Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

CHAPTER 4

THE STORM KING

An opera in three acts by Portentius Reichenbach. A Brief Overview Provided as a Courtesy to Our Patrons Who, For No Doubt Very Good Reasons, Were Late Or Simply Not Paying Attention.

The First Act begins in the pass of Balan’s Gap as the Army of Atrocities, led by Bludtharst Heterodyne, is fought to a bloody standstill by the Coalition of the West, led by Andronicus Valois, who is hailed as The Storm King in the unforgettable Hammerhead Chorus.

After the famous comic interlude wherein the maid Capezia steals the shoes, and the Coalition receives the blessings of the Five Good Emperors, in the haunting It Has All Happened Before, But It Gets Better Every Time roundelay, Andronicus witnesses the beautiful Heterodyne Princess Euphrosynia being menaced by the mad sorcerer—prince Ogglespoon, a Heterodyne ally whom her father wishes her to marry.

The highlight here is the scandalous-for-the-time How Dast You Duet, which caused almost a quarter of the men attending to faint at its premiere performance in Munich.

Andronicus falls madly in love with the Princess but is tormented by second thoughts which are raised by his dour, two-headed construct servant, the Brothers Polyphemus, in the cunning and occasionally terrifying What Could Possibly Go Wrong dance number.

These trepidations are dispelled by the haunting Prophecy Aria, in which the Spirit of Europa herself foretells that peace will only be achieved when the Storm King and the Heterodyne Princess are wed.

The Second Act begins as Europa’s prophecy is conveniently echoed, for those who were visiting the concession stand, by the Nine Muses, who say the same thing, but use different words, in the groundbreaking You’ll Only Hear What You Want To Hear Chorus.

The scene then changes to Prince Ogglespoon’s Castle, where the forced marriage is already in progress.

It begins with the infamously bawdy Jägerchorus and the tune She Dun Gotta Be A Lady, She Iz Gunna Be Hyu Wife, (which can be heard in taverns and public houses to this day), as they celebrate the upcoming wedding.

This is followed by the intricately choreographed Rescue Dance. In its most recent performance by the Vienna Mechanikopera, the company has hewed to the original chorography, and thus utilized all seventeen soup waiters, three ladder teams, and the original roller-skating giraffe, which had only been recently rediscovered in a barn in Essen. We are grateful to the Vienna Mechanikopera for lending us these props under the condition that “we never have to see them again.”

The scene again changes, to the interior of the Storm King’s legendary Steam Palanquin, where we are treated to the tender Lover’s Duet between Euphrosynia and Andronicus.

In a letter to his sister, Reichenbach reveals that he got the idea for this song by listening to the mating call of the Irish Elk while on a trip to Dublin. It is a performance known to test the vocal range of any performer.

Finally, we have the heart-wrenching Abduction Adagio, where Euphrosynia is stolen away by a vengeful Prince Ogglespoon, who traps the Storm King in the infamous Bonsai Hedge Maze.

As the Second Act closes and the thunder rolls, the Storm King makes his famous vow, to search for Euphrosynia forever with the heart-wrenching aria, Nothing’s More Important To Me and I’ve Got the Empire to Prove It.

In the Third and Final Act, we shall see how that vow brought about the tragic end of the Coalition of the West, the Knights of Jove, and the Storm King’s reign itself.

—The Mechanicsburg Opera and Musical Debating Society gratefully acknowledges Professoressa Kaja Foglio, who has graciously allowed us permission to use excerpts from her book: It Is Not Over Until The Fat Lady Explodes—A Helpful and Concise Synopsis of Ten Operas That Deal With The Spark. (Transylvania Polygnostic University Press)

As the great doors closed shut behind her, Agatha felt a shiver run down her spine. A smaller series of booming clunks caused her to turn—just in time to watch intricate mechanisms built into the doors snapping into place. She was in, and no mistake.

The wide hall was lined with brooding stone statues—giant armored knights with animal heads that leered down at any tiny mortals who dared enter.

Red lights were artistically placed as if to maximize the drama of the statues’ looming shadows. To Agatha’s eye, these looked remarkably like the danger lights that would come on in one of Doctor Beetle’s labs when something had gone terribly wrong. This did not add to her peace of mind, but Agatha guessed that serenity would be in short supply until she got the Castle repaired.

She noticed a faint movement in the shadows, and stopped. “Hello?”

“You have got to be kidding me!” From around a pillar oozed a young man with mean-looking eyes and a terrible scar that carved his mouth into a permanent sneer. “They actually sent someone in today? Well. Lucky me.” He strolled on over. “So let’s see what you’ve got on the cart, there.”

Agatha pulled the cart back slightly. “You have the key to unlock these shackles?”

The young man waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. But I gotta check it for—”

“Anything I’m stupid enough to let you steal? I don’t think so. I’m not going to start out my time here by getting in trouble with the management.”

The young man gave her a nasty little grin. “Heeyyy—don’t be like that. You’re gonna need friends in here.”

“I’m glad you’re friendly. Now where can I find someone in charge?”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say. “In charge?” The man snarled, and pulled a sharp-looking punch knife from somewhere in his clothes. “Right now that would be me, you cow! You see anybody else in this room?” He stepped forward. “Now, if you’re lucky, I’ll be the Guy Who Lets You Live.”

Agatha frowned and rammed the heavy hand truck into the young man’s shins. He screamed and fell to his knees. “You filthy harpy,” he howled. “I’m going to—”

Agatha rammed him again, smashing him to the ground. “My leg!” he squealed. “You broke my damn leg!”

“I doubt it,” Agatha said coldly. “I got decent grades in my anatomy classes. You’ll probably just have a nasty bruise for awhile.”

For a heartbeat, she was at a loss as to what to do next. Then she remembered her time onstage. How would the villainous Lucrezia Mongfish handle this?

She kicked the punch-knife away and placed her boot solidly on the side of his neck. “Now this…” She leaned forward a little, putting her weight into it. The man froze. “This could seriously mess you up. But it’s the least of what I’ll do to you if you screw with me again. Do you understand?”

“I—I—”

Impatiently, Agatha leaned in again, harder. “Yes!” he shrieked. “I understand!”

Agatha removed her boot and the man scrabbled away on his hands and knees, not even taking the time to climb to his feet before he was out of sight.

That was disturbingly satisfying, Agatha realized. This troubling train of thought was derailed by the sound of slow clapping from behind her. She was so caught up in the whole ‘performance’ mindset, that she almost took a bow before she caught herself.

“Nice!” The voice belonged to a diminutive girl clad in an orange coverall. She had a shaggy mop of pink-tinted hair, a set of mischievous eyes, and a huge grin, with a distinct gap between her front teeth.

She straightened up from the wall she had been leaning against and sauntered over. On her way, she stooped to pick up the punch-knife. She examined it and gave a dismissive snort. Agatha flinched as she tossed it onto the hand truck. “That’s yours now, if you want it. Right of conquest.” She stopped about two meters away from Agatha and examined her with open curiosity. “I’m Sanaa Wilhelm. Nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand. Agatha made a snap judgment and shook it. Sanaa nodded.

“Well, now that you’ve wiped your feet on the doormat,” she hooked a thumb in the direction of the vanished man, “Welcome to Hell. You are—?”

Agatha realized that she hadn’t even considered a false name. “I’m…Pix.”

If Sanaa noticed the slight hesitation, she chose to ignore it. Agatha continued, “Do I have to fight you now?”

Sanaa laughed. “Nah, that’s a boy game. In here, we girls stick together. ‘Play fair, do your share, and we’re there.’” Then her face got serious. “If you don’t, you’ll be dead soon enough. It’s real easy to wind up dead in here. People do it all the time. You got any problem with that?”

Agatha shook her head. “It’s a better deal than I got out there.”

Again, Sanaa flashed a grin and patted Agatha on the shoulder. “Ha! Knew you was smart! Knew it when I saw you! Now, you’re new, so you got kitchen duty.” She sighed in resignation. “I don’t suppose you can cook?”

Agatha nodded with confidence. Old Taki, the circus cook, had cheerfully shared several of his “secrets”—tips on feeding large groups of hungry people, many of whom had knives. “I can cook. It’s just chemistry.”

Wilhelm brightened. “Really? Oh gosh, we need a good cook! The guy doing it now’s a mechanic, and he’s a complete idiot. I’d rather eat his engines!

“If you’re really good, you might not have to do any repair work at all! I mean, you’d be stuck in the kitchen all day…but still, it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

Agatha frowned. The last thing she wanted was to be confined to the kitchens. She wanted to be out and moving as quickly as possible.

Wilhelm continued. “So—what did you do to wind up in here, anyway?”

Agatha gave her a sardonic grin. “Poisoned thirty-seven people who complained about my cooking.”

Wilhelm just looked at her for a moment, then changed the subject—going into the details of the worker’s routines and the location of various facilities. “And we girls all bunk together. That way we can watch out for each other.”

Agatha nodded in approval as Sanaa continued. “So, we all eat twice a day, both at six—”

Agatha realized what was disturbing her. The complete blandness of what Sanaa was talking about. She interrupted. “This is all everyday stuff.”

Sanaa looked surprised. “Well…yeah. In here, the routine stuff is what keeps you going.”

Agatha waved a hand. “Okay, but didn’t a Heterodyne girl—?”

Sanaa’s face soured. “Oh. Her. Yeah, she’s here. She’s holed up with Professor Tiktoffen. You’ll meet him.” Her eyebrows went up. “Oh wait—I get it! You think she’ll fix the Castle and turn off all the deathtraps and la, la, la! We’ll all go home in time for supper!” She snorted. “Well, forget it. People’ve been working on this man-eating trash heap for years. And she thinks she’s gonna waltz in here, snap her fingers, and be the new queen? Shyeah.

“I been in here too long. There’s no easy way out. Just in.” Suddenly she whirled upon Agatha and leaned in. “But…and you gotta know this…I did see someone get out. Just once, but I saw it. She was smart. Collected her points, played the game, and walked out free. She did it. You can do it. Just like I’m gonna do it.” Her eyes darted up into the shadows and her shoulders hunched slightly. “Just as long as this place don’t get mad at me first.”

They walked quietly for a while, leaving the entry corridor and stepping into a larger passageway. Boxes and bales of supplies were stacked against the graffiti-covered walls. Agatha couldn’t help but read some of it as she passed by. Most of it railed against the Baron, the Castle, various magistrates, or just fate in general. There also seemed to be a great deal of wanton destruction. Entire walls looked like they had been smashed with hammers. Sanaa saw the direction of Agatha’s gaze.

“Most of the Castle is alive. You might’ve heard, but I’m telling you, you really don’t know what that means, yet. This area is one of the few that…isn’t. It’s just a building. So sometimes, when you want to smash the whole place down, this is one of the few places where it’s safe to just go nuts.”

She must have seen a touch of disapproval upon Agatha’s face. “You just wait until someone you like gets squished, or you’ve been grinding away on some pointless job for fourteen hours because if you stop, you’ll get squished. You wait until you been in here a couple of years and you wake up and realize that you’re probably going to die in here and that you’ll do anything to not get assigned to the Room of Rust and Hooks, or maybe you’re just shaken because the new kid you’ve been explaining things to trusted you and got killed doing what you told her to do. Something you’ve done yourself. Something you’ve done a hundred times before. And that’s if you’re lucky. You just wait and see. You’ll be taking a hammer to that wall before the month is out.”

Agatha said nothing, which was, apparently, the correct response, because when Sanaa next spoke, she seemed her previously cheerful self.

“We’re almost at the kitchen. That’s where they’ll take those shackles off.”

“So why don’t the Old Timers want this ‘cushy job’?”

Sanaa started with a touch of guilt. “I knew you was smart,” she muttered. “Okay, there’s a reason they make the newbies do it,” she admitted. “No one wants it. The kitchen’s a Live Room. Now, nobody’s ever been killed in there, which is, frankly, kind of weird. We think it gets more pleasure just messing with us, and whatever deal it made with the Baron—well, it knows we gotta eat. Anyway, it’s so annoying, it gets to the point where you’d rather face death somewhere quieter.”

Agatha considered this. “You’re putting me on.”

Sanaa gave her an honest grin. “Ha! Oh, don’t you worry, people will have you fetching devil dog chow and left-handed trilobite tighteners soon enough!” She paused. “Go along with the first one or two of those, by the way. You’ll fit in better. But if you get suckered more than four times, you’ll be everybody’s little minion.” She looked at Agatha. “You don’t look like the kind of person who wants that.”

Sanaa stopped outside a doorway. “Okay, here’s the kitchen, and here’s our lousy cook.” She raised her voice. “Hey! Moloch! Supplies are here.”

Agatha froze in horror at the name—and, indeed, it was her old acquaintance Moloch von Zinzer whose head popped around the corner.

It was Moloch who had first brought her to the attention of the Wulfenbachs. Indeed, it could be argued that he was the one person responsible for everything that had gone wrong for her lately.

When Agatha first stumbled across them, Moloch and his brother Omar had been a pair of itinerant soldiers—remnants of a small private army that had challenged Baron Wulfenbach and lost. It said a lot about Europa at this time that they were unremarkable for that.

They had wandered into the town of Beetleburg, where Agatha had been living for the past eleven years, and had robbed her. They stole the golden trilobite locket she had been told to never remove—the strange mechanical locket built by Barry Heterodyne to keep Agatha’s mind suppressed and far from the brilliance and madness that would identify her as a Spark.

The device in the locket—with its mind-deadening effects—had quickly killed Omar. Moloch, believing Agatha to be responsible, had sought her out to extract revenge. But Agatha’s Spark had already begun to manifest and—in the subsequent confusion that nearly always follows a Spark’s breakthrough—both she and Moloch had been captured by Baron Wulfenbach. Eventually, she had managed to escape. Apparently, he had not.³³

He had no love for Agatha, and, indeed, would probably relish exposing her, leaving her trapped in the castle, short-shackled to a hand truck. This would reduce her chances of success to almost nothing.

Desperately she tried to think of a way out. Moloch saw the two women and his eyes widened. His jaw dropped and the mug he held in his hand slipped, spilling hot liquid down his shirt. “Sanaa!” he breathed.

He suddenly gave a yip of pain as the liquid began to soak through his shirt. He looked down. “Oh, no! Let me get a towel!” He turned to go and smacked into the doorjamb. Dazed, he turned to them, a crazed smile upon his face. “I’m…I’m okay! I’ll just use my apron! That’s what it’s for! Yeah!”

He raised the apron in his hands and brought it to his face. Unfortunately, he had neglected to put down the mug, so the rest of the scalding liquid was sloshed over his face. He screamed from behind the apron and flung the mug away.

It hit an obviously handmade shelf loaded with dishes and bounced back onto his head. Moloch snagged it out of the air. He turned to the two appalled women with a triumphant grin upon his face. “Ha! See? It didn’t even break!” Then the shelf fell over onto him, burying him in a heap of shattered crockery.

Agatha and Sanaa stared at the still form for a moment, then Agatha leaned in. “Do you think he’s—”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. ”Smitten with me? Yes, I know. It’s amazing we get anything to eat at all, really.” She sighed. “He’ll be fine when I’m gone, or so I’m told.”

She stepped over to Moloch, grabbed a handful of his hair, and hauled his head up. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to work.” Moloch stared at her blankly. Sanaa spoke loudly. “Pay attention, fool.” She pointed at Agatha. “New. Girl.” She gave his head a shake. “Unlock her!”

Moloch blinked. “What?”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “New girl! Shackles! Get key!” Moloch continued to stare at her wide-eyed.

Sanaa gave a small scream of frustration. “Don’t keep me standing around here or I’ll smack you—”

That did it. “Yes!” Moloch began thrashing about on the ground like a fish. His hand dived into various pockets. “Yes! Key! Right!” he babbled.

He produced a shiny key. “Ha! Here! See?”

Sanaa plucked it from his hand and turned her back on him to open Agatha’s cuffs with a quick twist and snap. “Well, thank goodness for that,” she muttered.

She wheeled back and caught Moloch rising onto one knee. She grabbed his face and squeezed his bearded cheeks until his eyes bulged. “Now pay attention. Here is key!” She waited until Moloch took it and repocketed it. “Good! Now I will tell the Professor she’s here. She says she can actually cook, so show her where everything is, then let her get started. Got it?”

Moloch nodded as much as he could. Sanaa let him go and straightened with a sigh. “That should do it.” She turned back to Agatha. “See you later, Pix, I got work to do.”

“Thanks, Sanaa.”

The girl waved as she turned to go. “No problem. Just fix us something edible for a change.” She paused and than turned to Moloch. “And you taste everything she cooks, okay?”

She gave Agatha an apologetic shrug and trotted off.

The two stared after her for a moment until she turned a corner and was gone. Moloch sighed. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

Agatha looked at him sideways. “Yes,” she admitted. “I like her already.” Tentatively, she put a hand on Moloch’s arm. “I…I don’t know your reasons, but I really appreciate your not telling her who I am.”

Moloch blinked and looked at her in surprise. Then he actually registered who she was.

Then he screamed.

The so-called “Sneaky Gate” was a narrow tunnel through the city walls. It went on for several meters in solid blackness after the door they had come through slammed shut behind them. Finally, Oggie, with Gil over one shoulder, pushed a half-sized door open and led Dimo and Maxim into a tight alley. Maxim looked around and smiled. “Hokay! Ve iz close by dis time!” He began to lead the way out of the alley, and nearly plowed straight into Captain Vole. The Jägers stared at each other in surprise. Maxim reacted first, his face breaking into a huge grin. “Vole! Hyu olt veasle-eater! Hyu iz schtill here!” His eyes glanced upwards. “Und dot iz a mighty fine hat!”

For just a second, a smirk rippled across Vole’s face—then he erased it with a snarl. He turned away and saw Gilgamesh.

“Master Wulfenbach! Hyu iz injured!”

Gil struggled to get to his feet. “Yes…a bit…”

Vole sniffed. “Hy ken schmell de blood and it iz hobvious dot hyu iz about to collapse.” He snagged the young man’s hand. “Hy vill get hyu to de hospital.”

“No! Wait!” Gil tried to resist, but found himself pulled effortlessly along. “You’re correct! I do need to rest, but if word gets out that I’m injured, everything I just did out there will be pointless. If there is another attack before I can make repairs to the lightning rod—”

This stopped Vole dead. He turned around. “Hyu lightning schtick is broke?” He considered this and a slow grin spread across his face. “Den anodder attack vould be a goot ting.”

Gil shook his head. “No, you misunderstand, my machines are broken—”

“Hy onderschtand perfectly. De two Heterodyne gurls iz both beeg trouble for hyu poppa. Hiff dere iz anodder attack, den de castle ken be destroyed, both gurls killed. Hit vill be verra sad—” He chuckled. “Ve vill get hyu poppa beck into hiz big airship, and from dere ve ken deal vit de…repercussions. Yez, hit vill all vork owt just fine.”

A hiss diverted his attention from his musings. Jenka was practically vibrating with rage and the other Jägers were glaring at him with an ice-cold fury.

“So it iz true.” Dimo said. “Hyu are no longer a Jäger.”

Jenka pointed at Gil. “Ve iz gunna tek dis guy someplace safe und help protect der town and der Kessle and der family, as ve swore to do. Stend aside.”

Vole sneered, releasing Gil and standing tall. “Devoted slaves to de last. Hyu dun ondershtand. Efferyting has chenged! De family iz dead and hy intendz to keep it dot vay.” He glared down at them. “Vich of hyu iz gunna shtop me?”

“Oh, that would be me.” The voice from behind caused Vole to spin in such a way that Gil’s flying kick met his jaw perfectly, sending him slamming into the wall. He crumpled to the ground and stared up at the younger Wulfenbach in surprise.

“What do I have to do?” Gil asked the air around him. “I just took down an entire army of war clanks and I’m still being treated like a halfwit child!” He pointed at Vole. “Now you listen very carefully. The Heterodyne girl is not to be harmed. I won’t allow it!”

Vole cocked an eyebrow, and then launched himself, snarling. “Hyu jabberink veaklink!” He swiped at Gil with a clawed hand that, if it had connected, would have knocked him back several meters. He seemed surprised when the younger man merely pirouetted like a dancer and sighed.

Vole screamed, “Hy vill keel hyu! Vill be onfortunate accident! Hyu poppa vill stitch hyu back togedder vitout de schtupid bits!” Then he lunged.

Again Vole missed, but this time, as he sailed past, Gil grabbed the back of Vole’s head and added his own strength, sending the Jäger face-first into the wall. “I keep trying to be reasonable.” Gil muttered. “To be fair.” He deflected another attack. “I try to talk to people.”

Vole made another charge, which Gil stepped quickly into. He gripped Vole’s tunic and tossed him over his shoulder. Vole crashed to the ground on his back—hard. “And no one ever takes it as anything other than weakness!” Gil finished.

Vole raised his head and shook it. Gil looked down at him. “You listen to me trying to be civilized, and you all think, ‘Oh, he’s nothing. Him, we can ignore. Him, we can push around. We can do whatever we want—he won’t be able to stop us.’”

He turned away. Vole flexed his back, sprung to his feet with a single movement and, screaming, launched himself at Gil from behind.

With perfect timing, Gil bent and gently placed his stick on the ground. Vole sailed past overhead.

Gil stood up. “No one ever takes me seriously unless I shout and threaten like a cut-rate stage villain.” He sighed again.

Vole tried again and suddenly found himself seized by Gil, who effortlessly held him up above his head. “Well, you know what?” the young man asked conversationally, “I can do crazy. I really can. And it looks like I’m going to have to.”

With that, he slammed Vole to the ground. “Agatha is in danger.” Another slam. “This whole town is in danger.” Another. “If I’m going to be able to help her at all, I’ll have to give up all this ‘being reasonable’ garbage—” Another slam, and this time he somersaulted up and came down hard on the Jäger’s head with both feet. “And show you idiots what kind of madboy you’re really dealing with!”

Vole thrashed slightly and Gil kicked him in the face. A sudden realization made him pause. His eyes got wide for a long moment. “Oh. No. Oh no!” He again addressed the air with the attitude of someone experiencing a terrible epiphany. “This…this must be how my father feels all the time!”

He thought about this for another moment and sighed. Then he glanced down. He pulled Vole’s head up so that he could glare directly into the now-terrified eyes. “So. Are you going to follow orders? Or are you going to keep attacking me until I have to kill you—at which point I’ll just have to use one of these Jägers instead?” So saying, he hooked a thumb towards the astonished group that had watched him dispatch Vole.

This attention shook Ognian out of his stupefaction and he raised a point of order. “Ectually, ve dun take orders from hyu.”

Instantly three fists smashed into his jaw, sending him to the ground.

“What was that?” Gil asked.

“Notting!” Four voices answered as one. “Ve’s goot!”

Gil turned back to Vole. “So?”

“No!” The cowed Jäger bleated. “I’z sorry, sir! Vot iz hyu orders, sir!”

Gil nodded. “I am going with these Jägers. Tell no one except my father that you have seen me. I have much to do, so I shall be busy. Right now, I want you to find the body of whoever was in charge of those war clanks. The sooner you get his head to my father or Dr. Sun, the easier it will be to get coherent memories. Do you understand?”

“SIR! YES, SIR!”

“Then go.” And pausing only to grab his hat, Vole loped off towards the burning machines.

The group watched him go in silence. Finally Dimo nodded respectfully. “Not bad.”

Gil shrugged. “My father once wrote a monograph on how to communicate in the workplace.”³⁴

“…Iz dot so?”

Gil nodded. “All seven popes ordered it burned.”³⁵

Dimo snorted. “Vell, Hy guess hyu iz feelin’ better.”

Gil stared off at the burning machines. “Is he gone?” His voice was a whisper.

Dimo blinked. “Vot?”

“Vole. Is he gone?”

“Yah. Uv cawrze. He run off…”

“Good.” And with the gentlest of sighs, Gilgamesh Wulfenbach collapsed face forward, completely unconscious.

The Jägers stared down at him. Ognian rubbed his jaw and grinned. “Hy likes dis guy!” He leaned down and swung Gil up over his shoulder with one hand. “He’s fonny! Let’s get him fixed op qvick, yah?”

Jenka winked. “Hif only becawze hyu Mizz Agatha likes him!”

All the Jägers perked up at this. “Iz dot so?”

Jenka nodded. “Accordink to de Generals.”

Dimo grinned. “And he likes her too! Dot’s mighty goot to hear.” He glanced at Gil, “He seems like a sturdy vun. And vit Mizz Agatha, hy tink dot’s gunna be impawtent.”

Maxim set his hat at a jaunty angle. “Hy vill teach heem how to impress de gorls!”

Ognian gave Gil a pat. “Hy vill teach heem about de birds and de veasles!”³⁶

Dimo assured Jenka, “Und hy vill teach heem how to avoid dose two.”

She nodded. “Den ve might ektually see more Heterodynes yet.”

The current Heterodyne was kneeling on Moloch von Zinzer’s chest, her gloved hand frantically clamped over his screaming mouth. “Quiet,” she hissed. “Quiet! I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you act stupid!”

Moloch’s scream dwindled to nothing. Agatha wasn’t sure if this was because he was listening, or because she was blocking his air intake. “Now I’m going to take my hand away. I’m giving you one chance. Don’t make me regret it!”

She gingerly removed her glove and Moloch took a deep breath. Then he spoke—very fast. “I really must apologize for threatening you back on the airship. I was really scared and under a lot of stress and—”

Agatha gently placed her hand back over his mouth, cutting off his stream of words. “Keep quiet,” she said gently, “and we’ll call it even.” Moloch looked surprised. “Really? You’re not going to kill me?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“I can work with that.”

They rolled apart and climbed to their feet. Moloch examined her. Agatha had changed since their time on Castle Wulfenbach. When he had first met her, she had obviously been a soft townie. From what he could see, she was now in much better shape. But more importantly, mentally, Agatha had seemed to be in a vague, pleasant fog a lot of the time, occasionally snapping into a terrifying sharp focus. Now… she seemed even more focused. A lot more focused. Looking at her now…she was obviously watching him, but her eyes—her eyes were moving. Constantly. In quick little snaps. Every other snap brought them back to Moloch, but she was looking at everything.

Moloch had always had a good “survival sense.” He knew when it was time to retreat. When to avoid the gaze of a sergeant looking for “volunteers.” This sense had only been sharpened here in Castle Heterodyne, where a misstep could cause him to be killed in any number of unexpected ways.

That sense was screaming at him now. Screaming in the same way as when he had found himself hauled up before Baron Klaus Wulfenbach himself and discovered that the Ruler of all Europa had made a mistake. About him.

The Baron had thought Moloch a Spark because of a machine that Agatha had built. He had never really understood why they had all automatically assumed it was him and not Agatha but he was not going to be the one to tell the Baron that he’d made a stupid mistake. So he’d tried to fool the smartest man in Europa.

There was a certain perverse pride to be felt because he had managed to do it for longer than two minutes, but at the three-minute mark, the fear of discovery had begun to erode the satisfaction, and by the time the whole thing had come crashing down several days later, he had almost been relieved that it was all over.

There were some who had argued that his sentence to Castle Heterodyne had been a bit harsh, considering that it was usually reserved for deranged Spark criminals, excessively loyal minions, constructs, and such.

However, it was also the traditional punishment for those who had impersonated Sparks, and thus, here he had been sent.

Moloch had no illusions about some hypothetical degree of “fairness” about life in general and his in particular. He just did what he always did—the best he could with the crap he had, and, occasionally, life handed him little unexpected victories. He wondered if this was supposed to be one of them. Schadenfreude did not come naturally to Moloch. He had to admit that although she had been the root cause of his current set of problems, Agatha had never actually betrayed him, done him direct harm, or treated him as anything other than a comrade in misfortune.

Thus he discovered that he could actually work up a measure of sympathy for her under the current circumstances.

“So, the Baron finally caught you, eh? Took longer than I thought it would,” he admitted.

Agatha shrugged. “He didn’t catch me and he isn’t going to. I came in here on my own.”

Sympathy went out the window. “That’s insane!” He considered what he had said. “Oh. Right. You’re supposed to be a real Heterodyne, aren’t you?”

She smiled. “That’s what I’m told.”

He thought about this some more. “Wait a minute. That means you’re like… you’re like the Queen here or something.”

Agatha nodded. “Or something.”

“So get us out of here!”

She sighed. “I’m working on it.” She looked around. “This is the kitchen? It’s smaller than I’d have expected.”

It was small for a castle this size. Even so, one wall boasted an enormous fireplace in which three entire cattle could have been spit-roasted end-to-end. There were huge griddles and ovens along another wall, clearly designed by someone with the Spark. Pipes and ductwork wound up and into the walls, steam vents with oddly constructed valves clacked open and shut, and a large cast-iron cauldron slowly bubbled over what looked like an industrial grade Bunsen burner.

Makeshift shelves held stacks of cheap china and tin plates and cups. Others held heaps of supplies, bottles of spices and sauces, and sacks of beans, flour, lentils, raisins, noodles, and rice. Large cast-iron pots and pans hung from the beamed ceiling, along with ropes of sausages, at least twenty large smoked hams, and bunches of onions, garlic, peppers, and other dried herbs.

Another rack of shelves held easily four dozen slightly burned loaves of bread.

An enormous zinc tub in the corner, positioned under a dripping pump, was filled with oily-looking water and a towering stack of dirty dishes.

Overall, it was obvious that home economics was not Moloch’s strong suit. He sighed.

“Oh, this isn’t the Master Kitchen. I don’t think we’ve even found that yet. This place was built for Venthraxus Heterodyne’s favorite cook.”³⁷

Agatha looked at him askance. “How do you know that?”

Moloch sighed. “It told me.”

Agatha looked around. “Ah! The kitchen itself? I was told that it talks.”

“WELCOME FOOLISH CREATURE! I AM YOUR DOOM!” The shout seemed to come from everywhere at once. Agatha jumped and stared around her, then up at the beams of the ceiling. The sausages, pots, and all other hanging goods rocked back and forth gently at the vibration.

“Oh yeah,” Moloch confirmed wearily. “It talks.”

The voice was similar to the one that Agatha had heard in the crypt. The difference—this voice was deeper, more unearthly—she attributed to the fact that it wasn’t being channeled through human vocal cords. In fact, try as she might, she couldn’t see any speaker grill or even a vibrating membrane. The voice just seemed to emanate from the corners of the room.

“That’s pretty creepy,” she observed.

Moloch groaned and stepped away from her. “No! Shut up! Now it’s got to show you how creepy it can get.”

Before she could ask for an explanation, a knife on one of the cutting boards suddenly quivered and stood up upon the point of its blade. It stood there for a moment and then with a spin, launched itself at Agatha. Hours of training with Zeetha paid off and she stepped to the side. But instead of burying itself in the wall, the knife spun about. Dozens more utensils took to the air and began swirling about her, like a glittering flock of birds. “How is it doing this?” Agatha cried. She snatched up a large cutting board. Instantly two knives buried themselves in it. Suddenly Agatha realized that none of the knives had actually touched her.

Though Moloch had stepped off to one side, he was being menaced by a dangerous-looking eggbeater which he batted at with a pot lid. “How the hell should I know,” he snapped. “It’s supposed to be your damn castle, isn’t it?”

His words struck home. Agatha straightened up, flung the cutting board aside, and demanded, “Knock it off!”

The utensils froze in midair. “Your voice…” The castle sounded uneasy. “Who are you?”

Agatha addressed the air. “I am Agatha Heterodyne! Daughter of Bill Heterodyne and Lucrezia Mongfish, and I am your new master.”

All of the utensils crashed to the floor. “Oh, really?” The castle began to chuckle evilly. “Another brave claimant! And a girl this time. How odd.”

“Stop it!” Agatha snapped. “You know me. I talked to you in the crypt.”

When the voice again spoke, it was more serious. “I do not know you, silly girl, I lost access to the crypt years ago.”

Agatha felt a touch of apprehension. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Oh, it’s no matter. You have made your claim. Now you must prove it.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here to do.”

A knife sped through the air and deftly sliced Agatha’s arm. She screamed in shock and pain. “What are you doing?”

“Blood!” the castle declared. Another knife tore at her leg. “The truth is in your blood!”

“Stop!” Moloch shouted, “You’ll collapse my soufflé!”

The knives fell to the ground. “Oh.” The castle declared. “Sorry—wait…”

But Moloch had already grabbed Agatha by the arm and dragged her out of the room. They halted, gasping outside the doorway.

Agatha turned to him. “Collapse my soufflé?”

Moloch shrugged. “It’s a kitchen.”

“I AM NOT A KITCHEN!” The voice roared from inside the room. “I AM CASTLE HETERODYNE!” And a fusillade of sharp utensils burst from the room, smacking into the opposite wall before spinning and clattering harmlessly to the floor.

The two of them stared at the mound of cutlery. Moloch glared at Agatha. “I thought you said you were a real Heterodyne!”

“I am!”

“Then why isn’t the Castle listening to you?”

Agatha cocked her head to one side and considered this. “I don’t know. Interesting, isn’t it?”

He stared at her. “Interesting! It tried to kill you! I’ve never seen it do that!”

Agatha winced as she rubbed the cut on her arm. “Kill me? No—I don’t think so. It could have just put a knife in my eye.” She checked the cut on her leg. “These are fairly superficial.” Indeed, both of them had already stopped bleeding.

She turned to Moloch. “And I did speak to the Castle in the crypts.” She paused. “The voice in the kitchen—that must be one of the secondary systems it mentioned. I should have realized that its memories would be fractured as well. I’m going to have to…introduce myself to each one. And convince them, too, I suppose.”

Moloch glanced back at the kitchen doorway. A cleaver shot out and imbedded itself in the opposite wall. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Agatha considered this. “So this is the only ‘live room’ in this area?”

Moloch nodded. “Yeah. That’s why we stay here to eat and sleep.”

“I’ve seen artificial intelligences before back at the University. Unless it’s something very limited, like a clank, they tend to take up a lot of space. If this one is confined to one room, I’m betting it’s not very…sophisticated. I think that once I find systems that operate over larger areas, it’ll be a bit more reasonable.”

Moloch eyed her. “Reasonable, it’s not. It’s broken.”

Agatha smiled. “Well, that’s why I’m here. Once it’s repaired, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Moloch scratched at his beard. “Yeah, but how are we gonna do that? They’ve been trying for how many years? We don’t even have—” He stopped short. “Wait—did I say ‘we’?” He stared at Agatha in horror. “No way. What am I saying?”

He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “You listen to me. I am not your minion!³⁸ Forget it! No, no, no, no, no!”

Agatha waved a hand. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Most of the people in here are either Sparks, or the loyal minions of Sparks who were too stupid to stop fighting for the losing side when the Baron arrived. I’ve seen where that gets you. I am nobody’s happy little helper, you got that?”

Agatha nodded solemnly. “I got it.”

Moloch crossed his arms. “Good.”

Agatha sighed. “So I should get started. Where can I find some tools?”

Moloch indicated a set of bins against a wall. Agatha discovered they contained a wide assortment of worn but serviceable tools as well as a rack of tool belts and cases. She spent several minutes selecting and loading a sturdy toolbox. Finally satisfied, she grasped the handles and discovered that it now weighed easily fifty kilograms.

Moloch snorted and pushed her aside. With a few deft moves, he weeded out two-thirds of the items, selected several different ones, and slung the box’s strap over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Agatha nodded and off they went.

Several minutes later, they were striding down a long corridor lined with dials of widely varying sizes. Agatha was able to identify numerous pieces of meteorological equipment along with pressure gauges and counters that seemed to record various aspects of the castle, its inhabitants, things that were taking place in the town below, the flow and movement of the river, the clouds above, and things that moved unseen beneath the earth. There were clocks that kept different units of time, measured the rate at which the local crops grew, the speed of various planets, and disturbingly, one that clicked back a notch every time she breathed.

She gazed at it all in wonder and felt a growing excitement. Who knew what wonders were here, waiting in this castle? What things of mystery and magic had lain here, unseen for years, just waiting for her to arrive and claim them?

Her foot caught and she stumbled, but Moloch caught her and steadied her. “Snap out of it,” he said. “You can gawk or you can walk, but don’t gawk and walk at the same time. It’ll get you killed.”

Agatha nodded. “You’re right. What else should I know?”

He scowled. “I don’t know where to start. Usually you’d report to Professor Tiktoffen, and then you’d—well, I guess you’d work with me in the kitchen, and I’d bring you up to speed over time.”

Agatha shook her head. “Forget that. It’s better if I don’t talk to anyone before I head deeper into the Castle.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing that other Heterodyne girl isn’t your sister or something?”

Agatha snorted. “Only if sisters try to kill each other.”

Moloch barked out a laugh. It was the first time Agatha had heard him do that. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?” Agatha looked at him blankly. He continued, “Fine. So you running into her would be bad.”

“Very bad. In fact it would be better for you to forget that you knew me.”

Moloch rolled his eyes. “If only I could.”

Agatha glanced at Moloch. For absolutely no reason she could understand, a wave of fondness washed over her. He certainly hadn’t asked to get caught up in her affairs and her time with Master Payne’s Circus had shown her how ordinary people felt about being forced into proximity with those who possessed the Spark. She lightly patted his shoulder.

“Relax. I am the Heterodyne. I’ll get the Castle repaired and then you’ll be free to go and I’ll be out of your life.”

The eyes that Moloch turned upon her almost caused her to miss a step. They were the eyes of a man who has seen many a proposed simple stroll down to the corner store devolve into a small war.

“Relax,” Agatha said reassuringly. “I have a plan.”

They turned a corner, and almost ran into Zola—the very faux-Heterodyne Agatha had hoped to avoid. She was resplendent in pink, striding confidently forward and followed by an interested crowd of prisoners. Walking attentively at her side was, unexpectedly, Agatha’s least favorite teacher from Transylvania Polygnostic University, Professor Silas Merlot.³⁹

The two groups ground to a halt and stared at each other for what was easily several seconds.

Merlot’s jaw snapped shut first. “You!” he breathed.

“RUN!” Agatha screamed, and took off.

To his horror, Moloch found himself running along behind her, the bag of tools banging against his shin with every step. “This is a terrible plan!” he shrieked.

“Who was that?” Zola demanded.

Merlot seemed frozen. “That was Miss Clay! It’s her fault that I’m in here! She ruined my life!”

Zola stared at him. “Miss Clay? You said that you were in here because of the Heterodyne girl.”

Merlot whirled upon her. “She is the Heterodyne girl! She is! And I am going to kill her for what she did to me!” With that he was pelting off after her, murder in his heart.

Professor Tiktoffen swallowed. “Good heavens. I’ve never seen Merlot act like that.” He turned to Zola. “You don’t think he’d really kill her, do you?”

Zola grimaced. “Well somebody had better, and the quicker the better!” She raised her voice so that all the prisoners heard her. “All of you! Find that girl! Freedom and gold for whoever kills her!” That did it. With a roar, the crowd followed.

As she ran, Agatha tried to examine the map that Herr Diamant had provided for her. As one would expect, trying to read an unfamiliar map of an unfamiliar place—while running with a mob of dangerous people determined to kill you hot on your heels, no less—was extraordinarily difficult. Finally Moloch couldn’t stand it any longer. “Where are we going?”

“Something called the Red Hall. Where is that?”

“Turn left here!”

They crashed through a doorway into a long, colonnaded hallway. Periodically there were doors and exits to stairwells. The walls here were still covered in graffiti but as Agatha flashed past, she realized that here most of it was actually instructions or warnings about what lay behind various doors. She also realized that Moloch was yelling at her. “This was a mistake! We’ll be trapped!”

“Not yet!” Agatha jogged forward, one eye on the map, counting under her breath. “Three… Fourth door… There! The fifth hallway! Come on!”

Moloch lunged forward, grabbed her shoulder, and dragged her to a halt. “Wait! We can’t go in there! That’s Uncharted Territory! It’s full of traps! The Castle will kill us for sure!”

“There they are!” They both turned to see a crowd of prisoners pour into the hall and head towards them.

With a scream, Moloch hoisted the toolbox up over his head in a semblance of protection and darted down the uncharted hall. Agatha followed. They had passed over ten meters in before Agatha realized they were no longer being followed. She stopped and turned back. Sure enough, the mob had stalled at the entrance, as surely as if by an invisible wall. “They’ve stopped,” she observed.

“Of course they stopped!” Moloch said bitterly. “They’re waiting to see us get turned inside out! Not even the Trapmasters ever got this far! We’re now completely at the mercy of an insane mechanical monster that has no mercy!”

A soft sound was all the warning Agatha had, but she shoved Moloch back in time so that the stone block that had fallen from the ceiling missed him completely. She raised her voice. “But it’s my insane mechanical monster and I’m here to make sure that it knows it!”

There was a pause and then a complete dearth of falling blocks. Agatha nodded. “Good. I think I’ve gotten it curious.” She held out a hand to help Moloch up. “Besides,” she said quietly, “At this point, we really don’t have much choice. We just have to keep going and hope for the best.”

The two of them took a final glance at the seething crowd at the hallway entrance and pushed onwards. In a moment, they had turned a corner and vanished.

The prisoners looked at each other and sullenly turned back, only to be met by Zola, striding towards them, growing visibly more furious with every step she took. “What are you fools doing?” She pointed down the hallway. “Go after them!”

A woman wreathed in veils made an obscene gesture. “Eat knives, cow. You go down that hallway, you die.”

In a single fluid movement, Zola dipped her hand to a holster at her waist, drew forth a compact little pistol, and shot the woman through the forehead.

The others stared at her. Zola took a shooter’s stance. “No. You die if you don’t go in.”

The group stared at her and then, like a terrified amoeba, slowly crept down the hallway.

Darkness.

Light.

Darkness again.

Light. Ah. Eyelids. A vague cloud of sentience slowly coalesced and realized that it was Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. I’m still alive, he realized. Yay.

There was a creak from beside him, and an unfamiliar woman’s voice. “Ah! You’re awake! Relax, you’re safe.”

Gil rolled his head towards the speaker and caught sight of her. He tensed. The woman was young, not yet twenty-five, he guessed. She was muscular, a fighter of some sort, if the scars she carried were any indication. She wore mostly leather and canvas, with two unusual-looking swords strapped to her back. The light in the room was dim, to spare his eyes, he guessed, but he could see that her hair was a rich green.

“Am I?” he asked.

The girl raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Yup. Couldn’t be safer.”

She stood up, went to a tray on a nearby dresser and poured something into a pewter mug. While she was busy, Gil looked around. He wasn’t tied down or restrained. He was feeling somewhat unsteady—a glance at his lower legs revealed several bandages. The astonishing thing about the room was how it was decorated. The only word that applied was “excessively.” Every centimeter looked like it had been painted or carved by someone with too much time, a rather limited imagination, and a dearth of artistic talent. The scenes portrayed tended to be battles, monsters, and monsters battling with other monsters. Another glance and he realized that the more gaudily dressed monsters were supposed to be Jägers. Impossible, deformed, grandiose Jägers sporting towering, elaborate, impractical headgear, but clearly Jägers.

The room had only one exit, which appeared to be unlocked. There was nothing within reach that could be used as a weapon, or indeed, really anything useful at all within reach. It appeared to be a repurposed storeroom of some sort. The open beamwork of the ceiling seemed excessive for a house and there were no windows, so they were in a commercial structure of some sort.

Either the walls were thick or there wasn’t anything happening outside the door. The air was close and had an odd, gamey odor that tugged at his memory, overlaid with the smells of antiseptic, unwashed bodies and, oddly, old beer.

The bed he was on looked like a standard issue hospital cot, with linen sheets and wool blankets. The dresser was sturdy wood, elaborately carved, as was the chair the girl had been sitting in. The floor was dressed stone.

Gil made this examination while the girl was getting his drink and composed his face by the time she returned to his side.

“I’ll bet you have questions,” she said as she sat back down, “I know I have.” She indicated the drink in her hand. “Sit up and have some of this.”

Gil moved carefully and found it surprisingly easy. His legs stung a bit but it could have been far worse.

He settled himself back and reached for the mug, calculating furiously. If he threw the drink at the girl, that should give him enough time to—

“Don’t try it,” she said.

“What?”

“Just now. You were thinking that if you threw your drink at me, you might be able to overpower me.”

Gil tried to keep his face noncommittal. The girl smiled. “Body language. Eye movement. You tensed the muscles of your arms… You couldn’t do it, by the way.”

Gil nodded and sipped the drink. This, to his surprise, turned out to be some sort of spicy concoction, redolent of lemon and malt. He sipped it again. “I suppose I couldn’t,” he ventured.

The girl regarded him. “So I’m curious. People you trust told you they were going to see to you, you woke up, so if I was going to hurt you, I could’ve done it a hundred times over, and yet, when you saw me, you got all tense. Now why is that?”

Damn my father and his love of secrets, Gil thought. He regarded the girl and spoke slowly. “I’ve been told that someone who looks like you might be out to kill me.”

The girl’s reaction was unexpected. She sat up straight and grinned so wide that she brightened the dim little room. “Reeeeally?”

That was when Gil threw his drink into her face—or—wait—where was the mug?

It was in the girl’s hand, not a drop out of place. She grinned again and took a sip, and made a face at the taste. “Very nice,” she said. She casually tossed him the full mug, which Gil caught in midair. “I might even have been in trouble if you weren’t messed up.” She paused. “And if I were drunk and had a broken arm and—”

“Yes! I get it, thank you.”

“Good. Now drink that up, it’s supposed to be good for you, and don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” She shrugged. “Not yet, anyway.” She paused for effect and made a devilish face. “Agatha wouldn’t like it.”

Everything else left Gil’s mind. He sat up. “Agatha! Where is she? Is she all right?”

The green-haired girl made a show of frowning sternly at him. “And why should I tell you? Weren’t you the one who just sent a Jäger to kill her?”

Gil’s face went pale. “WHAT?” he roared. “I did no such—” He suddenly remembered Vole. He studied the girl’s face. “Maybe I did,” he said slowly, “But I never told him to kill her. He’s not like other Jägers, but I never thought he’d…”

He remembered his father’s reaction to his sending Vole after Agatha and his hand tightened upon his mug. “But my father wasn’t surprised…My father is convinced that she’s…the Other.” He looked for a reaction in the girl’s face and saw nothing. A chill went through him.

He set his drink down. “If you know something, tell me. I mean…I don’t really know Agatha that well, but I…I don’t want to believe it.”

He took a deep breath. “If it was just about me, I would take my chances. But the Other devastated Europa. I’ve read the accounts. I’ve seen the results. And now the reports coming out of Balan’s Gap—whatever went on there was the work of the Other. There’s no question. And there’s also no question that Agatha was right there in the middle of it all.”

He looked the green-haired girl in the eyes. “I’ve never known my father to be wrong about anything. Anything! Not until Agatha came along. He was wrong about her then, and I hope he’s wrong about her now, but what if I’m missing something?”

He paused, his mind swirling with conflict. He was sure it could be seen on his face but he kept going anyway. “The last thing I want is to unleash all that death and destruction upon the world—again—just because I fell in love.” As he slumped forward, the fine gold chain around his neck shifted and a small ring-shaped gas connector slid into view.⁴⁰

The girl eyed it and nodded slowly. She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture that, oddly, reminded Gil of his father.

“Okay,” she muttered from behind her hand, “You’ve convinced me.” She straightened up and looked at Gil seriously. “Agatha is fine, for now. She sent me to make sure that you were all right after that stunt you pulled outside the city.”

Gil leaned forward. “Did she like that?”

The green-haired girl rolled her eyes. Sparks. “Yes, she did. But because she’s a smart girl, she’s not ready to trust you, but I can tell you that she likes you.” She held up a preemptory finger. “And not just because you blew up invaders on her doorstep—though that never hurts.”

The girl then reached down and grabbed hold of Gil’s hair, dragging his face up to hers. “But I don’t care who you are, Agatha is my Zumil, and if you hurt her—I will kill you.”

Gil didn’t try to pull back. “I don’t know what a ‘Zumil’ is, but I get the idea. However, there is this whole Other thing…”

The girl rolled her eyes and released him. “Yeah, that. Okay, I’ve heard you’re smart, and I really do believe that you care about her, so I’m going to explain things to you and hope you can actually help her, because she could probably use it.”

The girl took a deep breath. “Agatha isn’t the Other. But apparently, her mother was. Or is. I’m a little unclear about the details, but the Other took over Agatha’s mind for a while. They had some kind of machine back in Sturmhalten Castle that was able to shove the Other in there.”

A cold fury filled Gil’s face. “The Sturmvarous family. Another thing my father was correct about.”

She held up a hand. “But Agatha is back in control now. She’s got a locket. It’s something her Uncle Barry built for her a long time ago. She says that it damped down her brain—kept her from Sparking out while she was growing up. It let her hide—gave her a chance to grow up like a normal person. She’d lost it before I met her. She said it had gotten stolen in Beetleburg—”

“Oh!” Gil’s eyes widened. “Von Zinzer! Yes, I see…go on.”

“Now for some reason, the Baron had it on him when he tried to capture Agatha back in Balan’s Gap. Looking at it now, it’s obvious that this Other was in control of Agatha at the time. She put this locket on and I saw the Other get shut down hard.” She sat back and spread her hands. “And Agatha’s been herself ever since.”

Gil processed this for several moments. “So the only thing keeping the Other in check is this locket?”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. We haven’t taken it off her to find out.”

Gil shook his head. “This is very bad. It means—”

“It means that when you get her alone, you make damn sure that she keeps that locket on.”

Gil’s train of thought derailed with a crash. He stared at her. “I’m reasonably sure that there are more important considerations than that.”

The girl made a face. “Not if you want to avoid kissing the Other.” She saw Gil’s face and sighed. “Look, I said Agatha’s interested in you and it’s obvious that you’re interested in her, even though the two of you don’t really know much about each other. That means it’s a physical attraction. So the best thing to do is get it all out of your system first so you can start talking to each other intelligently.”

Gil’s face was now beet red. “I never thought there was anyone out there with a poorer grasp of romance than myself.”

“Romance?” The girl snorted. “Are you kidding? I thought you were the Baron’s heir. You’re the one saying this is serious. I agree. Surely you understand that you shouldn’t let infatuation cloud your judgment. Agatha still has a head full of romantic notions, but she wasn’t raised as royalty.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “And you were? Who are you, anyway?”

The girl stood tall. “I am Zeetha, Daughter of Chump. Heir to the throne of my mother, Queen Zantabraxis, ruler of Skifander and the Dark Countries.”

Gil raised an eyebrow. “Chump?”

Zeetha’s eyes flashed. “A great warrior. And yes, I know what it means in your language. An amusing coincidence, yes?”

“I really couldn’t say. How smart was he?”

A frown darkened Zeetha’s face and then vanished. She gave Gil a small nod. A point to him. “Honestly? That’s still a topic of debate amongst my family.”

“What’s your opinion?”

Zeetha looked down. “I…I never met him. He ran off a month after…ah…I was born.” The admission apparently called up many emotions for her, though she made a clear effort to hide them. She took a deep breath. “It is one of the reasons I came here with Professor Consolmagno—to try to find him.⁴¹ One of the few things he told my mother about himself was that he came from a place called Europa.” A wry look crossed her face. “He neglected to mention how large it was. Agatha helped me when I needed it. She is now my pupil, and I, her protector.”

When nothing more was forthcoming, Gil asked, “And where is that? I’ve never heard of this Skifander.”

Zeetha sighed in obvious disappointment. “Your father has heard of it.”

Gil shrugged. “My father knows a lot that he hasn’t bothered to tell me about,” he said frankly. He looked at her. “Like why he thinks that someone from Skifander would want to kill me.”

Zeetha paused and then leaned back. “I’m going to be honest with you. I have no idea why he’d think that, but I can’t say that it surprises me that he does think that.”

Gil rolled his eyes. More games. “I don’t have time for this.”

Zeetha grinned. “Sure you do. You’re not going anywhere like that.”

Gil waved a hand. “I feel fine.”

“I’ll bet you look fine too.”

Gil stared at her blankly and then peeked under his blanket and froze. “Where are my clothes?”

Zeetha’s grin grew even wider. “How should I know? I didn’t undress you.”

Gil paused, relieved. “You didn’t?”

“What, do I look like a doctor?”

Gil coughed. “No, but…”

Zeetha smiled sweetly and indicated the doorway. “The girls did that.”

Three girls were now crowding the doorway, staring blatantly, grinning, and nudging each other. All were dressed in colorful military uniforms and all were equipped with pointed ears and sharp, white teeth.

“Hey! He is alive!” said one.

“Mamma knows what she’s doing,” said the shortest, examining Gil with a predatory look in her eyes.

Gil stared back at them and pulled his covers up higher. “They… don’t look like doctors either.”

They all laughed at this and came farther into the room. Now that they were closer, Gil could see that the ears and teeth were merely costume pieces.

“So you’re the new Lady Heterodyne’s boyfriend, eh?” said the tall one. She leered at Gil in a most alarming manner. “I see that she’s gonna be a pretty lucky girl.”

“The Castle hasn’t accepted her yet,” the middle one said flatly. She turned a jaded eye on Gilgamesh. “And she hasn’t picked him yet either.”

The shortest girl gave a surprisingly athletic bounce and settled atop the dresser. “That’s right! You gotta spur a horse around the yard a bit before you buy him!”

The others chortled. Gil took a calming breath and started with the obvious. “You’re not really Jägers.”

The tall girl cocked her head to one side. “Of course not. No Jägers allowed within the city limits of Mechanicsburg.”

The middle one nodded. “That was the deal.”

“You’re in Mamma Gkika’s, bright boy.”

Gil paused as a memory surfaced. “That…That was a bar…where the Jägerkin used to hang out…” A few more things clicked into place. “Barmaids? You’re barmaids dressed as Jägers?”

The tall one laughed. “Not just barmaids, m’lord, now it’s dinner and a show!” At an unseen signal, all three of them assumed obvious poses. The first looked demure and serious. “‘Four Gears!’ according to Professor Strout’s Guide to Roadside Scientific Atrocities!”

The second looked at him shyly. “‘A magnificent perversion of science’ according to Steamy Steam Quarterly,” she said breathily.

The third crossed her arms and looked truculent. “‘Never heard of it’—Mechanicsburg Chamber of Commerce.”

Gil looked bewildered. “But…but the Jägers have a terrible reputation! People are afraid of them! They hate them! And here you’re telling me that tourists come here and drink with fake ones?”

The three girls looked at each other and smiled.

“You’d be surprised.”

“You’d be shocked.”

“I don’t drink.”

Gil stared at them. He shook his head. “Oh, no. No! This is just too ridiculous! There’s got to be something more to this. I’m just not buying it, otherwise.”

A richly amused voice rolled out from the doorway, “Vell lucky for hyu, dollink, dis iz on de howze.”

There was no question that the figure filling the doorway was a genuine Jäger. She was also, unmistakably, female. Well over two meters tall, the smiling Jäger had a head of brilliant aquamarine hair piled up in a complicated chignon held in place with a slim stiletto. Her face was broad, which accommodated the large, sharp-toothed grin spread across it. Her eyes had a touch of the Far East and her ears were long and pointed.

She was dressed with a voluptuous elegance that announced both her profession and her demeanor with exquisite clarity. When she moved, it was with a sensual grace that was completely unexpected because of her size, and thus even more effective. She came over to Gil’s bedside and looked him over with a wicked smile that had him repeatedly checking to make sure that his blankets were still covering him.

“So hyu iz avake now. Goot.” She graciously extended a hand. “Velcome to mine howze. Hy iz Mamma Gkika.”

Gil automatically took her hand, and as he did so, he was engulfed in a delicate cloud of spicy perfume that caused him to shiver in anticipation. Of what, he wasn’t sure. “Charmed, Madam.”

Mamma smiled even wider and leaned down to examine his face, exposing an amazing décolletage. This was a test Gil had learned to pass in Paris, and he kept his eyes locked with Mamma’s. The Jäger raised an eyebrow approvingly.

Gil then examined the hand he held, noting the demurely trimmed claws. “You’re a genuine Jäger, but you’re—are we still inside Mechanicsburg?”

Mamma nodded. “Hyu iz a schmott vun.” She indicated the other girls. “Ven pipple see lots of false Jägers, dey dun look so hard at real vuns.”

“I see.”

“So—” Mamma turned to Zeetha. “How’z he been?”

“Noisy. Suspicious. Cranky.”

Mamma waved her hand. “Dot means nottink, he iz Klaus’s boy.” She turned back to Gil. “Hyu vas vun chopped op kid ven my boyz bring hyu in. Lets see how hyu iz doink now, hey?” She reached for his sheet.

Gil edged backwards. “Madam! Please!”

Mamma rolled her eyes. “Don be han eediot, keedo, Hy needs to see dose vounds, and de gorls heve seen better, hy’m sure.”

The three glanced at each other and the short one piped up. “Not many, I’ll give him that.”

Gil sighed. He’d gotten worse from Bangladesh. It was Mamma’s expression that brought him back into the moment. Her look of surprise caused him to glance down, which was when he became aware of the device attached to his thigh.

“What the devil is that?” he exclaimed.

“Iz a leedle monitor patch vun of de Masters cobbled togedder avile ago,” Mamma replied. “End accordink to dis, hyu iz hokay.” She looked up at him and there was a look to her eyes that revealed the steel beneath the harlot. “If Hy had to guess, hy’d say dot hyu poppa has deduced a few more uf de Jägerkin’s secrets den he lets on. Dis leedle ting is ready to come out.”

“‘Come out?’” Gil asked. “How deep is it? That’s right atop the Profunda femoris artery. You can’t just rip it—yaAAAAAH!”

“Sure hy ken.” She frowned at Gil. “Ho, don’t be soch a beeg baby. A leedle pain iz goot for hyu.”

“I’m probably bleeding to death!” Gil pressed down on the wound. “You shouldn’t just…” His breath caught. He moistened a thumb and wiped the blood away. When he looked up, there was a growing confusion on his face. “This is almost completely healed. But—the size of the wound…” A new thought struck him. “I must have been out for days! Agatha! My father! What’s been happening?” He leapt to his feet in a panic.

Zeetha grabbed one of his arms while the tallest of the girls grabbed the other. Gil gave a shrug and they went spinning off to crash against the walls. He stood there breathing heavily. “I’ve had enough of this! I’m leaving now!”

Mamma stepped up to him. “Not like dis, hyu ain’t. Hyu gots to—”

Gil lashed out—his hands striking Mamma’s shoulders, sending the large woman reeling back, a look of astonishment on her face.

Gil gave an inarticulate roar of fury. Then Mamma’s fist slammed into his jaw, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying back. He flattened against the wall and then dropped back onto his bed. Everyone waited. One of Gil’s hands moved slightly and everyone tensed. “What just happened to me?” Gil asked.

Mamma gave a snort and with a ripple, was once again the relaxed chanteuse. “Goot boy. We giff hyu some Battle Draught. Iz strong schtuff. Close op hyu vounds fast!”

Gil sat up and gingerly peeled back a bandage on his arm. The skin underneath was slightly red but otherwise unmarked. He looked up. “But this is amazing! Why isn’t this being used in the hospital?”

Mamma looked distressed. “Battle draught iz brewed for Jägers. Iz not always… so goot for normal pipples.”

Gil looked at her. “But you gave it to me.”

Mamma nodded. “Hy did.” She looked at him for a moment and then nodded again as she made a decision. “When you poppa took in the Jägers, we swore to serve de House of Wulfenbach. Vun uf de vays ve did dis, vas by keepink a close eye on hiz son.” Gil tried to interrupt but Mamma plowed on. “Ve knew—” she tapped her nose, “—dot hyu vas de Baron’s son. Ve knew before hyu did, and hyu vas guarded.”

She leaned back against the dresser and regarded Gil with a grin. “And ven somevun iz vatched as much as hyu vas, tings get noticed. Hyu poppa spent a lot of time vit hyu in his laboratories. More den hyu realize since hyu vas asleep half de time, but he improved hyu. Oh, hyu tried to hide dem, but hyu vas a keed, and hyu let tings slip. Hyu is faster den most pipple, jah? Stronger. Hyu dun sleep moch. Tings dot vould help hyu survive.” Mamma poked him in the chest. “Hy figure if ennybody ken take a leedle battle draught, it vould be hyu.”

“But why take the chance?”

Mamma stopped smiling. “Because hyu poppa vants to keel Miz Agatha and de Jägers tink dot she iz der Heterodyne, vich means dot she iz under our protection.”

Mamma shrugged. “Now, maybe she izn’t a Heterodyne. Personally, hy dun see how soch a ting could be pozzible. But der Castle vill decide, not hyu poppa.” She leaned forward. “De trobble iz dot ven hyu poppa decides to kill somebody, dey usually die pretty dem fast, and hy tink dot de only ting dot could schtop Baron Wulfenbach—vould be anodder Wulfenbach.”

“I will not fight my father.”

Mamma nodded with approval. “Dot’s goot, becawze he’s got a whole bunch of army and hyu dun got nottink. My hope iz dot hyu can out-think him.”

Gil stared at her, his jaw hanging open. “Out-think. My father.”

“Hyu deed it vunce already, sveetie. Hyu knew Agatha vas de Spark in Beetleburg.”

“How do you know—?” Gil hesitated. “I can’t count on that happening again.”

Mamma grinned. “Ov cawrze not. It vill be schomting else. Hit alvays iz. De impawtent ting iz dot hyu iz alive and on de field.”

Gil took a deep breath. “So—that whole temper thing. What was that?”

Mamma shrugged. “De Jäger draught didn’t make hyu brain melt, but hit looks like der might be side-effects. Hyu better vatch dot temper, kiddo.”

“Or else I might start frothing and attacking people?”

“Could be. Or maybe hyu make a beeg snarly mouth and hyu face steek like dot.”

Gil stared at her. “Can I get dressed now?”

The other women simultaneously groaned in disappointment.

Mamma clapped her hands. “Ov cawrze. Now hyu clothes vas a mess, so my boyz iz findink hyu some new vuns.”

And indeed, a minute later, there was a knock on the door. It opened and Maxim poked his head in. “Hey, Mamma! Ve found some real snappy schtuff from de prop room and der lost and finders keepers!” So saying, he passed through a mound of clothing. Meanwhile Dimo and Ognian had seen the Jäger-girls and immediately begun flirting.

Gil examined the clothing. It seemed to consist of equal parts armor and miscellaneous clothing from around the known world. Gil, who had inherited his father’s appreciation of smart dress, was appalled.

He held up a pair of leather pants equipped with spikes at the knees and groin. “I can’t wear this!”

Maxim leaned in, as one man of the world to another, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Hyu could go find Mizz Agatha mitout dem…”

The red blush started in Gil’s face and traveled a long way down before he snarled and grabbed an armored pair of underpants. “Fine!”

Everyone in the room took a close interest in his dressing—to the point where they got into arguments about his choice of assorted garments. This did not improve his mood.

A knock at the door revealed yet another Jäger girl. She whispered a message to Mamma, confided to Gil that she appreciated trousers tight enough to let a girl know which way a man dressed, and then vanished. Gil started looking for a different pair of pants, but Mamma interrupted. “Hyu hurry op now, keedo. Dere’s sum pipple vaitink to talk to hyu.”

Gil found a comfortable waistcoat, which was only marred by what appeared to be a functional pair of bear-traps mounted on the shoulders. “I can imagine. Does this place have a back door?”

Mamma chuckled. “More den hyu vould belief. But no, dese pipple it vill be goot for hyu to talk to. Trust me on dot.”

Finally Gil stood in something that at least felt comfortable. He exited the room and came face-to-face with a long mirror. He stopped dead. “I can’t wear this,” he declared.

“Ashtara above, why not?” Zeetha declared. “You look perfect!”

“I look like I’ve picked over every battlefield for the last fifty years. From the losing side, no less.”

Maxim grinned proudly. “Yah! Dot’s goot schtuff.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t have people see me like this!”

“Oh, of cawrze not,” Maxim agreed.

Gil paused. “What?”

Maxim pulled a large, colorful object from behind his back and displayed it proudly. “Not vitout hyu hat!”

A tableful of Jägermonsters was chatting away. A careful observer would have noted that easily three-quarters of them were severely injured. This did not stop them from laughing, shoving, and drinking copiously. One of the few undamaged soldiers was discussing the latest orders and troop movements.

“De Baron haz ordered us all op to de North Border.”

A Jäger missing an arm, with a surprisingly clean bandage wrapped over his eyes, snorted. “Dun tell me dot de Reindeer Boyz iz giffing him trouble?”

The first waved a hand. “He dun tink we’z dot schtupid. He didn’t say nottink, yet. Hit vas just as far as he could send uz.”

They became aware of a ripple of excitement coming towards them. Other tables, also full of Jägers, were exclaiming in awe and astonishment. The crowd parted and Gilgamesh strode past, escorted by Dimo, who was happily basking in the reflected glory. The Jägers stared at the figure clad in ridiculous, ill-fitting, and mismatched armor and their eyes locked upon the space above his head. Their breaths caught—and they rose to their feet and, as one, repeated the cry that was now filling the room.

“HEY! NIZE HAT!!”

The hat was, indeed, very nice. It had spikes and gilded wings, meters of gold lace and frogging. It had a small cheerful flame spouting from a chemical burner mounted at the top, and it had large gold letters that proclaimed that the wearer was “Gilgamesh Wulfenbach: Schmot guy!!”

Gil had had enough. “Everything…is going to go boom,” he growled.

“They’re quite serious, you know.”

The voice that broke Gil’s murderous rage was calm and smooth. A tall young man sat at a nearby table—his elegant dark suit adorned with several discreet medallions of office. The fellow looked at Gil with the open, honest eyes of a born manipulator and continued, “You may think they are mocking you, but I see someone they respect. And that, my dear sir, is very rare. And very useful.” He gestured to an empty chair.

From beside the man, another person leaned forward. It was a dwarf—no, a—a cat. A huge white cat in a uniform jacket that would have shamed a comic-opera Bavarian princeling. “Oh, yeah,” the cat said. “And by the way, nice hat.”

Gil had a feeling that the cat was not impressed. He stared at the two and slowly sat down. “You’re the ones waiting for me?”

The young man fastidiously set down a coffee cup and placed his fingertips together. “Yes. We—”

At this point, the cat hopped up onto the tabletop and, walking on his hind legs, stalked up to Gil. He stuck a clawed finger in his face. “Hold on. First, I want to make this absolutely clear. I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. I think that you are just out to use Agatha as a pawn in some inferior plot to overthrow your father and take over the world. Well I’m on to you, pal, and you’re cutting into my territory!”

The young man sighed and grabbed the back of the cat’s coat—forcibly hauling him back to his seat. “Thank you, Krosp, for getting us started on such a diplomatic footing.”

The cat spat. “I’m serious. Mess with me and your shoes are mine.”

Gil looked at Krosp and nodded slowly. He glanced at the man holding the cat’s coat, “And you are?”

“Vanamonde von Mekkhan. I am the seneschal of Castle Heterodyne.” As he spoke, Van poured Gil a mug of steaming black liquid from a small ceramic pot. “Have some coffee.”

Gil frowned as he picked up his cup. “The seneschal? But that family—” He took a sip, and stared into his cup. “That’s…really good coffee,” he said reverently.

Van hid his head in his arms and sobbed into the tabletop. “YOU SHOULD HAVE TRIED IT BEFORE!” he wept. “It was perfect! Perfect!” He trailed off into further sobs.

Krosp looked at Van with irritation and leaned towards Gil. “Anyway, we’re here to help you.” Then he hissed at him.

Gil looked at the two of them, deliberately set his cup down, and began to stand up. “I’m going now,” he said firmly.

Zeetha, who had been standing behind him, pushed him firmly back into his chair. “Sit down,” she said.

She pointed to Van. “Forget the City Council, he’s the real power here in Mechanicsburg. He drank something Agatha brewed up. She says it’ll probably wear off.”

Van looked up. “But it was—”

“Yes,” Zeetha said gently. “We know.” She gestured to Krosp. “This is Krosp. He’s Agatha’s cat.”

“KING!” Krosp declared.

Zeetha nodded. “And I think that explains that.” She indicated the room at large. “And let’s be honest, they’re probably the sanest people here.”

The room was immense—a great barrel-vaulted cellar, easily one hundred meters long and half that wide. Thick pillars rose among the tables. One end of the room was filled with an expansive bar, behind which several bartenders were constantly busy. The walls behind them were lined with giant casks, each of them capable of storing the yearly output of a small brewery. A squad of waitresses endlessly shuttled back and forth, each carrying an impossible number of festively decorated tankards.

Opposite the bar was a cabaret stage. Gaslamps hissed along the front, and it was hung with a thick red curtain emblazoned with the badge of the Jägerkin, a grinning demonic skull. At the moment, the three faux Jäger girls Gil had met earlier were strutting about onstage, doffing assorted items of clothing while melodically assuring the audience that come what may, they still had their hats.

The appreciative audience was composed entirely of Jägers—several hundred at least. Some were sitting at small private tables or in booths but most sat at the immensely long wooden tables that filled the center of the hall.

Almost every square centimeter of wall was covered by weapons, armor, and peculiar bits of madboy tech, some of it hundreds of years out of date. Gil realized that these were trophies: souvenirs of enemies that the Jägers had gone up against in the service of the Heterodynes—and later, of the Wulfenbachs. With a start, Gil recognized the vermilion uniforms of the Viscount Eisenstein’s Lobstermen.

“Mamma Gkika’s isn’t just a bar,” Zeetha said. “The Jägers won’t let anyone but a Heterodyne work on them—so when one gets too injured to fight, he comes here. Mamma patches them up as best she can. In the really bad cases—she keeps them comfortable while they wait for the family to come back. So they can get properly repaired, you know?”

Gil nodded slowly. “This answers many questions. I had been afraid that they killed their wounded rather than let us get our hands on them.” He saw a Jäger with no legs and one arm pour a tankard of ale into his mouth and then challenge another to an arm wrestling match. He turned back to Van and Krosp and smiled. “I’m glad that’s not the case.”

Zeetha nodded. “I can’t wait to see Agatha’s face when she finds out. She hates doing chores.”

Gil looked at her. “Then what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with her?”

Zeetha shrugged and waved her hands at the ceiling. “The Heterodyne must enter the Castle alone,” she quoted in mock sepulchral tones.

Gil shot to his feet. “She’s already in the castle? That thing is a death trap! We have to go in and help her!”

“We really are going to be be-e-est friends,” she said as she locked an arm around his neck and dragged him back into his seat. “I approve of this plan and intend to help in any way possible.”

Gil paused, “You do?”

Zeetha nodded. “Absolutely. As far as I know, she just had to enter alone. Nothing says we can’t follow in after her.” She turned to Vanamonde. “Right?”

Van cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s ever come up.”

Gil turned to him. “My father—”

Van interrupted, “Yes, your father. He’s been busy. I would like to know what he’s been doing.”

Gil sat back and gave Van a wan smile. “While I’m sure that at a cellular level my father has been quite active, he won’t be doing much of anything for a while.”

Krosp snorted. “Anyone else I’d call disingenuous, but from you I’ll accept stupid.”

Van looked annoyed. “Krosp, please…”

Krosp slammed a pawful of paper flimsies down onto the table. “For starters, he’s been giving a bunch of weird orders.”

Gil looked alarmed. He scooped them up and examined them. His alarm grew. “These are…How did you get these?”

Van waved a hand. “Please. People give orders, other people write them down, people carry them from place to place, others must execute them… But that is all unimportant. What is it exactly that he’s doing?”

Gil waved the papers. “He’s probably administering the Empire. I assume that most of these orders were sent out by Boris, under my father’s seal. He’s severely injured! Bedridden! In my medical opinion, he won’t be up for weeks.”

Krosp snorted again. Van ignored the cat and kept his eyes on Gil. “So. Even his son underestimates him.”

Gil looked alarmed. “What? What do you mean?”

Krosp smoothed his whiskers. “Oh, he’s up, all right.”

_______________

³³ A more exhaustive and entertaining relating of these events can be found in our first textbook; Agatha H. and the Airship City. Reading this is not mandatory, of course, unless you wish to pass our course.

³⁴ Don’t Make Me Come Over There! Empire Publishing Office/Dusseldorf

³⁵ After the disastrous sacking of the Vatican by the Anabaptist Alchemical Army in 1566, the Papal Court was scattered. At the time of our story, after several centuries of internecine fighting and intrigue, there were seven recognized Popes; the Pope of Avignon, the Ottoman Pope, the Pope of the Tsars, the Pope of Belfast, the Gypsy Pope (who, confusingly, is not affiliated with the Romany), the Pope of the Mountains, and the mysterious Sicilian Papa de Tutti Papi.

³⁶ Like almost everything else, sex education in Mechanicsburg has its own…unique take. As a result, Mechanicsburg girls tend to be rather forward, know what they want, and have no qualms about asking for it, especially when they are wearing their weasel pajamas.

³⁷ Luigi del Basteri awoke one morning convinced that he was the reincarnation of one of the Borgias (which one varied from day to day). Venthraxus thought this was very funny and built Luigi his own kitchen, locked him in, and had him cater select parties. This worked out fairly well, until, in a moment of absent-mindedness, he tasted some sauce.

³⁸ Unless one is raised in the minion mindset, it is difficult to understand the allure of the lifestyle. Outside observers merely see put-upon underlings who live and work in insanely dangerous positions, whose lives are ruled by dictatorial psychopaths who have little regard for their lives or sanity. Acclimatized minions realize that everyone on Earth lives under these strictures, they just don’t fool themselves. With clarity comes freedom.

³⁹ Professor Silas Merlot, PhD University of Salzburg, had been the long time second-in-command to Professor Tarsus Beetle, the late Tyrant of Beetleburg. There are those who are not Sparks but seem destined to become Sparks. Merlot was one of these and was continually frustrated by his inability to Break Through. This resulted in a sour disposition and a growing hatred of Agatha, who he saw as receiving a disproportional amount of the Tyrant’s attention. The fact that Tarsus was aware of Agatha’s true identity while Merlot was not, did nothing to ameliorate his feelings when the truth came out. The simple fact is that some people are born nasty.

⁴⁰ As related in Agatha H. and the Airship City, this particular gas connector was used by Gilgamesh as an impromptu ring during his disastrous first proposal of marriage to Agatha. In our second textbook, Agatha H. and the Clockwork Princess, we saw how it had been planted upon a convenient corpse in order to convince the Wulfenbachs that Agatha was dead. The fact that Gil had kept it, and continued to wear it is, in your Professoressa’s opinion, indicative of a morbid personality.

⁴¹ Professor Guylian Consolmagno, PhD, University of Rome. Leader of the first Europan expedition to Skifander, though he evidently was surprised to find it. He died, and his expedition notes were destroyed by air pirates upon their return. He might have taken some solace from the fact that Zeetha subsequently eradicated the pirates and destroyed their base, but this assumes a small-mindedness and lack of forgiveness that one rarely sees amongst the better class of academics.