Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

Carson snorted as he shepherded them between the tables towards the back. “It is a coffee shop. They started in Amsterdam quite a while back, but this is the first one in Mechanicsburg. This is where the business of running the town is done these days.” His tone was disapproving—it was evident that the old man was unimpressed at this turn of events.

Wooster casually scanned the room and frowned. “I don’t see Burgermeister Zuken here.” At Agatha’s look of curiosity, he explained, “He’s the head of the City Council.”

Carson snorted. “That fool? I should hope not!” He stopped next to a large booth that was tucked into a corner. Sitting alone at the table, an oversized china mug in his hand, was a tall, elegantly dressed young man. His hair was meticulously cut in the latest style favored by the dandies of Prague and he was dressed like a minor city functionary, a set of silver city seals adorning his lapels. It was obvious by looking at their faces that he and Carson were related.

“This is the fool you want,” Carson declared sourly. “My grandson, Vanamonde.”

The young man’s mouth quirked upwards in a semi-smile as he gently deposited his cup in its saucer with a quiet “clink.” “Am I now part of the tour, grandfather?”

“You could be,” the old man said in a low tone. “You never leave this table!”

Vanamonde looked surprised. “But why should I? The seats are comfortable. Everyone knows where to find me, and lovely young women bring me coffee all day long.”

At this he looked up and gave Agatha and her friends a warm smile. “Which you simply must try!” He waved to the other seats in the booth. “Please do sit down. Don’t wait for my grandfather to do the polite thing, he rode with the Jägermonsters in his youth and never quite got over it.”

Carson scowled but slid into the booth beside his grandson. The others filled the opposite bench. Instantly two of the waitresses swooped down and placemats, cutlery, and an astonishing selection of little pastries appeared before them; everything from warm, buttery croissants, to elaborate concoctions of custard, cream cheese, glazed fruits, and chocolate. Zeetha immediately began eating as many of these as she could and showed no signs of stopping. The second time the tray had to be replaced, she assured the obviously delighted pastry chef that she was “just getting started.”

The waitress returned with tall silver pots that contained a rich black coffee. Only after this had been poured out and various condiments had been circulated along with a bowl of cream for Krosp, did Vanamonde lean back and place his fingertips together.

“I assume you’re here about the heiress,” he said to Agatha, conversationally. Agatha opened her mouth, but then merely nodded. The young man nodded back and began laboriously adding yellow crystals of sugar to his coffee with a tiny silver spoon. “She is a mystery, but her main backers appear to be a pair of gentlemen of fortune. One is a Baron Oublenmach, a disreputable character who purchased his barony with money accumulated through a long career that has included everything from confidence work to light piracy. The other is His Grace, Josef Strinbeck, a deposed Duke of Lithuania and an idiot.

“Their craft is a Flash-class ship fresh out of the Stockholm yards and paid for in cash by the way. Dutch gold, obviously laundered.

“It employs that new chameleon skin technology that wowed everyone at the St. Petersburg airshow last fall. They can make it any color they want. So—that ostentatious pink? That’s quite deliberate.

“They clearly have an agenda, but they’re rushed. Personally, I believe that they are part of some larger organization—and that they have set things in motion before everyone was ready.

“As for their cat’s-paw—the young lady, who was dressed in Vienna but educated in Paris—she has entered the castle, but is, at the moment, still held up in the Courtyard of Regret. She has been handing out gold coins, which—” he consulted a small scrap of paper before him, “—assay out as 95 percent pure.”

He stirred his coffee, tapped the spoon against the rim twice, and took a sip. “And that,” he said, carefully not looking at his grandfather, “is what I have discovered within the last hour, while never leaving this table.”

The old man rolled his eyes and grunted. Vanamonde turned a charming smile upon Agatha. “And may I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

Carson leaned in. “This is the Lady Agatha Heterodyne. Daughter of Master William and the Lady Lucrezia.”

Vanamonde stared and only came to his senses when he realized that his hand had slipped and was now dribbling coffee into his lap. He slammed his cup down with a clunk and a splash, which only added to his distress. “There are two of them?” he blurted out.

The old man smiled toothily and passed him a napkin.

“No,” Agatha said calmly but firmly. “There’s her, and then there is me. I am the real thing.”

Vanamonde stared at her. “But…a girl…”