Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

She turned to her Tall Men and almost screamed in frustration. They had actually spread out and were examining the nearest walls with interest.

“Freeze, you fools!” Sensibly, they did. Even behind their goggles, she could see their eyes desperately swiveling in her direction.

“Now listen to me,” she said, foot tapping. “This is probably the best-mapped area of the Castle, but it is also one of the most dangerous. You must follow my lead.”

She pointed downwards. “Avoid any area of the floor marked in white. It is a trap that will kill you.”

She pointed upwards. “Do not stand beneath any area on the ceiling marked in red. It is a trap that will kill you.”

She caught one of her men gazing in fascination at a wall sconce depicting a golden lady entwined with some sort of cephalopod. “Do not touch any metal surface. It is a trap that will kill you.”

The man guiltily lowered his hand. “Are you trying to frighten us?”

Zola ground her teeth. “Of course I am! This place is dangerous! It is twisted, and diabolical and worst of all—”

Too late she saw another of her men reaching for a gold coin glittering innocently upon the floor. “NO!” she screamed, but it was too late. A trapdoor split open beneath him, sending him screaming into the darkness. There was a pause, and then the trapdoor rose back into place with a hiss. The coin glittered enticingly in the darkness.

Involuntarily, they all took a step back. Zola swallowed. “A—And worst of all, this place likes to think that it has…a sense of humor.”

They all kept close to her after that, as she headed deeper into the castle.

Professor Hristo Tiktoffen trudged down the Hall of Nasty Iron Springs.¹⁹

He moved with a distracted look on his face as he sorted through an enormous notebook, generously interleaved with additional notes and maps. Most of the prisoners that inhabited Castle Heterodyne had learned to walk very carefully indeed, and it was not uncommon for them to take several minutes to decide where to next place their foot. Tiktoffen trod confidently, to the awe of those around him. It was whispered that he and the Castle had reached…an accommodation.

He came to a large metal door and, with a small grunt, shoved it open, revealing a large cavernous space. Within, cyclopean gears were frozen mid-turn, teeth and gear shafts dull beneath years of accumulated dust and grime.

He heard a faint, rhythmic tapping coming from behind a wall of interlocked gears larger than millstones. Tiktoffen cleared his throat. “Fraulein Wilhelm?”

The tapping stopped and a shock of delicately shaded pink hair appeared between two enormous gear teeth. Its owner peered cautiously at the professor, then grinned and dodged around the machinery to stand before him.

Tiktoffen gave her an avuncular smile and checked his notes. “Anything for my books today?”

Sanaa Wilhelm absent-mindedly scrubbed at a spot of grime on her orange coverall as she pondered. “I think so, Professor.” She closed her eyes in concentration. “I was summoned to the north wall of the Room of Lead. I reconnected fifteen copper cables behind the third panel. That was at four thirty-six exactly.²⁰ There was a sort of a hum…and then nothing.”

Tiktoffen’s eyebrows rose. “Four thirty-six?” He shuffled through his stack of papers, muttering to himself. Suddenly he gave a small cry of satisfaction.

“Yes! Tark was in the Gallery of Razors—” He double-checked his notes. “—And yes! They flexed at four thirty-six!” He made a small notation on one of the sheets and tucked his pencil away with a glow of satisfaction. “Ten points for you!”

Sanaa’s eyes lit up in pleasure. “Ten? Thank you!”

Tiktoffen was already flipping through his notes and waved a hand. “De nada. We’ve been looking for the Razor’s power for over three years.”

Sanaa got a faraway look in her eyes. “Ten points,” she said to herself, just to hear it. “Wow! That’s worth at least two months off my sentence! So to get out of here, I only have to get—Ow!”

As fast as a striking snake, Tiktoffen had lashed out and clipped the side of the girl’s head. “Fool!” His jovial face had hardened instantly. “Never total your points out loud!”

Involuntarily, both prisoners glanced upwards towards an invisible presence that they knew loomed silently around them. Tiktoffen leaned in and addressed Sanaa in an urgent whisper. “When you’ve got enough to get out, I will know.” He tousled her hair affectionately.

At that moment, Tiktoffen heard a familiar metallic panting. Through the doorway came a man in his thirties, unprepossessing in every way—except for the sharp-toothed mechanical mask permanently fastened to his lower face that had earned him the name “Snapper.” When he saw Tiktoffen and Sanaa, he slowed a bit, but made up for it by waving his hands in agitation.

“Professor!” he called. His voice sounded hollow through the mask.