Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

CHAPTER 3

Your Majesty, it is with great chagrin that I must again report our failure to assassinate the Heterodyne.

Considering the importance of the assignment, I followed your Majesty’s advice and sent in not one team, but two. The second was led by none other than Don Giorello of Venice, whom you may recall, having served your Majesty so admirably in the affair of the burning windmill.

According to him, the infiltration of Mechanicsburg and even of Castle Heterodyne was easy enough. It was once they were inside that things fell apart.

I have provided, for your edification, a verbatim transcription of Don Giorello’s debriefing:

The castle itself is alive. I say this now, to try to explain that which happened to myself and to my team, may God have mercy upon their souls. I understand that this might be considered a blasphemous statement, but I find that after the experiences of the last few days, I no longer care overly much for the opinions of a God who would allow such a thing to exist upon this sphere.

So. The castle, it is a constructed thing of stone and iron. A building where people live and eat and sleep. But it is also alive, and more than alive. It has intelligence. It is sentient. Furthermore, do not try to conceive of it as some ordinary beast, but rather like some enormous protean creature that is not relegated to one set configuration!

…Forgive me. I did not mean to roar so. No, I am calm now, sir. My state of mind will perhaps be best explained by my tale.

We gained access to the castle with an ease that should have warned us that there was something not right. I believe now that it was aware of us as soon as we entered, but allowed us to penetrate deeply within. I suspect—no, I firmly believe that this was so we would not be able to easily escape its influence.

The shape of our predicament unfolded slowly. No matter where we went, we encountered no other person, although we had, as planned, entered on the night that Bludtharst Heterodyne was throwing a Grand Fête for his field commanders. We heard music. The sound of many people. We were able to see brightly lit rooms filled with revelers through the windows, but no matter where we went, we were alone. No guards. No servants. No prisoners. No monsters. We began to think that if there were ghosts, than we were they.

More worrying was when we tried to leave. We could not. Never could we find a room with a window facing outwards. Never could we find a door that led anywhere but deeper into the castle. Doors behind us sealed themselves shut, melted into nothingness, or opened not onto the rooms whence we had come, but onto solid walls.

After two days of this, our nerve broke. We yelled. We begged for the Heterodynes’ guards to find us. We tried crawling out of the windows, only to find ourselves crawling back into the very rooms we had left. While we slept, the rooms themselves would change shape, or abut different rooms than when we had last looked. Eventually they began to do this, not while we slept, but before our very eyes as we watched.

Six of my people were crushed or impaled by hidden mechanisms and traps. Some instantly, some hung screaming for almost an hour.

In the end, the last three of my people simultaneously killed each other, and of this sin I absolved them. In the end, only I remained. We had been inside for close to five days without food or sufficient water, and I was lying near insensate upon the ground, too weak to move and resigned to death.

Suddenly, a door opened, and in strode the devil, Bludtharst Heterodyne himself. He saw me and gave a great shout of surprise. Then a terrible voice—a voice I know never came from the throat of man nor beast—arose from everywhere. “Forgive me, Master. He is but an interloper with whom I was having some sport.”

“Well he gave me a turn, you wretched thing,” Bludtharst declared. “Toss him out.”

The monstrous voice spoke again: “But, Master,” it said, “he still lives. I am not yet done with him.”

“Then let this be a lesson to you,” the Heterodyne said dismissively, “to not leave your trash lying about where I might trip over it. Send him on his way. At once!”

The next thing I knew, I awoke to discover that I had been tossed upon a night soil cart that was passing out through the town gates.

When he had finished, Giorello broke down into tears and had to be sedated.

I have placed him under observation for his own safety, as I greatly fear that he will attempt suicide. In my judgment, he is a broken man and is no longer fit for field service.

As to the veracity of his account, I cannot say. While preposterous on the surface, it does corroborate stories and anecdotes I have heard from disparate sources over the years. Thus, I would strongly recommend against further attempts to infiltrate Castle Heterodyne.

—Report from Baron Andrzej Petr Orczy, head of the Department of Assassination and Assorted Unpleasantness for Andronicus Valois, the Storm King. From the Storm King Collection of the British Museum.

Zola waited impatiently as one of her Tall Men twisted the dial a final degree and gingerly tapped a red button. There was a long, tense pause; then he gave a small shriek as the door before him slid aside. When he realized that he was not dead, a grin of relief spread across his face. “I did it!”

Zola scowled. “And about time,” she declared. “I want to get inside. We’re being watched.”

One of her other Tall Men cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady, but it is only due to Tiktoffen’s notes that we got through at all. We weren’t expecting difficulty so soon.” His eyes flicked upwards despite himself, “And I suspect even this could have been avoided.”

Zola glanced upwards. There was yet another of her Tall Men, hanging head down—impaled upon a grim metal arm that had unfolded from the ceiling. This device, which terminated in a wicked spike, would be horrific enough, but the machine had then used the screaming man to scrub out a message in blood that still oozed its way down the wall:

THE HETERODYNE MUST ENTER ALONE.

The girl rolled her eyes at these theatrics but had to concede that it might have a dampening effect upon the enthusiasm of her assistants. This was a situation where a firm whip hand was called for.

“Be that as it may, I shall play this by my rules.” She then hardened her voice. “We shall all enter together.” The remaining men had been trained well enough—they knew that there was no option other than outright rebellion, and they had not been selected for their independence of spirit. Glumly, they formed up in ranks behind her and stepped through the doorway, which instantly slammed shut behind them.

While her Tall Men cringed, Zola coolly examined the area in which they found themselves. This had once been a main entrance to Castle Heterodyne and it had been decorated to impress. Inlaid constellations picked out in semi-precious stones were just visible behind the grime that coated the barrel-vaults high overhead. Cobweb-festooned chandeliers dangled, unlit.

The paneled walls were decorated with enormous paintings depicting the great capital cities of Europa—apparently in the aftermath of a visit from the Heterodynes. Here was Vienna in flames. There was Berlin, still and silent, carpeted in an array of exotic fungi. Strange, shadowy shapes crept through the recognizable ruins of Paris.

This last was the only one that seemed to affect the girl—she gave a slight shudder and quickly turned away.

The hallway suddenly flared into brilliance as half a hundred lamps came alive. The candelabra were wrought in an astonishing variety of disquieting shapes—figures of men, women, and bizarre creatures writhing in what would appear to be agony.

Beneath the grime and rubble, the terrazzo floor—with its fabled madness-inducing non-Euclidian geometric patterns—could still be glimpsed beneath the now tattered carpet.

Zola took a deep breath. To finally be here… She squared her shoulders. This is where it got dangerous. A second look around the area and this time she noted a plethora of paint and chalk marks. Hastily scrawled signs and sigils warned of the thousand and one traps that lined the hallway.

She turned to her Tall Men and almost screamed in frustration. They had actually spread out and were examining the nearest walls with interest.

“Freeze, you fools!” Sensibly, they did. Even behind their goggles, she could see their eyes desperately swiveling in her direction.

“Now listen to me,” she said, foot tapping. “This is probably the best-mapped area of the Castle, but it is also one of the most dangerous. You must follow my lead.”

She pointed downwards. “Avoid any area of the floor marked in white. It is a trap that will kill you.”

She pointed upwards. “Do not stand beneath any area on the ceiling marked in red. It is a trap that will kill you.”

She caught one of her men gazing in fascination at a wall sconce depicting a golden lady entwined with some sort of cephalopod. “Do not touch any metal surface. It is a trap that will kill you.”

The man guiltily lowered his hand. “Are you trying to frighten us?”

Zola ground her teeth. “Of course I am! This place is dangerous! It is twisted, and diabolical and worst of all—”

Too late she saw another of her men reaching for a gold coin glittering innocently upon the floor. “NO!” she screamed, but it was too late. A trapdoor split open beneath him, sending him screaming into the darkness. There was a pause, and then the trapdoor rose back into place with a hiss. The coin glittered enticingly in the darkness.

Involuntarily, they all took a step back. Zola swallowed. “A—And worst of all, this place likes to think that it has…a sense of humor.”

They all kept close to her after that, as she headed deeper into the castle.

Professor Hristo Tiktoffen trudged down the Hall of Nasty Iron Springs.¹⁹

He moved with a distracted look on his face as he sorted through an enormous notebook, generously interleaved with additional notes and maps. Most of the prisoners that inhabited Castle Heterodyne had learned to walk very carefully indeed, and it was not uncommon for them to take several minutes to decide where to next place their foot. Tiktoffen trod confidently, to the awe of those around him. It was whispered that he and the Castle had reached…an accommodation.

He came to a large metal door and, with a small grunt, shoved it open, revealing a large cavernous space. Within, cyclopean gears were frozen mid-turn, teeth and gear shafts dull beneath years of accumulated dust and grime.

He heard a faint, rhythmic tapping coming from behind a wall of interlocked gears larger than millstones. Tiktoffen cleared his throat. “Fraulein Wilhelm?”

The tapping stopped and a shock of delicately shaded pink hair appeared between two enormous gear teeth. Its owner peered cautiously at the professor, then grinned and dodged around the machinery to stand before him.

Tiktoffen gave her an avuncular smile and checked his notes. “Anything for my books today?”

Sanaa Wilhelm absent-mindedly scrubbed at a spot of grime on her orange coverall as she pondered. “I think so, Professor.” She closed her eyes in concentration. “I was summoned to the north wall of the Room of Lead. I reconnected fifteen copper cables behind the third panel. That was at four thirty-six exactly.²⁰ There was a sort of a hum…and then nothing.”

Tiktoffen’s eyebrows rose. “Four thirty-six?” He shuffled through his stack of papers, muttering to himself. Suddenly he gave a small cry of satisfaction.

“Yes! Tark was in the Gallery of Razors—” He double-checked his notes. “—And yes! They flexed at four thirty-six!” He made a small notation on one of the sheets and tucked his pencil away with a glow of satisfaction. “Ten points for you!”

Sanaa’s eyes lit up in pleasure. “Ten? Thank you!”

Tiktoffen was already flipping through his notes and waved a hand. “De nada. We’ve been looking for the Razor’s power for over three years.”

Sanaa got a faraway look in her eyes. “Ten points,” she said to herself, just to hear it. “Wow! That’s worth at least two months off my sentence! So to get out of here, I only have to get—Ow!”

As fast as a striking snake, Tiktoffen had lashed out and clipped the side of the girl’s head. “Fool!” His jovial face had hardened instantly. “Never total your points out loud!”

Involuntarily, both prisoners glanced upwards towards an invisible presence that they knew loomed silently around them. Tiktoffen leaned in and addressed Sanaa in an urgent whisper. “When you’ve got enough to get out, I will know.” He tousled her hair affectionately.

At that moment, Tiktoffen heard a familiar metallic panting. Through the doorway came a man in his thirties, unprepossessing in every way—except for the sharp-toothed mechanical mask permanently fastened to his lower face that had earned him the name “Snapper.” When he saw Tiktoffen and Sanaa, he slowed a bit, but made up for it by waving his hands in agitation.

“Professor!” he called. His voice sounded hollow through the mask.

Tiktoffen gave a perfunctory smile. The man before him was one of the more unpredictable of the Castle’s current residents. He was also uncannily smart, which was why he was still alive. This also explained why it had taken the Baron’s people over two years to track him down, despite his striking appearance. “Snapper,” he said. “What is it?”

The man’s mechanical teeth ground together in excitement. “There’s a Heterodyne in the Castle!”

Immediately, Tiktoffen was all interest. A new “Heterodyne” crashing through the Castle always revealed so much information. He snapped open his notebook in anticipation. “Did he come in through the Red Gate?” He turned another few pages, searching. “They promised to send the next one in through the Red Gate,” he muttered. “I’m sure there’s a deadfall we missed…”

Snapper waved his hands again. “No, sir! She made it into the Octagon! She’s alive!”

The Professor looked at him blankly. “She?”

Snapper nodded vigorously. “And she’s brought in minions!”

With that the older man took off at a dead run down the hallway. No, he thought to himself. It can’t be! He skidded to a halt in a doorway. It was.

The Octagon was a large common room where the prisoners could congregate after they finished their shifts. It was directly off the kitchen and dormitories, and it was one of the few places where they had managed to replace the maddening red emergency lights with bulbs of a normal color. It was also in one of the permanent ‘dead zones’ in the Castle, and so was a popular place for the prisoners to relax. Some even chose to sleep there, just in case.

Many of the prisoners were there now, with more arriving every minute. The tables had been shoved against the walls, and in the center, a girl was getting undressed.

She was of middling height, and—once the ridiculously elaborate ball gown she wore over everything was stripped off—wearing a sensible pair of trousers and a simple leather singlet. Disconcertingly, they were still pink, but they were obviously working clothes. When she saw the professor, she gave him a cheerful smile that only highlighted the coldness of her eyes.

“Good morning, Professor Tiktoffen.”

Tiktoffen stared at her in dismay. “Mademoiselle Zola! It is you! I can’t believe it! What the hell are you doing here? Don’t tell me you fools got sentenced here!”

Zola laughed airily. “Of course not! We came in on our own.” The watching crowd gasped. She looked around the Octagon and was obviously unimpressed. “Well? Are you ready to leave this place?”

Tiktoffen restrained himself. He so very much wanted to slap her. “I didn’t send for you,” he roared. “It’s too soon!”

The girl shrugged. “We’ve had to move things up.”

The professor opened his mouth to object—

“Another Heterodyne girl has appeared.” Despite her flippant attitude, Zola knew that Tiktoffen was smart. He instantly closed his mouth and waited.

Zola smiled. “The Baron tried to capture her. She defeated him, and in the process, announced her existence to the entire world. They were buzzing about her in Vienna when I left. We had to strike now before she gets here.”

“Is…” Tiktoffen hesitated. “Is she the real thing?” Suddenly he felt it. A vast attention was focused on them now. Tiktoffen shivered. Apparently The Octagon wasn’t as dead as they had been led to believe.

Zola shrugged. “Her pedigree is unknown. As always, the only test of import is if she can hold this castle. That’s what people will understand. It’s why you’re here, remember?”

Tiktoffen collapsed into a chair and glared at her. “Of course I do! I’ve been in here for three years. There is nothing I want more than to get out and I am telling you that it is too soon!” He slammed his book onto a nearby table. “The Council needs to know how the Castle works?²¹ That is what I have been doing! But unraveling the work of generations of lunatics takes time! I cannot tell you how to control the Castle yet! You’ve put the entire plan into jeopardy—for nothing!”

The girl picked up Tiktoffen’s treasured book and leafed through a few pages. “No, not for nothing,” she said comfortingly. “We understand that you can’t control the Castle.” She tossed the precious book into a trash barrel. “Instead, you will just have to help me kill it.”

Tiktoffen gasped as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Kill it?” In an instant he was up on his feet and fishing the book from the barrel. “The whole point of all this was to be able to use it! Its recognition will legitimize you!”

Zola ruefully shook her head. “The consensus is that the Castle may be too shattered to aid anyone. The legends all say that when Faustus Heterodyne brought the Castle to life, it was keenly intelligent. Able to observe and express itself everywhere within its structure, able to move and reshape almost every part of itself. In times of war, there are accounts of it actually aiding in the defense of the town. Now, even if we prune away the obvious hyperbole and inevitable exaggerations, does that sound like this place?”

Tiktoffen looked troubled. “I’ve admitted as much in my reports. The stories you mention could be easily explained as exaggerations of some of the phenomena we can still see today. But the incisive guiding intelligence? That seems to be gone. There’s something, certainly. There are the voices that direct our repair efforts, but they often seem confused…”

“Confused?” Sanaa spoke up from the ring of fascinated prisoners that had gathered while the two had been talking, “Half the time it says it’s guiding us to repair sites and then leads us into traps!”

There was a heartfelt murmur of confirmation on this point from the rest of the inmates.

Tiktoffen acknowledged this. “That is certainly the case now, but I regard these problems as evidence that the guiding mechanism is damaged, not that it never existed. While I could accept that some of these old stories are exaggerations from enemies or prisoners, there are too many private accounts from the writings of the Heterodynes themselves.”

The girl patted his arm solicitously. “Your work here hasn’t been wasted, Professor, nor has that of your predecessors.”

Tiktoffen looked surprised. The girl noticed and gave a small laugh. “Oh please, you can’t seriously believe that you were our first inside man?”

The look on his face illustrated that this was exactly what he had believed. Zola smiled.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve certainly lasted longer than any of the others…but their information has also proved valuable. A recent analysis of all the collected reports suggests that we are not dealing with one single Castle entity. The current thought is that there may be as many as twelve.”

Tiktoffen stared at her. He slowly sat down as this idea bubbled up through his brain. He spoke slowly, “But every source I’ve been able to unearth has referred to it as a single entity.”

The girl nodded. “And it is quite possible that this was originally the case.” She shrugged. “Maybe it even could do some of the things that the old stories claim. But I will say that relying upon the writings of the old Heterodynes to give you an accurate portrayal of anything seems a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”

Tiktoffen had to concede the point. Only the previous night, he had finished plowing through a journal by the Black Heterodyne,²² which had gone on at great length about “how things would be so much simpler if everyone didn’t have those purple insects crawling in and out of their faces all the time.”

The girl continued. “But whatever cohesion existed must have been destroyed in the Great Attack.²³ We now believe that all that is left is a disorganized collection of sub-systems. That’s what you’ve been dealing with. That’s why none of it makes sense.”

A wave of confusion washed over the ring of observers. The girl thought for a second. “Think of it this way; you’ve got repair systems that direct you to damaged areas. You’ve got anti-intruder systems that activate to keep you out of sensitive areas. Normally they’re all part of the same system. But because of the damage, while they are still functioning, they’re not talking to each other. The left claw doesn’t know what the right one is doing.”

She let them absorb this for a moment. “We’re still going to use the Castle, but first we have to stop it from killing everyone. We have more than enough firepower on the way to allow us to hold Mechanicsburg through conventional means, especially if we seem legitimate. I will rule as the new Heterodyne, and I do not need the permission of a broken machine to do it.”

Carson von Mekkhan swung the ancient ironwork gate closed behind him and locked it fastidiously. Agatha, Zeetha, Krosp, and Wooster peered into the gloom. The enclosure was evidently used to store road maintenance tools. Humming to himself, the old man selected a particular brick, gave it a twist, and a hidden door slid open with a deep groan. Carson frowned. “That needs oiling,” he muttered. He stepped through, and indicated that Agatha and her three friends should follow. Once all were through, the door swung shut behind them and they were left in total darkness. Before they could react, there was a “clunk” as Carson threw an ancient knifeswitch and a series of dim green lights began to glow. They now saw that they stood at the top of a wide stone staircase that wound sharply down.

“This isn’t another sewer, is it?” Krosp asked as they started down. He’d had quite enough of those in Sturmhalten.

The old man shook his head. They came to the bottom of the steps and looked up at an elaborate series of groined vaults, the tops of which were lost in the cool darkness.

“This,” Carson announced, his voice echoing, “is the true family crypt of the Heterodynes.” As their eyes adjusted, they could see bizarre and elaborate sepulchers and coffins of marble and granite, decorated with tarnished metal and dusty gems. Unearthly statues lined the walls and carved skeletons were everywhere. It took Agatha a moment to realize that unlike other cemeteries she had visited, all of the statues and carved faces were grinning in a most disquieting manner. Even in death, the Heterodynes took a perverse pride in the fact that people were happy to see them go.

As they moved down the central corridor, names came and went in the darkness. Names that Agatha recognized as the monsters of stories she had heard as a child. Stories that everyone had heard. She realized that she was torn between dread and a sort of twisted admiration. These were the monsters that had shaped the face and the history of Europa. Sometimes for the worse, and sometimes, though it had certainly not been their intent, for the better—if only because of the heroism that had arisen in order to confront them.

It was all summed up by the inscription over the tomb of Bludtharst Heterodyne, who had been responsible for the creation of the Storm King’s coalition: HE COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ME. True enough, Agatha thought, although she suspected the Storm King might have appreciated having an option.

Wooster fished a watch from his waistcoat pocket, gave the back a half-twist that revealed a softly glowing compass, and frowned at it. “I seem to have gotten a bit turned around in all those tunnels,” he admitted. “We started at the Cathedral,²⁴ but now we’re closer to the castle, yes?”

Carson nodded in approval. “Very good, Mister Wooster.”

Zeetha looked around and took a deep breath of the limestone-scented air. “Are all the Heterodynes here?”

Carson pulled an ivory pipe from his pocket and leaned against an ornate coffin. He plucked a clump of crumbly black moss from the stone surface, and tamped it into his pipe. “Well.” He thought about this as he pulled an elaborate silver lighter from another pocket and lit the pipe. “There are a few of them that are represented by only a few ashes or scraps of armor,” he conceded, “but aside from Master William and Master Barry, one way or another, the Heterodynes have always come home in the end.” He took a deep puff and released a savory cloud of faintly glowing green smoke. “A place has been reserved for them, for when they arrive.”

Agatha studied the man. “You’re convinced they will return,” she declared.

Carson hunched his shoulders and gave a faint smile. “In one form or another.” His teeth gleamed in the shadows.

Agatha stood tall. “And yet you say it’s impossible that I could be a Heterodyne. Even though…every…everything tells me that I am.”

The old man nodded amiably. “Oh, yes, I can see why. Punch and Judy, your effect upon the people of the town, not to mention Captain Vole’s reaction…” Another ruminative puff. “Still, whatever you are, you are not the heir everyone expects.”

“And why can’t I be?”

Carson looked at her and took the pipe from his mouth. He gestured towards her feet with the stem. “Because you’re standing on him.”

Agatha jumped and stared down. A tiny marble slab was set into the stone floor. The inscription was succinct:

KLAUS BARRY HETERODYNE

Beloved son of Lucrezia and William

With us but 407 days—

Forever in our hearts

Agatha had to move her foot to see the dates of birth and death.

Peering over her shoulder, Wooster’s breath caught. He looked up. “He died in the attack on Castle Heterodyne?”

Carson nodded.

Krosp’s tail twitched. “The name—”

He was cut short by Carson. “He was named Klaus at Master William’s insistence. It was done to honor his old friend who had vanished over two years previously.” The old man paused, “Two years and three months, to be technical about it.”

“Yes…” Ardsley said slowly, “I can see why you’d want to be clear about that.”

“I don’t,” said Agatha, “What am I missing?”

Carson looked at her and then looked away. Agatha blinked in puzzlement. The old man was embarrassed.

Zeetha merely chuckled infuriatingly.

Ardsley cleared his throat. “There were…rumors that before she married Bill Heterodyne, the Lady Lucrezia had…trouble deciding between him and Klaus Wulfenbach.”

“It was a well known fact around here,” Carson said tartly. “And the Lady Lucrezia was not one to be bound by…propriety or cultural mores, let us say. But luckily, for dynastic reasons, everyone was satisfied with the math.” He looked at Agatha expectantly.

The light dawned and Agatha flushed. “How did he die?”

“When the Other attacked Castle Heterodyne—”

“But why would she?” Agatha stopped short at a overly loud cough from Zeetha. There were very few people who knew that Agatha’s mother, Lucrezia, had been the Other. To most of the world, the Other was still a figure of mystery. Perhaps, Agatha thought, she should leave it that way for now. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said to the old man. “Please. Tell me what you know of the attack.”

The old man took a long drag on his pipe and settled back on the slab. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Absent-mindedly he steepled his fingertips before his chest. When he spoke, his voice was firm and his wording concise. “I was not in the Castle on the night of the attack. Indeed, I was no longer seneschal. I had retired three days before and turned the duty over to my son.

“The Masters were away. The town of Huffnagle was being overrun by…hm…giant vegetables, as it turned out. I was enjoying the luxury of playing with my grandchildren.

“At eight-seventeen p.m., there was an earth tremor and a massive explosion rocked the town. It came from the Castle—so I left the children with their mother and went out to see what I could do…”

The town was in chaos. The Castle had been hit. Entire towers leaned drunkenly outwards. Flame roared from windows and as Carson watched, a section of the battlements collapsed, tumbling down the crags to the slopes below.

Flaming bits of the Castle had been blown throughout the entire town, and fires were breaking out all over. To make matters even worse, the automatic fire suppression systems were either malfunctioning or were slow to activate and the fires were growing everywhere he looked.

He saw a crowd gawping at a fountain of flame slowly spreading over the Rusty Trilobite, his favorite tavern.

“Grab some buckets,” he roared. People jumped at his voice and then ran to obey, as they had done for the last thirty years.

Carson continued: “Castle Heterodyne had a staff of two hundred and seven. Sixty-three died that night, including the new seneschal—my son.” He paused again, catching his breath as the old pain washed through him.

The Jägers were weeping. He’d never seen that before, even at the death of a Heterodyne. They lined the corridor, blood oozing from wounds they’d incurred clearing debris. He saw that a section of the ceiling had come down. The skeletal Herr Doktor Torsti arose from a crouch, his joints snapping in that unfortunate manner he had been so proud of, the eternal rictus of his mouth stretched into an unfamiliar expression of sadness.

As he drew near, Carson saw a crumpled figure that appeared to be trying to crawl from beneath the rubble. With a chill, he recognized the Coat of Office. He found he had dropped to his knees, and just when he thought it could not get any worse, he identified the pathetic bundle clutched in his son’s arms…

The old man raised his head proudly. “He died trying to protect the young master. Serving the House of Heterodyne to the end.”

Agatha realized that she was crying, silent tears running down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “He must have been very brave. All of your family must have been so brave for so very long…” She took a deep breath and looked the old man in the eye. “Thank you.”

The old man blew out an embarrassed breath and stood up. “A ‘thank you’, is it?” He jammed his hands into his pockets. A moment later, he realized that the pipe he held was still lit and he pulled it back out of his pocket and waved it at Agatha impatiently. “Now I know you’re not a member of the family!” He looked away and after a moment continued:

“The Lady Lucrezia was missing…”

It took four Jägers and two of the bone puppet golems to smash down the doors to Lucrezia’s laboratory. Inside, clouds of acrid smoke rose from the large fireplace. Wearing a breathing filter, Carson pushed through and saw the remnants of charred file boxes. The Lady Lucrezia’s precious notes. In the ashes below he saw the smashed remains of vessels that, from their markings, had contained volatile chemical accelerants. He felt his skin begin to tingle and checked the seal on his filter. Crumpled before this pyre was the pale form of the Lady’s mysterious, nameless warrior-assistant. Her pupil-less eyes stared upwards and an ugly gash had opened her throat. The rest of the room gave testament to a pitched battle, with glassware and equipment tossed about and thoroughly smashed.

The Heterodyne Boys returned within hours, and Carson was there—waiting for them in the front hall. Master Bill nearly went insane. It took two of the Jägergenerals to hold him down, roaring and swearing. The Three Prometheans finally managed to convince him that the young Master was beyond hope. Even they—the Heterodyne’s ancient and final arbiters of death and non-death—had been crying, and when Master William damned them to the Caverns of the Red Slow, they had merely bowed in unison and gone their way without protest.

Master Barry surrounded himself with a deadly calm. He was the one who took charge and made sure that all who had been within the Castle were rescued or accounted for.

Carson paused. “Except for the Lady Lucrezia. There was no sign of her anywhere, and the Castle was…Well the only way to describe it is ‘raving.’ It’s gotten more coherent over the years, but then—”

He seemed to realize that he was wandering, and with an impatient shake of his head continued. “After everyone who could be rescued was rescued, and all that could be done had been done, the Heterodyne Boys secreted themselves in Master William’s laboratory.” The old man took a deep draw from his pipe and stared down the corridor of memory. “I heard them arguing. Arguing like I had never heard them do before. About what, I couldn’t tell you, but it went on for almost two days. From the sound of it, Master Barry was…more in control, but Master William was the Heterodyne and in the end Master Barry conceded. They left the next day.”

Carson paused again and reemerged into the present. He looked Agatha in the face. “And we never saw them again.” Even now there was a note of hurt betrayal in his voice. “We heard of them, of course. Everyone did. Someone was trying to wipe out the Sparks of Europa.

The following years saw the destruction of forty-three major houses. Slaver wasps and their revenants were everywhere. People thought they were seeing the End Days.

“And anywhere there was a mention of wasps, you would hear about the Heterodyne Boys. They were always in the thick of things. Always fighting the Other. Always searching for the Lady Lucrezia. For close to three years…”

Carson shrugged. “And then…nothing. One day people simply realized that the attacks upon the great houses had stopped. We assumed that the Masters had found the Other and had beaten him. But no one ever knew for sure. They never returned, or even sent us word. They had vanished.

“There were still packs of revenants, and outbreaks of wasps, but they were… undirected. Without purpose. Inevitably, of course, the remaining Sparks emerged from within their fortresses and began to accuse each other of being in league with the enemy. They resumed fighting amongst themselves. Things became worse than ever…” Carson sighed, “and that was when the Baron returned.”

Carson eased himself onto a low sarcophagus and considered his next words. “There are many who grouse about the Baron now, but when he first appeared, the people flocked to him…and with good cause. Where the Baron strode, peace reigned, and the people were desperate for peace. All too soon he was at the gates of Mechanicsburg—polite as the devil when he wants a drink, but here nonetheless.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust him. Truth be told, I always rather liked him. More important, the Masters had liked and trusted him. But even so, I would not be the one to surrender the secrets of the Heterodynes to an outsider.

“And so, the records showed that the seneschal of Castle Heterodyne, Carson von Mekkhan, had died, as had his eldest son—who bore his name. The younger children were erased from the records, and thus the House of Wulfenbach believed us—and the knowledge we possessed—to be gone.

“Eventually, after he had learned what he could—little enough, but still more than I’d have liked—Klaus set up a new City Council, reached an accommodation with what remained of the Castle, took the Jägers and the Nurse, and left.”

Agatha interrupted at this point. “Wait—the Nurse?”

The old man nodded. “A construct of the Lady Lucrezia’s. She had been the young Master’s nursemaid. When she was found trapped in the rubble of the Castle, she had gone quite off her head and was nearly incoherent. She had to be locked up or she’d have killed even more of us.”

“Was this…Von Pinn?”

The old man almost choked on his pipe. “You know her?”

Agatha nodded slowly. “She was on Castle Wulfenbach. The Baron had her guarding the children who served as hostages.”

“Ah.” The old man thought about this and nodded. “Klaus always did know the right monster for the right job.”

Krosp interrupted, “So there’s a new City Council?”

Carson waved a hand dismissively. “It was always the job of the seneschal to see to it that Mechanicsburg ran smoothly. It still is. In fact, it works so well that old Klaus has never had any cause to complain. The Baron’s new City Council was still made up of Mechanicsburg people. They answered quietly to me, and now, to my grandson, Vanamonde.” Carson paused. “I assure you, he is more competent than I let on.”

“A shadow government.” Krosp twitched his whiskers. “I really do like you people.”

Wooster looked skeptical. “But the Baron is famous for being able to infer things from the subtlest of hints. How could you have possibly kept all this a secret?”

The old man shrugged. “The Baron sails high above Europa in that floating castle of his. It’s very easy to see things from on high. More than people comprehend. Patterns are apparent, if you know what to look for. But Mechanicsburg has always been an insular place. A lot of our business takes place out of sight. The town sits atop caverns and passages that have been explored and expanded for centuries. A lot more goes through them than what is seen by the light of day. Klaus might suspect that all is not as it seems,” he conceded, “but the Baron is an outsider. Fooling him is a sport. More to the point, the Empire is big and we’ve never caused him any problems. We’ve even assisted him, once or twice. Klaus is focused on results.”

“No one notices that you have an undue amount of influence around here,” Krosp interjected.

The old man smiled. “Why, our family holds an important hereditary position. We are even honorary members of the City Council!” He fumbled about in an inner pocket of his vest and drew out a small, worn placard. “Here you go.”

Agatha examined the ivory card. It had been carefully etched, in an impressive gothic script. She looked up. “Doom Bell Ringer?”

Wooster gave a snort. “It hasn’t been rung in years.”

“And a good thing too,” Carson muttered as he replaced his card. He stared at Agatha and looked troubled. “But there are signs that business could be picking up.”

Agatha looked around. “So I assume that you can get us into the Castle from here so we don’t run into any of the Baron’s people?”

“No, no,” Carson said as he stood up. “I said the front door and I meant it. You’ll go in chains, of course, like a normal person.” He saw Agatha’s expression. “Klaus uses convicts to work in the Castle. The troublesome Sparks and monsters that the Empire wants gone for one reason or another. It’s a death sentence for most of them, and considering the people Klaus sends in, I don’t think anyone weeps for them.

“But not everyone dies. Ostensibly they’re there to repair the Castle, and a number of them get interested in the work. There’s a system, with points awarded for dangerous work or good behavior and sometimes someone actually completes their sentence and gets out.”

The old man caught up a lantern and lit it from the coal of his pipe. He waved them all to follow him. He activated another hidden door and they again descended a long winding staircase. Carson continued, his voice echoing back up the stairwell.

“It used to be that the prisoners were sent in every morning and taken out to a barracks every night. The idea was to let people see the Baron’s justice at work or some such nonsense.

“Didn’t work, of course. It just brought a lot of bad characters into town. There was a whole slew of bookies and other low-level trash who’d whoop it up right outside the castle gates—taking bets on who’d come out that day and so on. It made the whole town look bad. We started to lose the higher class of business.

“We were looking into a way to get rid of them that wouldn’t have the Baron sending in the Questers when one day, without warning, the Baron himself suddenly had them all rounded up and marched into the Castle along with the prisoners.”

Carson’s grin could be seen in the darkness. “And none of them ever came out. Klaus never was very good at the subtle.” He fished a large key from his belt and unlocked a small unobtrusive gate. He held it open while they all entered, then locked it carefully behind them. They turned the corner into a wide, relatively well-lit hall that sank into the darkness. Carson started down and continued: “After that, the prisoners were housed inside the Castle. No more coming and going. But they still have to eat, so supplies are sent in twice a week. And whereas the supply crew is thoroughly scrutinized when they leave, nobody really expects anyone to try to get in, or particularly cares if they do.”

Zeetha nodded appreciatively. Agatha frowned. “But then, why are we down here? Surely the supply runs don’t start here in the Crypts?”

The old man’s snort of amusement wafted back. “No, we’re here because you need to be told what to do once you get into the Castle, and believe me, I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”

A softly glowing mimmoth skittered across Agatha’s foot. She flinched but controlled herself. “You can’t tell us this information anywhere?”

“I don’t know it.”

The implications of this sank into the group. Krosp voiced the obvious conclusion: “And the person who does know, lives down here? That’s kind of creepy.”

Carson reached the bottom of the stairwell and turned to face them. “Not a person,” he said heavily. “Not alive.”

Krosp raised his paw. “Creepy?”

“Hell, yes.” The man grasped an iron escutcheon and gave it a twist. With a groan, a section of brickwork slid back and to the side, revealing another set of stairs, lined with upended crypts adorned with grinning skulls that, to no one’s surprise, turned to watch as they passed by. Carson waved a hand. “Don’t pay them any mind, you’re with me.” He paused. “I wouldn’t dawdle, though.” Everyone obligingly bunched up. Zeetha moved protectively to Agatha’s side.

Wooster cleared his throat nervously. “Um…We’re not going to meet some ancient undead Heterodyne vampyre or…or something. Are we?”

Carson spat. “Oh, and wouldn’t that be the perfect capper to my day.”

Wooster licked his lips. “That…actually that wasn’t a ‘ho ho, don’t be silly, old chap, there’s no such thing as vampyres down here.’”

“I ain’t being paid to lie to you, Brit.”

“You mean…”

“But that’s not who we’re looking for today.”

The spy hunched himself down a bit. “You mean there are days when you do go looking for…them?”

“Didn’t say they were good days.”

“Oh.”

Carson sighed. “Better than this, though.”

Wooster glared at the old man. “I am done talking to you.”

“I appreciate the effort, young fellow, but the day’s already a loss.”

“Aren’t they great, ladies and gentlemen?” Zeetha said brightly, “They’ll be here all week.”

Agatha gave a snort of amusement.

“What are we looking for?” Krosp demanded.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Carson spun a wheel, which brought the lights up. “This. The throne of Faustus Heterodyne.”²⁵

And indeed, what had at first appeared to be just a nest of dials and gears, was, if you looked at it correctly, a seat at the center of a tangle of cables and pipes that spread outwards every which way before burrowing into the walls, floors and ceiling.

Wooster let out a gust of breath. “There’s no one in it.”

The old man slowly removed his waistcoat. “Not yet,” he confirmed in a hollow voice. “That’s my job.”

“I see I’m never going to learn.”

Carson grinned and clapped him on the back. “Then you’ve learned something already.” He turned to Agatha, who was examining a large bank of controls with great interest, “Your pardon, my lady, but… if you could assist me in the warm-up sequence? I’m supposed to do it myself, but…”

For the first time Agatha noticed that the old man was showing his age. The long climb and the task ahead had clearly taken a toll on him.

“You sit down. I’ll take care of this.” She told him. When he began to protest, she raised her voice. “SIT!” Involuntarily, the old man sat. “Now you rest, and tell me what to do.”

A nearby chest contained oiled rags and tools, and soon enough, under the old man’s direction, Agatha had the others wiping and tightening connections while she ran through an impressive diagnostic sequence that, while it told her that the machines were functional, failed to provide her with any clue as to their purpose. Occasionally she became so intrigued by the machines that she began to drift into a Spark fugue, but these were always shortcircuited by Carson, who seemed to always know the right time to distract her.

Carson saw Krosp looking at him after the third instance and shrugged. “It’s a knack. You’ll pick it up if you live long enough.”

In a very short time, Agatha tightened a final screw and threw a large red lever. There was a faint crackling from within the depths of the device and with a groan, wheels began to turn and lights flickered on throughout the chamber. A faint whiff of ozone and burnt insulation began to fight with the smell of limestone. She turned to Carson. “I think that’s everything. Did I do it correctly?”

The old man took a last pull on his pipe, knocked it against a girder, and climbed to his feet. “I certainly hope so. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts,” the old man snapped. “A lot.”

Agatha looked distressed. Seeing her face, the old man’s expression softened slightly. “But mostly,” he admitted, “because, up until now, I hadn’t thought that any of the claimants that had wandered into Mechanicsburg had a chance of being a real Heterodyne.”

Agatha absorbed this. “So what is it we’re doing down here?”

“I’m going to let you talk to the Castle.”

“And that hurts you?”

The old man nodded. “From down here? Yes. But no one else can do it.”

“Why couldn’t…say…Wooster do it?”

The British agent jerked in surprise. “Hold on—”

Agatha waved a hand. “Just as an example.”

“Hold on—why me?”

“Because I’m curious.”

The old man nodded and removed his cap, revealing the fearsome scars set in a perfect square upon his bald pate. His voice rang with pride. “Because I am the Seneschal of Castle Heterodyne. Because I’m the one with the special holes drilled into my skull and the sockets embedded there.” He rolled his eyes: “Vanamonde should have had it done years ago. But…well, the Heterodynes were gone, and…” He shrugged.

Carson lowered himself onto a leather-padded seat, cracked with age and spotted with mildew. He gingerly drew a large, complicated-looking machine towards his head. Agatha could see that it was a helmet, supported by an array of counter-weighted arms that swung it easily into place. Four spring-loaded clamps were positioned roughly above the scars on the old man’s head. His hands danced across the ancient control board, and with a final grimace, he snapped the last switch.

Instantly the four clamps flexed, driving the metal rods downward into his head with a sickening sound, and the old man screamed. The helmet crackled with electricity and the tubes began to glow. Carson sat stock-still, the only movement a faint trail of blood that slid out from under the helmet and slowly dripped off his chin. Agatha stared in horror and reached toward him, then stopped dead when Carson spoke.

His voice was odd. Dry and slow, as if it had bounced back and forth across great distances before finally finding its way out through the old man’s pale lips.

“It has been four hundred and thirty-seven million, two hundred and fifteen thousand, three hundred and fifty-three seconds since this system was last activated,” the old man whispered. Suddenly his head jerked to the side, causing everyone watching to jump back. A delighted grin spread across his features, and when he next spoke, his voice was stronger, but no less disturbing. “Why, it’s still old Carson! And here he swore he’d never be back!” His head swiveled around and examined the group staring back at him. “He must be very certain indeed!”

He leaned forward. His hand jerked upward and unfolded, pointing directly at Ardsley Wooster. “So you think you’re a Heterodyne, eh, boy?”

Wooster stumbled back a pace. “What? No! Not at all!”

The thing inside Carson’s head paused, and then cocked his head to one side, as if it was listening to an unseen voice. “A what?” he asked querulously.

Agatha stepped forward. “I am Agatha Heterodyne. I am the daughter of Bill and Lucrezia Heterodyne.”

Carson’s body rocked back in its seat. Across the helmet, lights flickered between red and green. “A girl?” His head snapped back to Wooster. “This is a trick.”

Wooster shook his head. “No.”

“Really. You’re the Heterodyne.”

“No.”

“You’re just acting like a miserable, cringing lackey.”

Wooster realized that he was, in fact, hunched back against a pillar—shying away from the malevolence he could feel radiating off of the old man. He straightened up. “No.”

Carson’s attention snapped back to Agatha and examined her minutely. Agatha felt a growing annoyance. The old man snapped his fingers. “You’re really a man, but you like to wear women’s clothing.”

“Enough,” Agatha roared, her voice spiraling into the harmonics of madness. “I am the Heterodyne! Now stop wasting time with this idiocy and tell me what I need to know!”

The entity inside Carson froze and then shuddered. “The Voice,” he whispered. Lenses on the helmet spun as he leaned in and again the lights danced. “I believe you are the Lady Lucrezia’s child. Heh heh—” A nasty grin twisted across his lower face. “But are you the Master’s? We shall see…”

Agatha grit her teeth. “You certainly shall!”

The entity in the old man’s body considered her again. “Hmm. The Heterodyne blood so rarely produces girls. The last one was—”

“Me,” Agatha stated defiantly.

The old man’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Perhaps. There are ways to tell, once you are inside.” He raised a finger dramatically, “Fail—and you—”

“Yes.” Agatha interrupted. “If I’m a fake, I die. I’ve been told.”

The entity sat back. “Well,” he said slowly, “maybe not. Or at least… not right away…”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

“You are a Spark, are you not?”

Agatha nodded slowly, “I am.”

The entity sighed. “Then, girl or not, false or not, I am prepared to make a bargain with you.”

Agatha stepped back. “A bargain? With you?”

She considered this.

Wooster cleared his throat. “It’s not unprecedented. It made a bargain with the Baron.”

The entity nodded. “See? And I did not even try to kill him.”

Wooster rubbed his jaw. “Did he ever try to enter?”

“I grow tired of these foolish questions,” the entity snapped. “There is an enemy inside the Castle. A false Heterodyne. She intends to destroy me. The very idea is preposterous, and yet—I fear that she may have actually have found a way.”

“Wait—” Krosp furrowed his brow. “If she wants to prove to everyone that she’s a Heterodyne, then shouldn’t she be trying to control you? I thought that was the test.”

“Indeed it is. But…heh…she has realized that control is not possible.”

“Ah,” Zeetha interrupted, “because she’s not really a Heterodyne.”

The entity paused. Agatha found herself suddenly convinced that there was something important that the…thing…wasn’t saying. Finally, Carson’s body shrugged.

“In part,” it admitted. “But mostly because I am severely damaged. Wulfenbach’s people have been trying to repair me for years. Overall they have failed, but still they have been useful. I have directed them where I could, and thus I am much more coherent than I once was.

“My central brain—the part of me that you are now speaking to—is isolated. My control circuits were severed in the explosion. It seems the power systems are largely untouched, so my secondary systems are running automatically—and they are stupid. Running at cross-purposes. Fragmented. You will get in and repair the break in the central control conduit.”

Agatha nodded. “Ah! So there’s a secret way into your inner keep?”

The entity paused, still grinning. “Hmmmm. I suppose that would have made things easier for you.”

Agatha sighed. “Wonderful. So I will be going in through the front door.”

“As all honest men should…”

Agatha ignored this. “Then tell me this: how do I evade these rogue defenses? I assume that there’s a key or a code word or something that will let me progress safely.”

The entity frowned. “Dear me, no. Foolishness like that is the sort of thing that can be exploited by enemies. I was constructed better than that.”

“Well, I’d better have something more helpful than just your good wishes or it won’t do either of us any good.”

The entity nodded. “I…concede the point. Very well. I will give you the map.”

Agatha brightened. “A map? A map that will show where I need to make repairs? Why, that’s perfect!”

The entity waved its hands. “It is not here. You must get to it. This will be…difficult.”

“Do you want me to help you or not?”

“This is the best I can do!” the entity roared. “Every instinct I possess is geared to keeping strangers out and away from the family secrets! If you are captured, I would rather be destroyed than allow them to fall into the hands of an imposter!”

“You’re not making it easy for the real Heterodyne, either.”

The entity leaned in. “A real Heterodyne will find a way. They always do. Get to the Masters’ Library. There you will find the map you need.”

Suddenly another voice was heard. “Sniveling sand-dragons! Is Carson actually hooked up to that brain-sucking abomination?”

There was a clatter of footsteps, and one of the young women from the coffee shop appeared, leading a tall old man. He was dressed in a rich outfit topped with a rather gaudy hat of office. It was obvious that he was an official of the town.

The girl spoke. “Lady Heterodyne, this is Herr Wilhelm Diamant. He’s responsible for the transport and care of the prisoners in Castle Heterodyne.”

The old man ignored them and stepped close to examine Carson. “Did you people force him into this?”

The entity grinned. “Carson von Mekkhan came to me freely, Herr Diamant. He truly believes this girl is the new Heterodyne,” it chuckled. “Though he will never admit it.”

“That old fool,” Diamant snarled. “All the Heterodynes are dead!”

Suddenly Herr Diamant gave a shriek and Agatha saw him hoisted into the air by an assortment of clamp-like mechanical hands. Another set of manipulators, equipped with knives, many of them rusted but still quite sharp, swung into the light.

“You disloyal dog,” the entity hissed.

Diamant shuddered and stared at the entity in terror. “No! I—”

“Obviously it has been far too long since you felt the Masters’ displeasure!”

“Carson!” the old man moaned. “Call it off!”

The entity paused and then tittered. “I think you’ve annoyed him as well.” A blade lazily began to spin as it edged closer to the trapped man.

“STOP!”

Everyone jerked in surprise. The blade pulled back. Agatha strode forward and confronted the entity face-to-face. “I am here now, and I’m telling—No, I am ordering you to let him go!”

The entity inside Carson snarled. “You are not the Heterodyne yet!” The blade spun faster and aimed itself towards Herr Diamant’s eyes.

Agatha viciously slapped Carson across the face. “I say enough! I am the Heterodyne! You’ll do what I say now—because if you ignore me and hurt him—then I will walk out of this room and find another way to stop these people!” She leaned in. “But that will take time. Time you don’t have. They’ll shut you down and you’ll be dead, having utterly failed the Heterodyne family. Is that what you want?”

The effect of these last words was dramatic. The entity gasped as if punched and flinched at her final question.

“No,” it whispered.

“Then release him,” Agatha demanded.

The entity hesitated. “Can’t I just…wound him? Just a little?”

“No!”

The entity slammed Carson’s fist down in frustration. “Why not? He needs to be reminded who is his Master!”

Agatha wheeled about. “The only disloyal thing I see here is you! Release him at once!”

Carson huffed, “Fine! Have it your way!” With a snap, several manipulators opened and Diamant dropped to the floor. “Maybe I just won’t kill anyone at all! How would you like that?”

Agatha ignored it and bent to help the old man to his feet. “Are you all right, Herr Diamant?”

The old man stared at her and clasping her hands in his, awkwardly dropped to one knee. “I am your loyal servant until the end of days, my lady,” he declared fervently.

Behind them, the entity looked on with interest. Ah, an unusual variant upon the Old Game.²⁶

Agatha addressed Herr Diamant. “So you can get me inside the castle without attracting attention?”

Herr Diamant nodded. “Yes, my lady. Give me your measurements, and I’ll have a suitable set of clothes prepared for you. My cart is outside.” He glanced at the others. “I shall see to it that your companions are safely settled until—”

“Wait,” Zeetha interrupted, “We’re going in, too.”

“No!” the thing within Carson thundered. “The Heterodyne must enter alone!”

Wooster cleared his throat. “Allow to me point out, sir, that the rules of your game have already been negated. The false Heterodyne entered accompanied by a full complement of retainers. In the interest of parity…”

“Several of the usurper’s creatures are already dead,” the entity said with evident pride. “The rest will soon follow. The Heterodyne must enter alone!”

Krosp folded his arms. “Nuts to you, you overclocked music box. You’ll do what Agatha wants.”

“That’s right,” Agatha said. “And I say I’m going in alone.” This prompted an eruption of protest from everyone else, which was only silenced by the entity’s voice raised in argument, apparently with itself.

“No! I want to tell her! No, I’ll do it now. Now give it back! You never let me have any fun!” This ended with the seated figure gripping the metal helmet and wrenching it upwards. Carson gave a shriek of pain as the device slid free of his skull and several fresh rivulets of blood slid past his nose. The old man took a deep breath and then his eyes snapped open. A maniacal grin spread across his face.

“AHAHAHAHA!!” he cackled. “I win again, you wind-up pile of rubble!” The others looked at him suspiciously. Von Mekkhan’s voice was shriller than before, with traces of the Castle still evident. Apparently the effects of the connection took a while to wear off.

Agatha looked concerned. “Are…” She glanced at the holes in the man’s head. “Are you all right?”

“Of course!” the old man crowed. “The Castle can’t hold me, by damn! That’s why it’s my job!” His hands snapped out and gripped Agatha’s arms. “And you! You made it back down! Magnificent!” He gave another peal of laughter.

Agatha frowned. “You don’t…sound all right.”

The old man rolled his eyes alarmingly. “Oh yessss. So I’ve been told. Our contest is not pleasant, but it is invigorating! But don’t worry, the effects will fade all too soon!” With that he dissolved into another bout of high-pitched giggles.

Agatha thought about patting him on the arm and then changed her mind. “Um… good. So, was there something you had to tell me?”

Carson stopped his laugher as if someone had flipped a switch. “Oh yes. I won, I get to tell you. Ahem. Lady Heterodyne!” The old man grabbed his hat and Agatha’s arm and began dragging her back up the stairway. “We must get to the outer walls! An army is advancing upon the Black Gate!”

Gilgamesh stared out over the smooth, flat plain before Mechanicsburg. It was covered by a pleasant counterpane of neat fields planted with a wide variety of crops. Many of these were in their full summer growth, gently rippling in the breeze that skirled down from the surrounding mountains. It was a bit of an anomaly, really. Gil had studied a fair bit of civil engineering and had observed any number of towns as they underwent successive cycles of peace and strife. During peacetime, walled cities tended to expand. Secondary industries and agricultural stores would accumulate outside the city walls, along with the hovels of beggars and other squatters. Over time these temporary residents built more and more elaborate structures and engaged in practices that required the watch to be sent out often enough that it became a de facto part of the town. This was how towns grew.

But Mechanicsburg was different—as it was in so many other things. Inside the wall was a bustling, vibrant community, but once outside the walls, all was pastoral. Low hedgerows and farms stretched to the feet of the encircling mountains. The tallest structures were the evenly spaced picket towers standing quiet and deserted amongst the fields. The lower slopes of the mountains were covered in orchards, store houses, and obviously planned lumber groves.

Gil nodded in approval.

Behind him he could hear the shouts of the minions and mechanics setting up his newest creation. He had set them to installing it even before he had visited his father. A crackling hum and a burst of satisfied murmuring amongst the technicians let him know that the devices were beginning to be activated. Excellent.

He then turned to the spot from which there had been absolutely no sound at all.

“Captain Vole.”

The huge Jäger stood painfully at attention. The parade-ground perfection of his stance only emphasized the disheveled state of his outfit.²⁷ “Sir,” he began, “I—”

Gil cut him off. “—Did not bring me Agatha Heterodyne. Yes, I noticed.”

“Sir. She attacked me, sir.”

Gil ran an eye over the Jäger’s outfit. “With a deadly coffeepot, apparently.” He locked eyes with the Jäger. “Now, why would she do that?”

Vole opened his mouth. “Because I tried to kill her, sir,” was a poor excuse on any number of levels, so he closed his mouth.

“I told you to bring her to me,” Gil reiterated, “and yet here you are, dirty, injured, and quite, quite alone. I’ve been told about you, Vole. I know what happened.”

The Jäger let out a breath and waited for death.

“You went stomping in there and tried to arrest her, didn’t you?”

Vole blinked. “I—vot?”

Gil nodded. “You underestimated her and she bested you! She’s a Heterodyne! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Vole realized that whatever intelligence the young Wulfenbach had received about him, it hadn’t been very good. “Yez,” he ventured. “Hit does mean someting to me. Next time Hy vill be ready for her.”

Gil turned away. “I doubt it. But it is no longer your concern.”

“No!” Vole stepped forward. This chance couldn’t be allowed to pass. “Hy vill get more troops and—”

“No.” Gil was frequently grateful to his father for teaching him the art of cutting people off before their tirade could gather steam. “I had wanted you to bring Agatha here so I could help protect her. But considering how easily she beat you—” Vole’s teeth ground together audibly—“I am forced to accept the idea that Agatha can take care of herself for a while. I’m not particularly happy leaving it at that, but apparently I have little choice.” Vole twitched. “Right now the fake Heterodyne is the problem.”

This idea was so surprising that Vole actually snorted. Gil cocked an eyebrow.

“Der kestle vill kill dot vun,” Vole explained. “Probably already has.”

Gil turned away and leaned his arms upon the battlements. “You think so? I don’t. This is too well planned, so it makes no sense to go to all this trouble just to have this girl killed when she crosses the threshold.

“No, she has to have something up her sleeve if she is to get the Castle to legitimize her.” Gil was quiet for a moment as he drummed his fingers upon the weathered stone. “Ideally she’d control the Castle, but our people have been trying to do that for years. It can be bargained with, but I think my father has done as much as possible in that direction…” He looked over at Vole. “I think it most likely that they’ll try to kill it.”

Vole frowned. “Kill der kestle?”

Gil waved a hand. “Well… shut it down. Make it safe.”

Vole’s lip curled with a perverted sense of hometown pride. “De pipple uf Mechaniksburg vould not ekcept dot as proof dot she iz a Heterodyne.”

Gil nodded. “Neither would my father.”

Vole paused and then admitted, “Not onless she danced nekkid through de ruins vile trying to shoot down the moon, turned all de tourists into feesh, and den built a very dangerous fountain out of sausages.”

Gil’s focus had derailed slightly at the image generated by “denced nekkid,” so it took him a long moment before he was able to concede the Jäger’s point and move the conversation forward.

“Let’s assume that the dissenters aren’t important. That the opinion of my father isn’t important.”

Vole looked skeptical. Gil soldiered on. “If the outside world believes that a new Heterodyne has taken control, then the schemers behind this fake Heterodyne girl might just pull this off.”

Vole frowned. “This iz pointless. Yez, vhat der rabble uf Mechanicsburg tinks vould count for nottink outside der town. But dismissink hyu poppa—”

Gil nodded. A slight movement near the horizon caught his attention. “An excellent point. The only way it could work is if he was busy somewhere else when it all went down.”

Vole considered this. “Right now he iz busy not dyink. Does dot count?”

Gil fished inside his coat and pulled out a complicated little monocular. He casually examined something in the distance. “I don’t think that was part of the original plan,” he admitted, “but now that it’s happened, they’ll be tempted by the opportunity. They’ll want to capture him—have him under lock and key. Or, if they’re smart, they’ll want him dead. That would probably suit everyone much better, I’m sure.”

Vole was ready to give up. “Hyu keep talkink like dese guys iz schmart. Dose clowns attacking hyu poppa iz as organized as a bag of fleas.”

A smile lit up Gil’s face. “Yes! ‘Clowns.’ That’s the perfect word, Captain. Foolish creatures who exist to cause a distraction while the real players prepare off-stage.”

Vole looked at him blankly. Gil sighed. Suddenly, the ground trembled with a sound like a distant explosion. “Never mind. Sound the alarm. The real players have arrived.”

In the little outpost, Ognian screwed the telescope tighter into his eye. “Hoy!” he called to the others, who were lounging like cats in the sun, “Someting iz heppenink!”

Jenka opened one eye and looked at him suspiciously. “Dis had better not be anodder gurl takink a bath.”

Maxim grinned and nudged Dimo in the ribs. “Hy dun tink ve gets dot lucky twice.”

Dimo grinned back. Good times.

Jenka snagged the telescope and examined the distant town. “Hyu iz right,” she said grudgingly. “Dere’s pipple appearink all alonk der walls. Dey’s pretty excited about someting.”

Maxim’s ears twitched. “Listen—iz dot der alarm gongs?”

Dimo shrugged. “Hyu gots der goot ears—but Hy ken see dot dey iz closink der gates!”

Ognian peered downwards. “Jenka? Vy iz Füst runnink avay?”

Jenka leaned over the rail in time to see her trained bear retreating over the hill. “He’s vat?” A look of surprise flashed in her eyes. “Get serious,” she screamed.²⁸

Instantly all three of her companions snapped to attention but it was too late. A giant metal foot smashed the tower to bits around them, sending them flying through the air.

They crashed to the ground, bounced to their feet, and stared in amazement.

Five enormous spider-like clanks filled the plain. Each boasted five stout armored legs that rose and fell, sinking deep prints into the earth as they ponderously moved forward. Their hides were armor-plated. Each was topped by a colossal machine cannon. Arrays of exhaust pipes poured forth gouts of black smoke. A balcony of sorts girded each machine, and they could see squads of riflemen staring down at them in amazement.

Ognian was the first to react. “Hey!” he yelled. “Dey busted our tower!” He shook his fist at the machine as it majestically passed over them. “Who’s gun pay for dot?”

Aboard the lead war clank, His Grace the Third Duke of some kingdom that technically no longer existed,²⁹ flashed his oversized teeth in a grin and adjusted his periscope. “Haw! We caught those fellows completely by surprise, General Selnikov.”

Behind him, His Lordship, late of Balan’s Gap, nodded. “Yes, that worked, at least.”

The duke fiddled with the scope. “Why, those are Jägers!” He looked up hopefully. “Shall I let the men shoot them?”

Selnikov considered this and then shook his head. “No. We’re still pretending that we want to do this without bloodshed.”

The duke looked at him. “Oh,” he said, pronouncing the “E.” “But surely they don’t count. They’re Jägers.”

“Anywhere else, perhaps. But this is Mechanicsburg. Never burn a bridge unless your foe is on it, Your Grace.” Selnikov rubbed his fingers together. “Does the air feel odd to you?”

The duke sucked on his teeth. “Odd?”

“Yes…sort of…greasy…” Selnikov frowned. He’d felt nervous. He’d felt this sort of thing before—but where?

Atop the city wall, the side of an elaborate set of chimney pots shivered and then swung aside, revealing the head of a metal stairway. From the shuff of dislodged dust emerged Agatha, Zeetha, Herr Diamant, von Mekkhan, Krosp, and Wooster.

Zeetha looked around. “And where are we now?”

“Top of the outer wall,” Herr Diamant informed them. “The old passages can take you almost anywhere if you take the time to learn them.” He pointed to an ancient bank of steam-driven arbalests. “The old Heterodynes liked to operate the defenses personally.” He started walking and indicated a mass of rusted tubes topped by a corroded copper gargoyle, its mouth stretched impossibly wide. “The Baron disabled the controls to the screamer guns long ago, but if you’d like to take a look at them—”

Agatha interrupted, pointing to a group of men intent on a device that gleamed with polished glass and fresh grease. “Screamer guns? Is that what they’re working on?”

Diamant shook his head. “Oh, no, that’s something new.”

Agatha was intrigued. From where she stood, the device looked like a sleek brass cylinder, mounted to the stone walkway by a set of heavy-duty ceramic insulators. Thick power cables looped off in both directions. As they watched, a worker in thick goggles threw a final switch and, with a crackle, a large glass dome filled with flickering tendrils of blue energy. The crew gave a small cheer as the man shut and bolted a final metal hatch. Only then, as they turned away and began gathering their tools, did they notice Agatha and her friends.

The man in the goggles stepped forward, stripping off thick rubber gloves. “Why, it’s Herr Diamant, yes? We have all the supplies we need, thank you.”

Another technician closed the cover on a steel box and carefully snapped shut the clasps before straightening up. “Indeed, we’re done. We have just turned everything on.” He waved his hand and Agatha now saw that another cylinder, with its own flickering dome, stood some distance away and another beyond that. Similar devices were spaced out atop the wall as far as she could see.

“What are they?” she asked.

Diamant looked embarrassed. “We’re not sure. Some project of young Wulfenbach’s.”

The second technician leaned forwards and dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t ask us. But we’ve been unloading and installing them since he arrived this morning.”

Further disclosure was cut off by the team leader lightly tapping the speaker on the head with a spanner. “Quiet, you.”

Meanwhile Agatha’s eyes had grown large. “Wait—you’re saying that Gil is—”

“BATTLE CLANKS!” The shout came from Wooster, who had been looking outwards. “Huge ones!”

Everyone ran to the wall and stared out at the vast contraptions hauling themselves toward the gates.

Agatha clasped her hands together. “Magnificent,” she breathed.

“They are here to attack us,” Krosp reminded her.

“Yes!” she agreed. “I can’t wait to see them in action!”

Herr Diamant smiled. “Well, that’s encouraging.”

Krosp stared at him.

The old man shrugged. “What? Her grandfather used to open the gates for things like this, just so he could get a better look.”

In the Great Hospital, Klaus Wulfenbach stirred. Outside, a resonant, mechanical sound was building. Bangladesh DuPree gazed out the window. When Klaus spoke, she noticed that his voice was already stronger than it had been at breakfast. “Those are the Mechanicsburg Alarm Gongs. DuPree, what’s happening?”

DuPree’s shrug became a businesslike snap—knives appearing in her hands as the door opened. The knives vanished when she saw that it was only Dr. Sun.

“The city is under attack. An army of war-clanks. Coming up to the Western Gate.”

Klaus glanced at the nearest window. “I should have a decent view from here. Get me—Ow!”

The exclamation came from Sun lightly tapping Klaus on the chest. “Oh, so that still hurts, does it?”

“Of course it hurts,” Klaus snarled. “You know every pressure point and nerve cluster I have. I still have to get up.”

He tried levering himself up from the bed. With a detached air, Sun tapped a muscle in Klaus’s shoulder, and the Baron collapsed back, grimacing. “Sun—”

“You shouldn’t move.”

“I need to see what we’re up against.”

“You’ll damage yourself.”

Klaus snorted and waved a bandage-wrapped arm. “I doubt any damage I will incur will be worse than this, and if it is, I’m in no better place for it, now, am I?”

Sun looked at him and with a sigh, quickly detached the assorted drips, feeds, and catheters, taking care to do so in the most painful way possible. By the end of the procedure, Klaus was paler, but still determined. He thrashed about feebly and sank back onto his bed.

“There,” Sun declared with a touch of satisfaction. “Are you convinced? You cannot—”

“DuPree,” Klaus interrupted. “Get me to that window. No matter what.”

DuPree nodded and gave Klaus a “thumbs up” signal. The Baron glanced at Sun. “I think you could construct a simple—” DuPree grasped the edge of the Baron’s bed and tipped it over with a crash. The Baron blacked out briefly from the pain. This was no doubt a blessing, considering the agony he experienced when he awoke a few seconds later to find that DuPree was dragging him by his shattered leg towards the window.

Sun forced himself to remain still as DuPree jerked, pulled, and slammed the gasping man into position. This was not the first time that Sun had patched the Baron up, and Klaus was one of the worst patients he had ever had to put up with. While he himself would never do what DuPree was doing, he reasoned that there was a small chance that this might actually teach Klaus a lesson.

A final gurgle of pain signaled DuPree draping Klaus over the windowsill. She patted him on the back and his knuckles whitened.

“Th-th-thank you, DuPree,” he gasped. “That should be the worst of it.”

Sun stepped up. “Please stick around, Captain, you can haul him back.”

Klaus’s eyes rolled back up into his head.

Back on the lead war-clank, the Duke exclaimed in delight. “Oh, I say! Someone is coming out! To surrender, I imagine.”

Indeed, at the base of the great ironbound gate, a small postern door had swung open and a single man stepped forth.

Atop the wall, Herr Diamant frowned. “That’s not one of the City Council.”

Ardsley Wooster took one look and felt as if the floor had dropped from beneath his feet. “It’s Master Gilgamesh! He’s here!”

Krosp’s ears flicked forward with interest. He gazed at the five gigantic metal behemoths and then back to the single small figure striding out towards them. “Well. This could solve some problems,” he opined.

Agatha felt her breath catch in her throat. “What is he doing? He’s all alone! He’ll be killed!”

Zeetha raised her eyebrow. “Oooh? And why do you care?”

Agatha’s face went red. “Because… Because the Baron will blame me?”

Zeetha nodded with a small smile. “Oh. Of course.” She patted Agatha’s arm. “We’ll just root for him then.”

Agatha didn’t know it, but she was on Gilgamesh’s mind at the moment. He was growing uncomfortably aware that, for someone as smart as everyone insisted that he was, he could be just as idiotic as anyone else who wanted to impress a girl. Surprisingly, he took some comfort from this.

Occasionally Gil looked at the silly doings and squabbles of the people around him and wondered if he was actually a member of the same species. He knew that this thought probably hit most people at some time in their lives, but Gil had the added factor of having a father who could easily have made it a legitimate question.

Thus—on those occasions when Gil found himself doing anything that he had ever seen or read about that had made him roll his eyes at the foolishness of the human race—he made sure that he took a moment to cherish the experience.

He toiled to the top of a small hillock and craned his neck up at the lead machine that now towered over him. I think this is worth about four seconds of cherishing, he mused, then I can go straight to terror.

The faces of several dozen uniformed men peered down at him. A few of them uncertainly raised their rifles. At the sight, Gil felt a small wave of hope. Muzzle-loading muskets. Whoever had financed this expedition had spent all the treasure on the walkers and bought the soldiers whatever weapons they could find handy. No doubt they expected the town to roll over at the sight of the giant machines. This meant that if it came to shooting, as long as he could avoid the first volley, he had some chance of getting away before they reloaded.

Gil stood tall, checked his stick a final time, took a deep breath, and bellowed upwards, “What is your business here?”

Wooster felt a jostle, and turned. To his surprise, the tops of the walls were filling with people. Townspeople. They were pouring up the stairwells, grumbling and querulous.

“I say,” he said. “What is this all about?”

Krosp leapt atop a chimney and looked around. Troopers were shepherding the townspeople along, steering them away from the machines dotted along the wall and keeping them facing the action below.

“Wulfenbach soldiers are forcing the townspeople up onto the wall,” he reported.

“But most of the defenses aren’t working,” Diamant protested. “They can’t do anything useful.”

Suddenly Wooster had an epiphany. “They can observe.” Wooster turned back to the scene outside the walls. “Someone wants everyone in town to see this.” He swallowed. “And I believe I know who that ‘someone’ is.”

“Gil?” Agatha looked horrified. “But…but what is he thinking?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her mind flashed to the devices Gil had positioned around the wall. Certain structural elements suddenly suggested intriguing possibilities. Agatha’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” she said quietly.

Zeetha’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? What ‘Oh’? You know what he’s thinking?”

Agatha bit her lower lip. “He’s thinking he’s not the one in trouble.”

Aboard the walker, the duke laughed. “B’god, they do grow them stupid here, what?”

“Be quiet, you idiot,” Selnikov snarled. Something isn’t right. Raising his voice, he answered the tiny figure below. “I am Rudolf Selnikov—a Commander of the Knights of Jove! I hereby take command of the Empire of the usurper Wulfenbach in the name of the House of Valois!”

The tiny figure below put his hands on his hips. Selnikov felt the floor drop out from beneath him. He knew—knew—that the foot of the person below was slowly tapping. Why did he know that? Gamely he soldiered on. “Surrender the town, the Heterodyne girl, and the Baron! Cooperate, and no one will be harmed!” Well, he silently amended, no one anyone will care about.

The person below nodded once. Selnikov felt sweat start upon his brow, then realized why he was so rattled. This young jackanapes was acting exactly like that devil Klaus would! The impertinence—!

“I am Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. Son of Klaus!” The voice calling up to him sounded annoyed. “I will say this only once! Leave now, or you will die!”

Selnikov had been exposed to the strange ways of Sparks on an almost daily basis for most of his life, and had nevertheless managed to live to a rather respectable age. He turned to order a retreat. But before he could do it, the duke beside him gave a snort. “Stupid and as mad as a fruitbat, apparently.” He raised his voice. “A gold piece to the fellow who shoots this rascal!”

That was it. The muskets were popping and there would be no retreat. Only one possible way was left to get through this mess. “All guns!” Selnikov screamed. “All guns open fire! Quickly!”

“Use the artillery,” Selnikov roared. “Fire the coil gun!” Around him soldiers were raggedly firing their unfamiliar weapons.

“Damnation,” one swore as he tried to dig another ball out of the pouch at his belt, “I hit him! I know I did!”

Another cursed as he tried to aim. “The gyros are keeping us steady, but they’re not keeping us still!”

Below them, Gil raised his stick. “Time’s up.”

There was an almost imperceptible click—and then the sky opened. A bolt of lightning struck the lead machine, briefly wreathing it in a veil of blue-white discharge before various things inside it exploded, adding to the earsplitting sound of thunder.

The machine stood still for a moment, then twisted and slowly fell to the side with a booming crash.

Several thousand mouths fell open and almost twice that many eyes bugged from their sockets. The first sound, aside from the slow pinging of the metal as it cooled, was Agatha’s delighted scream of triumph as she stared entranced at the scene below.

Gil would have found this intensely gratifying, if he could have heard it, but at that moment he was wondering if he would ever hear anything ever again. With echoes of thunder ringing in his ears, he again raised his stick, its tip glowing brightly. He roared towards the remaining machines, “Anyone else?”

A moment of terrified silence ticked past and then shouts arose from the machine to the right of the smoking clank. “We surrender!”

A shower of weapons fell from the next machine over. “So do we!”

Still, there is one in every crowd. The third machine swung its mounted cannon about and let off a poorly aimed shot, which blew apart a patch of road several dozen meters to Gil’s left. Again he raised the glowing stick. Again there was a click, and again a bolt of lightning crashed down and blew the machine to molten fragments.

As the legs crashed outwards, Gil strode forward. “This is not a trick”, he shouted. “I did not get lucky! I am Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, and I am in control!”

High above the walls at the hospital window, Klaus watched the action outside the town, his face lit with an unholy glee that even DuPree found unnerving. “They’re surrendering. Good!”

“Good?” Sun looked pale. “That was amazing.”

Briefly Klaus appeared to relax. Muscles taut with tension released for the first time in years. “Yes. Yes it was.” He gazed down at his son with undisguised pride, then snapped back to his usual tense self. “Get me back to bed,” he ordered Bangladesh. “Quickly, before he comes back.”

There followed a period of screaming that Sun tried very hard to ignore. When it was done, he turned back to find Klaus again stretched out in bed, white-faced and sweating but still with a ghastly grin on his face. Sun shook his head, and set about reconnecting the assorted drips, feeds, and hoses to his patient. He hissed at the messages that his reconnected meters began to display. “I hope it was worth it,” he snarled.

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.

Agatha scanned the smoking field. “But where is Gil?”

Krosp sighed in resignation. “He’ll be back.”

Agatha felt a tap upon her shoulder. Turning, she saw Carson, looking a bit more composed. It was obvious that the old man was a bit embarrassed about some of the things he had said while sharing his head with the spirit of the Castle, and he spoke with a stiff formality. “Now that we’ve all seen the show, we have to get you into the Castle as quickly as possible.” With that he spun about and strode off.

They hurried to catch up. “Those fools in their machines were just the first. The Empire is weak at the moment and all the vultures will be on the move.”

Agatha glanced back at the pillars of smoke coming from the shattered machines. “You think that’ll be seen as weak?”

Carson grimaced. “No, that’ll be seen as impressive. It’ll make a lot of them think twice. But the Baron was defeated at Balan’s Gap. A crack has appeared in the Empire’s heretofore-impenetrable façade. A lot of powerful Sparks will see this as the best chance they’ve had in a decade!”

Krosp nodded, “A rebellion against the Empire, eh? Depending on who wins—”

Carson slammed his hand down on the stonework. “To hell with who wins! They’ll come here to fight! Mechanicsburg will be caught in the middle. Our only chance to even have a town left at the end of this is to be a player instead of just the terrain. For that, we need the Castle up and running and a Heterodyne in charge of it.” He looked Agatha in the eye. “Not just some fake who’s playing her own game with the Empire. A genuine Heterodyne who cares about this town. If you are a Heterodyne, the best thing you can do is get the Castle repaired and running again—and as soon as possible.”

Agatha absorbed this and nodded once. “All right.” She turned to Herr Diamant. “Let’s go.”

Zeetha looked surprised. She pointed towards the battlefield. “What about your boyfriend?”

Agatha looked at her. She’s testing me, she thought. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She held up a hand to forestall any argument. “Yes, I worked with him for a little while, and yes, we got along all right, and yes, I’ll admit there’s an attraction, all right?” The memory of a kiss warmed her face. “But that was before he knew I was a Heterodyne. Before I knew I was a Heterodyne. That changes everything.

“That…that Jäger back in the coffee shop? He may have been a Jäger, but he was wearing a Wulfenbach uniform and he tried to kill me. Was he sent by the Baron? Was he sent by Gil? Or by someone further down the chain of command? I just don’t know.

“When it comes down to it, I don’t really know him. I don’t know if anyone does.”

Agatha looked out at the devastated walkers and sighed. “But I do know that he can be dangerous. So I think it would be smarter to deal with the Empire—and him—from a position of strength.” She looked back at Carson. “And being a Heterodyne and holding the Castle, well, that’s the strongest position I can think of right now.”

She sighed and waved a hand at the town below the wall. “If I am a Heterodyne, then this is my family’s home. I have to fight for it, or at least do my best to keep it safe, because it’s the only place where a Heterodyne can expect to be safe.”

Zeetha punched Agatha lightly on the arm. “By Gwangi, I’ll make a warrior princess out of you yet!”

Agatha slumped slightly. “Any time.” Then she looked at Zeetha again. “Actually—” She looked slightly embarrassed and lowered her voice. “I mean, even if he does turn out to be a vicious madman out to pickle me, I… well, I’m still kind of worried about him. While I’m in the Castle, could you find him and make sure he’s okay?”

Zeetha looked surprised. “Me?”

Agatha dipped her head. “The Kolee asks this of her Zumil.”³²

Zeetha snorted. “Well, I was going to sit around in a café worrying about you, but—sure. I can take care of him.”

Maxim and Oggie proved remarkably effective at herding the captured soldiers off the field and towards the gates—where the Wulfenbach troops waited to deal with them.

Dimo and Jenka kept Gil on his feet between them, without it appearing that they were propping him up. Gil acknowledged the Wulfenbach Captain’s salute and waved him off to do his job.

“Hokay,” Dimo said, a grin plastered across his face. “Now traditionally, hyu should stride triumphantly out uv de smoke and thru de city gates. But ve dun vant hyu spoilin’ tings by passink out, hey?”

Gil looked at him with a frown that would have been more effective if the Jäger’s face wasn’t slowly receding. “I’m… I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Hyu iz not, keedo,” Jenka said quietly, “Hyu iz hit. Ve ken schmell der blood. But Hy dun tink hyu iz hit too bad.”

Maxim strolled back. “Hyu poppa’s troops vill finish op tings here. Hyu’d better come vit us.”

Gil took a wobbly step. The Jägers looked at each other and gently raised him slightly off the ground and carried him towards the base of the city wall. “Wearing armor,” he said with exaggerated clearness. “Not…totally insane.”

Dimo kept his opinion to himself. “Hy dun see nottink on hyu head.”

“She…they…needed to see that it was me.”

Dimo considered this. “Vat hyu need is a big hat vit hyu name on it.”

This statement caused Gil to focus on his rescuers fully. “Really? Wait… you…you’re not Wulfenbach Jägers.”

“Nope. Ve iz der goot lookink vuns.”

Gil didn’t even try to examine this. “Are you kidnapping me?”

Jenka laughed. “Nah! Ve iz on hyu side.”

“That’s good,” Gil conceded. “Why?”

Dimo rolled his eyes. Alarmingly, he did it in different directions. “Hmf. An Hy vas tolt hyu vas schmot.” He waved his free hand at Mechanicsburg. “Hyu iz defendink our town. Hyu fallink down in front of efferybody ain’t goot for der town, or for Mizz Agatha.”

That got through to Gil and he made an effort to straighten up. “Agatha? Is she here? Can’t fall down in front of Agatha, no.” It was only Jenka’s grip that kept him from, in fact, falling.

“He’s losin’ it, Dimo.”

The green Jäger scratched his nose. “Hokay, Hy tink hyu vant de ‘mysterious disappearance after de battle’ ending. A beeg hit vit de ladies, as lonk as hyu know ven to quit, if hyu know vat Hy meanz.”

Gil had no idea what he meant. “Do you do this sort of thing a lot?”

“Ho! Yaz!” Ognian cried jovially. “Lotz of pipple have tried to take dis town! And somevun’s gotta make shure de boss gets home aftervards.”

Dimo saw Gil’s head start to sag, and tried to keep him engaged. “Zo—iz verra nize of hyu to save miz Agatha’s town for her.”

“She’s a very nice girl.”

“Dot’s right. Verra nize.”

Gil stumbled again. When he regained his feet, his face was covered in sweat. “I feel…strange,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d been hit that badly.”

Jenka reassured him. “Oh, hyu izn’t hit too bad. But—” She looked at him shrewdly. “Iz dis the first time hyu faced down an entire army all by hyuself vit a weapon hyu vasn’t sure vas gunna vork?”

“Well…yes.”

Jenka gave a laugh. “Vell den! Dot’s just hyu body bein’ all sooprized hyu ain’t all blowed op and dead!” She gave him a squeeze. “Next time, hyu von’t eefen blink!”

“Next time…” Gil almost swooned at the concept. “I really think I have to lie down now,” he whispered.

Dimo nodded. “Hyup! Vun ‘mysterious dizappearance’ comin’ op!”

Ognian leaned in. “Hokay. Hy sez ve skulks in through de Sneaky Gate and takes him to Mamma Gkika’s.”

Maxim considered this. “I dunno if she gun like dot, brudder.”

Gil waved a hand, almost sending both him and Jenka off balance. “Where? No, get me to the hospital.”

Jenka yanked him back to true. “No vay, sveethot. Looks like ve iz kidnappink hyu a leedle after all. Ve dun vant no vun to see hyu until hyu iz stompin’ around all scary-like again.”

“No! My father must be guarded, and Agatha will be in danger! I can’t stop now!”

Dimo snorted. “Hyu kent protect hyuself right now.”

Ognian leaned in and gave Gil a light slap to the face. Gil’s eyes focused on the Jäger. “Hyu vant to help Mizz Agatha? Den ve takes hyu to Mamma Gkika. She fix hyu op fast and goot.”

Maxim leaned in as well. “Goot enuf, anyvay.” So saying he bounded on ahead to the city wall that now loomed above them, and started rapping on blocks. Ognian hurried over and pointed at the sun overhead. The two got into an argument. Jenka gently deposited Gil against the wall, where he watched Ognian and Maxim with obvious confusion.

Dimo sidled up to Jenka and spoke in a low voice. “He likes Mizz Agatha. Hy ken tell. But Hy dun know if ve should trust him vit dis.” He indicated the wall.

Above her scarf, Jenka’s eyes looked resigned. “Ve gots a Heterodyne back. Voteffer happens, tings iz gunna change. I say ve takes de chance.”

Meanwhile, Ognian had apparently won the argument. He strode over to a different set of blocks, gave one a rap, another a kick, and the section of wall behind Gil slid to the side, causing him to fall over backwards.

Ognian helped him up. “Sorry, keedo. De Sneaky Gate iz like dot.”

Gil stared at the opening wide-eyed. “I know what a hidden door looks like. That was not there a minute ago.”

Maxim shrugged. “Dun vorry about it. It von’t be dere next time either.” He stepped into the passage. “From here iz easy peasy!”

The wagon, perched upon one fat wheel, bumped and clunked down the Mechanicsburg street, its engine popping and chuttering. People saw it coming, recognized the chain-draped exterior, and stepped out of the street, dragging along the occasional clueless tourist. You didn’t want to interfere with the Prisoner Van.

Herr Diamant sat at the controls, easily weaving past the remaining carts that trundled through the streets. He spoke into a brass tube that conveyed his voice back into the prisoner compartment, where Agatha was changing into a properly disreputable suit of clothes that Herr Diamant had given her.

“There are things you should be aware of,” the tinny voice informed her. “The leather case by the door has your papers. They state that you’re in for mass-poisoning.”

Agatha interrupted. “Murder!”

Diamant chuckled. “People are not sent to Castle Heterodyne for stealing a loaf of bread, my lady. These are people that the Empire wants to go away.

“You must be wary. Most of the truly crazy ones die rather quickly. At the moment, there are two you should keep a particular eye out for, a fellow named Snapper, and another named Vasquez. They’re the only really psychotic ones.

“Many of the others are Sparks. They might prove useful, if you can get them on your side. Especially the old-timers. Promise them amnesty, if you must.”

Agatha was surprised. “I can do that?”

A bark of laughter came back through the tube. “Prove yourself the Heterodyne—hold the Castle—and there is nothing you can’t do in Mechanicsburg.”

Agatha considered this as she began fastening buttons. Diamant spoke again. “The red pouch? That contains a map that shows the current floor plan of the Castle. The areas marked in green are considered safe.”

Agatha examined this. “There’s not much marked in green.”

“No,” Diamant admitted. “The area in blue is the Main Library.”

Agatha frowned. “I don’t…I don’t see any way to actually get there.”

“It was never easy. The Castle itself will have to guide you there.”

“Terrific.” She sat down and pulled on the stout leather boots, and carefully did up the side buttons. “So, who’s the Baron’s agent in there? I’m sure he’s got one. I would. I’d want to know as soon as possible if they found anything really dangerous or useful.”

“Of course. That would be Professor Hristo Tiktoffen. He’s a prisoner himself, but he’s also the ‘Man in Charge’ once you get inside. He maintains the records and helps keep the others in line.” The wagon juddered to a halt. “We’re here,” Diamant announced.

Agatha gathered up the rest of her supplies. “Have you found out anything else about that false Heterodyne girl that’s inside?”

Diamant sighed. “No. But remember, your very existence is a threat to her, so assume that she’ll try to kill you. I’d recommend avoiding her at all costs.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t forget to put your manacles on, my lady.”

Agatha found the steel cuffs and, with only a touch of hesitation, snapped them around her wrists. They were connected by about ten centimeters of chain. Agatha took a deep breath. “All right, I’m ready.”

Diamant made a show of throwing open the door and calling out loudly. “We’re here. Move lively! Unload those supplies!” He indicated a pile of boxes and sacks that contained foodstuffs.

As Agatha loaded them onto a small hand truck, a Wulfenbach guard hurried up.

“Herr Diamant! You can’t send someone in today! That damned Heterodyne girl is in there—”

The old man sniffed. “Just another imposter. She won’t last and the others still have to eat.” He hooked a thumb back at Agatha. “Besides, we want this one off the streets.” Agatha glared at the guard.

Diamant pulled a thick ledger off the wagon seat. “But if you don’t like it, do feel free to go over my head. The Baron himself is here in the hospital, I’m told. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you went and asked him about it.”

“Aw, go kiss a construct,” the guard grumbled. “Fine. Send her in then.”

Diamant shrugged and offered the man a pen. “Very wise, I’m sure. Sign here, please.”

The guard laboriously made his mark and Diamant snapped the book shut and retrieved his pen. Then he turned to Agatha and all the warmth left his voice. “Here you are. Take this load to Professor Tiktoffen. He’ll unlock you when he’s checked you in and explained the routine.”

Agatha just glared. Diamant sighed. “You’re being given a chance. A final chance, and more than you deserve, no doubt, but the Baron sees something in you, so a chance you’ll have. Watch your back, work with your fellow prisoners, and good luck to you.”

“Try to escape,” the guard said with relish, “and I’ll shoot you like a dog.”

Agatha picked up the handles of the hand truck and tried to look tough. “Fine. Can I get going now?”

The guard waved her towards the gates. Agatha was interested to note that the “Front Gate” was actually a row of gates of varying sizes, from a small postern gate all the way up to gates the old Heterodynes could have passed siege engines through. To Agatha’s shock, the towering, intricately carved central doors were faced with solid gold. It spoke volumes that the gold was untouched.

The door that she was herded to was smaller than any of the main gates. It was constructed of ironbound wood reinforced with rows of iron studs.

“Hoy! Castle!” the Guard called out. “Open up! The Baron has sent a new prisoner for Repair Detail.”

There was a pause, then—with a groan—the gates swung open. They were thicker than Agatha had first supposed them to be, and instead of mere wood, she saw that they were full of dense mechanisms. When they touched the wall to either side with a dull boom, a sibilant voice—similar to the one that Agatha had heard in the crypt—echoed forth. “Enter.”

Unhesitatingly, Agatha steered her cart through the doors into the darkness beyond. As soon as she cleared the lintel, the doors slowly swung closed and locked behind her with a deliberate series of clunks.

Outside, the two men watching turned away. The guard wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and leaned on his rifle. “It still gives me the spooks when it does that,” he confessed.

Herr Diamant glanced back at the door and sighed. “Young man, you have no idea.”

_______________

¹⁹ This was probably not what the Heterodynes and their servants-in-residence had called it, but in the fourteen or so years that the Empire had been disposing of its more dangerous prisoners, a rich body of lore, myth, and nomenclature had grown up around the castle’s inner workings. When new areas of the castle were mapped, the amateur cartographers were encouraged to name things as vividly and memorably as possible.

²⁰ All of the prisoners in Castle Wulfenbach wore chronometers strapped to their wrists, and were trained to record and remember the time whenever they performed a particular repair or observed something happen. As a result of this, almost all of them knew to the second when they died.

²¹ It is always frustrating to your professors when an organization chooses to use such mundane nomenclature instead of something a little more helpful to future historians. We are especially appreciative of the late, lamented Most Secret Cabal of Unscrupulous Moldavian Chemists and Poisoners United Against the Tyranny of the Department of Safety & Ethics, who were quickly betrayed to the authorities by the printer who had been hired to design their letterhead.

²² (1596-1655) His favorite color was “charred”

²³ The Great Attack took place nineteen years before our current narrative begins. A massive explosion blew apart Castle Heterodyne from within, signaling the beginning of the War with the Other. Considered one of the most significant events of the last one hundred years, it began the sequence of events that destroyed almost forty of the Great Houses of Europa, laid the foundations for Baron Wulfenbach’s Pax Transylvania, and culminated in the disappearance of the Heterodyne Boys. It directly set the stage for the story contained within these pages.

²⁴ The Red Cathedral of Mechanicsburg was the result of a bet between Prince Vadim Sturmvarous of Balan’s Gap and Dante Heterodyne, known to history as ‘The Good Heterodyne’ (Not because of any intrinsic nobility of spirit, but because he was very good at being a Heterodyne, which meant rather the opposite). The Prince had hoped that the cathedral would serve as a nucleus of goodness in Mechanicsburg, which, over time, would spread to the rest of the inhabitants, and, he dared to dream, the Heterodyne family itself. The cathedral’s dedication ceremony involved the sacrifice of the Cardinal sent from Rome to oversee it, and things went downhill from there.

²⁵ Faustus Heterodyne has been rated as one of the stronger Sparks ever produced by the family. It was he who crafted the intelligence that inhabited and energized the Castle. Naturally, he used his own mind as a template, which pretty much explains all of the Castle’s little murderous behavioral quirks, up to and including its unsavory love of weathervanes.

²⁶ Those unfortunate enough to be dragged before one of the old Heterodynes were usually subjected to a version of what we today would call “Good Cop, Bad Cop.” However, considering the personalities involved, a more correct label would be “Bad Cop, Insanely Evil Cop.” This was never a fun experience, especially when both sides were played by different personalities manifesting within the same body—and neither of them were actually playing.

²⁷ As has been mentioned before, all Jägers develop little hobbies over the decades. Captain Vole had discovered the joy of meticulous dress. Thus the stain caused by Agatha’s thrown coffee, along with the residue of the dung, offal, rotten vegetables, and other unsavory fluids that had been poured upon his unconscious form by the people of Mechanicsburg—who had long been itching to express their feelings about his betrayal—had found a perfect canvas.

²⁸ The Jägermonsters were created by the Heterodynes to serve as shock troops, reavers, and nightmare fodder. They are incredibly hard to kill and shrug off wounds that any other soldier would consider incapacitating. As a result, when not actually fighting, they tend to ignore what’s going on around them. This occasionally leads to a nasty surprise when they realize that something is actually trying to eat them. However, at this point, all but the youngest of the Jägers was several centuries old, and at that age, any surprise is a welcome diversion.

²⁹ You might think that—once their particular corner of the world went to the effort to reorganize itself so thoroughly that not only were they no longer expected to show up for work, but a large percentage of the people in the area would stop what they were doing to arrest and/or kill them—deposed royalty would do something sensible, like learn an honest trade or at least change their names. What they actually do is find some other court located somewhere with a healthy enough infrastructure to allow it to absorb a few dozen more of God’s Chosen. That said, the host nation usually finds any number of exciting and extremely dangerous things for them to do.

³⁰ This practice was one of Klaus’s more radical innovations, and one of his most effective ones. It relied upon the simple truth that most of the soldiers in a rogue Spark’s army were not there out of any great loyalty to said Spark but because they did not want to be turned into fish (or whatever). That said, there is camaraderie and comforting routine in military life that many young men enjoy, and the chance to be a part of the Winning Side has a strong allure. Thus the army of the Empire was one of the few in history that got larger with every battle it fought.

³¹ As has been mentioned before, Sparks tend to establish hierarchy. They are never comfortable until they know what the order of precedence in a particular situation is, as well as their place in it. Aside from the politics inherent in running two adjoining expanding empires, it would be safe to say that neither Klaus nor Albia were willing to relinquish primacy to anyone. The miracle was that they had never actually gone to war. Subsequent research has revealed that each Empire was waiting for the other (obviously weaker-willed) Empire to declare war first, in the mistaken impression that they would then have the choice of weapons. This was an idea promoted by a desperate diplomatic corps, who were constantly astonished that it actually worked.

³² “Kolee dok Zumil.” According to Zeetha: “Sort of like teacher and student…sort of like grindstone and knife.” The contract and promise that bound the Lady Heterodyne and the Princess Zeetha together as teacher and student, among other things. At this time, Zeetha had just started the martial training of the Lady Heterodyne that would serve Agatha so well in later life.