CHAPTER 2

One would think that sparks—being on the whole, psychotic megalomaniacs with little regard for human life and poor impulse control—would have no friends or indeed any use for people. Quite often they believe this themselves, and can often be heard making dramatic statements to this effect. The reason these diatribes are heard by more than just the occasional potted plant or captured hero is this: sparks quite frequently find themselves surrounded by people whether they want to be or not. We are not just talking about the stereotypical traveler whose cart breaks down during a storm and thus must seek shelter at the lone castle glimpsed through the trees and so finds himself at a timely ringside seat for the revelation of the latest abomination of science (although there is no denying this happens far more than is statistically probable). No, your seriously steeped-in-madness dabbler in the esoteric sciences usually finds themself taxed with a rag-tag collection of hangers-on, typically consisting of minions, constructs, adventurers, and those unique, unclassifiable, individuals whose raison d’être appears to be to remind us of what a strange world it is. Even more interestingly, it appears that the greater the spark, the more of these individuals they spontaneously accumulate.

Philosophers and other underemployed persons have theorized this is a natural phenomenon, and is simply “Nature’s Way” of trying to insulate the world from the direct effects of sparks by constantly distracting them. The argument goes that if they were left alone to their own devices (so to speak), they would soon reduce all of human existence to naught but mathematical formulae, and I do not believe that I am speaking figuratively. This theory goes a long way towards explaining the enormous collection of odd persons that have, over time, accreted around Baron Klaus Wulfenbach.

Those who believe this phenomenon does represent some sort of cosmic defense mechanism, and that the greater the spark, the greater the number of distracting persons required to prevent them from bringing about Armageddon, noted with trepidation the number, quality, and sheer strangeness of the people that had already begun to fall into the orbit of the young Lady Heterodyne less than a week after she had publicly revealed herself in Sturmhalten and became known to Europa as a whole. From this, they had drawn rather alarming conclusions. All of which, it turned out, seriously underestimated the events to come.

—An excerpt from the Introduction to Professor Thaddeus Brinstine’s What the Hell Was That? Trying to Understand The Legacy of the Long Wars (Transylvania Polygnostic University Press)

Airman Higgs reached out and grasped a mildewing set of draperies. These disintegrated into tatters with a firm tug, allowing a wan, dust-filled shaft of light to illuminate the hallway. The doors that punctuated the walls were more elaborately carved than any others they had seen in the Castle, and some effort had been made to soften the usual style of decor they had found throughout the rest of the building. Oh, there was still a plethora of fanged monstrosities threatening hapless humans, but here, at least, everybody involved seemed unnaturally cheerful. Higgs nodded in satisfaction. “I’m betting this is where we need to be.”

The others looked at each other in confusion. Zeetha glanced out the window. “But we haven’t gone down anywhere near far enough. We’re still above ground.”

Sleipnir had opened the nearest door and peeked inside. “These look like they’re all bedrooms. Pretty fancy ones too.” She raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Read your ‘map’ wrong?”

Higgs regarded them blankly. Then he gave a slight sigh. “Thought you folks were smart.” He started walking. “The Castle told Herr von Zinzer here that the Great Movement Chamber was so secret that even the Heterodyne Boys never knew about it. But Miss Agatha found the Lady Lucrezia’s secret lab in a set of small rooms hidden underneath it.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket and gave it a ruminative suck. “Sparks are like balloon bees.¹⁰ They like to spread out to fill as much space as they can. If the Lady Lucrezia was set up in those small rooms, it’s because she didn’t know about, or couldn’t get to the larger room right overhead.”

He gave the wall a gentle rap as he kept walking. “A place like Castle Heterodyne—even if you was the boss—I’m betting you’d want to get away from it occasionally and to do that, you’d have to put your secret room somewhere the Castle couldn’t see. The Great Movement Chamber was as deep as the Castle’s perception went, so they stowed it below that.”

He stopped outside a bedroom door that, even compared to the others, was ostentatious in the extreme. Gargoyles and assorted monstrosities frolicked in all directions and the door itself sported inlaid panels of gold and jade. “And the only person who’d know about it would be the Heterodyne.”

“Oh!” Sleipnir snapped her fingers. “The Heterodyne Boys’ father was killed by their mother. He might not have had the opportunity to pass that knowledge down to his son.”

“This does make sense,” Theo chimed in. “From stuff I’ve heard from my family, Lucrezia could get anything she wanted from her husband, Bill Heterodyne.” He pushed open the great door and revealed an extremely ornate room, complete with a bed that could easily have comfortably slept a half-a-dozen people. “And knowing her, I’ll bet she even convinced him to give her the master bedroom.”

The room was large, but one could see that, even in ruins, it conveyed a feeling of comfort and power. The outer wall was dominated by a large set of cracked windows and a set of French doors that at one time must have led out to a balcony. This had been ripped away, but there was still a breathtaking view of the town spread out below. In addition to the bed, there was a parlor, a row of elegantly carved armoires, and a spacious, sunken marble tub. The walls were paneled from top to bottom in a reddish wood that even under the dust and grime of almost two decades conveyed richness and extravagance. The walls were hung with numerous paintings.

It was Zeetha, while studying them closely, who realized: “Hey. These all feature the same woman.”

Theo examined them and nodded. “That is the Lady Lucrezia,” he confirmed. “I saw portraits of her in the family gallery back home.” He shook his head. “My mother said she always loved looking at herself.”

Everyone examined the pictures with a renewed interest. Lucrezia had been a curvaceous blonde, with large, heavy-lidded eyes, a small nose, and sensuous lips. In every picture, the artists had managed to convey a sense of mischief and the underlying cruelty that one found in the most pernicious of practical jokers.

“So that’s Agatha’s mom?” Moloch asked. “She doesn’t look that dangerous.”

“Nevertheless, that’s the woman who became the Other, destroyed a whole bunch of the Great Houses, and rules the Geisterdamen,” Krosp reminded him.

While everyone else examined the paintings, Higgs was slowly walking the perimeter of the room, tapping lightly on the walls. Finally, he stopped, reached out, and gave a nondescript section of paneling a firm shove. With a faint groan, a narrow door fell inward, raising a cloud of dust. He nodded in satisfaction. The head of a darkened stairway could be seen.

“I’ll bet that goes straight down to her hidden lab.”

Theo nodded. “A nice little chain of logic there, Mister Higgs. Well done.”

As they filed through the door, Zeetha laid a hand on Higg’s sleeve. “Wait a minute—how did you know where the master bedroom was?” she asked quietly.

Higgs looked at her with raised eyebrows. “It was on the map.”

The passage wound down and down and down. They descended in single file, with Higgs leading the way. Krosp was fascinated. “This thing must connect to secret doors throughout half the Castle.”

Moloch hunched his shoulders. “I’m just amazed there wasn’t a trap every two meters.”

Snaug considered this. “This is a place the Castle intelligence didn’t go. Maybe there weren’t any.”

Moloch snorted. “If I was one of the wackjobs who built this place, it’s where I’d make sure there were traps.”

Higgs listened as he stealthily disarmed yet another trap. He nodded. Young von Zinzer would fit in just fine.

Eventually they came to a door that, when opened, revealed the ruins of Lucrezia’s secret lab. They all exclaimed at the sight of the collapsed ceiling and immediately spread out to look for Agatha and the others.

Krosp and Moloch gazed back at the stairway, which continued on deeper into the earth.

Moloch scratched his beard. “So—there are secret rooms under the secret room?”

Krosp grinned. “Exploring this place is going to be very interesting.” He clapped Moloch on the back. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

Zeetha was searching near the pile of debris when she stumbled against an unstable rock—striking it with her shoulder. A small cascade of rubble began and Higgs yanked her out of the way just as a large stone block dislodged and fell. She looked at the cracked floor beneath it and turned to Higgs. “Thanks. I was careless.”

This was clearly not the response Higgs had been expecting. To cover, he gestured at the pile with the stem of his pipe. “We have to risk it to find the others, but this whole thing is unstable. Could come down at any time. You keep searching. I’ll keep my eye on you.”

Zeetha nodded, but at that moment there was a shout from Theo. “It’s okay! They all survived!” He was holding a wad of notes that had been placed on the same bench as the comatose Von Pinn.

“Then where are they?” Krosp asked.

“They’ve gone to fix the Castle.” He read further and frowned. “Ah. They say that the fake Heterodyne girl is still loose. Huh. Gil says she’s someone he met in Paris—and she’s a lot more dangerous than she looks,” He looked up. “They want us to take care of Madame Von Pinn.” He shook his head. “I can’t say they left us with the easier job.”

Moloch leaned into Fräulein Snaug. “Oh, I dunno. You mean I get to stay in a fortified secret room while a bunch of sparks race around trying to fix this death machine of a castle? Twist my arm.”

Snaug looked at his defenseless little arm and shivered. Soon enough, she promised herself. Aloud she said, “But first we’d better shore up this ceiling.”

By Von Pinn’s bedside, Theo was finishing up a quick examination and frequently referencing the sheaf of notes he’d found.

Sleipnir stood by passing instruments as requested. She bit her lip. “Poor Von Pinn. She looks so . . . vulnerable.”

Theo nodded. “At least she’s stable.” He laid down his stethoscope and shook his head in admiration. “This setup they put together is amazing. I think she could lie here for the next few months if she had to.”

“So what should we do?”

Theo again shuffled through the notes. “They didn’t leave me any specific instructions, which is flattering, but not particularly useful.” He flipped a page and then frowned for a second. “Ah. Look here,” he said, not showing Sleipnir anything. “Gil, Agatha, and Prince Sturmvoraus all worked on this. They’ve annotated each other back and forth.” A light seemed to go on inside his head. “Oh! Yes! I see! Amazing! And I think I can even improve this.” He looked up and his voice began to drop into the registers associated with the activation of the spark. “Yes! I’ve got everything I need already here! By the time you—” he pointed at Mister Higgs “—get that watchdog clank down here, I can have all of the preliminary work done and then some!” He wheeled about and gave Sleipnir a crazed grin. “I can do this!”

Sleipnir gave a tiny growl and slipped her arms around Theo’s neck. “Now that’s the brilliantly sparky beast I ran off with!”

Theo swept her up in his arms and cackled softly, “Care to assist me?”

Sleipnir gazed up at him through half lidded eyes. “Oooh. Yes, master.”

Moloch’s overly loud throat-clearing barely registered. “We’re just gonna leave. And . . . and go tell the others how to get down here.” He began backing away. “And we’re gonna do it really slowly.”

Zeetha nodded. “Yeah, and, um, we’re going to go with them.”

Higgs glanced down and noted the heat coming off the couple before him had spontaneously ignited his pipe. “And then we’d better go look for the Lady Heterodyne.”

Krosp waved a paw. “Eh. Too much running around. I’ll just wait here.” Two seconds later, he had been forcibly hauled out of the room by the collar of his coat. “What is your problem,” he groused as the party trudged back up the stairs. “Haven’t you ever watched that sort of thing? It’s hilarious!”

Privately, Zeetha had to agree with him. “Everybody deserves a bit of privacy.”

Krosp shrugged. “Whatever.”

Moloch stomped upwards, shaking his head. “Sparks,” he muttered. “They’re crazy, the lot of them.”

Beside him, Fräulein Snaug glanced at him coyly. “I think it’s romantic.”

He glanced at her with a touch of concern. “You’ve been hanging around sparks too much.”

“Oh, come now, Herr von Zinzer. Have you no romance in your soul?”

A look of mild regret passed briefly through the man’s eyes, then he shrugged. “Dunno. Never had a chance to find out.”

Hexalina looked skeptical. “No! A dashing fellow like yourself?”

Moloch snorted. “The word you want isn’t ‘dashing,’ it’s ‘fleeing.’”

“Oh, but surely there’s some girl somewhere who’s caught your eye?”

“Well . . . ”

Hexalina was astonished at the feelings that swept over her at this. “Yes?” she prodded.

Moloch concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, but his face slowly went red. “Well, I do kinda like Sanaa.”

Snaug stopped dead. “Sanaa? Sanaa Wilhelm?”

Moloch nodded. “I knew you’d know her, she’s been in here longer than me.” He glanced at the look on Snaug’s face and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I know. Crazy ain’t it?”

“She will die,” Snaug whispered.

Moloch blinked. “What was that?”

Snaug grinned maniacally and gave him a jaunty “thumbs up.” “I said, ‘never say die!’ You know? Good luck?” Her canines glinted in the light.

Moloch smiled. “Thanks.” Some vague feeling urged him to change the subject. “So how is it—working with Mittelmind?”

Snaug blinked. “Oh, he’s very supportive of my needs.”

“Yeah? That’s good.”

Snaug glanced down at her hands. The hands that would never be truly clean . . . “I wouldn’t call it good—”

At that moment there was a scream and a brilliant actinic flare from the room directly before them—the room where they had left the three scientists.

With a blur and a gust of displaced air, Zeetha and Higgs shot ahead. They paused in the doorway just long enough to see the scientists sprawled about and Zola furiously clutching at a smoking hand. She gave an animal snarl and, without hesitation, dove into the great shaft melted into the floor.

As she dropped, she produced her grappling gun and fired it upwards, catching a protruding beam. With a jerk, she swung herself to the side, released, and gracefully rolled into a pile of crumbling old furniture on a lower floor, then sprang to her feet and headed into the shadows.

Seconds later, Zeetha followed. She had leapt from floor to floor in a tightly controlled acrobatic fall. As she stood, she heard a cracking thump and spun to see Airman Higgs straightening up from a small impact crater. She smiled. His positioning made it look as if the airshipman had simply leapt down from several stories—her smile faltered. How had he—

“Where did she go?”

Zeetha’s thoughts were derailed and she pointed to the dusty floor where footprints could be seen. “That way.” But all too quickly, the trail disappeared. The two stood back-to-back and scrutinized the shadowy room. It was large and full of nooks and crannies. At least seven empty doorways led from it. Zeetha’s shoulders slumped. “I think we lost her.”

Higgs was peering up at a crenellated ledge that encircled the room. He pulled his pipe from his pocket and stuck it, unlit, into his mouth. “Think you’re right,” he sighed. Moving silently, while still speaking conversationally, he began looking under tables and behind tapestries. “I don’t know what she was doing upstairs, but I doubt she’ll be back.”

Zeetha kicked over a suspiciously fallen chair and studied where it had lain. “Probably, but that doesn’t help. While she’s alive, Agatha’s in danger.” With a shrug, she slid her swords back into their scabbards. “I’m going after her.” She looked Higgs in the face. “I . . . can’t order you to come with, but I’d like it if you did.”

Higgs looked at her and moved his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. He nodded. “It seems like she’s out to get young Wulfenbach, too, so I don’t think he’ll mind.” He gave her arm a brief pat. “Let’s ship out.”

Back upstairs, the two minions and Krosp were cautiously peering around the doorway. The room was in shambles, although, Moloch had to admit, with three sparks working this was a perfectly normal state of affairs. Even so, there were signs that things had gotten out of hand.

Several racks of equipment had been overturned, and it appeared that most of the electronic components were smoking. A thick smell of charred insulation and ozone filled the room. Little helper clanks were lying about everywhere, inert.

“Doctor!” Fräulein Snaug called out. “Doctor?”

A groan caught Moloch’s attention and he dashed over to a heap of parts and rags that stirred, revealing itself to be Professor Mezzasalma. Moloch knelt beside him and fished a small flask of moonshine out of his apron. A sip and the professor coughed and opened his eyes. “Ah, von Zinzer.” He shuddered and his metal legs flexed. “Help me up, my boy.” Again his legs spasmed. Mezzasalma swore. “That electromagnetic pulse has shorted out my legs.” He waved towards a bench, but Moloch had already fetched a toolbox. The professor grunted in thanks and used a screwdriver to pry open an access panel in the control module.

“What happened?”

The professor was wrenching free a row of fuses. His movements slowed as he remembered. “We . . . yes, we were working, and suddenly—” fury filled his face “—that’s right! And that blasted adventuress, the one claiming to be the Heterodyne! She popped up out of nowhere, waving a great huge marshmallow gun!¹¹ She killed Diaz—”

“Wait . . . with a marshmallow gun?”

“She clubbed him to death with it.”

“Okay. That would work.”

“Obviously, she meant to kill us all—”

A heartfelt keening arose. Moloch saw Fräulein Snaug on her knees, cradling the still form of Doctor Mittelmind in her arms. “No,” she sobbed softly, “Noooo . . . ” Moloch noticed the machinery within the late doctor’s chest was also smoking.

“Luckily, Mittelmind has a pulse cannon built into that contraption of his.” Mezzasalma shrugged. “It killed him, of course, but her gun blew up.”

Moloch looked back at the late doctor with new eyes. “That . . . that was really brave.”

Mezzasalma rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t start. He’ll be smug enough about it as it is.”

Moloch blinked. “What?”

“Oh. You didn’t know?” Mezzasalma sighed as he slid a final fuse in and snapped the cover closed. Green running lights began to bloom along his legs. “Mittelmind is part machine.” He waved a hand to indicate the rest of the Castle. “He’s died several times in here. Claims we’re just interacting with his ghost. He’s made sure that Fräulein Snaug is very well trained in his personal repair and revivification routine.”

Moloch now saw the girl had the old scientist hooked up to a battered-looking metal box. She had slipped on a pair of thick rubber gloves. With a shout of “CLEAR!” she threw a small knife switch, sending a jolt of power through Mittelmind’s inert frame, causing it to jerk and twitch. By the time she had powered down the device and removed the cables, the old man was slowly sitting up, his inevitable grin reestablishing itself upon his lined face. With a squeal, Fräulein Snaug hugged him, relief suffusing her features.

Mittelmind reached up and gently patted her arm. “Thank you, my child. That was exhilarating, as always.”

Moloch offered him a hand up, and the old scientist gingerly climbed to his feet.

“Do you do this a lot?” Moloch asked him. “Don’t you get memory loss?”¹²

Mittelmind grinned and pulled a small battery out from the recesses of his chest. “As long as I maintain a small emergency power source while I’m dead, I manage to keep my original personality quite intact.”

Moloch peered at the battery. “Wait—see that corrosion at the tip? This battery’s been dead for ages.”

Mittelmind examined it and frowned. “Whoops,” he muttered.

Krosp waved them over to the last body. “What about Professor Diaz?”

Mezzasalma, who was now back on his feet, daintily stepped over to them, shaking his head. “His head is totally smashed in, I’m afraid. Dead as a doornail.”¹³

Mittelmind shrugged philosophically. “Sans appel.”

Krosp frowned. “But I thought sparks . . . ”

Mezzasalma shrugged. “Well, I could turn him into an undead mechanical spider.”

Mittelmind perked up. “Ooh! Now that I could work with! I could condition it to obey our every command!”

Mezzasalma’s eyes began to shine. “Ah, but if we make it a giant undead mechanical spider . . . ”

“Big enough to inspire fear in the general populace?”

“My dear sir. You think too small! Big enough that it could construct webs that would trap airships!”

“Inspired! Never again will we lack for research subjects!”

Moloch rubbed a weary hand against his temples. “I cannot wait to get out of here.”

Krosp snorted. “Good luck with that.” He continued. “I mean, listen to these guys. Did they do any work on that clank?”

This drew an indignant squawk from Professor Mezzasalma. “You impertinent construct! We most certainly did! In fact, I’d venture to say it is complete!”

Moloch looked at him skeptically. “Really. I know sparks work fast, but—”

Mezzasalma shrugged. “Well, we were ably assisted by the Lady’s little clanks. A pity none of them survived.”

Moloch had noticed drifts of the little mechanisms scattered about the room. Victims of Mittlemind’s pulse cannon. Good to know that there’s something that can keep them in check, he mused. He realized Mezzasalma was still talking.

“And, well, you know how it goes when one is caught up in the grip of the spark . . . ”

Moloch interrupted him. “Just for the sake of clarity, assume I’m not barking mad.”

To Snaug’s astonishment, Mezzasalma didn’t even look offended at this, but merely dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Very well, when you build on another spark’s work, you get little flashes of inspiration. You see . . . possibilities you wouldn’t have if you had tackled the problem on your own.”

Moloch remembered Theo’s reaction to the notes he’d found downstairs and nodded in understanding.

Mezzasalma continued. “Now combine that with these marvelous little clanks; they were so useful. We merely had to explain what needed to be done, and they attacked it on a dozen different fronts simultaneously. Plus they allowed us to implement any number of extemporaneous ideas . . . ”

Again Moloch held up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. So it’s done.”

A giant metal paw crashed to the ground behind him. Mezzasalma grinned. “And we made improvements!”

Agatha stepped through a doorway and her breath caught in wonder. Even in ruins, the room before them was magnificent. A large airy chamber, capped with a dome that had once been painted in a riot of colors. It was shattered in places, and small shafts of outside light shone in. Two stories tall, it was surrounded by a set of chambers fronted by decoratively carved screens, a surprising number of which were still intact. The floor, though covered in dust and dead leaves, was made of inlaid marble, and in the center, a magnificently salacious statue held primacy.

Gilgamesh stepped into the room and whistled in appreciation. “Wow. It’s the seraglio of Satyricus Heterodyne!”

Agatha looked at her map. The area they were in was simply labeled “Bedrooms.”

Gil continued, “Yes, I’ve seen pictures. There’s no mistaking it. The first edition of François Mansart’s Les Abominations Dangereuses de L’Architecture has an extensive collection of plates, and of course here is Alphonse Ennui’s masterpiece The Temptation of Saint Vulcania, which has the most amazing—oh. I see they’ve removed those.”

To Agatha’s eyes it was obvious that, indeed, things had been removed from the original statue. There was no way to tell what exactly had been so outrageous that even some past Heterodyne had felt the need to remove it, but there was still plenty left to tempt the hapless saint, who looked like she was having a very difficult time resisting. Especially the thing with the feather duster. Agatha considered the possibilities and felt her face getting red.

Gil plowed on. “It’s still a fantastic piece. It really gives you a feel for the excesses of the early Heterodynes, and . . . ”

Belatedly, he recognized Agatha might not be the most appreciative of audiences. “Of course,” he rallied gamely, “these books were commissioned for the Storm King, so I’m sure it’s all totally exaggerated.” He glanced back at the statue. “Mostly.”

A chilly silence was broken by Tarvek’s barely smothered snort of laughter.

Agatha turned on him. “Oh, do you have something to add?”

Tarvek nodded. “Yup. When you get this place back up and running, I’ll take that room over there. It has a nice view.”

Agatha stared at him and then, to Gil’s astonishment, dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Tarvek saw Gil’s face and companionably slung an arm over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, old man, when the harem gets too crowded you can bunk with me.”

“Tarvek!” Agatha looked shocked. “Don’t be mean.” She leaned in close and whispered to Gil, “I promise, no matter how crowded it gets, you’ll always have your own room.”

Gil blinked, and then grinned. “At least I’ll have someplace to go after Zola topples the empire with her marshmallow gun.” This was possibly the most diverting thing anyone had ever said in the history of the world. Even Violetta joined in the uproarious laughter.

Finally, Agatha raised a hand. “Of course there’ll be no rooms for either of you unless we get this castle working.” She giggled at the thought. “Let’s go.”

“Hee hee,” Tarvek snickered at Gil. “I will totally crush you.”

Gil slapped him on the back, “Ho ho! You just try it, sir!”

Violetta grinned. “Well, you’re all cheerful all of a sudden!”

“Yeah!” Agatha gave a leaping skip. “I feel great!”

Violetta hugged herself in glee. “Me too! I’m having the best time!”

Gil looked like he was about to burst into song. “That’s ’cause this is fun!” He paused, but no invisible orchestra obliged. He shrugged. “I haven’t been adventuring in ages! I feel fantastic!”

Tarvek nodded. “Yes! Me too!” He paused. Tarvek was one of those people who had tolerated the “romance of adventuring” right up until he had discovered hotels that served breakfast in bed. “In fact,” he giggled, “I’m unnaturally happy.”

Violetta chucked him under his chin. “Good for you! It’s not that surprising, you’re just not used to being out of your cage!”

Tarvek stared at Violetta’s hand like it was a snake that had given him a kiss. “Violetta. I’m . . . never this happy. I’m not allowed to be happy.” He looked ahead and saw Agatha and Gil skipping down the corridor hand-in-hand. “And it’s all of us. Why are we all like this?” An idea struck him and he chortled. “Agatha, can I see your map?”

Agatha grinned and handed it over. “Here you go, sweetie!”

Tarvek felt an upwelling of sheer joy and viciously pinched his cheek as he scanned the map. “Focus,” he hissed to himself. Things suddenly dropped into place. “Hey, Wulfenbach! Go check out that smashed wall over there.”

Gil ambled over, chuckling. “Sure! If it’ll make you happy!”

Without warning several huge, green tendrils looped down from the hole in the ceiling, encircled Gil, and then effortlessly hauled him up and out of sight. “Yeek!” He screamed joyfully.

Tarvek did a little dance. “Yes! I was right! Hee hee!”

Agatha whooped with laughter. “Wow! Was that a plant?”

“Ha! Ha! Yes! Nepenthes dulces! It incapacitates prey by inducing feelings of extreme happiness! Smoke Knights use a modified form of its pollen, so at first I thought Zola was sneaking up on us.” Tarvek gave a solid kick to the shattered wall, causing a section to collapse. A much larger room was revealed beyond. “But then I saw on the map that we were near a conservatory. Of course the Heterodynes would have a specimen. The plants must have multiplied like crazy to have so pervasive an effect.”

They stepped through the opening into a riot of greenery. Overhead were the remains of a glass-paneled ceiling, now shattered, allowing light and rain free entry. The results were startlingly impressive. At one time the conservatory had been meticulously laid out. There had once been automatic feeding systems, but they had long ago succumbed to the ruin. Stretches of the beds were choked with brown and rotting bracken, while others had dissolved into evil-smelling swamps. Even so, there were plants in abundance. A few stunted trees, whose seeds had blown in with the wind or been dropped by birds, struggled upward. There were weeds, but the majority of the plants were descendants of the odd and unusual foliage that the Heterodynes had developed or collected on their wanderings. Hundreds of varieties of fungi thrived amidst the decay, many of them phosphorescent in the dim light. Several varieties twitched at their approach, and a few tempting-looking blooms unfolded as they drew near. Prudently, these were avoided.

The crown jewel of this riot of growth loomed in the center of it all. It was a gigantic, fleshy-looking plant, easily towering three meters high. It currently had Gilgamesh secure within its prehensile tendrils. The plant was in the process of dragging him, thrashing, towards a large maw-like blossom that gaped to reveal hundreds of thorns lining its interior.

Gil saw Tarvek and Agatha as they entered. “Sturmvoraus,” he called, still struggling violently. “I’m still happy, but not with you!”

Tarvek nodded. “Or it could be a single, monstrous hybrid with greatly enhanced capabilities—” At the sound of Tarvek’s voice, a cluster of smaller blooms swiveled and released their own clouds of pollen. Tendrils shivered to life and whipped out, ensnaring all three of them. “—that is viable enough to put out cultivars!” Tarvek laughed as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and attacked the vine holding his other arm. “This just gets better and better,” he shouted joyfully. “Oh, by the way, I’m being sarcastic!”

“I think we’re going to have some trouble rescuing Gil,” Agatha sang out cheerfully. “I’m having trouble rescuing myself! Hee hee!”

By this time Gil had been dragged to the mouth of the central blossom. “Hey guys! Getting rescued would make me really happy! Just sayin’!”

Agatha, still held fast by the vines that wound from her ankles and up her legs, had grabbed several small, crab-like clanks from a stone garden bench. “Hold on! I’ve almost got these old pruning clanks working!”

“Then we’d better tell Wulfenbach not to act so wooden,” said Tarvek, a man who obviously didn’t tell a lot of jokes. Everyone giggled anyway.

“Gil!” A new voice called.

At the sound, everyone froze and looked about frantically. It was Zola, hanging from a rope and dangling about a meter above Gil, who was now completely immobilized. “Omigosh,” she beamed. “I thought you were dead!”

Gil glanced at his waist that was now enveloped by the plant’s maw. The plant seemed to pulse and he slid several centimeters deeper. “Well . . . ”

Zola laughed in delight. “And this time, I get to rescue you! I’m so happy!”

Another peristaltic surge and Gil was buried up to his chest. “Oh dear, it’s really got you.” Zola looked like she was listening to someone behind her shoulder. “Hmm. Auntie Lucrezia says that if I try to pull you out, you’ll get all ripped up on the thorns.” She rolled her eyes. “And they’re poisoned, of course, which is kind of adorable.” Again she listened. “Okay, all you’ve got to do is wait until it’s eaten you all the way.”

Gil’s façade of cheerfulness cracked slightly. “What?”

Zola waved a hand reassuringly. “Then I’ll cut you out through the soft part.”

“I don’t think—”

“Oh, don’t be modest. You do that kind of thing all the time. Relax. These rascals take over a year to fully absorb live prey, so you should be fine for a few minutes.” She considered him. “Though you might get a bit of a rash.” She simpered. “But I have some delightfully soothing ointment that I’ll be happy to apply to all of those hard to reach places—”

“You keep your greasy hands off of him,” Agatha yelled.

Zola looked down at Agatha and her smile became sharper. “You’re just annoyed that they won’t be your greedy, beau-hogging hands, you hussy! That’s because you’ll be dead, which will make me very, very happy!”

Gil struggled to keep his mouth free. “Zola! Don’t—”

She silenced him by gently placing a knife in his mouth. “Here. You might have to do this yourself, Gil. Remember to watch out for those thorns.”

With that she pulled out another blade as she allowed herself to slide further down the rope towards Agatha, who was still tangled in vines. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go prune the family tree!”

Agatha twisted frantically. “Hurry! I’m stuck!”

“Oh,” Zola crowed, “I’m coming as fast as I can!” She suddenly realized Agatha hadn’t been talking to her. Instinctively, she twisted in midair and the blade that Zeetha had thrown missed her by centimeters.

Higgs—observing the scene below him from the balcony on which he, Violetta, and Zeetha had just arrived—raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You missed.”

Zeetha grinned at him, “Nah. I didn’t miss.”

Zola dropped to the ground and grinned. “You most certainly—”

“HA!”

Zola spun about in time to see Agatha finish using the sword to free herself. “That’s much better,” she declared happily.

Despite her drug-fueled bravado, Agatha was feeling nervous. She’d only been allowed to practice with actual blades a handful of times. Zeetha had hammered into her that she wasn’t really ready to use swords in any sort of combat. But Zeetha’s training had been merciless and Agatha discovered that swinging the meter of steel to be easier than she had anticipated.

Zola watched her and snorted in amusement. “Please. Have you had any training with that thing?” Effortlessly she shimmied up her rope until she was out of reach. “You sparks really can be so stupid sometimes. After all—” she languidly produced a small pistol “—bringing a knife to a gun fight doesn’t seem very smart, now does it?” She squeezed off a shot, barely missing as Agatha stumbled sideways.

“Well, I suppose it isn’t that much worse than bringing a gun to a clank fight.”

Zola smirked. “A clank fight is it? Pity you don’t have any—” A vibration on the rope was her only warning. Zola looked up in time to see the crab-like pruning clank cut through her rope, dropping her to the floor two stories below.

She smashed into an overgrown mound of brambles and large meaty fungi and her gun went spinning off into the weeds. Gamely, she shook her head. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow,” she muttered.

Agatha found herself separated from Zola by a wall of poisonous-looking daffodils. “You’d better hope you do,” she said menacingly. “Why are you even still here? Your plans are ruined! If you stay here, you’ll be lucky to even see tomorrow.”

Zola snarled. “Maybe I’m just determined to make sure that you don’t.” With that, she pulled a softly glowing violet-glass ampoule from her belt pouch, bit it hard enough to break the glass, and then poured the contents into her mouth before spitting out bits of broken glass from her now-bleeding mouth.

Watching from the balcony, Violetta blanched, then frantically checked her own pockets. “Aah! She took some of my Movit¹⁴ Number Eleven!”

Tarvek looked surprised. “Eleven? I thought it only went up to six! That’s what you gave me.”

“Eleven would have killed you! It’d kill almost anyone!”

Zola’s maniacal peal of laughter caused even the sparks in the room to flinch.

“Oh, but I’m not just anyone,” she howled. “And even if it does kill me, I won’t go alone!”

Tarvek swiveled to Zeetha and Higgs who were running towards the combatants. “Don’t mess around! Kill her!”

Higgs nodded in acknowledgement, but Zeetha waved a hand. She was also being affected by the plant’s miasma. “Hee hee, don’t be scared. We won’t let Gil’s Parisian tart get to you. Agatha can use my sword to cut you out—”

Suddenly Zola was there. A quick foot to his solar plexus sent Higgs into a grasping mass of thorny foliage. A stunning right cross caught Zeetha completely off guard. Her sword flew free and directly into Zola’s waiting hand. “Merci, mademoiselle,” Zola cried exuberantly. “What an excellent idea! I shall use your other sword—” She pivoted and, with a graceful lunge, buried the sword in Zeetha’s chest. “—to cut you out entirely!”

Zeetha stared at her and silently toppled backwards. Zola stood aside and cleaned the blade with a flick of her wrist. “See? So elegant that even a Parisian tart can do it!” She swung about until she found Agatha. “Let’s do it again!”

“ZEETHA!” Agatha screamed in terror. “Zeetha! I’m coming!”

“Agatha! NO!” Agatha, to her surprise, found Tarvek and Violetta holding her tightly. “Stay away from her! She’ll slice you to ribbons!”

Furiously, Agatha struggled. “Let go of me!”

“No,” Violetta snarled. “Tarvek is right. She’ll kill you!” Her palm swiftly snaked out and smacked the side of Agatha’s head. Agatha slumped into Tarvek’s arms. “And that is not going to happen while I’m here!” She dashed towards the fray, yelling out over her shoulder, “Get her out of here!”

Tarvek stared after her, appalled. “Violetta! You can’t—”

“Go!” she ordered. Tarvek went.

Higgs held Zeetha cradled in his arms. His normally taciturn face was a study in anguish. Zeetha’s had gone pale with shock and blood loss; her breathing was becoming irregular. She stared at Higgs with an expression that was full of guilt and regret. “Agatha . . . ” she barely whispered. “Protect . . . ” With a final sigh she passed out.

Higgs face went blank.

Panting, Zola grinned in triumph. “Aw . . . too bad, sailor boy. She just wasn’t as good as she thought she was.”

Higgs carefully laid Zeetha out and then slowly stood up. When he turned to face her, his expression caused Zola, even in the grip of her drug-fueled high, to step back.

“Yes,” he growled. “But I vas starting to like her.”

With a brittle laugh, Zola raised her sword. “Please. I don’t have time for you. I’ve got to go kill that Heterodyne cow. If you’re smart, you’ll have scurried off by the time I—”

“No.” Higgs’s punch came from nowhere and lifted Zola off of her feet.

She landed and flowed into a defensive crouch. “I warned you!”

Two more hits and a kick to her midriff staggered her. I can’t even see him moving, she grasped. “Oh, that’s it! Just die!” The sword sliced sideways and caught the grim airman across the chest. A spatter of blood sprayed onto the floor.

“Ha!” Zola spun to face him. “Got you! Now—”

A solid hammer blow struck the side of her head. The fight went on.

Several rooms away, Agatha swam back to consciousness to find herself slung over Tarvek’s shoulder. “Wha—?” She mumbled.

Tarvek stumbled slightly in surprise. “What are you doing awake? Violetta must be slipping.” He gently set Agatha onto her feet. “At least you’ve stopped giggling.”

Agatha blinked at him as a confused swirl of memories coalesced inside her head. “What did I miss?”

Tarvek took a few seconds to check her pulse, temperature, and eyes. He nodded in satisfaction. “We missed getting killed—so far. And the best way to keep us alive is to get you to the library so we can fix up the Castle.” He peered at her again. “You do remember the Castle?”

Agatha nodded and then her face froze. “Zeetha! She’s—”

Tarvek had been expecting this and had a firm grip on her arm. “Agatha! Zola is after you. She wants to kill you. And you are the only chance everyone has got. Running back there won’t help anyone. You can’t outfight her. I don’t think any of us can.” A mental image of Mister Higgs smashing the Muse in half with a spanner flitted through his mind. “Probably.”

Agatha still hesitated. He grabbed her shoulders and glared at her. “This is not a time to be pointlessly heroic. This is a time to be smart. You can beat her with smart.”

Agatha glared at him, then nodded. “Right. Gotta fix the Castle, let it squash her.”

Tarvek picked up the head of Otilia that he had set down on a table. “I think that’s what it will take.”

Agatha took a step and then stopped. “Wait. Did we leave Gil . . . is he still in that plant?”

Tarvek rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, he’ll figure out where we’re going.”

“But if he doesn’t get out . . . ”

“Oh, he’ll get out and somehow make me look bad while doing it.”

Agatha looked at him and frowned. “You have issues.”

Tarvek sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He studied her critically. “You’re still staggering a bit. Here.” So saying, he pushed the clank head into Agatha’s hands and then scooped her up in his arms.

“No!” Agatha protested. “If you’re too slow she’ll kill you too.”

Tarvek grinned at her sardonically. “Well, Lady Heterodyne, don’t let her.”

Agatha paused, and her jaw firmed. “I won’t. Fine. Let’s go.” She pointed up a long flight of stairs. “The library should be right up there.”

Tarvek grunted and took a step. “Your wish is my command, O princess.” He looked up the long set of stairs and groaned inwardly as he shifted Agatha’s solid weight. This looked a lot easier on the book covers.

Agatha smacked his shoulder. “Faster!”

In the conservatory, Zola staggered back, her face swollen from repeated blows. “I can’t believe this,” she growled. “How many times do I have to hit you?”

Higgs frowned at the latest gash on his arm and resumed his determined stride towards her. He checked his movement, and her blade hummed scant millimeters from his face. He gave a small, tight smile. He was learning the rhythms of Zola’s fighting style. Soon.

From where she was kneeling next to Zeetha, Violetta called out. “Don’t even try to knock her out, you hear me? She’s had a whole vial of Movit Eleven. She’ll be unstoppable until it wears off.”

“I hear you,” Higgs muttered.

But Zola could feel the effects of the drug beginning to fade. Thank goodness a boost like that isn’t sustainable for too long— Her rumination was cut off by yet another blow to her face. “I have other people to kill,” she screamed. “More important people than you! I’ve got to get Gil out of the plant and hunt down my inconvenient cousin, and you are getting in my way!” With that, she pivoted, but instead of moving away, she gracefully lunged towards the startled airman, dropping to one knee, and driving the sword up through his abdomen. “So stay down!”

Zola had only microseconds to revel in the astonished look that crossed the airman’s face. She was pummeled, in quick succession, by one punishing blow after another. Finally, Higgs’s fist approached her face dead on and everything seemed to slow down. This must be it, Zola thought. The fist connected and she recognized that time hadn’t slowed; her attacker’s fist had. It bounced off of her swollen nose with a gentle bonk. She stared as the airman’s face slowly clenched in pain. Then, through clenched teeth, she heard a puzzled, “Ouch?”

The implications of this terrified her. She scrambled back as the man slowly doubled over and dropped to his knees, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“Ha!” Zola yelled. It felt so good that she yelled it again and shook her sword at him. “Ha! Take that!” He slowly swiveled his head towards her and glared.

Zola stepped back. A distant part of her mind, the part occupied by Lucrezia, was shrieking at her: There was nowhere near enough blood. Zola hefted her blade, determined to finish this monster off, when a sharp jab in her exposed arm spun her about. But there was no one near. A quick search revealed the tiny dart of a Smoke Knight. She swore and pulled it free. She looked up to see Violetta reloading a trim little blowgun.

“Ha!” she said yet again. “You pathetic loser! Did you just try to poison me?” She threw her head back and cackled manically. “As if that could stop me now!”

Violetta smiled. “Oh, I know that. That wasn’t poison. That was another dose of Movit Number Eleven.” She finished loading her blowgun. “I wonder how much more you can take before you combust?”

A tidal wave of ice-cold clarity and energy burst through Zola’s mind. Not much at all, it told her. She spun and used the sword to swat Violetta’s latest dart out of the air. “I just have to move fast enough to burn it off.” But instead of leaping forward, she crashed to the ground. Twisting about, she saw the airman—impossibly still alive—holding her ankle in a grip of iron. Pinpricks of fire bloomed throughout Zola’s body. I cannot let him keep me from moving, she thought with a jolt of terror. Screaming, she lashed out with her free leg, kicking desperately at the hand that held her. She might as well have been kicking at a steel manacle.

She rolled onto her back and swung the sword on high. “Chop head tiny bits!” she shrieked, bringing down—not a sword, but a long flower stalk that splatted harmlessly on the surprised airman’s hat.

Behind her, Violetta chuckled as she examined the sword now in her hand. “Wow! You must be messed up! That never would’ve worked before.”

Zola scrabbled at the ground and flung a handful of rocks and broken stones at Violetta, who stumbled backwards and fell against a large ornamental pot. This gave Zola time to twist her foot, slide it free of her boot, and leap to her feet. For an instant she considered staying—trying to finish them off—but inside her head Lucrezia was howling at her to run. She needed little convincing. “Fine!” Zola bolted from the room, shouting defiance. “I don’t have to stay here! I can kill people anywhere!”

Cursing, Violetta wiped at the blood and dirt on her forehead and rolled to her feet. “Oh no you won’t, ’cause I’m going to make sure you—”

“No.”

Violetta turned and stared as Higgs slowly rose to his feet. Impossible, she thought.

“Miss Zeetha is still alive. You stay here and make sure she stays that way.” He stood straight and rolled his shoulders. “This imposter is mine.”

Violetta stepped back. “You got it.”