by Kaja Foglio
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 me
dical 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 bo
rn 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
