxim looked nervous.

Ognian sighed. “She’s in dere haffink sum gurl tok vit her green-haired friend. She vos not born und raised as a daughter of der Heterodynes. Vot she iz doink now—becomink der Heterodyne—iz a leedle like ven vun becomes a Jäger, hy tink. Even for a schmot gurl like her, iz bound to be a leedle hard. But she vill be ranting und frothing un goink all krezy—like soon enuff.”

Gkika stared at him like a person who had just seen a dog quote Plato. She decided to deal with it by ignoring him. “Pah! Hy vant to see her now!”

Ognian didn’t appear to move, but his triple-bladed halberd was suddenly blocking Gkika’s way. “Later,” he said.

“Vot iz dis,” Gkika screamed. “Hy iz a general!”

“Hiz not hyu, Mamma, ve’d do dis to any general. Ve vos detached.” He patted his chest. “Hy iz a vild Jäger.”

Off to one side, Dimo cleared his throat. “Maxim,” he asked of the Jäger dithering at his side, “vould hy regret tipping back mine hat?”

Maxim considered this. “Dunno. How bored did hyu say hyu vos?”

He wasn’t that bored, apparently, as he simply lay back and listened to the roars and squeals surrounding him. It was obvious to him Mamma was on edge and that a little workout might prove therapeutic. Finally, there was naught but gurgling. Dimo carefully raised his cap to see Mamma standing, panting slightly, with a snarl on her face. Maxim was firmly pinned under her boot heel. Ognian hung from her fist, his eyes bulging as she finished winding his beloved halberd around his neck. Dimo tsked. That was going to be tricky to fix. He rolled to his feet. Mamma saw him and her eyes closed to slits. She looked about for a weapon, then saw she still had Ognian in her hand. She hoisted him slightly and nodded in satisfaction.

The two stared at each other.

A window on the front of the building banged open and Zeetha leaned out. “What is going on? Oh! Mamma!” She waved excitedly. “Oh, this is perfect! You’ve got to come up here and see this!” She then examined the scene before her. A look of uncertainty came into her eyes. “Guys?”

Dimo instantly relaxed and cheerfully waved back, as did the other two. “Hello, Mizz Zeetha,” they chorused. Seeing that all appeared to be well, Zeetha waved again and closed the window.

“Vell,” Ognian said in a faint voice, “hy guess hyu kin go in now.”

Mamma looked at him and seemed to see him for the first time. She took a deep breath and effortlessly twisted the halberd open. “Hyu iz goot boys. Hyu go ahead und keep on lookink after her.” She spared a glance for Dimo, “But dun do nottink too schtupid, hokay?”

“Yes, Mamma,” they said.

With a nod of satisfaction, Gkika wheeled about just as Zeetha was opening the front door. “Und speaking of schtupid,” she roared at the startled girl, “vot iz hyu doink out of bed? Hyu gots a whole bunch of healink to do und dun hyu forget it!”

“I know, I know! But Agatha needs me, and you patched me up enough that I can at least give her advice.” She looked away. “Anyway, that Higgs already made me promise to take it slow, and he . . . he hid my swords.” She looked down. “I feel naked,” she whispered.

Gkika laughed in admiration. “Dot boy! Alvays vit der tricks!”

“You know him well?”

Gkika nodded. “Ho, yez indeed.”

They climbed up a short set of stairs and entered a large open area. The ceiling was easily eight meters high, and the room was lined with weird and improbable suits of armor, all of them, according to neat little cards, harvested from the various armies that had attempted to invade Mechanicsburg. In the center was a series of displays showing automated historical dioramas that, at the drop of a coin, sent minuscule invaders fleeing in terror before assorted Heterodyne creations.

Zeetha screwed up her courage. “Could you . . . tell me about him?”

Gkika turned serious. “No vay, kiddo. If he vants hyu to know ennyting about heem, he’ll tell hyu himself. And ennyting hyu hear from odder pipple? Onless hyu hears it from him, dun believe a vurd of it” That said, she changed the subject. “Now vere iz de Miztrezz? Hy gots to talk to her about dot Storm King of hers.”

“Tarvek?” Gkika nodded. “Oh, he’s a piece of work.” She looked at the rows of armor. “But we could’ve used his opinion here.” They approached a large door and Zeetha slid it open. “On the other hand, we’re pretty happy with what we found.”

Gkika’s jaw dropped. “Gott’s leedle feesh in trowzers!”

Elsewhere, the man under discussion felt a small wave of nausea pass through him. This was not a result of being discussed, but from being forced to listen to Othar describing Agatha’s proposed duties as his “spunky girl sidekick.” This was being eagerly lapped up by the townspeople gathered around, even by the man who appeared to be in charge, a man who’s name Tarvek had, until now, only seen on a list of hereditary functionaries. He found that . . . interesting.

Herr von Mekkhan cleared his throat. “Well, Herr Tryggvassen, we would be very honored if you were to stay and help out.”

“But of course,” Othar preened. “As I was saying, with proper training your new Heterodyne will make a splendid hero! Being around will allow me to show her the ropes and—”

Tarvek gratefully turned to Violetta who had been about to tap his shoulder. “Thank goodness, I cannot listen to any more of this.” At Violetta’s startled look, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, I knew you were there.” His look sharpened. “Why aren’t you with Agatha?”

“She sent me to look for you.”

Tarvek blinked. “She did? Whatever for?”

“Well, at first she thought maybe you’d run off because of her kissing Wulfenbach. I said there was no way a weasel like you would give up that easily. Then she said in that case, if you were gone, it must mean you’d run into something either really important or really dangerous, because, um . . . ” Violetta looked embarrassed. “She said ‘if he’s that much of a weasel, then he’d know it’s to his best advantage to stick close to me.’”

Tarvek stared at her in shock. “Agatha said that?”

“Um, yeah. Sorry.”

Tarvek smiled. “No, no— This is marvelous! She might be better at political intrigue than I’d dared hope!”

Violetta shrugged. “She’ll be fantastic, assuming she lives. Let’s go already.”

Tarvek slumped down. “Oh, sure. Great idea. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Violetta stared. “Wait. Are you telling me you can’t get away from a bunch of town guards?”

Tarvek just looked at her and then he sighed. “Fine. Let’s try a ‘down and up.’ That might work.”

“Seriously?”

“GO!” Without any noticeable transition, Tarvek was off, running at top speed down the street, Violetta hot on his heels.

“Hey,” a guard yelled. “Get back here!”

“If you putting in this much effort is some kind of joke—” Violetta threatened.

“Just run,” Tarvek said. Half a block away, they saw an open manhole and, without touching the sides, the pair slid down into it and landed in a fetid stream. Pale, ghost-like lizards watched them pass and lazily began to follow. Tarvek led the way, taking random twists and turns, and then suddenly gripping a pipe and swinging upward, slamming a metal grill aside with his feet.

They scrambled up into a dusty basement. A last glance backwards showed a startled Violetta that the pale lizards had gotten a lot closer than she had thought they were. She shivered as she followed Tarvek up a set of rickety stairs. Instead of going out the street door, he turned and began running up another flight of stairs and then a third and then a fourth. At the top of these stairs was a small wooden door that opened out onto the roof. Violetta bypassed the lock without even slowing down. “Was all this rigmarole necessary?”

The door swung open and they plowed into the waiting arms of Othar. “Now where are you going? We still have to find Agatha.” He examined a thunderstruck Violetta. “Ah! I see you’ve found me another assistant!”

“But . . . but how,” she sputtered.

Tarvek hung from Othar’s fist like a man who’d played this part before. “This is why he’s a hero. He’s very good at this.”

There was a bit of involuntary screaming as Othar leaped off the top of the building and deftly bounced off walls and ledges before touching down with all three unscathed. “You want the Lady Heterodyne?”

Violetta said, with eyes shut tight, “She told me to bring him to her right away!”

Othar smiled genially. “Ah, but she didn’t know that Othar Tryggvassen—Gentleman Adventurer (to his horror, Tarvek found himself mouthing the words as Othar spoke)—was here!”

Tarvek thrashed in midair. “Let us go, you cretin! We should get to her quickly!”

Othar regarded him. “Actually, I’m from Norway.”

Tarvek clenched his teeth. “I have important military information! We’ll need to re-think all of the town’s defenses if any of us are going to get through this alive!”

“Ho,” said a new voice, “sounds like hyu vants to talk to me, den!”

They had rejoined Van’s group and, from the side, a Jäger stepped forward. Unlike most of the Jägerkin, this one took care with his uniform and his hat was polished and worn at a rakish angle. “Vat kind of information hyu gots, kiddo?”

Tarvek glanced over at Van, who bobbed his head. “This is Jorgi, he’s our liaison with the Jägers.”

Jorgi nodded. “Ve talks vit all der odder monsters too.”

Tarvek considered this and then nodded. “Very well, but this is . . . too open.”

Jorgi nodded back. “Hokay. Ve see.” He turned to Van “Hy’ll take dis guy vit me.”

Van leaned in. “Are you sure? He’s—”

Jorgi raised a clawed hand while looking at Tarvek. “Hy know exactly who he thinks he iz.”

Tarvek swallowed and any plans about trying to escape from the Jäger were dismissed. “What about my aide-de-camp,” he said, indicating Violetta, who was still hanging from Othar’s fist.

Jorgi examined her. “Hyu vos Burghurmeister Zuken’s assistant. I dunno . . . ”

“You’d better take me, you slug,” she hissed at Tarvek. “I want you where I can see you.”

Tarvek considered this and then turned to Othar. “I should mention that Violetta here is a Smoke Knight.”

Othar looked surprised. “Really? I’ve heard of those.” He examined a furious Violetta. “That does explain why she almost managed to escape several times. It was very impressive.”

“Yes,” Tarvek acknowledged, “she shows great promise.” He caught a small knife that was aimed at his face. “And, she’ll deny it, but as far as you’re concerned, she’s a huge fan.”

“WHAT?” Violetta looked stunned.

“Oh, now she’s going to get all embarrassed, but she’s dreamed about becoming one of your sidekicks for ages.”

Othar examined her again. “And she’s a Smoke Knight you say? Then she might even last through the summer.”¹²⁵

“I will hunt you down, flay you, and wear you as a hat,” Violetta screamed.

Othar grinned in admiration. “She’s certainly got the spunky part down!”

Tarvek and Jorgi moved off down the street. Jorgi glanced back. “Hyu gots to excuse der Town Council. Der oldt guys have been trappink tourists for too long. An’ der young guys iz schtill figurink tings out. Dey’s schtill tinkink like a bunch of soft townies. Not dat dot’s a bad ting. Somebody got’s to do de running und screaming. Eh, but this is Mechanicsburg, und dey’s its pipple. Dey’ll vake up soon enough, and den— vatch owt!” He clapped Tarvek on the shoulder. “But dot vill take time, und since der Storm King vants to make vit der military talk now—”

Tarvek waved his hands. “Shh! That’s still a secret!”

Jorgi gave a snort of laughter as he stopped before an ancient door easily four meters tall. He produced an iron key and unlocked it, then pushed Tarvek through. They were in a small dusty anteroom. “Dun vorry, der guys you’ll be talkink to dun hold grudges about dot old schtuff.” He straightened his hat and knocked on the inner door before pushing it open. “ ’Cause if hyu dun learn how to let all dot go— Hyu dun last long enuf to be a general.”

The room was long and high, and dominated by an immense table that, to Tarvek’s educated eye, had to be easily five centuries old. Sitting around it were four monsters. Tarvek instantly recognized them as Jägergenerals. Zog, Goomblast, and Khrizhan were familiar adjuncts to the Baron. The fourth was a grinning ogre with bright red skin. Tarvek noted his right hand’s knuckles were tattooed with the word LOVE. On the left, he read HAT, and rolled his eyes. This could only be General Koppelslav, who had been stationed on the empire’s eastern border for over a decade and who, according to Tarvek’s latest intelligence, should be there still.

Interesting. There was also—Tarvek blinked at the sight of Krosp, now sporting a Mechanicsburg souvenir novelty cap designed to look like a hat-wearing Jäger gnawing on the wearer’s head. Krosp glanced upwards and shrugged. “It’s a rule, okay? When you sit at the generals’ table, you’ve got to wear a hat.”

Tarvek pointed towards General Khrizhan. “He doesn’t have a hat.”

Khrizhan looked cartoonishly surprised and made a show of patting his baldpate. “Oh, deary me,” he rumbled. “Did I forgets mine hat?”

The rest of the generals could no longer contain themselves and dissolved in roars of laughter. Krosp stared at them and his fur bristled in fury. “We’re about to be under attack and you guys are joking around?”

Tarvek tapped his chin. “Don’t blame them,” he said slowly, “they’re worried. By tradition, the new Heterodyne should be greeted by all the generals, yet you’re sitting in here instead.” He looked over the assemblage, which had gone silent. “General Øsk died fighting the Polar Lords’ doom wyrm last year. That leaves seven generals, but only four of you are here. Where are the others?”

Krosp frowned. “Wait . . . seven? I heard there were six.”

Tarvek continued. “I’m sure you did. Nevertheless . . . Could there be dissension here?”

General Zog stared at him with a sour look on his face. “Hokay,” he said grudgingly. “No funny hat for hyu. Come talk vit us.”

They made room for Tarvek at the table beside Krosp. Tarvek noted that even if there had been seven of the gigantic creatures, there still would have been space for easily a half a dozen more and, indeed, six immense chairs were lined up against the far wall, each with a small black Heterodyne sigil draped over the back.

Everyone silently looked at Zog, who stared back at Tarvek while slowly gnashing his great teeth. Finally, he nodded once. “Hyu iz right,” he admitted. “Der iz only seven uv us now. Not many pipple knows dot.” He gestured towards one of the three empty chairs at the table. “General Zadipok should have been here by now. But ve haff not heard from him. It iz, as hyu say, vorryink.”

He glanced out the great window that dominated one wall. “General Gkika iz vit der Heterodyne now.” He grinned. “No one could take better care uf her.”

Both Tarvek and Krosp glanced at the last empty chair. Zog nodded again. “And den dere iz der seventh. He iz a tricky vun. He iz . . . der keeper ov many secret tings.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“The Odder inside der Lady,” Zog rumbled.

Tarvek was taken aback. “The Other— You know about that?”

“Indeed ve doz. Und as long as dot bad gurl iz in der Lady’s head, he vill remain in der shadowz.”

Tarvek glanced about. The generals were somber now. He cleared his throat. “Sensible. But . . . let him know he may not have to stay there for long. I have studied the Other’s methods, and I believe I can get Lucrezia out of Agatha’s head for good.”

General Khrizhan leaned back. “Oh-ho! Dot iz goot news”

Zog steepled his fingers and grinned knowingly. “Ah, and den hyu can gets to de keesink, yez?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to do it before—” Tarvek realized what he was saying and blushed. “Wait! No! I didn’t—! That is—!”

Around him the Jägers gave a great roar of laughter. Zog wiped a tear from his eye. “Vell, boyz, dot Wulfenbach keed gots him a rival! Diz iz gunna be fun!”

This provoked another round of laughter. Tarvek turned to Krosp. “Are they always like this?”

The cat shrugged. “I’m guessing: yes.”

Tarvek turned back to the table. “Anyway, Agatha has Lucrezia under control for now. But we have a bigger, more immediate problem. The Baron—”

The sound of explosions was heard from outside. The red-skinned general leapt up. “Iz too soon for anodder attack!”

Tarvek lunged for the window along with the others, but while they looked at the encircling forces, he scanned the skies above. “Dammit,” he swore, “I thought they could get through unsuspected!” Three airships were heading for the town. A larger cargo dirigible, followed by two of the empire’s pursuit ships.

“Vy izen’t der Kestle shooink dem avay,” Zog muttered. Suddenly there was another fusillade from the two pursuers, and the aft of the cargo ship’s gasbag erupted into flames.

“Hoy.” Khrizhan said in surprise. “Dey’s not attackink us. Dey’s shootink at der own ship.” He looked at the others. “Dot ken’t be goot.” It certainly wasn’t for the cargo ship, which, even with every engine angled to try to slow their momentum, ground deceptively slowly into the market section of the Court of Gears¹²⁶ district. Almost an entire block of buildings shuddered at the impact and began to collapse. A huge ring of smoke and dust blossomed and began silently rolling over the town. By this time, Tarvek, as well as the generals, were out the door and running towards the downed ship, followed by a bevy of other Jägers who had been standing guard outside.

Koppelslav pointed upwards at the fast-approaching pursuit ships. “Dey’s lowerink lines,” he shouted. “Dey’s gunna send in troops.”

Zog shook his head. “Dey’s huntink der own pipple?”

Khrizhan bared his teeth. “Dey vos already shootink at dem. Der impawtent ting iz dot deyz landing troops inside our town.”

Goomblast looked pensively at the downed airship. “Izn’t it gunna blow op?”

Koppelslav smacked him. “Dot only happens in dose cheap Heterodyne Boyz novels, hyu old fool!”

Tarvek glanced back over his shoulder and seemed surprised to see them. “We’ve got to hurry! I need the people from that ship alive!” He glanced at the incoming ships. Tiny figures could now be seen clutching the dangling ropes. “I sincerely hope you gentlemen fight as well as you dress!”

The generals glanced at each other. “Gentlemen?” Zog huffed.

“Us?” Goomblast looked intrigued.

“Fight?” Krizhan began to smile.

Koppelslav shrugged and buffed a spike. “Vot? Dis old ting?”

Tarvek bit back an annoyed retort. There was something wrong here . . .

A squeal of feedback came from the sky and an amplified voice boomed out over the area. “All civilians are to leave the crash site. Anyone who remains will be shot! This is your only warning.” With that, several dozen dark-clad figures began lowering themselves on the great ropes, waiting until they were within safe landing distance—

A broad-bladed tool, normally used to edge grass, arrowed up through the air with such force that it severed several lines, and easily a dozen men were sent screaming towards the ground. Krizhan stared upwards in admiration and then turned towards Zog, who had smashed a shop window and was extracting yet another edger. “Hey!” He tugged on Zog’s arm. “Hey, does dot count? Does killink dem up in der air count?”

Zog laughed. “Killink hyu enemies alvays counts!”

General Goomblast found himself surrounded by a ring of men armed with needle-sharp swords with blackened blades. “Stand down, General,” one called out. “We’re not here to fight you, but if you interfere—”

“Sorry, boys,” the general called out in his unexpected contralto, “but hy am here to fight hyu.” With a liquid sweep of his arm, he pulled forth an elegant silver rapier and traced a few simple arabesques in the air. “Hyu are invadink our town, hyu know. Ve kent hev dot.” He gave them a salute. “Now, how bouts hyu boys surrender like gentlemen?” A look of anticipation filled his great face. “No! Vait! Even better! Hy vill duel hyuz champion! Hit’ll be terrific!”

The men in black looked towards their leader. “This isn’t some game,” he snarled. “The people in that airship are dangerous traitors, and we have direct orders from the Baron to wipe them out!”

Goomblast shrugged and his sword began moving lazily. “Too bad, but ve gots a guy here who vants dem alive.” One of the men crept slightly ahead of his fellows. Faster than the eye could follow, Goomblast pinked his hand, snapped the black blade into the air, and caught it so he could examine it. “Und vhat iz vit dese leedle swords?” He sniffed the blade. “Iz dis poison?”

“Enough to take down even a behemoth like you,” the leader swore. “Enough! Men, kill them all!”

Goomblast sighed. “Dis hardly seems fair.”

“C’est la guerre, General.” And the men in black flowed forward.

As each came within range, Goomblast’s blade flicked out, snapped the guard of their sword, and whipped it into the chest of the man next to them, who dropped his sword, which was caught and so on, until the last man stood unarmed, at which point Goomblast took the first sword he had appropriated and, with a heave, sent it into his chest. “Hy dun mean for me,” he sneered, “but hy dun expect pipple who’d use poison to understend the subtleties.”

Khrizhan tapped his shoulder. “Hy suppose hyu tink dot counts too? Usink der own veapons on dem?”

Goomblast frowned at him. “Ov cawze. De veapons dun care.”

On a third front, a wounded man stumbled up to the highest ranking officer left. “Sir! They’re wiping us out!”

The man nodded. “Right. Well, the Baron can’t say we didn’t try. So now we do this my way.” He raised his voice to a shout. “Disengage!”

The men stared at him. “But . . . our orders . . . ”

“We gas the place from the air like we should have done in the first place.”

General Koppelslav roared. “Now hyu guys iz just askink for it!” With a sweep of his hands, he swept the great spikes adorning his upper arms free and, with machine gun speed, took down the fleeing men.

Khrizhan appeared by his side. “Und killink den vhile dey iz runnink away . . . Dis also counts?”

Koppelslav stared at him. “Vot der dumboozle iz de matter vit hyu?”

Khrizhan looked contrite. “Vell, hy just dun vant hyu guys sayink hy vos cheatink.”

Zog frowned. “How zo?”

Khrizhan strode over to a downed Wulfenbach clank and ripped free the great machine cannon it had carried. “Using der own veapons—” He swung the weapon upwards towards the hovering dirigibles, from which faint screams could suddenly be heard. “—vile dey iz schtill in de air.” With a roar the cannon’s engines spun to life. Khrizhan pulled the trigger, sending a stream of heated metal skyward. The airships blew apart. Khrizhan turned to the rest of the stupefied generals, a wicked grin on his face. “–Vile dey vos trying to escape.” Flaming debris pattered down around them. “So, if dot all counts—” his grin got even wider “—den hy vin.”

A second passed—and then Zog gave a great roar of laughter. “Ho, iz schtill cheatink, but in der goot vay!”

Goomblast nudged Koppelslav in the ribs. “Hy knew hyu could make dem blow op.”

From the sidelines, there was a ripple of applause from the crowd of Jägers surrounding Tarvek. He stepped aside as a porthole dropped from the sky and shattered at his feet. This broke his reverie. “Okay, it’ll take the empire a few minutes to send something else.” He peered down at the now-smoldering airship. He saw a few figures staggering from a hatchway, but— “Why haven’t they begun to unload the ship?” he muttered. “They must know time is of the essence.”

Jorgi looked over his shoulder. “Dey probably know ve iz out here.”

Tarvek took off. “No, something’s wrong. Let’s go!” The assembled Jägers trotted along behind him.

“Zo vhat’s der beeg deal about dese guys?”

“As far as the empire is concerned, they’re now some of the most dangerous people alive.”

Jorgi looked interested. “Ho! Just like us! Dey’ll fit right in. Mechanicsburg is a goot plaze for dangerous pipple what no vun likes.”

Yes, Tarvek thought, and the empire, as well as Lucrezia know that.

Jorgi was still talking. “Ve should call de Velcome Vagon! Dey gots dese great leedle sammaches and cute gurls in hazmat suits!” Suddenly he skidded to a halt and stared. “Vaitaminute! Dose guys? Dey iz vhat der Baron iz vorried about?”

They were now close enough that the people stumbling from the airship could be identified. They wore the distinctive green uniforms topped with wasp-warrior skullcaps of the empire’s Vespiary Squad. Many of them were visibly wounded. One of the officers saw Tarvek and ran towards him. “Prince Sturmvarous! You were right! You were right about everything!”

Tarvek nodded. He’d only had a few seconds while he was titularly in charge of the empire’s military forces, but certain things had been all too obvious. Passing the squad leader a note under the watchful eyes of Boris and the others had been quite the challenge.

The officer continued, “But it’s even worse than we thought. The Baron himself—”

“Yes, yes.” Tarvek leaned in. “I know, but we don’t want everyone else to know. Not yet.” The officer blinked and took a deep breath as he nodded. Tarvek nodded back. “Now what’s the situation?”

“Even before they shot us down, we discovered there were Stealth Fighters onboard the ship. They’ve been destroying equipment. We’re trying to get the weasels out, but it’s difficult.”

“Why?”

“Several specimens escaped. They’re also killing our people . . . including Doctor Bren.”¹²⁷

Tarvek gasped. “Bren? Dead? Then if we lose the wasp eaters, this will all have been pointless!” He spun about. “Jägers! Follow me!”

From somewhere within the airship, there was the sound of something very large giving a scream of defiance. Jorgi placed a hand on Tarvek’s arm. “Mebbe hyu better stay here, hey? Hyu regular pipple iz kinda fragile, und hy dun tink der Lady vould like it if hyu got broken.”

Tarvek shook the Jäger’s hand off and his voice indicated he was sparking out. “Enough! The importance of these creatures cannot be overestimated!” He pointed to the bemused Jägers. “You will follow me and do as I say, or I will have you all flayed, roasted alive, and turned into stoats!” And he turned on his heel and dashed off.

The Jägers followed, though there was some good natured carping. “Hey! Who’s he tink he iz, givink us orders like dot?”

“Ve’s followink, ain’t ve?”

“Yah, vell, dot vun’s got a great rantink voice.”

They all nodded. It had been a while since they’d heard a good rant. Jorgi summed it up: “No vunder der Lady likes him. He must be vun heck uva demon vit der sveet talk!”

A shaggy Jäger raised a hand. “Hy dunno, dot odder guy gots vun sveet hat.”

This had every sign of devolving into a protracted argument, when Tarvek slammed his hand against a buckled hatch. “Jägers! Clear this door!”

With a shouted “HOY!” they thundered past and tore it off its hinges.

Jorgi frowned and stepped up to Tarvek. “Hy should varn hyu: not all uv our boyz iz gun put op vit hyu bossink us around like—”

“Jorgi!” The two looked up to see the Jägers that had busted down the door were now grappling with a gigantic wasp eater that was easily six meters tall. A Jäger struggling to break free of a paw snarled down. “Vot iz hyu vaitink for? Hyu iz missink a great fight!”

Jorgi threw up his hands and grinned at Tarvek. “Hokay, boss! Hyu vin dis vun. Comink!” He leapt into the fray.

Beside Tarvek the Vespiary officer watched with trepidation. “I knew that thing would get loose,” he muttered. “Don’t even know why Bren kept it around.”