Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

Gil’s eyes went wide. “Agatha! The Castle was the only thing keeping my father from just coming in here and grabbing you!” A fresh wave of weakness hit him, and he sank to the floor. Tarvek followed him and the two sat there, breathing hard for a moment.

Agatha bit her lip and signaled von Zinzer and Mezzasalma to help them back up. “It was keeping us from getting ourselves cured. It’s a broken mad automaton, remember? And it was becoming more and more irrational. I suspect that I was putting too much stress upon its cognitive faculties, and since they weren’t sufficiently integrated, it just couldn’t handle it. In my opinion, it was dangerously close to deciding that killing us all would have kept us ‘safe.’”

All the Sparks nodded. It was a problem endemic in the field of artificial intelligence.

Agatha continued. “We’ll just have to get the repairs done before the Baron realizes what’s happened.”

Gil waved his hands weakly. “We don’t know how long that could be! For all we know, there’s a giant red light flashing on the main tower right now!”

“That’s…unlikely,” Tarvek said grudgingly. “But we can’t count on having much time.”

Agatha sighed. “Tarvek, Gil, we’re already out of time,” she said. “We’ll work on getting the Castle back once we’re no longer about to die.

“Don’t worry. As far as the Castle goes, I’m reasonably sure that we can revive the whole thing, assuming we can get enough energy running through it.”

Von Zinzer stood by the lift, frowning down into the shaft. “I thought this was supposed to be the lowest level of the Castle,” he said. “What’s down there?”

Agatha stood by him and stared down into the darkness. There were lights down there. They were very faint, but flickering, and growing brighter. An odd look crossed her face, then she shook herself abruptly and turned away, knocking a chip of broken rock over the side. “One thing at a time. We’ve had too many distractions. First we cure ourselves, then we fight the World, then we get to explore. No more delays!”

Far below, the stone landed with a faint, bell-like ring. Seconds later, the lights flared, and a wild, mechanical scream of triumph echoed from the depths.

“FREEE!”

Agatha leaned over the edge and screamed back. “I said, ‘no more delays!’”

There was a crowd in the apartment. When Vanamonde arrived, the leaders of Mechanicsburg society paused in their whispered conversations and stepped aside to let him pass. In one corner, a smaller knot of close friends had gathered around Arella.

Van hurried to her side. “I came as soon as I heard, Mother. How is Grandfather?”

Arella smiled gamely. “He seems all right. He’s been asking for you.”

“What happened?”

Arella shrugged. “No one is sure. He just suddenly gave a shout, and collapsed in the middle of the Poisoner’s Market.”⁸⁷

The doctor stepped out of the bedroom, rolling down her sleeves as she walked. “He seems more embarrassed than anything else,” she said to Van and his mother. “But he’s positively frantic to see you, so the sooner you get in there, the sooner he might actually rest.”

Van thanked her and stepped into his grandfather’s bedroom.

The seneschals of Mechanicsburg tended to live simply and Carson von Mekkhan certainly continued that tradition.

The main features of the room were an elegantly carved bed frame and two matching wardrobes. A small shrine—one of the few personal touches evident—held a single votive lamp before portraits of the old man’s late wife and son.

The former master of the city was propped up in the center of an enormous goose-down mattress. A fresh set of bandages covered his head. He was distracted, staring into the distance, nervously stroking the belly of the cat.

Van cleared his throat. “Grandfather?”

“Finally!” Carson looked relieved and shifted, sending the cat off in a resigned huff.

Van removed his frock coat and carefully sat down on the edge of the old man’s bed. He had to admit that the Doctor’s assessment matched his own. “So what happened?”

“That blasted heap of rubble!” Van knew to whom, or rather to what, his grandfather was referring. “All these years it must have had some kind of hold on me…”

Or maybe not. “Grandfather, what are you talking about?”

“The Castle,” the old man said flatly. “They’ve killed it.” He tapped his head. “I felt it die.” He stared back at his grandson defiantly.

Van considered this outrageous statement. “The Castle is…dead.”

“Yes.”

Vanamonde regarded his grandfather. “And you felt it die.”

“Yes!”

Van sighed and rested his elbows on his knees and allowed his head to sag forward. “Well,” he muttered. “That explains some things.”

Carson stared at him amazement. “You believe me?”

Van didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Oh, yes.”

“What’s happened?”

Van sat up straight and peaked his fingertips together. With a shock, Carson recognized the gesture as one that he himself used whenever he had to make a report.