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 eye.
“You may tell him yourself, Captain.” Boris pointed towards one of the enclosed observation decks that lined the walls. “He wants to see you at once.”
Several minutes later, Bangladesh strode into the room. Dozens of people were vying for the Baron’s attention. Klaus had the disconcerting ability to follow multiple conversations at the same time, and thus the noise level of the room approached that of a dull roar. Klaus himself was easy to spot, towering as he did above most of the other people present.
When the Baron saw her, he imperiously held up a hand to stop the other conversations and waved her over. Suddenly, there was a palpable edge in the room. Bangladesh realized that everyone was scared and nervous. Usually she was the cause of this, but now, there was something else... these people thought that something terrible was about to happen—
Without warning, Klaus’ arms snapped out and grabbed her. One enormous hand easily trapped both of Bangladesh’s hands straight up over her head. The other scooped her up and held her securely under his arm. “Quickly!” he roared.
Bangladesh had time for one startled thought. “I never saw it coming.” But instead of the expected blade, several small creatures were thrust at her. They looked like some sort of weasel, with short orange fur and thin, intelligent faces. This was so surprising that she didn’t even struggle as they sniffed inquisitively at her. She noticed other things now. There were odd little devices surgically attached to the creatures’ heads and they had no less than six short legs, tipped with delicate paws.
The handlers were more of the green-cloaked soldiers she had noticed in the hangar bay. At this point, all of the creatures gave a small squeal, and everyone relaxed. One of the handlers, who Bangladesh noted with a start of surprise, had the skull-piece of a Slaver warrior attached to his cloak, pulled his animal back, and the others did the same. “She is clean, Herr Baron.”
Klaus gave a nod. “Give us some room please.” Instantly, a large circle of emptiness was created as everyone drew back from the expected explosion. Klaus gently placed Bangladesh on her feet, paused, and then withdrew quickly enough that her stiletto barely sliced the edge of his sleeve. Then to the astonishment of everyone, including Bangladesh herself, Klaus bowed in apology. “Forgive me, your Highness.”
Bangladesh was always thrown whenever Klaus deigned to remember that she was a Queen[58]. She took another half-hearted swipe with her knife, but the moment had passed. “Don’t ever do that again!” she snarled. “What’s with the weasels?” she demanded.
Klaus straightened up, collecting the Captain’s hat from the floor as he did so. He presented it to her as he waved over the head handler, who approached warily. “They are known as ‘Wasp-eaters.’” The little creature in the handler’s hand obviously realized that it was being talked about. It looked at Bangladesh and smirked.
“We developed them to hunt down Slaver Wasps, but unexpectedly, it appears that they can also detect when someone is infected with a wasp.”
Bang was unimpressed. “What, in case you don’t notice the whole shambling, twitching revenant act?” She snorted. “Yes indeed, mighty useful.”
Klaus rolled his eyes. “Yes, that was my initial reaction as well.” He paused. “Until recently.” He made a small sign to a group at the far door. This was opened, and the indignant person of Count Blitzengaard strode in.
“Herr Baron!” He began sternly, “I must vigorously protest this... this invasion!” He no doubt would have gone on for a good deal longer, but the wasp-eater nearest to him had snapped to look at him, then opened its mouth wide and hissed. The Count stopped dead and stared at the creature in astonishment.
Several other handlers had drifted close, and their charges reacted similarly. “What the devil are those things!” the Count cried out. Two more handlers darted forward and before the Count knew what was happening, his hands were secured behind his back. “What are you doing?” he roared.
“I’m afraid you must come with us now, Sir.”
The Count stared at Klaus with wide, fearful eyes. “But I’ve done nothing wrong! I am a Royal Courier! No one is allowed to interfere with—We have Diplomatic Immunity! By your own decree!”
Klaus nodded. “You are correct, my dear Count. I assure you, we will do all we can to cure you.”
“You must—!” The Count’s brain belatedly analyzed Klaus’ statement. “Cure? Wait!” But by then, he had been carried out the far door.
Klaus glanced at Bangladesh. Her face was a mask of amazement. There were many bad things you could say about Captain DuPree[59], but she was second to none when it came to assessing threats.
58
A pirate queen, to be sure. But the aristocracy these days was feeling sufficiently under siege that they were prepared to overlook certain realities. As a result, many a formal banquet had been enlivened by someone foolishly inviting someone who was euphemistically referred to as “working royalty”.