Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

by Kaja Foglio

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

  “The Lady Lucrezia was missing…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Was this…Von Pinn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I don’t know it.”

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

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

  Krosp raised his paw. “Creepy?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “You mean…”

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

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

  “Didn’t say they were good days.”

  “Oh.”

  Carson sighed. “Better than this, though.”

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

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

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

  Agatha gave a snort of amusement.

  “What are we looking for?” Krosp demanded.

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

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

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

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

  “I see I’m never going to learn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

  “And that hurts you?”

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

  “Why couldn’t…say…Wooster do it?”

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

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

  “Hold on—why me?”

  “Because I’m curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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