Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

Sanaa still hoped for rescue. She could see the slight opening several meters above them where the floor had tilted and thrown them all down here. Nervously, she ran her hand through her pink tinted hair and screamed up at it. She had been calling for help for hours and her voice was hoarse.

The others watched her with varying levels of apathy and annoyance.

Snapper clashed his metal jaws together. They gleamed in the semi-darkness. “That is really getting on my nerves,” he declared.

Normally this statement would have caused a sudden cessation of any activity within his extended vicinity, but this time the others merely shrugged.

“Quit yer mewling,” Dr. Wrench told him.

He was an older man who was never seen without a thick set of work gloves and he was known for his stoic calm. “Someone findin’ us is our only chance.”

The immense construct, R-79, raised his head and grimaced. When he shifted, the intricate webwork of stitching that crossed and recrossed his body creaked softly. “We have no chance,” he rumbled. “Never did.”

Squinaldo, the tall, tattooed man sitting beside the construct, did what few other people on Earth would dare, and smacked the creature on the arm. “Don’t talk like that, paesano. It’s bad luck. Talk about something else.”

The hulking brute pondered this advice. “Oh. Okay.” It searched for a topic and as usual, settled on the most inappropriate one for the moment. “You think maybe human flesh taste like chicken?”

Snapper got a dreamy look in his eyes. “Oh no, it’s more like pork,” he crooned. “Sweet, succulent…” a thin bead of drool ran down his metal jaw.

“You are not helping,” Wrench snapped.

“Hello,” a cheerful voice called from above. “Is someone in there?”

Instantly they were all on their feet, shouting. “Yes! We’re trapped!”

“Yes, I see. Hold on!” With a grinding sound, the top of the trap began to shift to the side, letting in a wan light. All of the prisoners flinched.

“Who’s there?” Wrench called out.

“Why, I am Othar Tryggvassen! Gentleman Adventurer!” Silence greeted this revelation. Othar chuckled. “Now I don’t expect any thanks from lawless, murdering scum like yourselves, but as long as I’m here, the least I can do is rescue you and hope that incarceration has allowed you to reconsider your dissolute ways! Just to keep my hand in, you understand.”

Within the pit, the prisoners stared up at him, paralyzed.

“The Othar Tryggvassen,” Snapper said hoarsely. “Oh, fry me!”

“He broke up the Slaver’s Guild,” Squinaldo muttered.

The giant construct nervously bit his fingers. “He just broke R-78 and R-76.”

“He broke my master’s Doom Ships,” Wrench sighed.

“He broke his word,” Sanaa said firmly.

Everyone paused at this, including Othar. “I assure you, Miss, that Othar Tryggvassen does not break his…” Suddenly Othar gave a start and peered down at the girl. “Good heavens,” he said. “Sanaa? Is that you?”

Squinaldo gaped at Sanaa. “Wait—You know him?”

The pink-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. He’s only my stupid brother, isn’t he?”

“What do you think you’re doing here, young lady?” Othar thundered. “And what have you done to your hair?” He pointed at her dramatically. “You stay right where you are while I get a rope!”

Everyone in the pit stared after him in shock.

“You’re…you’re really his sister?” Wrench asked.

Sanaa shrugged. “Oh, yes.”

“But…your last name? Wilhelm?”

Sanaa looked at him evenly. “And how long do you think I’d’ve lasted in here as a Tryggvassen? The old guy who sent me in here suggested I change it, so I used his.”

Wrench nodded. Many of the prisoners sought anonymity.

R-79 cast a worried look upwards. “I think maybe Mister Othar will not be our friend.”

Snapper clacked his jaws thoughtfully. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” In an instant, he was behind Sanaa with his arm encircling her throat. “Not if he wants his tasty little sister back in one—”

Sanaa slammed her head back into Snapper’s nose with a soft crunch. Snapper screamed and released her. Sanaa spun and delivered a kick to his jaw that audibly snapped his neck before throwing him into the wall.

The other prisoners stared at the dead man and looked at each other in embarrassment. R-79 summed it up for everyone. “Even I knew that was stupid.”

Wrench nodded matter-of-factly. “Requiescat in pace and all that. Dibs on his boots.”

Squinaldo just stared at Sanaa wide-eyed.

“I said I’m his sister,” she said.

“I can see the resemblance.”

Soon enough, a workman’s ladder thudded down into place and Sanaa scrambled up it. The others followed, then quietly slipped away as the siblings began to argue.

“I left you at home,” Othar said with annoyance.

“Yes you did,” Sanaa replied. “After you said that we would go adventuring!” Othar paused and a vaguely guilty look crossed his face. Sanaa soldiered on. “You promised! I was going to be your spunky girl sidekick!”

“Unthinkable! You’re my sister!”