Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

It was a huge structure. The main tower, a square pagoda-like affair, was easily ten stories tall, emblazoned with an enormous gilded trilobite. To Agatha’s eye, it was apparent that the structure had been built over the course of centuries. Assorted architectural styles and fashions were jumbled together in a most disturbing way. The rest of the castle—Agatha’s breath caught as she took in the scope of the devastation. Many of the barbicans and towers were leaning away from the center. Atop the various roofs, the remains of assorted aerials, towers, and lightning rods could be seen drooping in disrepair. Vast sections of the curtain wall were blown out or were in danger of crumbling. The slopes of the crag were littered with chunks of the castle that looked small, but once you identified features such as windows, you realized that they must be several stories tall. From the base of the structure, where the masonry met the cliffs, an enormous gargoyle head spat a frothing torrent of water toward the rocks far below where it disappeared into a cloud of perpetual mist. This was the source of the Dyne, the river that meandered through the town before flowing through an elaborate set of gates to the valley beyond.

Wooster saw the look on Agatha’s face and nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, that’s it. Happy?”

Agatha still gazed up at the castle. “It’s a mess. But, to be honest? From everything I’d heard, I’d thought it would be much worse.”

Next, she turned her attention to the rest of the town. It was built on uneven ground, with stairways and bridges connecting neighborhoods as often as streets. The buildings were mostly three-and four-story houses, many with a business tucked underneath. To the west, an immense factory complex dominated the skyline. Striking black and white clouds of smoke and steam poured from tall, slender smokestacks. To the north, an ornate, red stone Gothic cathedral rose, defiant beside the dark bulk of the ruined castle. To the east, a miniature lake and several acres of greensward gave way to orchards—which abutted a large white building that could only be the Great Hospital. Before them was a vast open area lined with what looked like rather dilapidated barracks.

As a whole, once you got past the gates, the town was obviously run down. It was easy to spot the tourists—they were the ones strolling down the streets with a bit of a bounce to their step. The natives, though dressed more colorfully, simply trudged along, at least until approached by a customer, at which point they radiated colorful folksiness.

Wooster allowed Agatha to take it in for another minute and then delicately cleared his throat. “So, my lady. You have arrived in Mechanicsburg. Now what?”

Agatha looked at him blankly. Then she stared at the ruined castle. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I was told to go to Castle Heterodyne, but…” she gestured at it vaguely.

“First things first,” Krosp declared. “Let’s get somewhere quiet and then get these bandages off of me!”

“Are you sure—?”

Krosp waved a paw. “This is a town. There will be cats. I’m a cat. I’ll blend in better.”

Agatha had some doubts about this. Krosp had once confessed to her that while his creator had designed him to be a tool of espionage, he had engineered Krosp so that it was more comfortable for him to walk erect. The cat had to be frequently reminded to walk on all fours and any attempt he made at subterfuge seemed likely to be subverted by his constant complaining.

As they clopped along, Zeetha covered Krosp with her cloak and with a few deft slices, cut him free of his bandages.

“Better.” Krosp stretched luxuriously and continued. “So. The castle. I’d heard it was damaged by the Other.” He eyed the ruin and turned to Agatha. “I don’t suppose you can shed any light on that from…” He tapped his head.

Agatha shook her head. She knew that the entity trapped inside her was indeed her mother—Lucrezia—and that Lucrezia had confessed to being the Other, but this only made things more confusing. “I can’t access her mind or memories.” She thought about this for a moment. “—Thank goodness.”

Zeetha acknowledged her predicament. “Lucrezia Mongfish was supposedly kidnapped by the Other. But if they are one and the same…”

“The part that confuses me,” said Agatha, “is that everyone says that Lucrezia and the Heterodyne’s infant son were kidnapped.”

They pondered this. “Maybe,” Krosp suggested, “they didn’t know you were a girl. Heck, if you were young enough, your eyes might not even have been open yet.” Agatha ignored this suggestion.

Wooster pulled his horse to a halt. When they all turned to look at him, he indicated the ruined castle. “Seriously. You’ve seen this castle. It’s useless. Worse than useless. Coming here was foolish, as it was the obvious thing you would do. Everyone is looking for you—”