CHAPTER 5

History is one of the world’s great soporifics, if only because it mostly consists of perfectly ordinary people doing the logical thing in order to get home in time for dinner. But it does not have to be! What readers want are stories! Tales of evil, or possibly just absurdity, people going to great lengths to ensure nobody gets to enjoy dinner but themselves. An instructor must, of course, chronicle the same dry events and long-dead personalities that have bored untold generations of students. But with the addition of a mad queen who occasionally storms through the narrative torturing kings and seducing monsters, I can solidly guarantee those same students’ undivided attention!

—Gaspard Masat, in a letter to the Board or Regents of the University of Wittenberg, applying for the position of History Master⁶²

On the streets of Mechanicsburg, Vanamonde von Mekkhan,⁶³ seneschal to the Heterodynes and de facto leader of the town of Mechanicsburg, awoke to realize he was being led through a street of small shops by the gentle pressure of a hand tucked inside the crook of his arm. Moreover, someone was talking to him. “So even though the Baron has the town officially sealed, the Smuggler’s Guild has been bringing in food. They hope to stockpile enough to last an additional six months.”

There was a pause and Van realized he was expected to contribute something. “Thass good,” he mumbled.

“Ah. You’re awake again. Good.” The hand on his arm gave a slight squeeze. “They said we could discuss terms later.”

“Thass bad.”

“I agree. So I demanded a bulk discount of an additional twenty percent off now or they could discuss terms later with the Jägers.”

“Thass . . . ” Van ran the statement back through his head. “Wait. Is that good?” He opened his eyes and peered at the small figure resolutely dragging him along. She was at least twenty centimeters shorter than he, so all he could really see was the top of her head. Her hair was a rich chestnut and cut in a wavy bob that bounced gently as she strode along.

“Well, I admit it wasn’t very nice,” she was saying. “I also told them that we’d been approached by the Wulfenbach Dark Fleet,⁶⁴ so they took it.”

Val pondered this. “Thought the Dark Fleet was a . . . whatchamacallit . . . rumor.”

“Oh yes, but it’s one they’ve heard.”

This actually got Van’s eyes open all the way and he leaned forward to examine the girl a little more closely. She glanced his way with large, blue eyes, then went back to watching the street. The rest of her face was delicate with a snub nose and a small, thin-lipped mouth. She was dressed in a white traveling half-cloak and dress. Initially Van registered her as a tourist, but the ease with which she was navigating the streets spoke otherwise.

Van licked dry lips. “Who are you?”

The girl glanced at him again and Van saw that she was tired as well. “Oh, not this again.”

Van looked worried. She took pity on him and sighed, “I am Vidonia Orkaleena. I am the one who is putting you to bed. For the first time in days.”

Van considered this. Orkaleena was the name of a prominent Mechanicsburg family of snail traders, but this young lady was completely unknown to him. This, in of itself, was very odd, as both his mother and grandfather had contrived increasingly outlandish situations where he had found himself spending time alone with every suitable bachelorette Mechanicsburg possessed. Thus, he was conflicted. He certainly wanted to go to bed, but would be damned if he let an outsider dictate his actions. He opened his mouth and Vidonia turned to face him.

“You’ve already done everything you possibly can, and you need to sleep now or you will be of no use whatsoever to the town when the attack comes!”

Well, Van thought, if she is an outsider, she’s a remarkably sensible one.

Technically, Vidonia was not an outsider, though Vanamonde could be excused for not knowing who she was. The Merchant House of Orkaleena had been a rather modest importer of glassware and exporter of Snezek—the famous Mechanicsburg liqueur⁶⁵—when, about twenty years ago, the Mechanicsburg snail had begun to make major inroads onto the tables of the rest of Europa.⁶⁶ The patriarch of the family at that time, Opa Orkaleena, saw an opportunity and went after it with gusto. Under his direction, Mechanicsburg snails appeared in London, Istanbul, Khartoum, Moscow, and just about everywhere in between.

As a result, his eldest daughter, Vidonia, had grown up on the road with the occasional flying visit home. Her education had been an exotic blend of foreign politics, languages, mercantile stratagems, and an exhaustive knowledge of the care and feeding of vast herds of snails. All through this, she had clung to the idea of Mechanicsburg as a place of refuge and security. She had endeavored to learn as much as she could about it, which proved useful as her family’s clients were always interested in hearing more about it.

Two months ago, her father had died and she had turned over the running of the family business to her equally gastropod-infatuated brother, Opa Junior. And now—young, unencumbered, tired of a life on the road, and modestly wealthy—she had returned to Mechanicsburg only to discover it to be one of the most boring places on Earth.

She had been sitting in a coffee shop, deciding what to do with herself when a strange girl had walked in, built a coffee machine, and completely changed her life. From that moment on, she had been delightfully busy. Also from that moment, she had been one of the people telling other people what to do. She had really missed that.

Vidonia also discovered she was drawn to the only person here who seemed to be working harder than she was and, increasingly, she found herself helping to facilitate his orders. A short while ago she had discovered him blearily trying to convince a gas cylinder that it needed to paint the street, which was when she had led him off.

They turned the corner onto the Street of Schemers and Van halted. Vidonia ran into him. “Wake up,” she said.

“Wait. Stop.” Vidonia paused. Van sounded more awake now. He pointed. “That’s my house.”

Vidonia nodded encouragingly. “And a very pretty house it is. Let’s—”

“Look!” With a shock, Vidonia noticed the front door at the top of the stairs was hanging slightly to one side. Someone had smashed the door open and then tried to prop it back up so it wouldn’t be noticeable. “Something’s wrong,” Van growled. He went up the stairs at a run.

A slight push and the door crashed to the floor. They stepped inside. There was no one to be seen. “Mother?” Van called. He was answered by silence. Vidonia looked around. There was evidence of a fight. Nothing extreme, but a turned over table with a shattered vase and scattered books spoke volumes. Van ran deeper into the apartment. “Grandfather?”

He stepped into his grandfather’s bedroom and came to a halt. Here they were. His grandfather, Carson von Mekkhan, propped up stiffly in bed; his mother, Arella, sitting upright at its foot. Van blinked. His mother looked injured. Her face was bruised. Why were they glaring at him like . . .

A sudden gasp from behind caused him to spin about. There was Vidonia, in the no-nonsense grasp of a squat, aging man with an evil grin. The man held a short, businesslike knife pressed delicately to Vidonia’s throat. “Indeed, indeed!” he said in a jocular tone. “Here they are, and here you are and here we all are! And now, I have you—the most important man in Mechanicsburg, yes?”

How does he know? Vanamonde wondered. I’ve tried to keep such a low profile.

The little man smiled even wider. “Vanamonde Heliotrope:⁶⁷ the Ringer of the Doom Bell!”

Van blinked. “The what?”

The man with the knife rolled his eyes. “The Doom Bell? Big bell? Middle of town? Surely you’ve seen it?

“Of course I’ve—” Van took a deep breath. He doesn’t know. “What do you want?”

“Why, I want you to do your job, sir! I want you to ring the Doom Bell!”

Van licked his lips. “My job—”

The man tutted and flicked a card towards Van, who managed to catch it in midflight. He was surprised to see it was one of his grandfather’s Official Doom Bell Ringer cards.

“That is your family’s job. Is it not?” He allowed himself to look about the room and nod approvingly, although his grip on Vidonia remained rock solid. “A nice soft place, sir, yes? A familial reward for services rendered to Heterodynes past, no doubt. Live on the payroll of the town but never do the work?” He shook his head in mock severity. “Tsk. No, that will never do.” He became deadly serious in the space of an instant. “I will have you ring that bell.”

Van glanced at Vidonia. He could see she was furious. She was swiveling her eyes about, trying to figure out something to do, which caused his heart to seize up, as the man holding her was obviously well-versed in this sort of business. The knife was positioned to be driven home in an instant, and despite the man’s ebullient bonhomie, Van knew he would do so in a heartbeat. Van felt his exhaustion ebbing. He took pride in his role as the de facto ruler of Mechanicsburg. He still wasn’t sure who this girl was but, as he felt a certain responsibility for both the locals and tourists of the area, he wasn’t about to let her get murdered right in front of him.

He made soothing motions with his hands. Ostensibly for the man, but really for Vidonia, who seemed to get the message. “But—” Van tried to wrap his head around the situation. “But why are you doing this? You’re Baron Krasimir Oublenmach, right?” The man’s start of surprise confirmed his identity to Van’s satisfaction. “You’re one of the people who brought in that false Heterodyne girl. Why are you even still here? Your plan is ruined! Your ‘Heterodyne’ was severely injured while fleeing the Castle! She’s under heavy guard at the Great Hospital—if she isn’t already being interrogated.”

Surprisingly, this just made the little man grin even wider. “Indeed, indeed! Routed by a genuine Heterodyne, no less! Even you must be surprised at the turn of events, eh? Astonishing times, are they not, sir?” He sighed the sigh of a man who tried not to be surprised by life’s surprises. “Yet real or fake, it makes no difference to an old pirate like myself!”

Van shook his head. “But, your fake Heterodyne! Your plan . . . ”

Oublenmach chuckled in what looked like genuine delight. “What a glorious plan it was! A magnificent edifice of dreams and iron.” Here he gave Van a knowing grin. “Those aristocratic fools did love it so!” He shrugged. “But I am a lesser man, alas, and I am simply in it for the treasure!”

“Treasure?” Van’s eyes went wide. “You’re talking about the Treasure of the Heterodynes? Are you serious?”

Oublenmach laughed like a man sharing a secret-but-delicious shame. “Oh, I know. I know! The fabled treasure, accumulated by generations of brigands too mad to actually pay for anything! Absurd, yes?” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a fairy story treasure hunters have told each other for a hundred years!⁶⁸ Right down to the loyal guardians, who would rather die than betray their masters.

“More level heads, of course, know there is no treasure. A castle, a town, a monstrous fighting force—all of these must be maintained—paid—fed—and no doubt the old seneschals, at least, were practical men. They must have been devilishly good at it, for in the thousand years this town has existed, never—not once—has there ever been a record of the place experiencing hard times, no matter the current state of the actual Heterodyne. An extraordinary thing in and of itself. Yes? And the stories say the main vault only opens when the Doom Bell rings! Why, it is the final fillip that declares the whole thing naught but a fanciful embroidery on a dreamer’s tale!”

Oublenmach sighed wistfully, then tightened his grip on Vidonia. He pressed the knife slightly deeper into the flesh of her throat, causing her to give a small gasp. “Ah, but still . . . I think we shall ring it anyway, yes?”

Van shared a glance with his grandfather, then straightened up. “You do realize the bell is only to be rung at the Heterodyne’s command?”

Oublenmach’s face settled in a moue of disappointment. “Sir, we both know that, technically, you are incorrect. It is also rung when a new Heterodyne is declared, yes? And is there not a new Heterodyne? Why, yes sir, I believe there is! So, gentlemen, I believe the bell should ring! Tradition demands it!”

“No!” Carson interrupted. “Not yet! The bell can’t be rung until the Castle accepts her!”

Van nodded slowly. “It’s true. We can’t just—”

A squeak from Vidonia cut him off. Oublenmach ostentatiously relaxed his hand. “Ah, what is this?” he mused. “It seems there is a grain of truth to even the most outlandish story. Loyal guardians indeed. You see, I would think that given the present circumstances, a small excess of enthusiasm on your part would be seen as quite natural. What else about the story is true, I wonder?” He chuckled. “Ah, curse this insatiable curiosity of mine.” He stared at the family von Mekkhan and shook his head. “Would you truly sacrifice your lives? Quite possibly, quite possibly. You are noble men and women of a family with a long tradition of service and sacrifice, I have no doubt, yes? But, as I said before, I am made of lesser stuff.”

He pointed his chin towards Arella, who sat seething at the end of Carson’s bed. “As you can see, I have no scruples about striking a woman—even your dear old mother—and I’ll do it again, if I must. But I will admit, sir, my heart wouldn’t be in it. Motherhood and all that.” He then pressed down gently and Van saw a small bead of blood form where the point of the blade touched Vidonia’s throat. The girl closed her eyes and refused to make another sound. “Ah, but I can cut the throat of this innocent young lady, sir. That I can do as easy as pie.”

Van felt sheer rage fill him, blowing the last vestiges of fatigue from his mind. He nodded once. “Grandfather,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Oublenmach. “Where are the keys to the bell tower?”

Carson blinked. “But . . . ”

Van cut him off. “Agatha is the Heterodyne. You know it. I know it. I should have started repairing the bell yesterday!”

“Repair?” Oublenmach growled. “Talk fast, sir.”

Van sneered at him. “Do you think you’re the first to hear of the treasure? The hundredth? ‘Ring the bell and gold will fall out of the sky.’ Minstrels have been bleating that drivel for centuries!”

He pointed at Oublenmach. “Have you looked at the bell? I mean, really examined it? Because if you have, you’ll have seen that striker mechanism has no hammer! We had a steady stream of treasure hunters stomping in here for years after the Heterodyne Boys vanished. Before the Baron took over, we had to deal with them ourselves. So we disabled the bell by removing the hammer.” Van shrugged. “It can’t ring.”

Oublenmach smiled coldly. “Ingenious, as a short term solution, sir. But I will not believe that anyone in this town seriously thought the Heterodynes were extinct. You have prepared for your master’s return, so do not expect me to believe that you cannot repair the bell easily, when you must.”

Van smiled at him, and a touch of unease slid across Oublenmach’s brain. “Of course it can be repaired,” Van said quietly. “And yes, I know where the hammer is. I’ll even tell you where to find it; It’s hanging in a bar in town.”

Aboard Castle Wulfenbach, Boris strode into the main war room. He paused a moment, admiring the work of the mapmakers. The paint on the scenery before him was still fresh. The master strategists of the empire had many cities and traditional battlegrounds models kept in permanent storage, but no one had ever seriously thought Mechanicsburg would be the site of an engagement. The scene before him had been built very quickly and entirely from scratch.

The tabletop was almost thirty meters square. The mapmakers had lovingly recreated the Valley of the Heterodynes. Girt by its famous mountains, the town itself huddled within its walls in exquisite detail. It was surrounded by painstakingly reproduced defenses that had (thankfully) been deactivated decades ago, but still remained a part of the landscape and thus had to be taken into consideration when planning ground operations.

Sprinkled throughout the valley, with more crowding the loading tables off to the side, were representations of the empire forces that were being deployed. Boris frowned. In his opinion, there were too many. The Baron was devoting an excessive amount of men and material to this.

Overhead, he heard the hiss of pneumatic servos. Kleegon the Battlemaster glided down in his powered observer pulpit to hover beside him.

Kleegon was a construct who had helped free himself from the Count of the Iron Ski⁶⁹ and risen quickly within the empire’s command structure. His brain had been augmented so much that it now had to be contained within a glass dome; his eyes had been replaced with a single ruby orb that never blinked. “As usual, our forces are in red. Despite the fact we have had to restrict ourselves to ground troops, we have almost finished containing Mechanicsburg.” He glided over to one of the maps showing the surrounding area and indicated a main road. “However, we have several outside forces approaching. Their stated goals are irrelevant, as their actual purpose is, in many cases, painfully obvious.

“The first is a loose coalition of the old Smatterburg Duchies, led by the Philosopher King of the University of Aalborg. He believes the Baron and the Heterodyne will destroy each other and is determined to pick up the pieces. Not a unique situation by any means, but I mention him because of his primacy, and because he has managed to put about two thousand men and four medium airships into the field. They’re moving slowly as there has been a bit of rain east of the Duchies and they are encumbered with two shock cannons they are hauling overland, which they refuse to abandon.

“Then there are the forces loyal to the House of Valois—”

Boris interrupted. “You mean the walkers? Master Gilgamesh destroyed them.”

Kleegon sighed and gave a Gallic shrug. “Ah, but this is a different group. Mostly cavalry, some foot soldiers, and a unit of Drakken horses.⁷⁰ Mostly the dregs of the Fifty Families. They seem caught up with the whole idea of pillaging, which is why they are still over a hundred kilometers away.

“The last group seems to be a genuine popular uprising, but they are suspiciously well-supplied on such short notice. They claim to be marching to Mechanicsburg to defend the Heterodyne girl, though the plan seems to be to keep her captive until their own Storm King arrives to take over.”

Boris bit his lip. “Their own . . . ? Not the same Storm King as the other groups?”

Kleegon shook his head. “There are at least three claimants being hailed by assorted groups. I’m sure more will emerge as time goes on.”

“They already have.” Captain Smoza stepped up and consulted the report in her hand. “The majority of our forces not here or at Sturmhalten are reporting waves of rebellions, mutinies, and outbreaks.” She looked up, a hurt look on her face. “It’s as if the whole empire was just waiting for a reason to revolt.”

Boris looked like someone had struck him. “I . . . I didn’t think it was this bad . . . ”

“It isn’t!” Kleegon delivered this judgment in a ringing tone. “These may be genuine rebellions, but the incidents causing them have clearly been exaggerated and overblown. Those involved have been manipulated into erupting simultaneously. The purpose is clear: weaken the perception of the empire’s strength, and so convince the populace it needs a new strong, central leader. If the Baron does not re-establish himself as that leader, I calculate a seventy-eight percent chance the empire will suffer an outright collapse before one of these pretenders can establish sufficient control.”

Smoza considered this and voiced what everyone in the room was thinking: “This doesn’t sound like a very well thought out plan.”

“IT IS MADNESS!” The speaker was a huge man with a magnificent mane of bright orange hair. A pair of thick cables ran from just above his ears to a stout staff that supported a brass skull encrusted with tubes and lights: Herr Doktor Eeliocentric Chouté.⁷¹ “THE JACKALS GATHER WHILE THE WOLF LIES WOUNDED!”

Boris felt mixed emotions. Chouté’s bluster was an affront to his tidy sense of propriety, and yet, when he was around, all other problems seemed to retreat in importance. “Thank you for our requisite daily dose of high drama, Herr Doktor, but I am told that the Baron will be back in the morning.”

This was news to everyone. “BUT AFTER HIS DISASTROUSLY QUIXOTIC BATTLE WITH DOCTOR SUN, HE STILL LIES INSENSATE WITHIN THE FULL BODY HEALING ENGINE, YES?”

“Well, he was placed there,” Boris conceded. “But as soon as he deemed himself sufficiently healed, he forcibly removed himself. I thought Sun was going to kill him. Eventually he was made to see reason by Sun and the Princess Anevka, of all people.”

Smoza looked blank for a moment, then brightened. “Anevka. That’s the clank that thinks it’s the Sturmvoraus Princess, yes?”

“AN ABOMINATION THAT CURDLES THE MILK OF ALL HONEST MEN!”

Boris shrugged. “Well, aren’t we all?”

“OH, I SAY, SIR!”

“But she’s strong, she can’t be wasped, she doesn’t need sleep, and he listens to her. That’s an abomination we can use.”

Suddenly Castle Wulfenbach rocked, causing everyone to stagger slightly.

“What was that?” Smoza gasped. The jolt had knocked her hat off, revealing a small furry green creature nestled in the tidy nest of her hair. “That was not good,” it grumbled, shielding its eyes from the light.

Boris handed Smoza her hat. “We’re under attack, of course. I was afraid of this.”

“UNDER ATTACK? SHEER PERFIDY! WHO WOULD DARE?”

Boris shrugged. “Only every spark within five hundred kilometers. What I want to know is how?” He strode over to a large circular window. “I’ve had all our defenses armed and ready for—”

With a THUMP, an enormous ape with brightly colored wings slammed into the glass, stared at the startled people inside, and screamed defiance before dropping off.

“Was that a flying monkey?” Smoza asked. The creature in her hair shivered. “Giant monkey,” it whispered. Smoza reached up and stroked it comfortingly. “I always thought they were smaller than that.” She agreed.

Boris and Chouté glanced at each other and nodded. “Professor Senear.⁷² I thought he’d been awfully quiet lately.”

Smoza gently settled her hat on her head. “So which army is he associated with?”

“Boris snorted. “None of them. This man is a spark! A blasted, lunatic, scheming, unpredictable spark! They’ve been chafing under the Baron’s heel even worse than the governments! Now that they know that he’s incapacitated—”

A unicycle messenger careened into the room. When he saw Boris, he waved his hands frantically. “Sir! Mechanicsburg is under attack and not by us! Spotters report unknown clanks, airships, and artillery strikes!” He skidded to a halt before Boris, panting. “Sir, the Great Hospital has taken a direct hit!”

Boris’s face went white. “The Baron!”

The hospital room shuddered and, alarmingly, began to list to one side like the deck of a ship at sea. The clank that was now Lucrezia leapt up and dashed towards the door just as it burst open. A squad of Wulfenbach troops and doctors poured in. “We’re under attack,” the chief doctor shouted. “The Baron must be moved to safety immediately!”

Lucrezia paused. Klaus would no doubt be moved to the safest location possible. She pirouetted smoothly on one perfect mechanical foot and began to give orders. “That entire bank of monitors can be disconnected,” she said, “as well as these emergency pumps. The Baron is in no danger of needing them.”

The doctor opened his mouth, then glanced at the elaborate setup around the patient. To his surprise, the clank’s suggestions were all sound and would make moving the Baron significantly easier.

“You heard the lady,” he declared. “Get moving!”

Lucrezia smiled graciously. “Princess, actually.”

Back in Castle Heterodyne, Agatha slapped a final solenoid into place. A row of switches flexed like a prisoner who, after breaking free of his restraints, takes a deep, unfettered breath. “Yesss,” the Castle sighed. “I am once again in full control of this section. Well done, Mistress.” It paused. “I remember . . . Oh dear. I am sorry about that unfortunate incident in the kitchen.”

Agatha was encouraged. The Castle was beginning to stitch together memories and control functions from more and more of its far-flung sections. “Glad to hear it,” Agatha said. “Did that fire do much damage?”

“Oh. Yes. Let me see. Ah . . . ” There was a roaring sound from the next room, an electric snap, and a great whoosh as the fires once again ignited. “It is supposed to be like that. Part of my heating system, you know.”

Gil glanced at Tarvek. “Told you so.”

Tarvek grit his teeth. “You were guessing.”

Agatha stared back into the blue-flamed inferno. “All of that,” she asked incredulously, “just to heat this place?”

“It is a vent of coalbed methane your ancestors harnessed. And a good thing too. I’m told some of the towers get a bit chilly in deep winter, even with all this.”

Agatha made a face. “Well, thank you for the lovely surprise shower, then. And . . . my ancestors . . . did they ever build anything small?”

The Castle considered this. “The master’s bed only sleeps six . . . ”

Agatha nodded wearily. “Sorry I asked.”

Soon, the group was resting in a suite of maintenance halls near the furnace room. Agatha examined a wall of pipes and gauges while debating with the Castle as to which of several new problem spots was closer. Violetta disappeared into the adjoining rooms on some mission of her own. Tarvek sat with his back to a stone wall, head resting on one cupped hand, feeling miserable. Gil stood by watching Agatha pace, then looked down at Tarvek. “What’s with you?”

“Shut up. I am unhappy and I wish to brood in peace.”

Gil nodded. “Oh, I know what’s bugging you.”

Tarvek focused his glare on Gil. “Really?”

Gil nodded. “Sure. Because Agatha is involved, it’s finally hitting you that—just maybe—using the Other’s tech to control other people might be considered—oh, I don’t know—kind of wrong?”

Tarvek sighed. “No, not that.” He seemed to consider what Gil had just said and waved a hand vaguely. “Look, just leave me alone, okay?”

Gil crossed his arms. “No, I get it. It must be tough realizing that you’re a slimy toad who failed ‘Ethics in Government 101.’ ”⁷³

Tarvek glared at Gil. “Well, I never got to finish that class, now did I? Why, I didn’t get to finish any of them, I recall, as I was thrown off your high-and-mighty airship.” Gil bit his lip as Tarvek continued. “I had to get my lessons by surviving amongst a bunch of evil-minded, cynical, backstabbing old fools, who, I might add, were still smart enough to hide an entire army from the great Baron Wulfenbach. Who, I will delicately point out, took over Europa by force and used guns and worse to control people—so how are you any better?” Tarvek held up a hand. “But, you know—even at a distance—I learned a lot from your father. If someone can’t handle an unpleasant truth? Lie to them. If someone won’t listen to reason? Show them the unhappy alternative. If people don’t choose to live peaceably? Don’t give them a choice. If you don’t like the rules—”

“What is this?” Violetta had returned, a crate of supplies resting on her shoulder. “I leave to get you guys something to eat and you light the place back on fire?” She glared at Tarvek. “This is somehow your fault, isn’t it!”

“NO!” Tarvek said, even as Violetta sent a quick punch towards his stomach. However, even as Gil winced in sympathy, Violetta let out a squeal of surprise and clutched her fist in pain.

Tarvek turned to Gil, smirking. “As I was saying, if you don’t like the rules—” He hoisted up his shirt to reveal a slightly dented steel plate tucked into his belt. “Change the game.”

He then turned to Violetta and drew himself up. “I’m sorry, Violetta, but as my days of needing the family to underestimate me appear to be over, I will no longer require your assistance in that particular charade.”

Violetta stared up at him. “You . . . you’re implying that all this time, you’ve been letting me beat on you?”

Tarvek nodded gently. “You’ll just have to find someone else to vent your frustrations out on. Maybe that von Zinzer fellow.”

Violetta’s face went scarlet. “Shut up!” she lashed out. “There’s no way I’ll ever believe you’re anything but a worthless fool!”

However, when her blow landed, Tarvek was no longer there. Violetta felt a gentle slap to the back of her head. “Well, yes,” Tarvek said in a cool voice from behind her, “that was the idea, now wasn’t it?”

Violetta spun and prepared to strike. Tarvek stood there, watching her. He looked completely open. Violetta paused and slowly lowered her hands. One of Tarvek’s eyebrows quirked upwards in approval, which just made Violetta angrier. “You and your stupid games,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

Tarvek shrugged. “Those ‘stupid games,’ dear cousin, are what kept both of us alive. But enough of that.” He turned to face Gil. “I’m starting to think someone else here is playing his own game.” He studied Gil for a moment. “You’re really smart. I know this, but sometimes you act . . . so shallow. You got all that information out of me just now, by simply mooning about like a drunken poet. I should’ve noticed it earlier, but between finding out who you really are, and the echoes of the you I can still feel from the si vales valeo . . . well, I’m beginning to realize you might be just as much of a manipulative, sneaky weasel as I am.” He considered Gil’s stony countenance. “Well, maybe not as much as I am myself, but I’ll put that down to a lack of inclination, as I’m sure you had reasons similar to my own. I’m all right with that. You’re of more use if you’re smart.” He took a deep breath and suddenly was within a centimeter of Gil’s face. “But if I find out you’re lying about being here to help Agatha, then we shall have to see if you’re as deadly as I am.”

Gil stared at him and then nodded once.

Violetta had not just brought food. She had also found more tools and a stout leather work apron-and-tool-belt combination, which she was busy helping Agatha into. Agatha was busy examining the new tools, choosing the most useful and tucking them here and there within easy reach. As she worked, she watched the two men across the room thoughtfully. “You say Tarvek’s been playing the fool?” she asked Violetta. “I can’t really say I’ve seen it.”

Violetta wasn’t impressed. “Huh. Well, not around you, so much.”

Agatha nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, but around his family? I can understand that.”

“Yeah, but now we know we can’t believe what either of them are really up to. I mean, what about Wulfenbach? If he’s so much smarter than he lets on, then what is he really in here for?”

Agatha gazed at Gil and sighed. “I have to assume it’s what he says. But since he’s the one who has been playing the idiot around me, I can’t be sure.”

The science of acoustics is a funny thing. A conversation flowing in one direction can be indistinct, but words flowing in the other direction can bounce off surfaces that deliver it crisp and clear to those nearby. Which is why, although Agatha and Violetta could not hear Gil and Tarvek’s discussion, those two heard Agatha’s statement loud and clear, as indicated by the slow reddening of Gil’s face. Tarvek stared at him and a grin of understanding bubbled up across his face. “You weren’t actually playing the idiot with her, were you?”

“Shut up!” Gil muttered. “I am here to help her—but it’s like I do everything I can to make myself look bad around her!” He gave Tarvek a shrug. “I must have inherited my father’s natural ability to infuriate women.”

He then poked Tarvek with a finger. “But you—all that stuff you told me about your work with Lucrezia? I wasn’t actually fishing for information—you spilled that all by yourself. From what I hear, you don’t make mistakes like that. Maybe you’re not at your best at the moment either. Has that occurred to you?”

Tarvek bit his lip and looked away. Gil nodded. “Still, you are right. I do play games. I’m good at them. Definitely better than you . . . if only because I don’t go on about them to my enemies.” He grinned. “And you know what? I am Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. Heir to the Empire and Defender of the Pax Transylvania. I will crush this whole Knights of Jove/Storm King mess of yours.” He leaned in. “Don’t worry—I’ll let you escape so you can go skulking around with your perfect little plans. After all, I’ll always need someone to take the blame.”

At that moment, Agatha strode up, map in hand. “You guys ready?”

Gil nodded. “Oh, I’m ready.” He looked at Tarvek and smiled. “Are you ready?”

Tarvek smiled back. “I am so ready.”

At Mamma Gkika’s Bar, Baron Krasimir Oublenmach spat out a small mouthful of blood and whispered, “Ladies are delicate creatures who should never be struck or awakened too early in the morning.” Then he paused and thought as hard as he could. This next part. It was very important. “Ninety-nine.”

The hand around his throat flexed slightly, and Oublenmach continued. “Ladies are delicate creatures who should never be struck or awakened too early in the morning.” He licked his lips. “One hundred.”

At the other end of the monstrous arm pinning him to the wall, the face of Mamma Gkika broke into a sharp-toothed grin. “See? Dot vos not so hard.”

She then turned to Arella von Mekkhan, who was seated in a comfortable chair with a cup of tea in her hand. She had several bandages artistically arranged on her face. “Okay, sveetie, hyu vants hy should keel heem now?”

Oublenmach stirred feebly. “Yes, please,” he moaned.

He was casually pulled forward and then slammed back into the wall. “Shot op, hyu.”

Arella sighed contentedly and sipped from her cup. “No,” she said thoughtfully, “I believe he will be . . . useful.”

Mamma looked at the hanging man skeptically. She sniffed. “Hyu tink so? Ve need rude pipple schtupid enuf to valk into my place vit a gon? Hy already gots clowns, sveetie.” She sighed. “Lots ov dem.”

“Ah, but he wants to ring the Doom Bell. He wants the Hammer.”

Mamma was astonished. She hauled Oublenmach close to her face and stared into his eyes. “Vot? Hyu vants de Hammer?” Each question was accompanied by its own tooth-jarring shake. “De Hammer ve guard? De Hammer vot rings de Doom Bell? De Bell vot iz only rung to announce to de vorld dot de Heterodyne iz here?”

Krasimir realized there was a conversational gap he was actually expected to fill. He tried to think what answer would get him killed quickest and chose—“Yes?”

Less than thirty seconds later he found himself sprawled on the early morning street, a gigantic bronze hammer tossed into his lap. Behind him, the doors to Mamma Gkika’s slammed shut as the proprietress’ resounding laugh echoed from within.

The command center, such as it was, had been established atop one of Mechanicsburg’s taller warehouses. Van surveyed the town with a pair of elaborate night vision binoculars. Near his feet, people came and went. To one side, Herr Diamant smacked his hand to his head in disbelief. “But how the devil could you lose him?” He asked incredulously. “He’s dragging a hammer bigger than he is!”

The hapless man before him shrugged. “Well, the rescue gongs rang and—”

“You did the right thing, Ozker,” Van said without lowering the binoculars. “Besides, we know where he’s going. Now we need people to clear the streets for the firefighters.” Everyone nodded glumly. The great brass fire dragons of Mechanicsburg were capable of navigating rubble and ordinary congestion, but they did poorly when actually being shot at.

One of the town’s sewer workers appeared at the top of the stairs. “Van! We’ve got some crazy mole machines coming up in the hospital grounds!”

“Good. That’ll give Doctor Lazar’s golems something to hit.” He turned to another man, who looked exhausted, as he gratefully gulped the mug of coffee that had been thrust into his hands. “Gregor?”

“My boys are doing what they can, but a lot of the automated defenses are still dead.” Everyone glanced upwards to the ruined castle that perched on the high pinnacle of stone at the center of town.

Van bit his lip. “Well, keep trying or we’ll all be dead.”

Within Castle Heterodyne, a doorway blocked with shattered stone quivered. Rocks were then knocked aside by several steel tentacles. Quickly, a hole began to widen and, within minutes, a giant mechanical squid pulled itself through. Agatha and Violetta were piloting it with Gil and Tarvek enmeshed within its coils. Tarvek consulted a map. “Looks like we’re almost there.”

Gil looked down as the squid reached several tentacles out and began the tricky procedure of hauling itself across a dark chasm. “That’s okay,” he called up to Agatha, “take your time.”

“Oh, relax,” the Castle chuckled. “It’s not that deep.”

Agatha smiled. “Castle. You’re active here?”

“Yes, Mistress, the dead area is still up ahead.”

Agatha looked about. This particular part of the Castle was severely damaged. “If you’re active here, why is this area still so messed up? I thought you could self-repair?”

There was silence for a moment. “Well, normally, yes,” the Castle admitted. “But I am still . . . weak. I lack the mechanica vitæ⁷⁴ I require.”

Agatha paused. “All of those drained batteries in the power room . . . ”

“Yes, exactly. It has been quite the strain to do all I have.”

Violetta blinked. “Wait. In that case, isn’t all of this just a huge waste of time? The whole point of repairing you was so you could help defend the town.”

“It was most certainly not! I will do what I can for Mechanicsburg, of course, but I am Castle Heterodyne. My purpose is the recognition and subsequent protection of the Heterodyne and their family. All of Europa believes I have failed and they will not believe otherwise until you are publicly recognized by me. And you will be—even if it is my final act!”

Agatha blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

They trundled into a larger room and stopped in astonishment. An enormous machine stood in the center of the room, all huge curved blades and gigantic feet. Clustered around its base was a large group of Castle prisoners, who turned to look at them as they entered. One of them pointed to Agatha. “Oy! It’s one of the Heterodyne girls!”

“I hope you don’t mind, Mistress, but I have taken the liberty of gathering some potential minions to aid you.”

An overly muscled man wearing a disturbing green hood that hid everything but a perpetually manic grin spat on the floor in annoyance. “Just our luck. That’s the wrong one.”

The massive construct R-79 levered itself to its feet. “Maybe not. That is the one we were supposed to kill.”

Instantly, slabs of stone shot from the floor. They encapsulated the front row of prisoners and began slowly crushing them. Agatha rolled her eyes. “You didn’t explain who I am?”

“Trust me, Mistress, they’ll be much more willing to listen once you properly get their attention.”

A terrified eye peered out from a shrinking stone compartment. If its movement was any indication, its owner was nodding frantically. “I am willing to be convinced we were misinformed!” The stones stopped moving and crumbled back into the floor. In quick succession, the remaining captives expressed a heartfelt willingness to display an open mind.

Agatha felt the weight of expectations settle on her and, with a sigh, clambered up until she stood atop the mechanical squid, staring down at the assembled prisoners. “Yes. You have been misinformed. Let me set you straight. I am the rightful Heterodyne! Your pink fake fled from my castle in bloody shreds! This is my castle! I am the one who killed it—and I am the one who brought it back! I am the one who will restore it to full strength, and you are going to help me—or you will feel that strength on the backs of your necks! Do you understand?”

Below, several dozen of the most hardened criminals and minions in the empire stared upwards and mentally revised their place in the pecking order. “Yes, Mistress,” they muttered.

In the back, one brave soul spoke up: “But won’t Wulfenbach—?”

Gil stepped forward. “I am Gilgamesh Wulfenbach! The House of Wulfenbach will honor its word! When this castle is repaired, you will all be free to leave!”

There was a skeptical silence, into which Tarvek stepped up. “And I’ll make sure he keeps that promise,” he declared.

The prisoners stared at him blankly. One, who held a large multi-wrench slung comfortably over his shoulder, spoke for them all. “Who the Hell are you?”

Gil stared at Tarvek. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

Tarvek smiled genially at him. “Go ahead. Tell them who I am.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’ll impress them,” he leaned in and dropped his voice, “and help Agatha.” He smiled winningly. “Which is what we both want, yes?”

Gil stared at him sourly. “This,” he indicated Tarvek, “is Prince Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvoraus. Heir to the throne of the Storm King.” The crowd drew in a collective gasp. Gil continued, “And a loyal vassal of the House of Wulfenbach.” Tarvek blinked and looked at him. Gil smiled wider and spoke without moving his lips. “Or else.”

Any protest Tarvek might have made was cut off as the man with the wrench made a wide gesture towards him, unfortunately with the hand that held the wrench. Tarvek dodged backward, but the tool caught him lightly on the forehead anyway.

The man didn’t even notice. He yelled at the assembled crowd. “What is the matter with you lot? The Castle says that she’s the Heterodyne?” He glanced up into the shadows and flinched. “Fine! But you idiots can’t really believe that these two clowns are—”

A dark woman dressed in once-pristine white—down to an elegantly worked eye patch—cleared her throat. “Um. Herr Doktor, that is Prince Sturmvoraus.”

The wrench swung round again. Tarvek ducked. “Really?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah. A guy I did knife work for had a portrait. Said he was gonna be the Storm King.”

The man known as Doctor Wrench⁷⁵ considered Gil and Tarvek with a fresh eye. “Huh.”

She continued. “And Wulfenbach’s kid is in town. So that really could be him.”

The crowd looked to Wrench and held its collective breath. He looked at Agatha now with new respect. “And you’ve got them both on your string, eh?” After a moment of consideration, he knelt before Agatha and presented the enormous combination wrench to her in supplication. “Well done, my Lady.” Silently, the remaining prisoners dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

“Loyal vassal?” Tarvek growled softly.

Gil nodded. “And we’re both on Agatha’s string.”

Tarvek continued to glare for moment, then gave a resigned smile. “Well. That I can live with.”

Gil nodded. “You and me both—”

Then they simultaneously added: “—for the moment.”

The hospital hoist descended smoothly, despite the rumbling and booming that shook the walls. The lighting had gone out and, seconds later, green emergency lights had flickered on to replace them. Aside from the Baron, only two doctors and Lucrezia had been able to cram aboard, but the others had actually seemed grateful they had an excuse to go bounding back into the collapsing hospital to rescue more patients. Lucrezia just shook her head. Everybody wanted to be a hero. This place was a bad influence.

The chief doctor finished his examination of the Baron and sighed in relief. “I don’t know what Sun’s been doing to him, but some of these modifications are amazing.” He glanced up at the other doctor. “You have to look at this. He’s healing faster than anyone I’ve ever seen!”

Lucrezia was no stranger to pride. It was one of the things that kept her going. But this had an unfamiliar flavor. Watching dear Klaus snore was nostalgic, of course, but it got boring after a while. She had amused herself by tweaking the medical equipment in an effort to get them out of this dreary place as quickly as possible. Now, here was this doctor, whom she knew was as knowledgeable as any on Sun’s staff, marveling over it honestly, without trying to flatter her or curry favor or anything. She allowed herself to relish the feeling as the lift continued to move downwards.

The only fly in the ointment was that if she were to speak up and actually let the doctors know that she—not Sun—was responsible for these paltry improvements, their resulting adulation would be gratifying, of course, but it would be pathetically short-lived. She would have to kill them almost immediately.

And really, darling, she thought to herself, just how needy are we?

Wrench had been filling Agatha in on the events of the last few days: “ . . . weirder than usual and then it ordered everyone here. “

Agatha nodded. “Well, supposedly the very last break I have to repair is in the next room.”

R-79 cleared its throat. “Yeah, okay, we seen that. It is pretty obvious.”

“That’s a relief. We could use an easy one.”

Wrench shook his head as he led her through a doorway. “Um . . . he said ‘obvious.’ Not ‘easy.’ ”

Agatha stopped dead. “Oh.”

“Do you really like it,” Lucrezia asked the doctor coyly. “That makes me very happy. I want you to know that.”

Before Agatha was a large room filled with what she identified as boilers, rows of them, stacked atop one another for several stories. On the far wall she could see an immense crack that ran in a jagged line through the masonry. Where the crack intersected a fat electrical cable, the cable had been sheared apart, and a perpetual display of sparks snapped and crackled around the break. Between Agatha and the cable was a sunken concrete floor, occupied by at least twenty of the autonomous security clanks. They moved slowly back and forth, occasionally colliding softly with each other. At each collision, there would be a brief flurry of metal teeth and claws before the creatures turned aside and ambled off in a new direction.

Easily a dozen of the nearest turned towards the people who entered the room. After a few tense seconds, they swung their heads away in disinterest.

“They’re not attacking?” Agatha asked.

Wrench looked at her askance. “You’re complaining?”

“Well, no, but . . . ”

Wrench waved a hand. “No, no, I get it. They’re as haywire as the rest of this place, I guess, but they’ll still snag you quick enough if you’re in the wrong area.”

“Ah. And where’s that?”

Wrench pointed. “See that dark smear at the bottom of the ladder? Doctor Ott figured that was where it started.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nope. All he said was ‘AAIEEEE!!’ ”

Agatha stared at him. “I . . . see.”

Wrench shrugged. “Hey, that was his idea. If you know how to take those things out from over here, I’m all for it.”

Tarvek stepped into the room. “So, what’s the—” He saw the security clanks and stopped in his tracks. “AAAAHH! Those things again!”

Agatha nodded. “Yes.” She glanced up at the machinery around them. “I suspect that this might be their control center.” As she continued to examine the room, a calculating look entered her eyes.

Tarvek slumped. “Oh perfect.”

Gil stepped in. “So what’s the . . . ” He paused. “Ah. More of those is it? Could be useful.”

Tarvek looked at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

Gil shrugged. “I’ve fought lots of clanks. I know the only other one I saw was already being controlled by Agatha, but they don’t look too tough.”

Tarvek grinned at him. “I will renounce my crown if you walk down there right now.”

Gil stopped dead. “That bad?”

Tarvek nodded. “Oh yes, but I don’t expect you to take the word of a lowly vassal.”

Gil patted Tarvek on the shoulder. “I will, actually. So, do you have any useful ideas?”

Tarvek considered this. “If we threw in every minion we have, we might take out one of them.”

Gil waved a hand. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Wrench looked pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, sir!”

“I mean, there’s got to be close to twenty of them. We don’t have near enough minions.”

Wrench sighed.

Tarvek nodded. “What do you think, Agatha?”

But Agatha was nowhere in sight. “Where did she go?” Gil asked, raising his voice due to the machine roar rising behind them. “She was right here . . . ” The three men looked at each other, then scattered, just as the gigantic device they had seen in the anteroom smashed through the wall behind them. It tottered into the room, great metal scythes creaking outwards, and then it began to topple forward. The security clanks on the ground stared upwards, uncomprehending, as it rushed down towards them until, with a great rolling boom, it slammed to the ground, cracking the floor and throwing up dust and loose debris.

Anti-aircraft fire filled the sky, but the projectile screamed along unscathed, striking the last few undamaged walls of the Great Hospital. The detonation was pitched so low that it was hard to hear and was accompanied by a burst of purple lightning. The remaining structure shuddered and began to collapse in an unnatural fashion. It appeared that the brick, steel, and glass had been transformed into some sort of liquid. The building dropped with a rolling roar and began to spread outwards in huge waves. Shrieking soldiers, patients, and staff dashed to avoid the onrushing mass. Those stuck by it were quickly engulfed in flowing stone.

The crowd quickly separated into two groups, each with a different purpose. One group was moving evacuated patients into the surrounding, undamaged buildings, though there were distressingly few of these. The other half was frantically trying to extricate those still trapped inside.

The liquid stone stayed liquid, which made freeing these victims easier, but the rescuers soon realized, to their horror, that the slurry was now draining away through stairways, shafts, and vents. It was making its way down into the hospital’s lower levels, where—no doubt—hundreds had sought shelter. A trooper dug at a pool of stone slurry with an entrenching tool and saw his effort was like trying to shovel out a pool of mercury. There was smoke and grit everywhere. Hundreds of Wulfenbach troopers toiled trying to clear the debris.

Occasionally, they would raise their heads and realize they were being aided by the same townspeople they had been fighting less than an hour before. At the moment, it simply wasn’t important. People were being found and many of them were even still alive—tucked within pockets of collapsed brick or huddled within sealed rooms. Cheers went up whenever this happened, and the sound gave strength to the remaining workers.

Doctor Sun moved among the survivors, an oasis of calm professionalism that steadied all around him. Another cheer went up, but it was cut off. Sun glanced up and saw a trooper hauling a clank out of a pit. The clank was formed to look like a young woman and its remaining clothing was in tatters. Ah, yes. It was the clank that believed itself to be the Princess Anevka. She had been at the Baron’s side, the last time he had looked in. The troopers talking to her seemed to be gesturing oddly, then several of them moved off while the others took up guard positions. He hurriedly finished his instructions and headed towards her. She saw him approaching and drew herself up.

“Herr Doktor Sun.” She indicated the tunnel from which she had emerged, and which the troopers were now guarding. “We must establish some sort of perimeter to keep people back. I’m afraid there is some sort of gas leak. I don’t know what it is, but I’m afraid it is very toxic.” She drew herself up and her voice seemed to ring out. “I am afraid that Baron Wulfenbach is dead. Along with the brave doctors who stayed by his side.”

Sun closed his eyes and swore. The stupid machine had blared out the news like a town crier. Everyone within three hundred meters must have heard it, and there would be no way to contain the information. He glanced towards the looming castle. Young Gilgamesh’s task would be even harder now. He glared at the clank. The foolish thing meant well, and guarding the shaft was the correct thing to do, but he had quite enough of helpful clanks.

He flagged down an orderly. “Find an engineer,” he ordered. “I want that clank deactivated and off site. Then put together a team with breathing apparatus. They are to go down and retrieve the bodies of the Baron and anyone else present.” The man nodded and took off. Sun considered the matter closed and turned his mind to trying to deal with the news that was even now sweeping through the air: the Baron was dead.

Word spread through the people present and continued unchecked faster than one would have thought possible. It was relayed in tones of shock, of amazement, of joy and horror. Via radio and hastily scribbled message. By official communiqués and by voices screaming it from the top of shattered buildings. It roared through Mechanicsburg and then began to spread through the forces of the empire like the waves in a pond caused by a stone dropped from three kilometers high.

Many disbelieved it. Many wanted to believe it. Many more did not, but everyone had an opinion about it. The news continued to spread throughout the known world.