Free Agatha H. and the Airship City by Phil Foglio, Kaja Foglio Page B

workbench, where something full of gears and springs grew under his tools. “Hey, Uncle Barry,” Agatha cried as she entered. “I learned a trick!”
    The large man paused and slowly turned to look at her. Even now his face was in shadow. A small set of spectacles glinted in the light from his bench. “A trick?” he enquired.
    Agatha nodded, and jumped up and down in place with excitement. “Yeah! You know how when you’ retryin’ to think and there’s noise and stuff botherin’ you? Well I found out I can make other noises in my head and it makes the botherin’ noise stop! And then I can think real good! Listen!” With that she stopped jumping, serenely folded her hands and began to hum, no, to whistle? To buzz? No… It was all of these and yet none of them, a soft melodic sound that you couldn’t call music, but…
    The effect of this performance upon Uncle Barry was electric. He stiffened in shock and the handle of the screwdriver clutched in his hand cracked. His voice was strained. “You… no! It can’t be!” Agatha hummed on obliviously. “You’re only five years old! You’re too young! You’ve got to stop!” His large hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her. Agatha kept on humming. She could no longer stop, even as her uncle cried, “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! I don’t—”
    A particularly violent jerk snapped Agatha awake. She was slumped over a table—another jerk—someone was grabbing her hair!
    She twisted around enough to see that her assailant was one of the soldiers who had accosted her this morning! Without thinking she swung her left hand and the large spanner she was grasping connected with Moloch’s jaw and sent him crashing to the ground.
    Agatha blinked in surprise and examined the tool in her hand. “Where did this come from?” she muttered, and then noticed that the hand holding it was black with grease and dirt. With a cry, she saw that both of her hands were dirty up to the elbow, as was her underwear—
    Her underwear? But she was in the middle of Adam’s shop floor! A wild look around showed her that tools were scattered and parts were littered across the floor. Heat still radiated from the great welding torch and, most astonishing, the tall double doors to the street were wide open.
    As Agatha hurried to close them, she saw that outside, in the first light of dawn, a small crowd had gathered to help the ironmonger across the way right his wagon, which appeared to have been overturned in the night.
    Slamming the doors closed and surveying the disheveled workshop and the unconscious soldier, Agatha could only mutter to herself, “What’s happened?”

CHAPTER 3
    “When lightning hits the keep the wise man does not sleep.”
—Traditional folk saying
    In the early dawn light, the streets of Beetleburg were quiet. Most of the populace peered out through shuttered windows or from behind curtains. Beetleburg was a town under occupation, the Tyrant was dead, and no one was sure what the future held.
    A few brave shops were open, carters still moved necessary supplies through the streets under the watchful eyes of Wulfenbach forces, but the heart of the town, the University, was closed. Crowds of students and teachers filled coffee shops and taverns discussing the events of the previous day. These conversations fell silent whenever the tall brass clanks of Baron Wulfenbach passed by outside. Their machine cannons constantly moved from side to side as they slowly strode down the center of the streets.
    Human officers patrolled the area as well, identifiable by the flying castle badge they wore. They regulated traffic, politely answered questions and put a human face upon the occupation.
    The inhuman face was supplied by the Jägermonsters, who had, during the night, stopped several bands of looters, seized fourteen people who had attempted to leave the city under cover of darkness, and apparently captured a large saurian