Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

by Kaja Foglio

  Indeed it was. When the sergeant had been brought in two days ago, his arm had been dislocated with two bullets lodged in it. Balan’s Gap had seen heavy fighting and, if the reports were to be believed, it was not yet pacified completely.

  The captain prodded the sergeant’s arm and nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. We’ll need every man we can get.”

  “And soon, I’m guessing,” the sergeant sighed. “Though it’s been quiet enough up here…”

  Both men glanced over the railing. The situation was tricky. Officially, Mechanicsburg was a part of the Empire, but everyone knew that it was a slightly bent one. In any other town, seeing Castle Wulfenbach chased off might have had a few of the locals smiling quietly to themselves, but this public celebration was worrying. Especially since this unprecedented reversal was treated almost as an unimportant side-effect. The hoopla was really about the news that a Heterodyne had appeared.

  Oh, it hadn’t been confirmed by the castle or the Baron or anyone official, but word on the street was that this one was the real thing. Not like the fakes that turned up every now and then.

  If that was true…well, neither soldier was privy to the rarified politics of the Empire, of course, but any fool could see that there was going to be trouble. For almost twenty years, wide-eyed naïfs and demagogues alike had declared that the return of the Heterodynes would bring about an end of the Baron and usher in a renaissance of plenty. Now one had appeared, and she was already up to her neck in trouble.

  No matter how you looked at it, things were going to get interesting.

  The captain sighed. “With any luck, they’ll party all night. We’re low on troops, so we’ve been concentrating what we’ve got on the city walls, the armory, and the hospital.”

  Both men glanced up at the sky. With those flying flamethrowers keeping the fleets away, fresh troops would have to come in overland, which would be a logistical nightmare. The Empire had grown accustomed to ruling the skies.

  Scorp looked down on the celebrants again. They looked cheerful enough, but—“Shouldn’t there be patrols on the streets?” He then looked abashed. There were numerous jokes about soldiers trying to second-guess old Klaus’s strategies.

  The captain politely ignored the faux pas. “He’s got it covered. He’s had a hundred hogsheads of double-fortified lingonberry snap distributed throughout the town, as a ‘congratulations’ sort of thing.”59

  Scorp stared and then started to grin. “If they hoist a noggin or two of that stuff to the Lady Heterodyne, they’ll be too busy skipping through the streets tryin’ to catch flyin’ pink mimmoths!”

  The captain nodded. “Still, there’s no telling what this new girl will do now that she’s in Castle Heterodyne.”

  Scorp’s face went sour and he rubbed his arm again. “You’re on target with that one, sir.”

  The captain failed to notice the degree to which this discussion affected the sergeant. “Personally, I just wish we knew if she was the real thing or a fake. Once we get some more troops—”

  The sergeant swayed slightly. “Hey! You feel that?” “That” rapidly grew into a vibration underfoot which continued to grow in strength.

  “It’s an earth tremor,” the captain exclaimed. “And it’s getting stronger!” Shouts of alarm began to break out among the troops. “I knew it! She’s going to kill us with some damnable earthquake machine!”

  But the sergeant raised a hand. He heard a peculiar high-pitched squealing. One he was familiar with. “Everybody!” he roared in his best parade-ground voice. “Fall back to the walls!”

  Instantly every trooper within earshot grabbed their gear and took off at a stumbling run over the shaking ground. In the center of the gardens, a mound formed and the raw earth continued stretching skyward until suddenly a spinning, metal drill point burst through, scattering dirt and plants for several dozen square meters. The point continued to rise, followed by the rest of the cylindrical machine erupting up and out of the ground. It wavered slightly and the great drill began to slow. Then slowly, majestically, it toppled onto recessed treads, which bounced with a springy jolt.

  Everyone stared at it for a minute, as it cooled with a series of clicks and hisses. Then they all jumped again as the rear end swung open, spilling forth a red light and an excited young man in an abbreviated Wulfenbach uniform. He glanced around and then pumped his fist in triumph.

  “Woo-hoo!” he crowed to the sky. He turned and yelled back into the machine—“Well done, Scopes! We’re right outside the Great Hospital!”

  A slim young woman appeared at the entrance and delicately wiped a sheen of sweat from her dark brow. “All it takes is an accurate 3-D sonar compass, sir.”

  “Good thing you built us one, eh?” He turned to the captain, who was frowning as he hurried over. “Never thought we’d get past all those basements.” The captain opened his mouth and the young man snapped out a salute. “Ahoy! Major Resetti, First Subterranean Mecha-Mole Brigade!” He jerked a thumb back. “‘Scopes’ here is Lieutenant Krishnamurti.”

  The lieutenant was already saluting, and the captain impatiently saluted back. “Begging your pardon, Major. But your worm-chaser’s busted through a secure perimeter! Leaving a tunnel—” He broke off at the sight of the major’s smirk. “Something funny, Major?”

  Sergeant Scorp coughed delicately. “That’s a Deep Six Model, sir,” he said quietly. “Collapses the tunnel in after itself.”

  The captain shut his mouth with an audible click and nodded once.60

  Major Resetti beamed. “Well spotted, Sergeant!”

  The captain flushed. “Even so—”

  Again he was interrupted. “Captain.” The speaker had just emerged from the Mecha-Mole, and it must have been a tight fit. She was over two meters tall and her shoulders were almost two wide. She was dressed in no-nonsense leathers which steamed slightly in the cooler air. Across her chest were strung several bandoliers containing ammunition for the hand cannon hanging from her hip, as well as a thick baldric which held an enormous broadsword across her back.

  Her face was broad and plain, her hair was black and cropped short, and her eyes were intense. “I have a package for the Baron.” She patted an Imobilex jug that stood by her side.61 “One that he ordered personally.” Anticipating the captain’s next words, she presented a sheaf of papers.

  The captain ignored them and stared at her. “Who the devil are you?”

  The woman merely jiggled her papers. Sergeant Scorp took them and perfunctorily checked them while he made introductions. “This is the Lady Grantz, sir. She’s the Baron’s monster hunter.”

  The captain blinked and stepped back. Grantz looked at the sergeant and raised an eyebrow. “Have we met?”

  The sergeant handed her back her papers and tossed her a salute of his own. “Sergeant Damien Scorp. Of the Baron’s Vespiary Squad.”

  Grantz looked interested. “The Bug Hunters.”

  “Yes’m. Had the privilege of watching you work in Belgrade last year.”62

  Grantz looked pleased. “Good outfit,” she conceded. “You’ll do.”

  The sergeant’s eyebrows rose. “Do for what, Ma’am?”

  The monster hunter patted the Imobilex jug. “I need to get this bad boy to the Baron. I could use your help.”

  The sergeant grimaced. Imobilex jugs weighed a lot. “It’ll take a while, Ma’am, but I could requisition a heavy caisson. Be a problem on the soft ground, but—”

  Grantz interrupted. “No, no.” She effortlessly hoisted the jug up onto her shoulder and indicated a leather grip at her feet. “I just want you to carry my bag.”

  The sergeant had worked with enough of the Empires’ Special Units to know when he was seeing a show put on for the benefit of others, and indeed, the captain, the Mecha-Mole drivers, and the rest of the assembled soldiery were watching with clearly growing awe.

  “Stand aside,” he roared. “This lady is making a delivery!” Instantly a path towards the hospital gates open
ed and they set off.

  “Do you know where the Baron is?” Grantz asked.

  The sergeant shook his head. “Somewhere in the hospital, Ma’am. But I heard he’s movin’ around.”

  They approached the main entrance to the hospital, which was now behind a barricade consisting of at least two-dozen troopers, several of the large brass clanks, and an enormous green-furred ape creature. The soldiers saw the sergeant and Grantz approaching and the ape stepped forward.

  “Grantz,” he muttered cordially. Even though it was night, Nak wore a large pair of smoked goggles that glinted in the lights.

  The monster hunter gave him a smile. “Sergeant Nak.”63

  The sergeant bared his fangs. “You have come for me.”

  The monster hunter shifted the Imobilex jug to her other shoulder. “In your dreams.”

  Nak stared at her. His fangs were still displayed, but the corners of his mouth turned up. “Yes—in the very best ones!” He then turned to Sergeant Scorp and his demeanor changed. “And who is this?”

  The sergeant stared up at the large goggles and refrained from saluting with great effort. “Sergeant Scorp, Vespiary Squad.”

  Nak leaned down and examined him closely. Scorp felt the chemical-scented breath gust past him. Nak straightened up and waved them through. “Watch your back, little man,” he growled.

  Scorp waited until they were in the building’s foyer. “What was that about?”

  Grantz looked embarrassed. “Don’t mind him. Nak gets jealous.”

  The sergeant almost dropped the bag. “But—wait—”

  Grantz rolled her eyes. “He can’t help it. Under those goggles? He’s a green-eyed monster.”

  There was a lot left unsaid in that statement. Sergant Scorp was open-minded. He had to be. In the Armies of the Empire you worked with—and relied upon—any number of things that were, well, not human necessarily, but certainly people. And it followed that two people of any type might form the strongest of bonds. Scorp had seen it happen often enough. Hell, his daughter had fallen for an accountant, of all things, and after he’d gone to all the trouble of setting her up with a nice reanimated fellow from his old unit. No, nothing surprised him anymore, but…

  “I thought you hunted monsters.”

  To his astonishment, the woman laughed at this. “Only the ones that cause trouble. Most of my work involves the shambling, mindless stuff. Rogue machines, beasts gone mad…Intelligent, sentient monsters are rarer than you’d think.”

  A sweet voice arose from one of the chairs in the lobby. It sounded amused. “About time you got here.”

  To his surprise, Scorp saw Grantz spin, slide the Imobilex jar to the ground, and whip her sword out in one smooth movement. The tip of the blade pointed at a curvaceous woman with dark skin and jet-black hair clad in the white uniform of the Baron’s exploratory fleet. She was lazily unfolding herself from the chair and she was a beautiful sight. It wasn’t until he saw the small skull-shaped bindi upon her forehead that Scorp realized they were standing before Captain Bangladesh DuPree. The bag dropped from his suddenly cold hands. I never even heard her coming, he thought, with a touch of panic.

  Captain DuPree stared a moment, cross-eyed, at the sword held motionless centimeters from her nose. Then she grinned up at Grantz insouciantly. “Maybe someday, girlie.” She moved the sword aside with the tip of a finger. “But not today. Come on, Klaus is waiting for you.”

  She turned and headed off with a light step. The monster hunter stared after her for a second, sheathed her sword, and bent to pick up the Imobilex jug. She only remembered Scorp when he moved to pick up her valise. She gave him a small smile, such as you’d see between two veterans who had survived an attack, and continued her conversation as if she’d never stopped. “But when you do meet an intelligent monster, you really have to be careful.”

  They followed Captain DuPree through the hospital corridors, which magically cleared of people as she approached. To Scorp’s surprise, they passed through another lobby and he realized that they were again outside, in one of the hospital’s hidden courtyards. This one was crowded with people, clerks, and functionaries, as well as a few of the higher brass. Scorp then saw that the tower of machinery they were clustered around was some sort of giant clank, which was currently at rest upon the ground. Seated at its apex was the Master of the Empire, Baron Klaus Wulfenbach. Sergeant Scorp had seen his share of battle injuries. The Baron looked like he’d decided to try a fair sampling of all of them.

  Everyone was talking. Scorp resigned himself to a long wait, but Captain DuPree simply waded forward. “Hey, Klaus!” Everyone froze and again a space cleared out around her. She waved the two of them forward without looking at them. “Grantz is here, with that big jar of trouble you ordered.”

  The monster hunter stepped forward and swung the jar off of her shoulder. Her face was a mask of concern. “Herr Baron. I’d heard you were injured but I had no idea. Should you be up?”

  Klaus smiled. “Despite Dr. Sun’s histrionics, I can assure you that it looks worse than it is.” He turned serious. “Your delivery?”

  Grantz nodded. Taking a key from around her neck, she unlocked a panel, which swung aside. She flipped several switches and the lid of the jug squealed and slowly began to unscrew itself. The crowd pulled farther back. Sergeant Scorp would have liked to have done the same but instead he simply clutched the valise tighter.

  The lid fell off and Grantz dipped her hand into the jar, hauling out a limp figure wrapped in a hunter’s net. She pulled a small device from a pouch at her belt, touched it to the netting, and it fell apart, revealing none other than Othar Tryggvassen—the famous Spark and self-proclaimed hero—who glared defiantly at his surroundings before folding up and collapsing onto the floor.

  Grantz held up her hand. “Please. Don’t underestimate him this time. This is the second time I’ve had to bring him in.”

  She nudged Othar with her foot. “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pull some kind of trick?”

  “No!” Othar snapped. “My legs simply fell asleep! Have you ever been stuffed into one of those things?” He flexed his legs and grimaced. “You people certainly know how to ruin an entrance.”

  Klaus rolled his eyes. Othar lived his life knowing that, no matter the situation, he was The Hero, and thus tried to be as—Klaus searched for a word—dramatic? No—as showmanlike as possible. This made him a great favorite amongst the populace at large.

  “Okay,” Othar announced. “I’m good.” He smoothly rolled, bounced to his feet, and struck a dramatic pose.

  Klaus ignored the resultant smattering of applause.

  “So, Tyrant, we meet again!” Othar said, “But know that Othar Tryggvassen—Gentleman Adventurer—remains unbowed! Though you hold all of Europa within your grasp, I am not afraid! Imprison me! Torture me! Try to break my will! You will fail!”

  Baron Wulfenbach disliked dealing with Othar for so many reasons. Most of them had to do with the man’s staunch determination to “right wrongs and fight injustice,” while steadfastly ignoring the effects his often spectacularly destructive efforts had upon the delicate game of give-and-take necessary to maintain the fragile political structure that was the Empire of the Pax Transylvania. Still, probably the most personal reason was that, whenever he was in Othar’s presence, the Baron invariably found himself acting like an over-the-top villain in a Heterodyne play, which was just embarrassing. Today was no exception.

  “I suppose I really should just kill you,” he said.

  Othar paused in his dramatic speech. “Oooh. I didn’t see that one coming.”

  Klaus smiled evilly, caught himself, and grimaced. “But, in fact, I won’t. I have a job for you.”

  Othar considered this. “Why do I think I’d prefer to be killed?”

  Klaus regarded him with raised eyebrows. “Good heavens. It’s possible that you really are smart. The Heterodyne girl—”

  “Ah! That would be the lovely youn
g innocent who escaped your evil clutches—with some small assistance from myself.” Othar interjected with a semblance of modesty. “Of course, I didn’t know who she was then…”

  Klaus nodded. “You are somewhat responsible for the current situation, but only somewhat. There are two Heterodyne girls at present. One is an obvious fake, part of a plot against the Empire that has already been crushed.

  “But both girls are now inside Castle Heterodyne. In the fake I have little interest. But this ‘Agatha Heterodyne’—as she calls herself at the moment—I have to believe that she has the potential to hold the Castle. The people will follow her. My own son has entered the Castle with the stated intention of aiding her. At this rate, all too soon she’ll be securely entrenched within an impenetrable fortress, firmly established as a Heterodyne, and allied, in the mind of the people, with the House of Wulfenbach. She’ll be able to do anything.”

  Othar mulled this over. “But… if she is working with your son…a loathsome concept! But…” Othar paused. “But why do you speak as though this is a bad thing? Agatha struck me as a good girl!” He shrugged. “Well, as good as a Spark can be, anyway.”64 He looked at DuPree. “Am I missing something?”

  DuPree waved a hand. “Whenever he goes on like this, I just think of how many different ways I can spell ‘eviscerate.’”

  The Baron’s voice rose until he was nearly shouting: “Because this girl, the girl you ‘rescued’ from me, is actually the Other!”

  Othar’s breath caught. “The Great Enemy!” He frowned. “But the Other hasn’t been active in nearly twenty years!”

  “Well she’s active now! Her slaver wasps and her machines are responsible for the mess in Balan’s Gap. I’ve talked to her. She didn’t even try to hide it.”

  Othar shook his head. “I cannot believe that the innocent girl I aided is the Other! Her age! Her behavior—”

  “Believe it, sir.”

  Everyone looked around in surprise at Sergeant Scorp. He was amazed at his own audacity, but determined to speak. “Your pardon, Herr Baron, but my squad’s the one that found her at Sturmhalten.” He turned back to Othar. “The city’s full of revenants. A new type, not your usual mindless shamblers. Most of the time, they look and act normal.”