Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

A rumble emanated from beneath her feet. The vibrations swelled until the room shook and Agatha lost her footing, landing atop the pavement of juddering skulls. Before her, the floor bulged upwards. Skulls rolled off, bouncing away as a vast mechanical claw thrust its way up into the light. Another appeared. They bent, and slammed into the ground, levering a vast serpent-like form up from the depths. Corroded brass covered by cracked dials writhed upwards. Agatha could see furnaces glowing within the thing’s structure. A great head shot upwards, paused as it reached the ceiling, and then swung down towards Agatha.

As opposed to the utilitarian gears, springs, and dials of the rest of the mechanism, the face had actually been sculpted. It took the form of an enormous gargoyle—all fangs and spines. Nervous as she was, Agatha had to admire the workmanship that went into its creation—it actually seemed to change its expression as it hovered less than a meter from her.

“Yes,” mocked the Castle’s voice. “Do let us get started.” The gargoyle’s great jaws, easily two meters wide, split open in a great gap-toothed grin. “Place your hand in the mouth.”

Agatha stared into the dark recess. There were…things moving in there.

“…And?”

The mouth drifted open even wider. “And if you are of the family, I will know.”

Agatha squared her shoulders and slipped her left glove off before gingerly inserting her hand between the great teeth. “I am a Heterodyne,” she declared. The mouth gently closed down, trapping her hand. “I…I know I am,” Agatha said gamely. “How will you know?”

The eyes widened innocently. “Blood.”

Agatha had steeled herself for pain, but she screamed nonetheless.

Gilgamesh Wulfenbach gritted his teeth as he felt Krosp climbing up his back. The cat had evidently decided that he liked the height that Gil’s shoulder provided, and Gil (correctly) assumed that the pain and inconvenience this gave him was considered a bonus.

Krosp dipped his head so his whiskers were tickling Gil’s ears. “So,” he said—one eye on the road ahead, “just for laughs, you wanna share what this great plan of yours was?”

Gil brushed a whisker away. “To quietly find my father and explain the situation.” Krosp gave a snort. “And if that didn’t work, drug him into insensibility until I could sort things out.”

Krosp raised an eyebrow. “His doctor would allow this?”

Gil snorted. “If your reports about what my father is doing are correct? Dr. Sun would hand me the syringe.”

Krosp considered this. “That’s…not a bad plan.”

Gil shrugged. “Thank you.”

Krosp looked around at the huge crowd of revelers that seethed around them, yelling, cheering, playing musical instruments, and chanting various slogans as they stumbled towards the Great Hospital. “Got another? Preferably one that instead of stealth, involves half the town?”

Gil nodded seriously. “I’m working on it.”

The appearance of an apparently genuine Heterodyne had brought forth a tremendous wellspring of excitement and jubilation in the populace of Mechanicsburg. This was only slightly dampened by the fact that no one was sure which Heterodyne girl was the genuine article and both of them were still in the Castle, but it was the considered opinion of the populace that the real Heterodyne would shortly appear, preferably with the fake’s head on a pike.

Once Gil had been identified by the denizens of the tavern, he had quickly become the focus of all the pent-up bonhomie and Spark-associated goodwill.

Thus wherever he went, he was accompanied by an ever-growing crowd of boisterous well-wishers.

He found this very odd as usually whenever people in general discovered a person was a Spark, the crowd tended to run in the other direction.

He shook his head. This is Mechanicsburg, he reminded himself.

Riding above the crowd, Krosp noticed a snail-seller pause. The man began looking around wildly. Krosp sniffed. Was that coal gas?

With a roar, a column of flame erupted from the nearest lamppost, sending the snail-seller stumbling back until he collided with his cart.

The crowd screamed. Some in fear, some in delight. This only intensified as, one by one, other lampposts also burst into flame. Soon every street was lined with brightly burning posts.

Gil stared. “This is no ordinary gas leak! What—” He turned back to his companions, and saw the look on Vanamonde’s face. He grabbed the man’s coat and dragged him closer. “Von Mekkhan! You know what this is?”

Van’s eyes looked like they had seen something impossible. “The Lady Heterodyne,” he said, gesturing at the lamps. “She must have woken something. The town is… is beginning to defend itself.”

Gil looked at him blankly. “Defend itself from what?”