Klaus grabbed his hand in a steely grip. “Anything,” he whispered, “even being paralyzed for life, would be an acceptable price for seeing what I have seen my son do today.” With that he released Sun’s hand and collapsed backwards, eyes fluttering closed while he muttered, “He will survive.”
And then, the Master of the Empire slept.
Atop the walls of Mechanicsburg, the presumptive mistress of the town was leaping and twirling in glee, while a growing crowd watched. Finally Zeetha reached out and grabbed Agatha by the sleeve, dragging her to a halt. “A little decorum?”
Agatha couldn’t contain her excitement. “Did you see what he did? That was a logical extension of the electrified sword I built by modifying the electrical discharge system he showed me back on Castle Wulfenbach!” She took a deep breath. “It’s an elegant demonstration of some of the underlying principles of our research!” she explained happily.
Zeetha eyed the two smoking ruins on the plain below. “Very elegant,” she agreed amiably.
Krosp and Wooster were leaning over the battlements—peering into the chaos below. “Is Master Gilgamesh all right?” Wooster slapped the stonework in frustration. “I can’t see!”
Krosp nodded. “Too much smoke from the burning machines. I can’t tell.”
Agatha looked stricken. “What? Of course he’s all right!”
Wooster shrugged, uncomfortable in the face of Agatha’s conviction. “Perhaps, but there were a great many shots—”
There was a crackling flare from behind them, and—with a muffled explosion—one of the mysterious brass cylinders erupted in a tower of flame. The technicians, who had left their tools to watch Gil’s performance with the rest of the crowd, rushed back to the device as it deformed and then melted.
“But we just set it up!” one of the mechanics wailed. “No one was even near it!”
Agatha hissed in annoyance and turned around, searching. “Oh no,” she muttered. “There goes another plume…three…” Pillars of smoke marked the locations of several of Wulfenbach’s machines, with more of them erupting as they watched. Some of the mechanics responsible for them were in hysterics—others were carefully edging away, trying to blend into the crowd.
After a minute or so, it appeared that no more were going to combust, but Agatha still looked pensive. “I figure that at least half of them went up. Oh, dear.”
Krosp looked at her. “You know what they are?”
Agatha shrugged. “I think it’s fairly obvious that they’re some sort of supercharged atmospheric ionization engines.” She saw the cat’s blank stare. “Well,” she said unapologetically, “It’s obvious to me.”
Krosp still stared. “…So?”
Agatha sighed. “So if they are, then Gil used them to electrically saturate the air around Mechanicsburg. Thus he had access to a tremendous amount of potential power. But how…” She paused and gazed upwards thoughtfully. “Ah, of course! That walking stick! It must be some sort of focus—an aiming device!” Her voice began to take on the subtle harmonics Krosp now knew to listen for. “Very elegant,” she murmured. “Oh, I have got to get a look at—” Krosp gave her hand a casual nip, effectively derailing her runaway train of thought. “Ai! Um—Well, he obviously didn’t have time to test it. His concept is sound, but I suspect he didn’t have enough engines to prevent the whole thing from overloading. There’s an unbelievable amount of power in lightning, you know.”
Krosp nodded. “So I see.” He waved a paw towards the smoldering hulks. “But he can relax. These guys are surrendering.” Agatha bit her lip. “I sure hope so. Because without these engines supplying him power, his focus device is now useless.”
The last of the walker crews lined up before Gil. He eyed them closely. There were close to two hundred of them. Almost evenly divided into engineers and marines, if he was any judge. A few of the ones with more braid on their shoulders looked at him with anger in their eyes. They were the ones he had to disarm.
He pointed to one of the more disgruntled-looking officers now. “You! You’ll speak for these men. Do I have to do any more convincing?”
The officer looked at the young man standing above him, armed with only a glowing stick. He hesitated and his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, and from around him his men roared, “No! Spare us! We surrender.”
With a snarl, the officer closed his mouth and nodded jerkily. “We surrender, sir,” he said.
Gil nodded and twirled the stick in his hand. It gave a small ‘beep’ and the glowing tip faded out. Gil stared at it a second and then casually rested it on his shoulder. “That’s good,” he said honestly.
“You all know how the House of Wulfenbach treats captured soldiers,” he continued. “You may join our forces and retain your present rank, or return home to your families with a month’s pay, a full pardon, and an honorable discharge. Our troops will be here shortly to collect your arms. You have until then to make your decision.”30
He gave them a minute to let the expected murmurs of relief swell and subside. “All I want is your Commanding officer!”
That stopped them. As a rule, even if they weren’t festooned by several kilograms of gold braid, said officer was easy enough to spot. Either by all his men trying to shelter him—or by them all pointing at him. Klaus Wulfenbach had formulated set responses for both instances. This time, however, there seemed to be some genuine confusion. Several of the men tentatively raised their hands, but to Gil’s educated eye, he guessed that they were the ranking officers aboard individual machines. Finally, he swung his head back to the disgruntled fellow he had noticed before, who—seeing Gil focusing his attention upon him—squared his shoulders and stepped forward. Oh, yes, Gil thought, this man could be trouble.
“Our commander was General Lord Rudolf Selnikov. You hit him with lightning, sir.”
Gil nodded. That sort of thing happened. “Second in command?”
“His Grace the Third Duke D’Fisquay. You also hit him with lightning, sir.”
Gil had met the Duke D’Fisquay while he was in Paris. Statistically speaking, the population of Europa was now slightly more intelligent. Still, it was inconvenient… “Third?”
“Engineer First Rank Niccolangelo Pollotta, sir. He was in the second machine.”
This was taking too long. Gil sighed, “Fourth?”
“That would be me, madboy!” And then the officer was leaping forward with a dagger upraised. Gil saw it approaching—pointed at his throat—
A stout throwing knife seemed to appear in the man’s eye and he collapsed to the ground, twitching only once before lying still.
Gil became aware of people behind him, around him—wait—people?
“Hoy!” A green-skinned Jäger made another knife dance along the tips of his fingers as he addressed the shocked crowd of soldiers. “So who else vants to be promoted?”
Gil frowned. “I…” His thoughts were becoming disorganized. What was happening? “I could have handled that.”
Another Jäger—a female—insinuated her arm under his. “Ov cuzz. Now lean on me all sobtle-like befaw hyu falls down.”
Gil realized that this was good advice.
Atop the walls, the crowd was beginning to disperse. Agatha and her companions remained, searching for any sign of Gilgamesh. Wooster pointed at a double column of troops marching towards the city gate. Another squad, in the distinctive blue uniforms of the Wulfenbach infantry, was moving out to meet them.
“They’re surrendering to the Empire’s troops. I guess Master Gil managed to keep them calm.” Wooster found that he was actually pleased about this. It was true that the Wulfenbachs were Britannia’s most dangerous rivals but, privately, he put that down to the irreconcilable differences between the Baron and Her Undying Majesty, Queen Albia.31 In his opinion, an Empire run by Gilgamesh would be easier for Her Majesty to deal with. Gil was more relaxed about certain things. Ardsley had been Gil’s friend for two years, and his valet for six months. Aside from the job title, little had been different. He knew that things between them could never be the same as they were, but he did hope that they might, somehow, remain friends. The necessary first two steps towards this brighter future would be both Agatha and Gilgamesh remaining alive.