Lucrezia’s face went red. “SILENCE!”
Zeetha grinned. “Plus, she’s pretty bossy.”
Lucrezia kicked a hammer that lay on the floor, sending it flying at Zeetha’s head. As Zeetha ducked, Lucrezia rushed her. Zeetha casually stepped to one side and held out an arm, sending Lucrezia crashing onto her back. “She is pretty good at dirty fighting, though,” she said admiringly. “It might help if we knew where Agatha’s locket was.”
Violetta gave a guilty start. “Oh, I’ve got it. So you knock her down and sit on her and I’ll slap it back on.”
An embarrassment flitted across Zeetha’s face. “Ah. Well…all kidding aside, she’s a little too strong for me one-on-one. She’s ignoring blows that should bring her down. Agatha is going to ache all over when she gets back.” Zeetha shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could hit her harder but that might kill her. It’s all I can do to keep her from escaping.” She gave Violetta a look. “If you’re so good at sneaking, why don’t you—”
Violetta shook her head. “I’ve been trying, but she’s too fast, and she knows my moves. She’s ready for them.”
Zeetha frowned. “I didn’t see you do anything.”
“I should hope not.”
Von Zinzer dashed up. “Why are you two still fooling around with her?”
Violetta scowled with irritation. “Don’t distract us. All we can do is dance with her until her revivification edge wears off.”
Von Zinzer rolled his eyes. “How long will that be?”
Violetta shrugged. “Ask the Sparks. Could be an hour. Maybe two.”
“Can you speed it up? Sturmvoraus needs her.”
“Well, he’ll just have to be patient.”
Von Zinzer rubbed his neck. “I don’t think he can. Wulfenbach’s dying.”
This caught Zeetha and Violetta by surprise, and they both turned to look toward the array and Gil. Lucrezia saw her opening. She sprang forward, both her fists connecting solidly with her opponent’s jaws. “Thank you for the distraction,” she sang out to von Zinzer. She jerked Zeetha up by her hair and gloated as she prepared to drive her fist in through the dazed girl’s eye. “I’ll be sure to tell dear Klaus that his boy was ever so helpful!”
She stopped. There was confusion in her eyes. “NO!” she shouted. “What?” Her head began to jerk from side to side, and she seemed to be arguing with herself. “He’s dying!”
“I don’t care!”
“NO!”
“I won’t…”
Zeetha, Violetta and von Zinzer stared as the shouts became more and more frantic.
“He’s dying!”
“How dare you!”
“HE’S DYING!”
“Give up!”
“NEVER!”
Lucrezia rocked back, then toppled to the ground. She curled into a ball on the floor, and then Agatha opened her eyes, panting. “And that is not going to happen in my Castle!” she finished.
Von Zinzer stared at her and gingerly began to help her up. “Hey… Are you…”
“My locket!” Agatha’s voice was strained, and sweat poured off of her. “Get it on me! Quickly!”
Violetta was already beside her. The clasp shut with a snap.
Agatha slumped and would have fallen if Violetta and von Zinzer hadn’t supported her. She was gasping for breath.
Zeetha watched as she slowly got to her feet. “Good girl. That was… impressive. Remember you can do that. Preferably sooner next time.”
Agatha nodded. “Gil. It was…” She looked at von Zinzer. “He’s in trouble?”
“Prince Sturmvarous says he’s dying.”
Gil lay on the table and stared upwards. He felt things beginning to close in on him. He was so tired, and really, what had it all been for? Perhaps it would be a…a relief to let go and—
Agatha slammed her hands onto the table and screamed in his ear. “DON’T YOU DARE!”
Gil was instantly shocked back to awareness. Agatha’s face loomed before him, her eyes filled with fury. “Is this supposed to impress us? ‘Oooh, all my friends went and died, so now I have to do it too.’”
The sheer absurdity of this gave Gil’s brain a kickstart and he tried to answer. He made a soft gurgle of protest.
“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t even try to justify it,” Agatha said hotly. “You do not get to die just because ‘everyone else did!’ Do you hear me?” She pounded the table next to his shoulder.
A small flame of outrage awoke in Gil’s mind and began to grow, fed by sheer frustration. He stirred, and began to formulate a devastating reply to Agatha’s unfair accusations. He then realized, with even more frustration, that he was unlikely to get a chance to deliver it.
Tarvek had been frozen with horror at the scene before him, but finally sputtered to life. “Agatha! What the devil are you doing to him?”
He was about to stride forward when a hand grabbed his harness and jerked him back. Tarvek turned and saw Sleipnir staring at the medical readouts. “Whatever she’s doing—don’t make her stop. Gil’s readings are improving.” She gave a quick grin. “He always loved a good argument.”
Elsewhere in the silent castle, a small group of prisoners huddled at the bottom of a deep stone pit. They were the last survivors of the group Zola had driven into unknown parts of the Castle in pursuit of Agatha and now they were trapped by the Castle, waiting for death in the dark.
Sanaa still hoped for rescue. She could see the slight opening several meters above them where the floor had tilted and thrown them all down here. Nervously, she ran her hand through her pink tinted hair and screamed up at it. She had been calling for help for hours and her voice was hoarse.
The others watched her with varying levels of apathy and annoyance.
Snapper clashed his metal jaws together. They gleamed in the semi-darkness. “That is really getting on my nerves,” he declared.
Normally this statement would have caused a sudden cessation of any activity within his extended vicinity, but this time the others merely shrugged.
“Quit yer mewling,” Dr. Wrench told him.
He was an older man who was never seen without a thick set of work gloves and he was known for his stoic calm. “Someone findin’ us is our only chance.”
The immense construct, R-79, raised his head and grimaced. When he shifted, the intricate webwork of stitching that crossed and recrossed his body creaked softly. “We have no chance,” he rumbled. “Never did.”
Squinaldo, the tall, tattooed man sitting beside the construct, did what few other people on Earth would dare, and smacked the creature on the arm. “Don’t talk like that, paesano. It’s bad luck. Talk about something else.”
The hulking brute pondered this advice. “Oh. Okay.” It searched for a topic and as usual, settled on the most inappropriate one for the moment. “You think maybe human flesh taste like chicken?”
Snapper got a dreamy look in his eyes. “Oh no, it’s more like pork,” he crooned. “Sweet, succulent…” a thin bead of drool ran down his metal jaw.
“You are not helping,” Wrench snapped.
“Hello,” a cheerful voice called from above. “Is someone in there?”
Instantly they were all on their feet, shouting. “Yes! We’re trapped!”
“Yes, I see. Hold on!” With a grinding sound, the top of the trap began to shift to the side, letting in a wan light. All of the prisoners flinched.
“Who’s there?” Wrench called out.
“Why, I am Othar Tryggvassen! Gentleman Adventurer!” Silence greeted this revelation. Othar chuckled. “Now I don’t expect any thanks from lawless, murdering scum like yourselves, but as long as I’m here, the least I can do is rescue you and hope that incarceration has allowed you to reconsider your dissolute ways! Just to keep my hand in, you understand.”
Within the pit, the prisoners stared up at him, paralyzed.
“The Othar Tryggvassen,” Snapper said hoarsely. “Oh, fry me!”