Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

It was small for a castle this size. Even so, one wall boasted an enormous fireplace in which three entire cattle could have been spit-roasted end-to-end. There were huge griddles and ovens along another wall, clearly designed by someone with the Spark. Pipes and ductwork wound up and into the walls, steam vents with oddly constructed valves clacked open and shut, and a large cast-iron cauldron slowly bubbled over what looked like an industrial grade Bunsen burner.

Makeshift shelves held stacks of cheap china and tin plates and cups. Others held heaps of supplies, bottles of spices and sauces, and sacks of beans, flour, lentils, raisins, noodles, and rice. Large cast-iron pots and pans hung from the beamed ceiling, along with ropes of sausages, at least twenty large smoked hams, and bunches of onions, garlic, peppers, and other dried herbs.

Another rack of shelves held easily four dozen slightly burned loaves of bread.

An enormous zinc tub in the corner, positioned under a dripping pump, was filled with oily-looking water and a towering stack of dirty dishes.

Overall, it was obvious that home economics was not Moloch’s strong suit. He sighed.

“Oh, this isn’t the Master Kitchen. I don’t think we’ve even found that yet. This place was built for Venthraxus Heterodyne’s favorite cook.”³⁷

Agatha looked at him askance. “How do you know that?”

Moloch sighed. “It told me.”

Agatha looked around. “Ah! The kitchen itself? I was told that it talks.”

“WELCOME FOOLISH CREATURE! I AM YOUR DOOM!” The shout seemed to come from everywhere at once. Agatha jumped and stared around her, then up at the beams of the ceiling. The sausages, pots, and all other hanging goods rocked back and forth gently at the vibration.

“Oh yeah,” Moloch confirmed wearily. “It talks.”

The voice was similar to the one that Agatha had heard in the crypt. The difference—this voice was deeper, more unearthly—she attributed to the fact that it wasn’t being channeled through human vocal cords. In fact, try as she might, she couldn’t see any speaker grill or even a vibrating membrane. The voice just seemed to emanate from the corners of the room.

“That’s pretty creepy,” she observed.

Moloch groaned and stepped away from her. “No! Shut up! Now it’s got to show you how creepy it can get.”

Before she could ask for an explanation, a knife on one of the cutting boards suddenly quivered and stood up upon the point of its blade. It stood there for a moment and then with a spin, launched itself at Agatha. Hours of training with Zeetha paid off and she stepped to the side. But instead of burying itself in the wall, the knife spun about. Dozens more utensils took to the air and began swirling about her, like a glittering flock of birds. “How is it doing this?” Agatha cried. She snatched up a large cutting board. Instantly two knives buried themselves in it. Suddenly Agatha realized that none of the knives had actually touched her.

Though Moloch had stepped off to one side, he was being menaced by a dangerous-looking eggbeater which he batted at with a pot lid. “How the hell should I know,” he snapped. “It’s supposed to be your damn castle, isn’t it?”

His words struck home. Agatha straightened up, flung the cutting board aside, and demanded, “Knock it off!”

The utensils froze in midair. “Your voice…” The castle sounded uneasy. “Who are you?”

Agatha addressed the air. “I am Agatha Heterodyne! Daughter of Bill Heterodyne and Lucrezia Mongfish, and I am your new master.”

All of the utensils crashed to the floor. “Oh, really?” The castle began to chuckle evilly. “Another brave claimant! And a girl this time. How odd.”

“Stop it!” Agatha snapped. “You know me. I talked to you in the crypt.”

When the voice again spoke, it was more serious. “I do not know you, silly girl, I lost access to the crypt years ago.”

Agatha felt a touch of apprehension. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Oh, it’s no matter. You have made your claim. Now you must prove it.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here to do.”

A knife sped through the air and deftly sliced Agatha’s arm. She screamed in shock and pain. “What are you doing?”

“Blood!” the castle declared. Another knife tore at her leg. “The truth is in your blood!”

“Stop!” Moloch shouted, “You’ll collapse my soufflé!”

The knives fell to the ground. “Oh.” The castle declared. “Sorry—wait…”

But Moloch had already grabbed Agatha by the arm and dragged her out of the room. They halted, gasping outside the doorway.

Agatha turned to him. “Collapse my soufflé?”

Moloch shrugged. “It’s a kitchen.”

“I AM NOT A KITCHEN!” The voice roared from inside the room. “I AM CASTLE HETERODYNE!” And a fusillade of sharp utensils burst from the room, smacking into the opposite wall before spinning and clattering harmlessly to the floor.

The two of them stared at the mound of cutlery. Moloch glared at Agatha. “I thought you said you were a real Heterodyne!”

“I am!”

“Then why isn’t the Castle listening to you?”

Agatha cocked her head to one side and considered this. “I don’t know. Interesting, isn’t it?”