Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

The monstrous voice spoke again: “But, Master,” it said, “he still lives. I am not yet done with him.”

“Then let this be a lesson to you,” the Heterodyne said dismissively, “to not leave your trash lying about where I might trip over it. Send him on his way. At once!”

The next thing I knew, I awoke to discover that I had been tossed upon a night soil cart that was passing out through the town gates.

When he had finished, Giorello broke down into tears and had to be sedated.

I have placed him under observation for his own safety, as I greatly fear that he will attempt suicide. In my judgment, he is a broken man and is no longer fit for field service.

As to the veracity of his account, I cannot say. While preposterous on the surface, it does corroborate stories and anecdotes I have heard from disparate sources over the years. Thus, I would strongly recommend against further attempts to infiltrate Castle Heterodyne.

—Report from Baron Andrzej Petr Orczy, head of the Department of Assassination and Assorted Unpleasantness for Andronicus Valois, the Storm King. From the Storm King Collection of the British Museum.

Zola waited impatiently as one of her Tall Men twisted the dial a final degree and gingerly tapped a red button. There was a long, tense pause; then he gave a small shriek as the door before him slid aside. When he realized that he was not dead, a grin of relief spread across his face. “I did it!”

Zola scowled. “And about time,” she declared. “I want to get inside. We’re being watched.”

One of her other Tall Men cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady, but it is only due to Tiktoffen’s notes that we got through at all. We weren’t expecting difficulty so soon.” His eyes flicked upwards despite himself, “And I suspect even this could have been avoided.”

Zola glanced upwards. There was yet another of her Tall Men, hanging head down—impaled upon a grim metal arm that had unfolded from the ceiling. This device, which terminated in a wicked spike, would be horrific enough, but the machine had then used the screaming man to scrub out a message in blood that still oozed its way down the wall:

THE HETERODYNE MUST ENTER ALONE.

The girl rolled her eyes at these theatrics but had to concede that it might have a dampening effect upon the enthusiasm of her assistants. This was a situation where a firm whip hand was called for.

“Be that as it may, I shall play this by my rules.” She then hardened her voice. “We shall all enter together.” The remaining men had been trained well enough—they knew that there was no option other than outright rebellion, and they had not been selected for their independence of spirit. Glumly, they formed up in ranks behind her and stepped through the doorway, which instantly slammed shut behind them.

While her Tall Men cringed, Zola coolly examined the area in which they found themselves. This had once been a main entrance to Castle Heterodyne and it had been decorated to impress. Inlaid constellations picked out in semi-precious stones were just visible behind the grime that coated the barrel-vaults high overhead. Cobweb-festooned chandeliers dangled, unlit.

The paneled walls were decorated with enormous paintings depicting the great capital cities of Europa—apparently in the aftermath of a visit from the Heterodynes. Here was Vienna in flames. There was Berlin, still and silent, carpeted in an array of exotic fungi. Strange, shadowy shapes crept through the recognizable ruins of Paris.

This last was the only one that seemed to affect the girl—she gave a slight shudder and quickly turned away.

The hallway suddenly flared into brilliance as half a hundred lamps came alive. The candelabra were wrought in an astonishing variety of disquieting shapes—figures of men, women, and bizarre creatures writhing in what would appear to be agony.

Beneath the grime and rubble, the terrazzo floor—with its fabled madness-inducing non-Euclidian geometric patterns—could still be glimpsed beneath the now tattered carpet.

Zola took a deep breath. To finally be here… She squared her shoulders. This is where it got dangerous. A second look around the area and this time she noted a plethora of paint and chalk marks. Hastily scrawled signs and sigils warned of the thousand and one traps that lined the hallway.