Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

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?”

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