He depressed a switch and a small blue light flared on the device. Every one of the small clanks that Agatha had created spat out a burst of sparks and froze, then toppled over, instantly stopping the underlying drone of the music they had been playing.
Agatha whirled. “What have you done?” she screamed. Tarvek looked at her pleadingly, but said nothing. “Not now! I knew I couldn’t trust you! I—” She gave a violent shudder, and Lucrezia blinked, and then smiled.
“Ah! Tarvek, is it time?”
The young man nodded and indicated the waiting priestess. “Yes, my lady. Vrin says that an airship has been sighted, and it most likely is the Baron’s Questor.”
Lucrezia clapped her hands. “Excellent! Then we can—” Her eyes were drawn downwards as she realized what it was that she was wearing. It was a rather diaphanous gown that, stylistically, owed quite a lot to the Moravian artist, Alfons Mucha[67].
Lucrezia took a deep breath and indicated the outfit. “Tarvek... dear... what is this?”
The Prince grinned self-consciously. “Do you like it? Agatha wanted some different clothes, and that’s an old Harvest Festival outfit that I designed for Anevka.
“Now I myself never really thought that she was suited for the art nouveau style, but the theme of the festival...” He realized that both Lucrezia and Vrin were staring at him with rather disbelieving expressions, and he stuttered to a stop.
Lucrezia smiled gently and patted him on the head. “It’s lovely, dear. But now I’m going to change into something a teensy bit more practical.”
She turned away and Tarvek let out his breath. Lucrezia paused, and looked back over her shoulder. “But we can play dolly ‘dress-up’ later, if you’d like.”
With that she moved off, giggling, as Tarvek silently gritted his teeth. He swallowed his annoyance and turned back to Agatha’s machine. The modifications he’d planned shouldn’t take much time.
BY ROYAL APPOINTMENT
Another fine oubliette from the
ancient and honorable guild of
Murderous Device Fabricators.
To view our full line of fine goods,
please visit our
Mechanicsburg showroom
in your next life.
Lars read the small sign a final time and turned away in disgust.
“It iz very well dezigned,” Maxim said with a touch of hometown pride.
“The walls are impossible to climb,” conceded Zeetha.
Krosp sat back with mixed feelings of annoyance and relief. “There are drains, but they’re so narrow that even I can’t get through them.”
“Can’t anybody think of anything?” Lars asked.
Sturvin sat wearily down upon a collection of bones dressed in a ball gown from sometime in the last century. “I think we’re really stuck here, folks.”
Veilchen shook his head. “No—you’re an old hand down here. Surely you have some trick up your sleeve? Some trade secret?”
The plumber snorted. “Wish I did. My partner now, he was always better at this sort of thing.”
Veilchen sighed. “Well then...” He pulled a compact air gun from inside his cloak and fired it upwards. A small grappling hook soared over the dimly seen lip of the pit and out of sight. Veilchen pulled the rope, set the hook and then shimmied upwards. Before anyone else could blink, he pulled the rope up behind him as he disappeared.
The others realized what had happened and looked at each other in astonishment.
Sturvin sighed deeply. “You know, I keep meaning to get one of those things.”
Zeetha looked upwards hopefully. “I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance that he’s gone to get help.”
Maxim chuckled. “Ho, no vay! He left uz here to die! Vot a pro!”
Krosp snorted. “Yeah, well your ‘pro’ forgot something important.”
A second passed and Veilchen’s head popped over the lip of the pit. “Like what?” he demanded.
Krosp smiled. “Like why we’re all down here in this pit to begin with.”
A glowing tentacle dropped around the assassin’s throat. “Whoops,” Veilchen admitted. “Gotta go.” And he was jerked from sight. A series of screams and roars erupted from above the pit.
“Now what?” Zeetha asked.
“Dependz on who vins op dere,” Maxim replied cheerfully.
“How will we know that?” Zeetha asked.
Maxim patted a surprised Krosp on the head. “Dot’s simple! Ven der noize shtops, ve toss de kitty op dere, and he’ll tell us!”
“And if there’re still monsters up there?” Krosp demanded.
“Jump down! Hy’m sure sumvun vill ketch hyu.”
“At this point, I will be favorably disposed to some other plan,” Krosp declared.
Ognian held up a hand. “Hey! Iz qviet,” he announced.
“Is that good?” Lars whispered.
Overhead, about a dozen monsters leaned into sight and examined them hungrily.
“Guess not,” Lars muttered. Above, the monsters surged forward trying to leap into the hole. This caused a blockage, and a small fight broke out amongst them. This was to be expected, as monsters have poor conflict resolution skills.
Ognian picked up his halberd and spun it about, limbering up. “Hey!” he said with a grin, “Howzabout ve keel enough monsters dot ve ken climb out over der bodies?”
“That’s your plan?” Lars demanded.
Zeetha slid her swords from their scabbards and gave the Jäger a nod. “Under the circumstances, that’s a pretty good plan.”
Lars shook his head. “I’m with Krosp on this, I want another plan.”
“I got one.”
Everyone jerked their heads up in surprise. A block in the wall about three meters up had slid aside, and Kalikoff waved at them before tossing down a rope. “Come on up! Hurry!”
Sturvin grinned. “Man, I wondered where you were!”
Several minutes later, they were trudging along a stone gallery. Along one side was a series of openings that revealed a large causeway below, illuminated by faintly glowing green spheres. These stretched off in both directions until they were out of sight.
Lars sidled up to Kalikoff. “So, no offense, but the last time I saw you—” he made chomping motions with his hands.
The shorter man waved a hand airily. “Oh that.” He fished out a bizarre looking multiplex knife. “Thank my Official Sturmhalten Sewer Rat Knife.” He flicked his hand, and a screwdriver appeared. Flicked it again, and a small saw blade slid out. Once more, and a small sword clicked into place. A final snap, and they all slid back into place.
“Wow,” Lars breathed. “Where can I get one of those?”
Kalikoff shrugged apologetically. “Sorry man, you gotta be a Sturmhalten Sewer Rat. It’s a union thing.”
“I’ll join.”
Up ahead, Sturvin was studying his map, and frowning.
“So where are we?” asked Krosp.
“Not in a damn oubliette,” the plumber snapped, “So I’d say anywhere is a big improvement.”
Kalikoff chimed in. “I don’t know either.”
Ognian glanced out a window. “Hy s’poze ve could ask dem,” he pointed.
Below, a procession of Geisterdamen marched silently by. There were easily hundreds of them. Phalanxes strode eight abreast, escorted heavily-laden wagons being pulled by bizarre animals that were like pale wolves, but with a dozen glowing eyes. Interspaced between these were troops of the gigantic white spiders. All of the ghostly women were fully armed, either with their slim curved swords, tall, crescent-moon bladed spears, or both.
Ognian found a half dozen hands covering his mouth.
67
Alfons Mucha is one of a handful of recognized Sparks who turned their talents to Art, instead of Science. He believed that aesthetically nature was a superior designer and structural engineer, and so he produced a wide variety of man-made objects that looked as if they had been grown organically. These indeed proved to be stronger and more efficient, but tended to dry up and fall over in the autumn. Alfons also believed that beautiful women should wear as little as possible, and designed many outfits to prove it. Thus, while his architectural business foundered, its give-away calendars were extremely popular.