Klaus hesitated, closed his eyes and wearily rubbed his great jaw. “I do, don’t I?” He regarded Gilgamesh with an unreadable expression upon his face. “Perhaps you are—” he paused. “Yes, Boris?”
The four-armed secretary checked the knock he had been about to complete. “An important emissary from Sturmhalten has arrived, Herr Baron.”
This was unusual enough that it piqued Klaus’ interest. “Very well, show him in.”
The Count Hengst von Blitzengaard, immaculately attired in a formal traveling cloak, stepped into the lab and kept from perspiring by sheer force of will. Gil was impressed. He crisply bowed and formally presented a large black envelope, encrusted with the winged sword and gear sigil of the House of Sturmvarous.
“Forgive the intrusion, Herr Baron. I bring most grave news[57].” Klaus accepted the envelope, snapped the wax seal with a thumb and unfolded the document within. He looked at his son.
“Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvarous IV, is dead,” he announced.
Gil frowned. That meant that Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvarous was the next prince. He shook his head. There would be trouble there—
“A lab accident?” Incredulity filled Klaus’ voice. He slapped the paper. “It says here that Aaronev died in a lab accident.”
Gil shook his head. “Preposterous.”
The Count cleared his throat nervously. “The Royal Family assured the medical—”
Klaus interrupted him. “There are many things I can say against Prince Aaronev, but in the lab he was the most meticulous and procedurally brilliant—” Klaus stopped dead. Within his uniquely convoluted brain things were coming together. “It’s her!”
Gil tried to understand. “Her who, father?”
“The girl! Agatha! I know it!”
“How could you possibly—”
Klaus waved his hands impatiently. He had enough confidence in his son’s thought processes that he did not even bother with full sentences. “Circus! Passholt gone! Balen’s Gap! Time versus distance. Aaronev is a fan of Heterodyne shows—he was always Lucrezia’s slave! Of course that’s where she’d wind up!”
He turned to his secretary, who was already poised to receive his orders, notebook in hand. “”I’ll be leaving for Sturmhalten within the next three hours. I’m assigning the Seventh Groundnaut Mechanical, the Fifth Airborne, a wing of Hoomhoffers and two Bug Squads to come with. They are to be fully armed and should be prepared to encounter moderate resistance. Captain DuPree is to be in Command. I shall travel on her ship. Inform her at once. Within twenty-four hours I shall expect to be followed by a full Inspection Team. I shall want Sturmhalten probed down to the bedrock.”
Boris nodded. “Very Good, Herr Baron.”
During this, Count Blitzengaard’s face has gone white. “My Baron!” he broke in, “The people of Balan’s Gap are completely loyal to the Empire! This is an invasion! You must allow me to contact—”
Klaus cut him off. “No contact.” To Boris he added, “With anyone.” The Count drew his breath in outrage, but before he could speak, Klaus verbally steamrollered him. “Whereas I am confident in the loyalty of the people of Balan’s Gap, I suspect there may be a threat to the populace of the Empire as a whole. Under those conditions, I may send in an Inspection Team protected by sufficient troops to ensure their safety and insure compliance. Boris will cheerfully recite the relevant passages from the treaty that Prince Aaronev signed when the city was annexed as he escorts you to your quarters. Good day.”
With that, the Count felt several hands clasp his shoulders and gently but irresistibly pull him from the room. As the door shut, Gil looked at his father and spoke seriously. “Are you planning on leveling Sturmhalten?”
Klaus frowned. “If I must.”
Gil felt overwhelmed. “This is all about Agatha, but she’s done nothing!”
Suddenly Klaus looked tired. “There is a possibility that she has done everything!”
Gil paused. His father was not known as an alarmist. “Explain, please.”
Klaus paused. He considered his son for a moment.
Encouraged, Gil continued, “Father, if you’d let me just talk to her—”
But this had been the wrong thing to say. “Absolutely not,” Klaus declared flatly. “That family is utterly poisonous, and this girl may be the worst of all.”
Gil was lost. “But you liked the Heterodynes! You worked with—”
Klaus paused in the doorway. “Not the Heterodynes. The House of Mongfish. Your Agatha’s mother was the worst of them. I couldn’t stop her, but if I act quickly, I may be able to stop another war.” With that he strode off down the corridor.
Gil started to follow him when a frantic Zoing raced around the nearest corner and squealed excitedly. Gil impatiently listened, and several seconds later was running at full speed back down the corridor.
He burst into the lab to find a sweating Wooster desperately dashing amongst the various devices, trying to adjust them. He was failing most spectacularly. All of them were blinking red. Many of them were shuddering and venting great gouts of steam.
He saw Gil and waved his hands. “Gil! Thank goodness! I don’t know what to do!”
Gil strode forward and began twisting valves and re-routing cables. “Bleed the pressure here! Counter the loss by heating here...” Both Wooster and Zoing leapt into action as Gil continued to shout directions while performing his own corrections. Within several minutes, green lights shown instead of red, and with a sigh, Gil replaced a final clogged filter. He slumped. Wooster allowed his shoulders to droop slightly, and Zoing fell over sideways.
“Nice one, Herr Boffin” Ardsley muttered and then looked mortified at the slip.
Gil smiled. He hadn’t heard Ardsley use the phrase since college, when they were both students. He nodded, but otherwise ignored it. “Unfortunately, it’s even more unstable than I’d feared. I’ll have to monitor it closely for—” He stopped aghast. “I can’t—” He stared at Wooster and the Englander could see that Gil was deeply distressed. “I... I can’t leave!”
“Does Sir need to go somewhere?”
Gil’s face took on one of those intensely blank looks that Wooster had come to recognize. Within his head, Gil was frantically thinking. Assessing, sorting, imagining and computing possibilities faster than his friend would have ever believed possible. Wooster braced himself. Whenever this happened, it meant that things were about to get very interesting and very nerve-wracking, very, very quickly. This time, Gil outdid himself.
He blinked, and swiveled his head towards the waiting valet. “It will have to be you,” he said hollowly.
Wooster swallowed. “Me? Sir, what are you talking about?”
Even more worrying, Gil was again in deep thought. “But how to ensure...”
Wooster felt a prickle of fear. This was—
Suddenly, Gil was right in front of him. His face centimeters from his. His large, powerful hands gripping his upper arms. “Wooster,” Gil said very intently, “This is very important. Do you fear me?”
Wooster had braced himself for any number of things, but this was not one of them. “Sir?”
Gil gave him a small shake. “No, really. Be honest.”
Wooster considered the question carefully. Suddenly he realized that Gil was holding him so that his feet were not actually touching the floor. That helped clarify things. “Ah—a little, I confess.”
Gil searched Ardsley’s face. He nodded. “I can work with that.” Then he grinned. “Miss Clay—Agatha Heterodyne—she’s alive!”
57
Amongst the aristocracy, black envelopes were reserved for the deaths of nobility. Amongst the merchant class, it usually signified an everything-must-go sale.