Фил Фоглио - Agatha H. and the Voice of the Castle

“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, 3the 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.