Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

CHAPTER 1

Mechanicsburg, Mechanicsburg,

Welcome to Mechanicsburg!

There’s no finer city from

Saint Petersburg to Rome.

Mechanicsburg, Mechanicsburg,

The loveliest we’ve ever heard of,

Jewel of Europa and

The place where we call home.

How mighty are her mighty walls,

How shiny are her clanks,

How beautiful her mountains tall,

And for her snails we all give thanks.

How glorious her Hospital

Which helps folk far and near,

Bill and Barry Heterodyne

Built it for us here.

Mechanicsburg, Mechanicsburg,

Welcome to Mechanicsburg,

We thank you so for visiting,

With every erg and ohm.

Mechanicsburg, Mechanicsburg,

The greatest burg we’ve ever heard of,

Jewel of Europa and

The place where we call home.

—“The Mechanicsburg Tourism Song,” Tom Smith

Arella Heliotrope climbed the stairs to her family apartment, her mind buzzing with news. She opened the hidden locks on the front door and peered inside. “Poppa?” she called. The sitting room had been tidied in a rather haphazard manner. Couch cushions were lined up wrong side out, the great salvaged clank head that had been repurposed as a fire-front had been left with jaws agape, books had been stuffed onto bookshelves with no regard to order. Arella sighed. The old man did try to stay useful. She wished he would go out but more and more, he just stayed in the apartment. He was not taking retirement well.

She walked past walls lined with family mementos: portraits of old Heterodynes, monsters, ancestors, and nervous-looking dignitaries.

The apartment itself was more spacious than its exterior would suggest. It actually occupied the top floor of what, observed from the street, would appear to be three conjoined yet separate buildings. Even from the beginning, the family had sought to keep a low profile.

“Poppa?” she called again. He wasn’t in the library, a room lined with meticulously oiled leather-bound volumes containing everything one could wish to know about Mechanicsburg and its former rulers.

He wasn’t napping in his room. With a small pang of guilt, Arella saw that the votive candle before the portraits of her husband and his mother had melted down. She replaced it with a new votive, setting it securely into the cut-glass safety lantern.

“Poppa?” Arella continued on to the kitchen where she set her purchases down on the counter, trying to avoid a scattering of dirty bowls and small drifts of flour. She scowled. “Poppa?”

“I’m on the balcony,” the old man’s voice called out.

And indeed he was. Carson Heliotrope rested, ensconced in a large comfortable chair. The cat, Electrode, so named for its ability to store up static electricity, lay sprawled in his lap. The old man put down the book he was reading and smiled at her as she stepped out the back door.

“I got us a pork pie for supper, and some fresh onions.”

Carson looked pleased. “Wonderful! I have some bread rising.”

Arella had noticed the covered loaf pans arranged upon the balcony railing. “You shouldn’t have!” She remembered the disarray she’d seen in the kitchen. “Really.”

The old man waved a hand in dismissal. “Ha! Did it anyway.” He cast an eye over the side of the balcony. Below, on the normally sedate Avenue of Schemers, there was an excessive amount of traffic and a suspicious number of people clustered together, conferring. His voice was deliberately casual. “Any news?”

Of course, Arella realized, he knows something is up.

“Yes, indeed,” she reported. “They say a new Heterodyne heir has—”

But Carson had lost interest, waving at her to stop. “Ah. Enough.” He sighed as he picked up his book.

Arella hesitated and then spoke slowly. “I don’t know, Poppa… this one sounds different.” The old man noisily turned a page. “It’s a girl, for starters.”

Carson grunted in surprise. “That is different.”

Arella nodded and leaned back against the doorframe. “And she beat Baron Wulfenbach.”

Carson frowned. “What, with a stick?”

“With an army.” Now she had his full attention. “She appeared in Balan’s Gap. Blew up half of Sturmhalten Castle.” Involuntarily, both of them glanced up at the ruined castle that loomed over their own town. “After that, it gets…confusing. But the town was destroyed, or at least overrun with assorted monsters, and during the fighting, the Baron was hurt.” She pointed a finger towards the large white structure crowning a hill in the distance. “He’s here—in the Great Hospital. And…she had Jägers with her”

Carson had been staring at the distant hospital, but this information jerked his attention back to her. “Jägers?” His brain, which had spent too many sleepy days in the sun, was laboriously spinning back up to speed. “A nice touch, that. The generals will come down hard on them when they catch them.” He snorted. “She should’ve just had the Masters along as well.”

Arella nodded in satisfaction as she delivered her coup de grâce. “She did. Along with the Lady Lucrezia, Punch and Judy and even the High Priestess—you know, from the street plays.”

The old man absorbed this—his mouth twitching and the corners of his eyes crinkling with remembered humor. “Master Barry would be furious.”

“He didn’t look furious,” Arella replied tartly. “Of course, they were all three meters tall, glowed, and had wings—”

Carson just stared at her now. “Wings.”

Arella shrugged. “Well, there is some argument about that, but otherwise, everyone who saw them was convinced that it was them.” Arella fluttered her fingers upwards. “And then they all flew away into the sky. Presumably, to come here.”

Carson nodded slowly. “And where is my grandson?”

“He was out all night,” Arella informed him. “Probably because of the excitement.”

To her slight surprise, the old man nodded in approval. “Yes. He’ll be busy, I expect. Very good. Still…”

With a small grunt, he levered himself out of his chair, dumping the cat to the floor. “Arella, my dear, I am going out.”

Arella handed the old man his jacket and cap. “You’re going to the gate?”

Carson nodded as he carefully adjusted his cap to hide the terrible scars upon his bald head. Arella dutifully brushed the back of his coat. “I’ll send down some lunch.” She paused. “Do you really think she’ll come, Poppa?”

Carson heard the faint whisper of longing within Arella’s voice and sighed. Even after all this time, even after we all know better, we still hope. Best take care of this one quickly.

He patted her arm as he turned to go. “I’m sure she will. All the others have.”

He descended the stairs to the street, drew in a deep lungful of the morning air, and took a look around. What he saw brought him up short. For a moment, he panicked, but then he remembered that the Masters were gone. With the familiar pang of loss mixed with reassurance swirling through his head, he took another look, taking mental notes.

It was worse. Worse than he remembered. He tried to think back. How long had it been since he had last inspected the town? Not just walked like a tourist, but looked, really looked, like a man who was responsible for things and would have to explain them to the Masters?

Obviously far too long.

There was litter in the streets. Not great drifts of it, to be sure, but that there was any at all would have caused his father to have a stroke. The façades of the shops were weathered. He saw a cracked window, and with a genuine shot of fear, he noticed that one of the small public fountains was no longer running, the bowl dry, filled with old leaves and a few cracked snail shells. What was his grandson thinking?

He meandered down through the closely packed streets, eyes half-closed…listening.

There was a rising tide of excitement bubbling through the citizenry. They always reacted to rumors of a Heterodyne, but this time it was sharper, fuller. Fanned, no doubt, by the large number of Wulfenbach troops and obvious out-of-towners who were holding forth on various street corners.

He paused outside a busy pastry shop. A few seconds later, a shop girl hurried out with a wicker basket of warm cinnamon butter snail buns, which she handed over with a small curtsy before darting back inside.

The proprietor of a Turkish teashop spied Carson as he turned onto the lane. He filled a blue ceramic mug with the thick campaign tea that he knew the old man favored, closed the decorative copper lid, and placed it into his hand as he passed. Carson, preoccupied, took it with a slight nod and continued on.

As he approached, Carson ran a practiced eye over the wall surrounding the main gate of the town. Constructed of a wide variety of materials, the thirty-meter-tall walls were a mosaic of stone, brick, and chunks of metal arranged into a solid line of defense, broken only by the great gate before him. Even there, he saw signs of neglect. A crack had appeared below one of the deactivated catapults. It was probably only cosmetic, since the hodgepodge façade hid an inner wall that had broken the armies of empires, but to allow even the appearance of weakness! If the old Masters had seen such a thing, it would’ve been mortared with his blood.

The great doors themselves were constructed of riveted iron and festooned with carvings of skulls and demons, with ranks of gargoyles leering down to glare at approaching travelers. Many were clutching the gilded trilobite that was the sigil of the Heterodyne family, rulers of Mechanicsburg.

Carson strode through the vast central gate, keeping to a raised walkway on one side of the passage. The usual cart traffic rumbled by. When he cleared the portcullis the gloom of the gate tunnel gave way to bright sun, and he paused a moment, blinking.

A young man who had been industriously sweeping the walkway removed his hat as soon as Carson appeared. “Master Heliotrope!” the boy called. “It has been a while since you’ve been by.” He indicated a small stone bench that had been set into the stone railing that lined the roadway up to the gate. “But I had a feeling you might be here, and I have just finished tidying your bench.”

Carson smiled as he settled onto the sun-warmed stone. “You are a good boy, Kars.” He took a sip of his tea. “And how is your mama?”

Kars looked pleased. “Very well, sir. Thank you.” Carson nodded.

“Do remember me to her.” He ran an eye over the traffic. “Anything unusual today?”

Kars paused and leaned upon his broom. The two of them looked out across the landscape. A well-constructed road led from the gate, crossed the river, and disappeared off between two of the cliffs that encircled the valley. The road was lined with advertisements, touting various taverns and inns, as well as the numerous attractions that helped draw in the waves of tourists who came to see the home of the legendary Heterodyne Boys.

These days most of the town’s visitors arrived by way of the airstrip across the river, but today the old road was noticeably busier than usual. Carson could see, even from here, that most of them were troops. This was even more unusual, as the Wulfenbachs habitually used airships for military transport.

“Forces from Balan’s Gap?”

Kars nodded. “Mostly walking wounded. And they say they’re establishing overland supply lines.”

Carson frowned. Mechanicsburg was the closest town of consequence, but the Empire had the largest air transport fleet—

The old man bit his lip. Of course. This must be a very troublesome Heterodyne claimant indeed for the Empire to send troops, even if they were trying to be circumspect about it. At least the merchants will be happy. Prices were no doubt being raised even as he idled here.

Carson leaned back and closed his eyes. Kars waited a moment, but when nothing else was said, he nodded, and taking his broom, moved to the other side of the roadway.

Carson tipped his head back and regarded several of the gargoyles ranked along the outer wall.

“Another Heterodyne heir,” he grumbled to the air. “And this time it’s a woman, who seems to have gotten her ideas from too many Heterodyne shows.” He shrugged. “I expect she’ll be easy to discourage…”

He considered this statement. “But she apparently had enough power to take on Klaus Wulfenbach. Which makes me think she might be trouble.”

Across the way, Kars continued with his work. He picked up a windblown twig and tossed it over the low wall that followed the road out of town, and Carson watched a leaf detach and briefly spin in an updraft.

Carson laced his fingers together. “And if she is, I expect you’ll help me deal with her. I know you’ll enjoy that.”

A dray wagon loaded with empty barrels rumbled out from the gateway A large dog loped along behind it, tongue flapping.

After a moment of protracted silence, the old man chuckled and settled back on his bench. “Well, at any rate…until we’re needed, I believe I’ll take a nap.”

As the sun slowly rose, the defenders of Mechanicsburg waited.

The Great Chronometer in the Red Cathedral had just boomed out the hour. Nine o’clock. From outside the gate, Carson couldn’t hear the shrieks of the clockwork nuns fleeing the clockwork Jägers, but he was familiar enough with the routine that he could visualize each of the hourly shows as clearly as if he were there. His lips twitched in a faint smile.

So caught up was he in memories that, when the trio of horses stopped in front of him, he continued to drift. The young man on the lead horse had to repeat himself several times, in a slightly louder voice each time, before he was startled back to full awareness.

A tall, friendly-looking fellow looked down at him and nodded his head respectfully. Behind him was a young woman, most likely his wife: young, alert, and wide-eyed. Currently she was staring up at the gate. Fair enough, it took some getting used to. At the gateway, the walls blossomed outwards, and a person entering the town experienced the disquieting sensation of entering a lair of grinning, cavorting gargoyles and other assorted monstrosities. The old Heterodynes were accused of many things, but no one ever said they were unfair. They always enjoyed letting visitors know exactly what they were walking into.

Behind her was—Carson perked up a bit. The woman looked like one of those warrior nuns he’d heard of, from…the old man frowned. That convent fortress up near Lake Geneva…he cursed this further evidence of his aging memory. Twenty, no, even ten years ago, he could have reeled off the name of the place as well as what they usually ate for breakfast.

He shook his head. In the nun’s lap was a—Carson’s breath hissed inwards in shock. It was a child. A terrible, misshapen child, tightly wrapped in bandages. The only thing he could see was a pair of mad, glaring eyes. He shuddered.

Even before the rider spoke, the old man knew what he wanted.

“If you would be so kind as to tell us the way to the Great Hospital?”¹

“Certainly. Straight down this avenue until you get to a square with a statue of the Heterodyne Boys. Turn left at the statue, and you’ll start to see the signs.”

The young woman broke off her staring at the gate and turned to him. Her eyes held him transfixed and the old man felt his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, kind sir.” She broke the connection as she turned to her husband. “Let’s go, darling.”

The old man let out a breath as the horses clopped off. Well. Apparently one is never too old to feel foolish over a pretty girl. He impatiently shook his head.

“It’s unfortunate, that’s what that is,” he muttered. “Now’s a particularly bad time to show up with a sick child. The hospital will be in chaos what with the Baron there and everyone all stirred up.”

He glanced upwards. “Perhaps I could—” He froze, then twisted around and stared up at the gargoyles that lined gate into town. All of them—every blessed one of them—had shifted on their pedestals, gazing after the trio of newcomers as they entered the city.

Agatha glanced at her companions and couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face as they left the old man. The idea of the boisterous and unrestrained Zeetha as a nun was almost as amusing as the thought of her being married to the normally prim and decorous ex-valet Ardsley Wooster, who had joined them in Sturmhalten. She caught a glimpse of Krosp’s furious eyes and turned away. Intelligent he might be, but Krosp was still a cat, and his dignity was suffering greatly under those bandages.

As they finally cleared the tunnel through the great wall, Agatha had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Mechanicsburg! She’d heard so much about it. It was the home of the Heterodyne Boys, after all, and for the last two months, she’d been slowly wending her way here—because she’d been told that she was a Heterodyne as well.

As far as the rest of the world knew, the Heterodyne Boys had vanished years ago, putting a stop to the devastations of the Other: the secretive power that had nearly broken Europa nearly two decades ago. Agatha sighed. She had learned much in her travels, and almost all of it bizarre and unsettling. She, Agatha, was the daughter of the hero Bill Heterodyne, and the Other had been her own, equally brilliant mother, Lucrezia Mongfish. Agatha figured that she was now the only person in Europa who found the Other not just mysterious and terrifying, but horribly embarrassing.

It would have been nice to be able to discount this as hearsay, but as Agatha currently had a copy of her mother’s mind lodged inside her own head, determined to break free and wreak havoc, she had to accept that hers was a family with…special problems.

As the horses ambled down the street, they were approached by swarms of touts for many of the local establishments.

“Try the Rusty Trilobite, sir! Soft beds! Hot running water! And you can’t even see the tannery!”

“Nothing like a hot mug of golden rum to clear the dust of the road, ma’am! Come on over to the Laughing Construct! And don’t you pay attention to what anyone says—he’s laughing ’cause he’s happy!”

“Hoy! You look like a man of the world, squire. Stow the ball and chain and get yourself over to Mamma Gkika’s. They’ll treat you right.”

“Would the poor little fellow like a fried trilobite? Just—Sweet lightning! Those eyes! Hospital’s that way! Clear the road, you lot!”

Like magic, the crowd thinned, and they proceeded relatively unhindered. This allowed Agatha a chance to look around a bit. According to the books she had read, the city of Mechanicsburg was almost a thousand years old and had been the home base of the Heterodynes from the beginning. The architecture varied wildly. Over there was a row of shops, equipped with fully modern plate-glass windows, yet hanging above the doorways were old-fashioned pictograph signboards. Over here was a row of mullion-windowed apartments, easily several hundred years old, but a set of peculiar-looking wind turbines thrummed away on the roof.

And trilobites were everywhere. Mechanicsburg was built on a fossil deposit and the peculiar little creatures had been so common that there was even a trilobite incorporated into the city’s famous coat-of-arms. So, Agatha had expected to see them, but in actuality, their presence was overwhelming. They were chiseled upon buildings as assorted architectural features, and emblazoned upon the numerous posters, signs, and broadsheets plastered upon almost every vertical surface. These advertised everything from local attractions to a wide range of products, all of which were (apparently) personally associated with, or endorsed by, the Heterodyne Boys themselves.

As for Bill and Barry, their likeness shone forth from pictures, statuettes, key-chains, mugs, belt buckles, and a thousand other bizarre and inappropriate items.

Zeetha saw Agatha’s expression and leaned over. “It is a tourist town. Aside from the Great Hospital and the memory of the Heterodyne Boys, Mechanicsburg has nothing else worth selling…or so I’ve heard.”

Ardsley Wooster snorted. “That is a perception promoted quite heavily by the Mechanicsburg Chamber of Commerce. They neglect to mention that they are the leading exporter of snails to most of Eastern Europa.”

Agatha blinked. Over the last ten years, snails had become a dietary staple on more and more tables.

“But that’s something to be proud of, I’d think. Why downplay it?”

Wooster glanced about and lowered his voice. “Because, according to the Baron’s agents, Mechanicsburg is also the center of at least three major smuggling and black market operations. Thus they take pains to dismiss the importance of shipments to and from the city.” He shook his head in admiration. “They are aided by the simple fact that it is a rare customs agent that is willing to burrow through a shipment of live snails—”

Agatha nodded. “I can see that.”

“Especially since some of the fancier varieties bite,” he finished.

Suddenly Agatha reined in her horse and pulled it about. The others realized that she had stopped and looked at her questioningly. She frowned and scrutinized the street they had ridden up. It looked normal enough—bustling with crowds of people, merchants calling out their wares, hawkers, and street performers…

It’s all for show, she realized. The merchants might be ebullient and boisterous while enticing passersby, but the moment their audience passed, their grins faded and their posture changed. Agatha thought they looked like poorly maintained automata. The town itself was similar. While the shop areas seen by visitors were reasonably clean and maintained, from here she could see that the upper stories were in serious need of paint and repair. It was like the people of the town no longer cared.

Agatha pondered this as she swung her horse about and continued forward.

Wooster claimed to know his way around the town. He led them up several ramps and before too long, Agatha saw that they were on a raised highway that circled Mechanicsburg’s inner core.

Before them lay the bulk of the town, dominated by a massive black stone crag that loomed in the center of it all. Apparently growing from the top of the natural promontory was a ruined castle, partially hewn from the crag itself.

It was a huge structure. The main tower, a square pagoda-like affair, was easily ten stories tall, emblazoned with an enormous gilded trilobite. To Agatha’s eye, it was apparent that the structure had been built over the course of centuries. Assorted architectural styles and fashions were jumbled together in a most disturbing way. The rest of the castle—Agatha’s breath caught as she took in the scope of the devastation. Many of the barbicans and towers were leaning away from the center. Atop the various roofs, the remains of assorted aerials, towers, and lightning rods could be seen drooping in disrepair. Vast sections of the curtain wall were blown out or were in danger of crumbling. The slopes of the crag were littered with chunks of the castle that looked small, but once you identified features such as windows, you realized that they must be several stories tall. From the base of the structure, where the masonry met the cliffs, an enormous gargoyle head spat a frothing torrent of water toward the rocks far below where it disappeared into a cloud of perpetual mist. This was the source of the Dyne, the river that meandered through the town before flowing through an elaborate set of gates to the valley beyond.

Wooster saw the look on Agatha’s face and nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, that’s it. Happy?”

Agatha still gazed up at the castle. “It’s a mess. But, to be honest? From everything I’d heard, I’d thought it would be much worse.”

Next, she turned her attention to the rest of the town. It was built on uneven ground, with stairways and bridges connecting neighborhoods as often as streets. The buildings were mostly three-and four-story houses, many with a business tucked underneath. To the west, an immense factory complex dominated the skyline. Striking black and white clouds of smoke and steam poured from tall, slender smokestacks. To the north, an ornate, red stone Gothic cathedral rose, defiant beside the dark bulk of the ruined castle. To the east, a miniature lake and several acres of greensward gave way to orchards—which abutted a large white building that could only be the Great Hospital. Before them was a vast open area lined with what looked like rather dilapidated barracks.

As a whole, once you got past the gates, the town was obviously run down. It was easy to spot the tourists—they were the ones strolling down the streets with a bit of a bounce to their step. The natives, though dressed more colorfully, simply trudged along, at least until approached by a customer, at which point they radiated colorful folksiness.

Wooster allowed Agatha to take it in for another minute and then delicately cleared his throat. “So, my lady. You have arrived in Mechanicsburg. Now what?”

Agatha looked at him blankly. Then she stared at the ruined castle. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I was told to go to Castle Heterodyne, but…” she gestured at it vaguely.

“First things first,” Krosp declared. “Let’s get somewhere quiet and then get these bandages off of me!”

“Are you sure—?”

Krosp waved a paw. “This is a town. There will be cats. I’m a cat. I’ll blend in better.”

Agatha had some doubts about this. Krosp had once confessed to her that while his creator had designed him to be a tool of espionage, he had engineered Krosp so that it was more comfortable for him to walk erect. The cat had to be frequently reminded to walk on all fours and any attempt he made at subterfuge seemed likely to be subverted by his constant complaining.

As they clopped along, Zeetha covered Krosp with her cloak and with a few deft slices, cut him free of his bandages.

“Better.” Krosp stretched luxuriously and continued. “So. The castle. I’d heard it was damaged by the Other.” He eyed the ruin and turned to Agatha. “I don’t suppose you can shed any light on that from…” He tapped his head.

Agatha shook her head. She knew that the entity trapped inside her was indeed her mother—Lucrezia—and that Lucrezia had confessed to being the Other, but this only made things more confusing. “I can’t access her mind or memories.” She thought about this for a moment. “—Thank goodness.”

Zeetha acknowledged her predicament. “Lucrezia Mongfish was supposedly kidnapped by the Other. But if they are one and the same…”

“The part that confuses me,” said Agatha, “is that everyone says that Lucrezia and the Heterodyne’s infant son were kidnapped.”

They pondered this. “Maybe,” Krosp suggested, “they didn’t know you were a girl. Heck, if you were young enough, your eyes might not even have been open yet.” Agatha ignored this suggestion.

Wooster pulled his horse to a halt. When they all turned to look at him, he indicated the ruined castle. “Seriously. You’ve seen this castle. It’s useless. Worse than useless. Coming here was foolish, as it was the obvious thing you would do. Everyone is looking for you—”

Agatha cut him off. “Mr. Wooster, we are here because when my foster mother was about to throw me to safety—just before she was cut to ribbons by the Baron’s Von Pinn creature—she told me ‘Get to Castle Heterodyne. It will help you.’ She knew it was a ruin. She knew people would be after me. But this is where she told me to go.” She looked the man firmly in the eye. “And since she was one of the few people I trust, that is where I am going. You did not have to come along.”

Wooster reflected that he was still under strict—and secret—orders from Gilgamesh Wulfenbach to get Agatha to safety in England—with the threat that if he did not, Wulfenbach would boil the spy’s beloved island off the map. He rubbed his brow. “I rather think I did, actually.”

Agatha patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Mr. Wooster, I’ll visit England eventually, if only to make sure that my friends there are being well treated.”²

Wooster straightened up. “In that, at least, you may rest assured, my lady.” He took a deep breath. “Very well. Let us reconnoiter this family treasure of yours. If you find out enough about it, perhaps you’ll change your mind about going inside.”

Mechanicsburg sits in a small, rough-hewn valley, ringed by sharp mountains. It is a point of pride to the inhabitants that despite being the home of the most hated family for a thousand kilometers in any direction, the town has never been taken by an invading army. Much of the surrounding area is devoted to high-density farms and orchards, which contribute to Mechanicsburg’s vaunted self-sufficiency. Salted around the valley are a number of stone towers, which throughout history have served as watchtowers, storage bins, or places of assignation.

In one of these, three Jägermonsters were leaning against some upper crenellations, longingly gazing at Mechanicsburg’s front gate.

Maxim peered through a trim little wood and brass telescope. When Agatha and her party had ridden on through the great iron gates, he had stared for another few seconds and then collapsed the scope down and stowed it in a pocket. “Dey’s in,” he announced.

Ognian was slouched atop the wall, apparently just enjoying the sun. “Any trobble?”

Maxim glanced back. He could see that old Carson Heliotrope was getting up from his bench. “Hy dun tink so.”

Ognian put his hands behind his head. “Dot’s goot.”

Dimo was drumming his fingers on the stonework. “Ve should haff gone in vit her,” he muttered.

“No Jäger,” a new voice reminded him, “is to enter Mechanicsburg until a Heterodyne iz vunce again in residence. Dot vas de deal.”

Maxim turned with a grin. “Jenka! Nice schneekink dere, sveetie!”

Jenka tried not to look pleased. Even Dimo looked a bit more relaxed. “Hy vundered vere hyu vas.”

Jenka leaned against the parapet and shrugged. “Keepink busy. Deliverink newz. Cawzink trouble.”

The three sighed. Some Jägers got to have all the fun.

Outside the Great Hospital was a manicured park. Broad green lawns and beds of colorful flowers were laced with crushed white stone paths. On a typical day, depending on their condition, patients were either tending the flowerbeds or being wheeled around the walks by uniformed attendants.

Today, though, a squad of Wulfenbach troopers was herding everyone off to the edges of the lawn, while one of the Empire’s sleek courier dirigibles began its final descent. To the dismay of the gardening staff, several clampoons were fired into the ground, trailing thick cables up behind them. With a groan, the great steam-powered capstans began to turn and the ship was smoothly winched down to the ground. Soon a small group of hospital staffers were waiting anxiously while a metal stairway unfolded itself and the main hatches opened.

The first person out was Gilgamesh Wulfenbach—in a long, military-style greatcoat with the elaborate collar and cuffs that were de rigueur amongst the Empire’s intelligentsia. In his hand, he carried a slim iron cane, topped with what looked like a rather fragile blue glass tube. When they saw him, the troops and low-rank hospital staff at the base of the stairway snapped to attention. Everyone in the small crowd watched nervously, glancing at the elderly Chinese man who walked calmly to meet the new arrival. This was Doctor Sun,³ the head of the Great Hospital, and he was clearly in charge. He was dressed in a long, immaculate white lab coat intricately embroidered with white silk in a pattern of cavorting dragons. Atop his head was a tall double-peaked hat emblazoned with a red trilobite, the symbol of the Great Hospital.

When Gilgamesh saw him, he paused and made a slight bow with his hands at his side. “Dr. Sun. I am honored by your presence.”

The old man glared at him with a sour expression on his face. “I was expecting you last night. He is your father, after all.”

Gil swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir, I was stabilizing a medical experiment. Leaving it would have been unforgivable. Actually there are aspects that you might find interesting.”

As a medical researcher, Sun could feel his buttons being pressed and did not appreciate it. “At the moment, I am interested in keeping your father alive. A subject I can assume is of some small interest to you as well.”

They strode into the hospital, which was even more bustling than usual. “We are clearing out the entire North wing,” Sun explained. “Luckily, we’re not particularly full at the moment. Some patients are being released a few days early and we have requisitioned one of the closer hotels.”

Gil paused in the doorway to the hospital room and gasped. Over the last few years, Gil had seen his father occupy numerous hospital beds, but Klaus had always been awake and garrulous—even entertaining—in his own way. This was certainly not the case now.

The ruler of the Empire was surrounded by an impressive array of quietly humming machines and gurgling tubes. He lay still and silent at the center, swaddled in bandages and plaster. The few patches of flesh not covered revealed extensive bruising.

Gil was shaken by his father’s face. For once it was not set in its permanent expression of vaguely irritated disappointment—instead it looked shockingly weary. With a touch of hesitation, Gil gently brushed a lock of white hair away from Klaus’s closed eyes.

Then he took a deep breath and turned back to the patiently waiting physician, who almost took a step back from the expression that now burned in Gil’s eyes.

“What happened?” Gil asked quietly. “The reports I was given are…” he hesitated.

“—Unbelievable?” Sun suggested.

Gil nodded reluctantly. When one dealt with the inner workings of the Empire for any length of time, one became a bit gun-shy about using phrases like “unbelievable.”⁴

Sun nodded. “If you want unbelievable, you should hear how your father got here. Allow me to tell you of one Airman Higgs.

“When the field medics found your father, he was severely injured.” Sun handed over a medical chart that had required additional pages.

“He was taken aboard the medical corvette W.A.F. Linnaeus, as was Captain DuPree.”

Gil looked up at this. Bangladesh DuPree usually dealt damage rather than taking it.

Sun noticed his surprise. “According to her, she was injured while destroying a very dangerous merry-go-round.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “Head trauma?”

Sun nodded. “Oh, yes. Once the extent of your father’s injuries were understood, the Linnaeus took off immediately for the hospital. Unfortunately, the fighting was still quite fierce, and the ship was hit by antiaircraft fire.

“The alarms woke Airman Third Class Axel Higgs. He reported for emergency duty only to discover the main cabin in flames and the rest of the crew dead.”

Gil frowned. “What did they get hit with?”

Sun shrugged. “Who knows? Mister Higgs reported that the ship was overrun with monsters.”

Sun paused and looked at Gil expectantly.

Gil nodded. “Yes, long range systems to deliver biological weapons. If this isn’t something the Other cooked up, then at least someone’s been studying his methods.”

Sun resumed his narrative. “On his way to the evacuation gig, Higgs discovered your father injured and unconscious. While dragging him to safety, he encountered Captain DuPree, who was apparently delirious. She broke his arm.”

Gil sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Mister Higgs knocked her out. He then managed to get both her and your father into the gig and shoved off just as the ship began to go down. Now, Mister Higgs is not rated as a pilot or a navigator, but he was able to set the controls for Mechanicsburg and engage the automatic pilot.

“He then began to apply first aid to your father, which was when he was again attacked by Captain DuPree. This time she broke his leg.

“He managed to subdue her by breaking a chair over her head and began to tie her up. That was when she bit him.” Sun passed over another chart. “That’s infected, by the way.

“During the fight, she also got in a few good kicks to the gig’s controls. Mister Higgs put out the fire and tried to set his own arm, apparently blacking out from the pain. He awakened as the gig was crashing into a farmer’s pond.

“He dragged your father and Captain DuPree ashore, where he encountered a nesting goose. This broke his other arm.

“He headed towards the farmhouse, but as luck would have it, there were Wulfenbach troops there. They had been hearing strange reports coming out of Balan’s Gap. Thus, when they saw Mister Higgs, and the way he was moving, they thought he was a revenant. So they shot him in the leg.

“They were very sorry afterwards, of course. They heard him out, saw to your father and DuPree, called for transportation, and gave him some rum.”

Sun paused. “Actually they gave him a lot of rum. Even if they exaggerated how much they gave him, he probably had a touch of alcohol poisoning. But before he passed out, he told them everything.”

He paused, and Gil realized the significance of what the old man had said. Sun nodded wearily at the growing horror in Gil’s eyes. “The battle at Sturmhalten. The loss of the fleet, the monsters—everything. Of course the troops were already reeling from the news about this supposed Lady Heterodyne.

“Needless to say, by the time Mr. Higgs was here and we heard what he had to say, it was far too late for us to suppress the stories.”

Gil closed his eyes. “You mean, the Heterodyne heir, my father nearly being killed, our retreat from Balan’s Gap.” He waved a hand. “You’re saying everyone in Mechanicsburg knows about this?”

Sun arched a shaggy eyebrow. “You’re concerned about Mechanicsburg? My dear boy, news of this import is probably being discussed in the Forbidden City even as we speak.”

Gil stared at him. When the implications of this news really dawned on the people of the Empire…

Sun interrupted his thoughts. “Gilgamesh.” The use of his first name by the old man was so surprising that Gil actually started. Sun placed a hand on his shoulder. “The situation is grave. You must take control of the Empire immediately.”

Gil’s mind went blank. This was the day he had feared above all others. He pointed at his father. “You said he’d recover!”

Sun rolled his eyes. “Eventually.” He waved a hand at the bank of medical equipment. “But even for me, this will be a challenge, even if your father allows me the time to fully repair him.”

Gil had to acknowledge the truth of this. Klaus was, like many people trained in the medical arts, a “bad patient.” He refused to get enough bed rest, second-guessed his physician, and frequently hooked himself up to accelerated healing engines of dubious design or brewed up chemical concoctions from items filched from the hospital gift shop that admittedly promoted healing, as long as one didn’t mind some small side effects.⁵

“But more importantly,” Sun continued, “there are many who will try to exploit the current chaos. It must be seen that there is continuity. That the Empire is stable.”

Gil felt the weight settling upon his shoulders. “Yes, Sifu.” He straightened up and his eyes looked older. “I will be staying here.”

Sun looked surprised. “I had thought Balan’s Gap…—”

Gil waved a hand. “Balan’s Gap is contained for now. But my father is here. Those people you spoke of—for many of them, the first step will be to ensure his death.” He stepped up to the window and Sun could see him assessing the terrain.

“I’m guessing that everyone I’ll need to prove myself to, at least in the short term, will be coming here.”

Sun began to look alarmed. “You aren’t expecting an outright attack… are you?”

Gil snorted. “I expect several. I’m convinced that the Royal Family of Sturmhalten wasn’t working alone. I’ve sent Questers to all of the surrounding castles. I have to look strong? Fine. Someone is going to wind up with their head on a stick.” He paused. “Metaphorically, of course.”

Sun nodded. “And the uproar caused by this supposed ‘Heterodyne’ girl?”

Gil took a deep breath. “She’s the real thing.” Sun’s jaw dropped. Gil continued, “Even my father admits it.”

Sun actually looked flummoxed. Gil carefully tried not to notice. The old man would come down hard on him if he thought his aura of imperturbability had been cracked. Sun pulled himself together. “Then…then she must be handled very carefully. If she were to actually enter Castle Heterodyne now… the effect upon the town alone—!”

Gil actually smiled. “Ah. Now that is already taken care of, and is the one thing I do not have to worry about. There’ll be no Heterodyne heirs showing up in Mechanicsburg today.”

Ardsley Wooster grimaced, stuck a pinky in his ear, and wiggled it around.

His cloaked and hooded companion noticed and in a muffled but clearly female voice asked: “What’s the matter…darling?” The endearment was obviously taking some getting used to.

“Itchy ear,” the Englishman grumbled.

The hood rippled. “You know what that means.”

Wooster nodded. “It means I need a good hot bath.”

“After walking around in this outfit, so will I.”

They strolled a while along the promenade that ran beside the River Dyne before turning aside to cross a stone bridge. Beneath them, the river roared through the arches of the bridge. Before them rose Castle Heterodyne upon its pedestal of stone cliffs.

High above, they could just see the massive main gate of the Castle—gargantuan ironbound doors shut against the world. From there, a wide road wound down the hill, each switchback guarded by its own gate tower, complete with portcullis. The dark cliffs between were dotted with patches of scrubby thorn that waved gently, even though Wooster could feel no wind. An equally formidable gate at the base of the whole business completed the scene.

The lower gate itself was set into a colossal stone wall which surrounded the entire castle mount. Small guard posts were regularly spaced along its length. A decoratively scalloped pavement of white stone provided a contrast, a bright, open space that dramatically separated the river and town beyond from the wall.

The hooded lady looked along the pavement and paused. She swung around and looked back the way they had come. Across the bridge, the town bustled with life and movement. Tourists swarmed the streets and pushcart vendors and street performers called out to customers with songs, bells, drums, and simple shouts. Shop owners stood in their doorways and nodded invitingly to passersby.

The lady turned again and examined the area before her. There were no guards or barricades, yet the white stone parkway was empty.

“It’s a lovely place…though I’m surprised there aren’t at least a few souvenir stands…” she said uncertainly.

Wooster nodded and tucked her arm through his. “Curious, isn’t it? As far as I can tell, there’s no rule against setting up here. The locals just…don’t.”

“I don’t even see any guards.”

Wooster frowned and slowed to a halt. “Yes…that is a bit—”

Suddenly, a heavy wave of air pressure swept them. They blinked, and found themselves surrounded by a troop of guards. Uniformed men and women trained their weapons upon them, faces grim. As far as either of their captives could tell, they had not run or leapt into position, they had simply appeared.

The guards wore Wulfenbach uniforms—the badges and buttons adorned with the familiar winged castle proclaimed that—but their uniforms were unfamiliar, cut from black cloth in a slightly archaic style. The leader, a captain by his insignia, raised a strangely fashioned bayonet. “Do not move,” he said. “My people will not hesitate to shoot.” The captives froze.

The captain nodded and stepped forward. His hand darted out and grasped the hood of the cloak. “Let’s have a look under this hood, Lady Heterody—”

He stopped in surprise at the face before him, framed with a full head of vivid, emerald green hair.

Zeetha blinked and frowned at the perplexed officer. “Lady who?”

The soldier couldn’t take his eyes off of Zeetha’s hair. “What is this?”

Wooster stepped forward and yanked the fabric of the hood from the soldier’s unresisting hand. He pulled it quickly back over Zeetha’s head as he snapped: “It’s a fungus!” He made a show of tenderly adjusting the hood before wheeling about, the very picture of an outraged husband. “The doctors said not to expose it to light!”

The soldiers didn’t lower their rifles, but they began to look uncomfortable.

“That ain’t her!”

Zeetha and Wooster turned to see a soldier stepping out of one of the castle’s guardhouses, where he had evidently been waiting surreptitiously. He was an older man, thick and squat, yet he moved with an ease that said he was as fit as any of them. He was decked out in a green and blue uniform topped with a jaunty top hat. The wings on his Wulfenbach insignia were neither the usual bird wings nor the bat’s wings adopted by some of the Baron’s troops—these were styled like the wings of a dragonfly. His right arm was in a sling, but his left hand waved the other troops off. The hash marks on his sleeve identified him as a master-sergeant. “I said that ain’t her.” He tipped his hat to Wooster and Zeetha. “Sergeant Scorp. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks, we’ll have you on your way in just a minute.”

Another of the dark-clad soldiers swung her rifle up slightly. “Hair color is easy to change, sergeant.”

Scorp nodded. “True enough, ma’am.” He turned and eyed the pair before him. “But I saw her. Was this close to her. Different face. Different build.” He shook his head. “This ain’t her.”

The captain nodded and with a showy spin, sheathed his sword. “Right.” He turned to Wooster and Zeetha and apologetically touched his hat. “Sorry about that, ma’am, sir. We got word that there’s an escaped lunatic heading for the castle here. For her own protection…” he vaguely waved a hand at the rest of his squad.

“A lunatic?” Wooster frowned. “You don’t mean that new Heterodyne girl everyone is talking about?”

The captain rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, that’s the one. I guess she missed the birth announcements about it being a boy.”

Zeetha glanced at Wooster. “Maybe there was—”

“A mistake?” the captain snorted. “Get serious. I was born and raised here. My aunt was one of the Lady Lucrezia’s midwives. I remember the day he was born. They rang the Doom Bell.” The captain shivered.

“There weren’t any daughters and Master Barry never had any kids. So…no. Now move along. Go visit the Heterodyne Museum on Vox Street. You can see his portrait.” He turned away. “Squad—Disperse!”

And with a huff of wind, they vanished. Sergeant Scorp again tipped his hat and strolled back to the guardhouse.

Zeetha and Wooster held their silence until they were halfway back across the little bridge that took them back to the bustling town.

“Those soldiers,” Zeetha said carefully. “They came out of nowhere.”

Wooster grimaced. “That’s…more true than you know. That was the Black Squad. If the Baron is using them—” He shook his head in annoyance. “I need a drink.”

They toiled up a sloping street until they came to a small café. On a sun-drenched patio with an excellent view of the Castle gates, Agatha was finishing up a buttery bacon quiche. A small set of binoculars rested on the table beside her.

Zeetha and Wooster joined her at the table. A smiling waiter appeared with more quiche and a tray of chilled flutes filled with a crisp, sweet spring wine.

When he had gone, Agatha tapped the table thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I won’t be getting in through the front gate.”

Zeetha thoughtfully took a sip of wine. “They said ‘for her own protection.’ What was that about?”

Wooster glanced at the nearest table—occupied by a single old man apparently engrossed in his newspaper. An odd feeling of déjà vu flickered across his mind. Agatha cleared her throat and Wooster leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The castle is haunted.”

The ladies stared at him blankly. Wooster looked embarrassed. “Well, I guess that’s the easiest way to explain it.”

Agatha looked skeptical. “Easy is rarely accurate.”

Wooster sighed and looked about to signal the waiter for a refill. Agatha handed him hers. “Right. Some of this is common knowledge, some is from the Baron’s files.” A troubled look flitted across his face. “I doubt it’s important enough that they would have bothered to make false files…”⁶

Wooster collected his thoughts. “Castle Heterodyne is purported to be a single, gigantic mechanism. In its heyday, it was apparently one of the Seven Mad Wonders of the World.⁷ Details are a little sketchy, as the Heterodyne Boys never talked about it much and their predecessors didn’t encourage tourism. But from anecdotal evidence, it was quite amazing.

“Overnight guests spoke of awakening to discover their rooms in a completely different part of the castle. There were reports of mysterious voices and invisible servants. Intruders found themselves lost inside it for weeks, if they didn’t disappear entirely.

“After the attack, it lay broken and abandoned for years. The locals refused to go near it.

“Eventually a young professor from Transylvania Polygnostic University led a team of researchers inside.⁸ Their objectives were the Great Library and any other research notes they could salvage.

“Once they were deep inside, the Castle spoke to them. It demanded to be repaired. One of the team members spoke up against the idea, and the Castle made it clear that this was not a request.

“Six months later, one of the assistants finally emerged, much the worse for wear. In that time, the town had been taken by the Baron. The assistant explained that the Castle was directing its own repairs, but in an extremely haphazard manner. The job would take years.

“The food stores had run out and the assistant had been sent out to procure more food, tools, materials, and, if possible, more labor.

“The Baron had an idea. He managed to negotiate with the Castle, who actually remembered him as an associate of the Heterodyne Boys, and he got the professor and his remaining people out.

“To replace them, he offered to send in actual Sparks, which the Castle could direct as it saw fit. Ever since then, the Baron has used it as the ultimate punishment detail. I have to assume that once it’s been made safe, he plans on looting it himself.”

Wooster sat back and took another drink. Agatha slowly shook her head. “I’ve never heard about any of this.” She paused. “One of the Heterodyne Boys novels,⁹ The Heterodyne Boys and the 20,000 League Boots, mentions that they had an invisible servant in their castle, but that was one of the parts I never took seriously.”

Wooster nodded. “It is easy enough for the Baron to keep it a secret, of sorts. Those people who don’t believe that the place is haunted just think that the place is full of booby traps.”

Agatha frowned. “But the Baron has had people working inside it for how long?”

Wooster did a quick calculation in his head. “Almost fourteen years, I believe.”

“And people believe the place is still booby trapped after fourteen years?”

Wooster nodded. “Who is going to tell them otherwise? The locals? This is Castle Heterodyne. It’s a point of pride for them.”

Agatha sat back. “Well, if it remembered the Baron, perhaps—”

At that moment, Krosp dashed around a corner, scrambled under the chair of the old man reading his paper, and leapt straight onto the table. “Agatha!”

Agatha dropped her fork. “Quiet,” she hissed. “Someone will hear!” Indeed, the old man was regarding the agitated cat with astonishment.

Krosp glanced at him and waved a paw dismissively. “In a minute he isn’t going to care about a talking cat!” He grabbed Agatha’s sleeve and tried to drag her along behind. “Come on!”

Wooster quickly dropped a few coins on the table while Zeetha cheerfully stuffed the rest of her quiche in her mouth and they all rose to follow.

“What’s happening?” Wooster asked.

Krosp continued to pull Agatha along. “You know how everyone in town is buzzing about how the Heterodyne heir is coming?”

“Of course,” Agatha muttered. “We—”

Krosp jerked her around a final corner. “She’s here!”

And indeed she was.

It was one of the larger squares in the town. In the center was the famous cast iron statue of the Heterodyne Boys—jaunty grins on their faces, giving their famous “thumbs up” salute.

The square was packed with people—townspeople and tourists alike—with more pouring in every second. Floating directly overhead was a small airship, newly minted, if the gleam still on its engines was any indication. It was astonishing both for the large gold trilobites emblazoned upon the sides of its gasbag, and the fact that said gasbag was a shockingly vivid pink.

The girl standing proudly upon the statue’s pedestal—with the Boys towering behind her beaming down approvingly—was almost as pink herself.

Her outfit was a splendid confection straight from the overly-fussy fashion houses of Vienna, with a full skirt, puff sleeves, and a high collar, all framing a round, rosy face. Golden trilobites were scattered about her outfit, even nestled in her shimmering blonde hair.

Her voice, which was obviously being boosted by some unseen mechanism, was high, clear, and rang with noble sincerity.

“Greetings, people of Mechanicsburg! I am the Lady Zola Heterodyne—” There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd at this, which quickly died down. “—daughter of William Heterodyne! At long last, I have returned to my home!”

This got a burst of applause—discreetly led by the ring of men that Agatha now noticed surrounding the statue’s base. They were all of a single mold: tall, weirdly slim, dressed in dark frock coats and striped shirts, with matching stovepipe hats nearly as tall and narrow as themselves. Their eyes were covered with black smoked goggles. Each man held a different, uniquely odd machine—each machine clearly the work of a Spark.

“I have long been in hiding, for there are many who have vowed to destroy me!” This provoked another burst of noise from the crowd. “But now, the Baron lies injured! Powerless! He can no longer defend the Empire, let alone my beloved Mechanicsburg!”

Silence washed over the square now. This was dangerous talk. “I fear that his incapacity will lead to war that will threaten this place—this beloved town of my ancestors! I have a duty to you, my people! There will be danger, but I will face it, for I must protect my city!”

She squared her shoulders and looked adorably resolute. “Thus, despite the risk to my person, I return to claim my own—and I begin with Castle Heterodyne! Come along and bear witness, for a new era begins!” And with that she unhesitatingly leapt from the base of the statue, provoking a gasp from the crowd which turned into cheers as she was effortlessly caught by two of the tall men awaiting her below.

The girl took her place at the head of a procession, surrounded by a phalanx of her tall dark men—the still-growing crowd falling in behind her. With a roar, they swept out of the square and followed her towards the castle gates.

Zeetha turned and saw Agatha staring, her mouth agape. She reached over and pushed Agatha’s mouth closed with a delicately outstretched finger. “Do try to face the new era with some dignity,” she advised.

Soon, enough of the crowd had passed that Agatha and her friends could join the tail end, and they turned the corner in time to see the girl in pink gracefully lifted onto the rail of the little stone bridge by two of her retainers.

She pointed dramatically at the castle and the crowd cheered.

“Will you look at her?” Agatha was slowly shifting from shock to outrage. “I cannot believe this! She’s pretending to be me!”

Krosp nodded and glanced up at the pink dirigible, which was slowly drifting along in the direction of the castle. “Yes, this is going to be trouble.”

The girl and her coterie had reached the castle side of the bridge. Even though Agatha was looking for it, it was still startling when, with a puff of displaced air and a small cloud of dust, the members of the Black Squad materialized around the girl and her party.

Wooster nodded in satisfaction. “And that should take care of that.”

The captain looked a lot more alert this time. His squad held their weapons at the “ready” position. “Halt.”

The girl did so with a smile. Without taking her eyes off of the captain, she inquired, “Herr Vikel?”

One of the dark retainers nodded and activated the device in his hands. Instantly the members of the Black Squad shrieked and began to unnaturally twist and bend before they disappeared. Their weapons clattered to the ground.

The pink girl took a deep breath and then casually waved a hand. “Onward!”

Wooster let out a low whistle. “Interesting.”

After a shocked moment, the crowd hurried to catch up and hundreds of people were now toiling up the winding road to the front gate of the castle. Agatha’s group joined them.

Krosp looked over the rail at the steep slope and nodded in approval. “Nice. Very defensible.”

Agatha frowned. “But why didn’t Miss Perfect just fly up to the top in her perfect pink airship?”

Wooster considered this. “I think it’s fairly obvious that this whole grand procession is for show.”

Zeetha nodded. “She wants as many people as possible to see her enter the castle.”

Agatha frowned. “But…can’t they tell that she’s spouting nonsense?”

Wooster gave her a smirk. “The only thing that makes it nonsense is that she’s saying it instead of you.” He waved a hand at the excited townspeople. “They’ve all heard about you, so they were expecting something like this.” He paused. “Well, probably not like this, exactly. This is all a bit high-handed, although her showmanship is impeccable.”

Agatha stumbled slightly and leaned against a railing panting, “Well her ‘impeccable showmanship’ is killing me.”

Krosp sniffed. “I think you’re still feeling some of the after effects of those chemicals they filled you full of in Sturmhalten.”

Zeetha narrowed her eyes. “I think somebody’s been neglecting her training.”

“Training?” Agatha snorted. “Please. Right now, who cares?”

Seconds later, the crowd toiling its way up the incline hastily parted for Agatha, hotly pursued by Zeetha—brandishing a large stick.

Soon enough, Agatha reached the gateway and stumbled to her knees. “Sorry, Zeetha! Sorry! I do care! I really do!” she gasped under her breath. Her heart was pounding and she was afraid she might pass out. She swayed slightly, thinking maybe the rest would at least be good for her, when a well-manicured hand appeared before her.

“My, my…” The voice was light and melodic, with a faint Parisian accent, “such an encouraging reception! But there’s no need to kneel, dear girl. I’ll not rule by fear! Arise!” So saying, Zola’s hand lightly curled around Agatha’s upper arm and hauled her up straight, with surprising strength.

Up close, the face of the woman in pink was broad, but delicate. Her eyes were large and expressive and her wide mouth was set in a genuine smile of delight. Behind her, two of the tall retainers watched Agatha closely, the innocent-looking devices in their hands not quite pointing at her.

“Here, my dear, a little token of our meeting.” She pressed a coin into Agatha’s hand as she moved on.

Agatha stared at the coin and felt a surge of fury wash through her. It was a gold coin. Solid, by the weight of it. One face was an elegant portrait of the girl herself. The other was a trilobite. The heraldic symbol of the Heterodyne family. If nothing else, Agatha felt severely outclassed.

Wooster saw her face and pried the coin from her fingers. He could see that several nearby onlookers were interested. He slipped a familiar hand around her shoulders. It was like hugging an iron statue. “Mighty generous, eh, dear?” he said gamely. He pretended to notice her face. “It’s not charity, dear. No need to be embarrassed.”

The onlookers nodded in sympathy and then the sound of squealing metal drew everyone’s attention. Several of the tall men were pulling back a set of gates that had been installed before the actual great door of the castle, which hung ajar, slightly off its hinges.

When she was sure that everyone was looking, Zola drew herself up and raised her hands for silence. “And now,” she said solemnly, “I go to reclaim what is mine by right!” She then turned and, followed by her attendants, stepped through the door, disappearing from sight.

Everyone waited a minute but nothing else seemed to be happening. Agatha turned to Ardsley Wooster. “She just walked right in?”

Wooster nodded. “Well…yes. The trick is in walking out again.”

Agatha drew herself up, her eyes hard. “Well, fine. That’s just great. I’m going to go in there and show her—”

A quiet voice interrupted her. “Pardon me, my lady…”

Surprised, Agatha and the rest of her party turned to see the old man who had been sitting near them in the café. He had looked sleepy before but now he was alert and focused as he studied her intently. He made a small gesture towards the great doorway. “But shouldn’t that have been you?”

_______________

¹ The Great Hospital of Mechanicsburg was the first of the Great Projects that Bill and Barry Heterodyne undertook when Bill officially became the Heterodyne. Before that, an entire section of the town had been zoned for, among other things, biological experiments. The Boys tore it all down and cleansed it with fire. In its place, they built a hospital. The staff had to undergo a rigorous, and prolonged, retraining using assorted incentives, hypnotism, threats, and cattle prods, which was—on the whole—surprisingly successful. Today, The Great Hospital is one of the leading institutions of medical research. It is also known for its pioneering research regarding the humane treatment of the insane, which is greatly appreciated by the staff.

² Before leaving Master Payne’s Circus, Agatha had arranged for them to receive sanctuary in England. Since she had secretly reengineered their circus into a mechanical fighting force which had wound up wounding the Baron and damaging a significant part of one of his armies, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

³ Dr. Sun Jen-Djieh was the administrator and chief doctor at the first Great Hospital. He was a Spark whom the Heterodyne Boys and Baron Wulfenbach had met in China during their adventures there. (See The Heterodyne Boys and the Even Greater Wall of China for a reasonably accurate record of their meeting.) Shortly thereafter, the Emperor decided that Dr. Sun had been contaminated by exposure to foreigners and should be put to the Death of Five Hundred Tightenings. Dr. Sun decided that it was time to listen to his doctor and take an extended vacation in the West.

⁴ A perusal of archived Empire records reveal that other red flags were: “Impossible,” “Illogical,” “He wouldn’t dare,” and the all-time favorite: “…couldn’t possibly be that stupid”

⁵ According to the private journals of Klaus’s personal physician, Dr. Merrliwee, the Baron never actually believed that he had the time to allow himself to heal up naturally from anything. After a series of escalating events that were, in retrospect, actually rather humorous, unless you were one of the poor souls involved, she took to shooting him with a tranquilizer dart whenever he got a papercut. After the third time this happened, Klaus reluctantly established “sickness protocols” that allowed him to at least remain conscious while “taking it easy.” He also felt spurred to invent “cutless paper,” which has saved the lives of thousands of office workers across the Empire.

⁶ Until Recently, Ardsley Wooster had served aboard Castle Wulfenbach as Gilgamesh Wulfenbachs’s valet. In actuality, he was working for British Intelligence. It would have been an extraordinarily useful position from which to winnow out the secrets of the Empire, if it wasn’t for the fact that both Gilgamesh and his father had been aware of Wooster’s true allegiances from the get-go and had been cheerfully feeding him false information. Spies find this sort of thing terribly embarrassing and are loath to mention it on their résumés.

⁷ The Seven Mad Wonders of the World is an informal list kept by the British Museum. Castle Heterodyne was indeed on it for at least two centuries (One must remember that neither the penchant for odd creations nor the British Museum are new institutions).

In addition to Castle Heterodyne, there are listed the Storm King’s Muses, the Awful Tower in Paris, the London Dome, Mr. Tock of Beetleburg, the Secret Library, and a semi-open spot which was whimsically referred to as the “Impossibility of the Day.” Since its fall into ruin, Castle Heterodyne’s spot on the list had been usurped by Castle Wulfenbach.

⁸ Professor Mordechai Donowitz, PhD. Tampering Within God’s Domain and Chair of the Department of the Non-Humanities. The father of Hezekiah Donowitz, whom Agatha met while aboard Castle Wulfenbach. See our earlier textbook; Agatha H. and the Airship City.

⁹ The Heterodyne Boys traveled the world righting wrongs and fighting evil. Once they disappeared, publishers realized that people still wanted to hear about their adventures, and The Heterodyne Library of Spark Snapping Adventure was born. These books purported to chronicle the actual adventures of the boys, but as your humble professors are well aware, and do our best to avoid, it is the rare recitation of facts that suffers from the injection of blood and thunder, egregious villainy, and spicy romance. Thus, after a few volumes, the facts of the Heterodynes’ lives became more and more unimportant, while the books themselves became more and more exciting.